Overthunk

"How many do you have?" the my-age, appropriately "thick" Avenue salesclerk inquired as I strode toward the precious dressing room, bundle of possible vestments held close to my bosom. Sure, it was late and the store was quiet and they were doing their closing activities, but they didn't actually close for an hour. "Six," I replied. "The limit is four," she said. ("Hmph. Industry standard is six. Y'all can't count higher than that?" I thought to myself.) I tried to just put 2 on the back of the door so I could swap them and not go looking for her again. She seized them away and put them on an unrelated rack an inconvenient distance away. I finished the trying ons, the selectings and rejectings, and had to go hunt her down again to find where the other two garments were. She was none too eager or swift to assist me. In the passing between however, a bait and switch occurred. She gave me the two shirts I still needed to try on...

Recently, I visited Big Lots , the shoddier, seedier cousin of the sadly departed K-Mart and elephant graveyard where discontinued merchandise goes to die. There I found freakish goods hailing from a variety of lands, and each revoltingly unappetizing in its own diverse fashion. Here's a sampling: Oysters in Cottonseed Oil -- because nothing piques one's culinary delight quite like grayish fish flesh tinned in industrial lubricant. Lemon Extract -- With 20% Vaseline added to reduce viscosity Del Monte DILL -- Far too pale and estranged from their state of origin to serve such a function, at least these DILLS know the value of education and plan to attend jr. college. Nutrisystem Nourish -- Eat oxymoron dogs, on the cheap! Maggi Delicias de Pollo -- Or as I affectionately call it, bagga chickin maggit stuff. Arkona Herring Fillets - As Opus knows, a little paprika sauce makes herring "pop." Jelly Mints -- Hated at Grandma's house since 1853. Conclusion? Bi...

I've been paring down the amount of makeup I carry around with me at all times. Currently, I am at the following purse totals: Three eyeliners -- brown-black, purple and blue One mascara -- brown-black Three lipsticks (including one that doesn't come off unless scrubbed) One clear lip gloss Concealer (although the one I have is old and I've already bought a new one) AND, this is only what I carry around... I have two makeup cases full of brushes, nail polish, eye shadow, glittery dust and other stuff, not to mention the dozens of tubes and packets I have shoved away in drawers. It's foolishness, I know. How much makeup can one person wear at a time? (Well, woman I mean, as I'm sure drag queens can wear significantly more.) I cannot really explain this other than feeling that I have to have a CHOICE. I do the same thing with shoes. I have probably 30 pairs. And oddly, I have noted that $6.00 Chinese-made shoes from Dollar General can smell like gasoline (making me w...

Why it's still embarrassing to purchase products of a feminine nature after 20 years experience, I don't know, but sometimes it is. I decide I don't want to navigate the perilous waters of Wal-Mart, so I'll stop at the drugstore (as it used to be called in the parlance of my youth), even though I KNOW a guy will be working the counter at 9:30 p.m. I'm perusing the products, looking for my preferred species, and a Whitman's candy display is there on the end of the aisle, sparking a train of thoughts: "What the fuck is that doing there? Oh, no wonder I couldn't find it the last time I was looking for a last-minute gift -- it's here in this fucked up place, what kind of layout is that?" Then it hit me: "WHOA, it's there because duhhhhh, it's the most expensive chocolate in the store and it's right here next to the pads and tampons!" Stunned at this sexist display, I continue to shop, looking for other shit to buy to distract ...

Hey, listen. I went all over the town, nay, THREE towns, looking for that wrinkle-concealing, chunky gold necklace that my mother wanted for her birthday. At Macy's, they only had a buncha tacky chunky bead strings and some wisp-thin silver chains, plus a store-brand marcasite encrusted $20.00 watch that I carried around for awhile, possibly arousing the suspicion of the security guards, before unceremoniously replacing it on the tiered table created specifically for Low-End Emergency Gift Jewelry at the finer department stores. So I went down to Nordstrom's and everything there was widely spaced and affluent enough that I felt white-trashy in just my black low cut shirt (revealing the pinkish, dwindling remains of a between-boob-blemish) and nondescript black shorts, but still I found nothing I deemed to her liking. Can I help it if on the way out of there I dropped in to Payless and found some 1 1/2 inch brown leather heels that fit and that were comfortable and coordinated w...

Yep, today I went to buy dog food and make some copies at the local shopping center, and I saw this. I was gonna take a picture with my camera phone, but I thought better of it. I'd give better odds than not that this Bubba had a gun rack in his back window. I wonder if was a "You must be as tall as the catalytic converter to drive this truck" sticker anywhere on this thing when he bought it... (Yes, I made that picture. It was fun.)

It's not often one gets the opportunity to see a beating taking place outside a chain grocery store. B ut a few weeks past, before the near death experience that is driving in Plano, Texas, a compadre and I witnessed just that. As we were walking up to buy some shells and cheese or red delicious apples or the like, violence was ensuing. Down on the concrete parking lot, 3 or 4 grown white men chased, apprehended, and then held down a black teenage boy. We stood and watched for a moment, stunned. "They're gonna get themselves sued," I said. Some bystanders told us he'd been shoplifting, and we learned MUCH later, had pushed down a female employee or customer while trying to escape from the store, hence the chase. Quickly a division sprang up between my friend and I. She ran to assist the kid, and got right in the middle of it, telling the red-shirted store manager what for. I stood back, not wanting to get involved with a kid who, I thought, was making a stupid mis...

In my semi-revered professional life, I get the dubious privilege of telling people what to do. A lot. It's the sort of thing that, even if one didn't desire it in the first place, becomes rather addicting, or at the least, customary. This is why pushy salesgirls pimping clothing store credit cards with 23% interest over and over after I've thrice refused and made it abundantly clear that I don't want the motherfucking 30% off my purchase today, goddammit, irritate me. It annoys me for several reasons, but perhaps the best and most important is that I SAID NO !