nordstrom rack: only if you have the ability to catheterize yourself
Well, picture Pamplona in July, the crowds at a Brazilian Soccer game during World Cup and Christmas Eve at International Plaza. Then add a few baby strollers used as steamrollers and women sporting their Juicy tracksuits, amped up on triple shots from Starbucks, and you’re living vicariously through my newly found love/hate relationship with Nordstrom Rack.
There was no containing my excitement as I skipped into the new space not-so-conveniently located at North Dale Mabry near Wholefoods and Target. You know — the busiest street (and now parking lot) in all of Tampa. But I lucked out with a parking spot only a mile away from the store entrance where people were exiting heavily weighed down with reusable blue Nordstrom shopping totes. There was one woman who came out sans bags, which at the time was a bit of a mystery. I only knew we could never be friends.
As I entered the store, I honed in on the Splendid, Ella Moss, William Rast and James Perse racks like a fashion-seeking missile. Not yet cluttered like the migraine-inducing TJ Maxx, the brands and sizes delightfully matched their signs. As I started piling my forearms up with finds (who needs a cart? Shopping is my cardio), I glanced over at a line for the fitting room no less than one million anxious women deep. “Amateurs,” I snickered. It would be faster to buy the clothes, bring them home, try them on and return them. Actually, it would be faster to fly to the sweat shop where they’re made.
It wasn’t until I found a pair of Coach boots I’d donate a kidney for if only they were in my size that I realized that was the checkout line. I guess no one was standing there to accuse me of being brilliant. Glancing down at my watch, I realized I had only four hours until the Rays game. Might want to get in line now so as not to miss the first pitch. But not before I scooped up a pair of red, sequined Lelli-Kelly’s for my six year old, a Splendid heather grey jersey dress with a cleavage so deep its only accessory should be a stripper pole, a pair of jeans with a 3% chance of fitting me and a few other items at deeply discounted prices did I attempt to locate the start of the line. Once I did, I decided making a pitstop in the restroom first was a necessity since I did not bring a catheter (although I plan to next time along with my mother who I will use as a placeholder until I finish shopping, assuming that is not a crime).
My Rack recommendations follow:
1. Park next door at Target where you can caffeinate at its Starbucks before and after your shopping expedition.
2. Do not go near the layette section unless you plan to have more children because the clothes are so cute and affordable, I hope to get pregnant soon just to be able to shop in this section.
3. Like most clever retailers, the good stuff is generally up front. August silk Christmas sweaters for your Aunt Ethels are located a little further back. Skip this section. You have jeans to locate in a size other than 23.
4. Frederic Fekkai and other salon products are located by the registers, so don’t forget to pick some up before you stand in line because there’s no going back.
5. The shoe selection is surprisingly disappointing unless you’re a size 6 or way into ballet flats.
6. If you’re shopping alone with no Nana to hold your space in line, invest in Depends undergarments; you’re going to be there awhile.
Happy shopping my friends. I have to go pee now.
confession: i don’t pump my own gas
Okay friends, I may have to find a new full-serve gas station. Because my car gets 5mpg, I’m in Bob Lee’s twice a week. The guys know me there (I tip them well). So this morning one of them asks if I could do him a favor. “Sure!” I say. What could it be? Pick him up some degreaser for his hands? Show a little more cleavage?
No such luck. He asks me if he can put a Bob Lee sticker on my car. Um. No. “Well, I only ask because you have school stickers on there.”
Okay, I realize that I may spend about as much on gas as I do on tuition, but I only put the Shorecrest stickers on there so my car can get keyed while I’m in South St Pete. Same reason I have a Gator license plate. I’m trying to get my car torched at a Florida State game so that I can get a new one.
Why not have a smoked fishspread sammy while you get that nail pulled out of your tire?
Bob Lee’s Deli Menu: http://www.bobleestire.com/LinkClick.aspx?fileticket=z9ViOxTN66o%3d&tabid=87
death and taxes
Someone much wiser than I said these are the only certainties in life. Um, that was Ben Franklin for those of you who mistakenly thought it was Yo Gabba Gabba. But I disagree. Partially because I believe in the afterlife and reincarnation (I’m coming back as a dolphin), but mostly because I’m a big proponent of offshore accounts in Nevis. So I’m challenging Ben with a few of my own certainties:
1. If I wear white; there is a 98% chance of rain.
2. I only receive neighborhood burglary alerts from the Tierra Verde homeowners association on the days I forget to set my house alarm.
3. I only get stuck at a drawbridge if I have to pee or have ice cream in my car.
4. You will never see more than one abandoned shoe. I have never in all my years seen a PAIR of shoes discarded on the side of the road. I call it the “The Law of the Lone Shoe.” It’s like gravity. Or rather the gravitational pull of Starbucks in the morning or Nordstrom Rack once I get my first alimony check. A good friend recently told me, “Of course there is only a single shoe. Why would anyone throw out a pair of shoes?” I love you, buddy, but under what circumstances would one feel the need to throw any shoe out the window of their El Camino while driving 80mph on Alligator Alley?
So the next time you see a lone Reebok perched on a fence post like a crown or a single tattered Nike strewn on the sidewalk, snap a picture and send it to me for the coffee table book I plan to publish. I’ll sell three copies (to my mom) and split the proceeds with you.
oprah’s pledge not to text and drive
Here’s my new pledge:
“I will only text and drive when I want to avoid a costly maintenance on my Land Rover.”
You see friends, this morning I was replying to an urgent text that may or may not have had to do with the tailgating (cocktail) menu for this Saturday’s Gator game when I semi drove my right tires up on a curb that appeared out of nowhere on 16th. I blame this minor mishap less on my texting and more on the fact that my car pulls so far to the right due to a much-needed alignment that if I let go of the steering wheel for a second I end up in the Atlantic Ocean. So after I realized “phew, no flat tire” and erased the shrill voice of my mother threatening to “tell Oprah” on me, I discovered that I knocked my car back into alignment. Now I can let go of my steering wheel (as I just did on the Interstate while writing this), and drive relatively straight. So I’m canceling that tire rotation and wheel alignment and writing Oprah to tell her about the benefits of texting and driving.
My Strawberry Effen Gatortails were REEdiculously yummy.
i only wear white when it rains 