Overthunk

     It would never have happened if I had an American Express card. Because Neiman’s only takes checks, cash, their own card, and Amex. It never would’ve happened if I hadn’t decided to go to the top floor in search of some form of house slippers for my hard to buy for grandma. But I did go to the top floor, riding the elevator among bouncing squares of reflected light from strings of plastic butterflies and mirrors, suspended emblems of spring hung in winter because snowflakes were oh so gauche. (I figured out their “use something springy in winter” trick because last year, they suspended strands of white feathers, causing me to glance about for Foghorn Leghorn, checking to see if they were numbered for just such an occasion. I suppose I’ve never noticed, but in high summer perhaps they have strands of icicles or Christmas ornaments in encomium of the cattywompus way high fashion operates.)      Gliding along the white marble floors (hustlin...

If you would destroy the evidence, Twittercide, posthaste. Hell hath no fury like the deluded Tumblr posts of a woman being willingly lied to. That awkward moment when you post 1,000 Tumblr pics of airbrushed models doing all the sex acts you and I have done in real life, to impress someone who is too far away to touch you on a regular basis. Love? You're just an actor. He's writing the script. The paycheck? Hoping you'll provide the confidence and worth he hasn't provided for himself. For you? Pro bono, baby. Wisdom is a long time in coming (at least six months, hundreds of texts, hours on the phone and together in person). Note to self: Fun is not love. Fun is just fun, even if it is pretty intense, and repeated, and other people seem to think it is love, and you do. It is just fun, even if the other participant in the fun says, "I love you" while looking you right in the eyes, in your own bed, after hours of touching, kissing, and laughing together, ...

Appropos of the ubiquitous holiday of the prevailing belief system at the current temporal moment, here is a not-awaited, hardly polished, non-genius parody of The Beatles' "I Am the Walrus" -- I AM AT WALMART. Lyrics: I Am At Walmart Begun July 24, 2011, finished Decemberish 2011. Daddy, mama, cousins, auntie, me and you and grandma shop together. See how they whine for everything that shines, see how they whine. Kids crying. Sitting by the cornflakes, waiting for the man to come. Exploded jar of pickles, don’t go in ‘til Tuesday. Otherwise you want to kill and lines are much too long. I just want eggs, man, but I’ll spend a hundred. I am at Walmart. Stuffed kangaroos. Rent A Cop Policeman sitting Driving his golf cart past the cars in rows. See carts fly, dinging cars, then guy in orange vest runs. Kids crying, kids cryyyyyying. Kids crying. Kids cryyyy. Yellow squishy filling, glistening in apple pie. Cheap crab legs, hey fish man, gimme 13 o...