Settle Down, Neiman Marcus

As a subtopic of my last post involving shopping in the mall, I’ve decided to highlight the store at the mall that I hate the most. I want to go on the record that I think hate is a strong word, and I’d never just throw that out there without backing my statements up. Every facet of this store screams “The Emperor’s New Clothes” personified. Let me elaborate:

 (This picture couldn’t make me laugh more, because why exactly are they Jewish? I don’t remember that part of the story….)

First of all, do not act like you can waltz in there with just any major credit card and make a purchase. You will be snarkily greeted with a $8.50/hour worker who apparently moonlights as judge and jury to the value of other human beings, saying “I’m sorry. We only accept Neiman Marcus credit cards or American Express, thank you”. This will be the first instance that you realize your Visa, Discover and Master Cards are apparently on par with the refillable charge card that is sponsored by Baby Phat and simply using Monopoly money as currency.

If you’re fortunate to have the Amex, please continue shopping. If you’re not interested in laying down a ton of cash, the kind folks at this establishment have obliged for the downturn economy and set up a “Under $100” table. This is where you can buy a small, pear scented votive candle, paperweight, or a rhinestone picture frame that is so small that the only picture I have that will fit into this contraption is, unfortunately, my drivers license picture. Cute. And all for the rock bottom price of “under $100” before taxes. Besides the fact that all these items couldn’t be crappier, I’m pretty sure my mom can get them all for you at Tuesday Morning. And even then, she’d probably try to talk you out of something so tacky.

As you meander over to the shoes, be forewarned. The designers of these shoes, in cahoots with the buyers for this store, are completely crazy pants this year. As most people know, far be it from me to disrespect the designers of fine footwear. I would be a hypocrite since I will consistently be able to justify a $700 pair of shoes should the need arise. And to be fair, they’re an investment piece you can give to your grandchildren. But this year, they’ve gone banana hammock. (I know the phrase is actually “bananas”, but I never get the chance to say “banana hammock” otherwise, so I just use that instead).

Let’s start with these little beauties:

First of all, maybe you don’t wear them to the airport. Because you’re going to have about 30 buttons per shoe to undo and then redo. If you’re not familiar with the challenges that face you in the security line, please see my post referencing this excursion and leave your thigh-high olive-drab suede 4 inch heel boots at home. Or leave them anyways as I cannot for the life of me puzzle-piece together an outfit that would warrant this item.

Chanel: Stop trying to channel Mrs. Havisham from Great Expectations. Really? Lace rain boots? No, I am not getting married in a puddle, and no I am not 86 years old. Lace is not appropriate. Ever.

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The only thing this monstrosity could possibly accompany is a set of large black men attempting to dress like white, blonde socialites. Yes, this shoe is only to be featured on “White Chicks” with the Waynes Brothers. Calm Down pink velvet and rhinestones.

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Ohhh we’re back to Chanel. Karl Lagerfeld, I love you to death, but all those diet cokes have impaired your design capabilities. Did you really just create the love child of the CLASSIC Chanel ballet flat and a cork board and call it a day?

And THIS shoe is the quintessential offence to me. A kitten heel. Stop pussy footin’ around with your 1 ½ inch excuse for a heel, calling yourself a girl. Kitten heels are disgusting. If you’re main goal in life is to achieve the perfect cankle (which is a calf that flows into an ankle with no apparent sign of circumference reduction) then more power to you. And let’s top this little beauty off with a tie dye theme.

The list really goes on for this store. I will only venture into this horrid establishment if I feel like making fun of items or they have a shoe sale (FAR, FAR away from the Chanel section apparently). In conclusion, I would like to point out one major point that is apparently escaping all Neiman Marcus employees. You’re not Saks Fifth Avenue. They’re too busy being more high end than you and accepting all major credit cards. Across the street.

Why the Mall is a Christmas Joy Death Trap

I had the misfortune of, this week, heading to Lenox mall to shop around. For some reason, knowing that every high schooler in the Nation was out of school this week didn't dissuade me. This lapse in judgement did, almost, massacre the Christmas joy I generally have starting in about mid August. Let me walk you through it.

I usually park on the top of the parking deck at the mall. Reason: unknown, but I'm a creature of habit. Big mistake, since the Pink Pig gigantic tent has been planted up there for a solid month already. The Pink Pig couldn't make less sense. It's a gigantic tent with pink, doo-wop themed pigs running around and a choo choo train that goes in a circle at a glacial pace while parents take pictures of their miserable, matching children that are riding it. These parents are COMMIT ED to getting this photo taken. They will wait in a line that wraps all the way around the deck if they need to. Might I remind you, this has literally nothing to do with Christmas. It's just trying to steal the spotlight from Santa. Rude.

Once you maneuver your way into the mall, you better stay alert. It will forever be beyond my level of comprehension why I am always 100% responsible for avoiding people running into me. If someone is walking towards me and neither one of us notice til we're too close and one of us has to dodge the other, it's always me. I actually tested this, refusing to dodge, pretty much playing chicken with the on comer. Head on collision, followed by an "EXCUSE YOU!" Alright, Terry Tate, Office Linebacker, I'll dodge you! Maybe THAT'S the life lesson talent we took from dodge ball in 2nd grade.

The stores, in preparation for the Holiday crowds, will attempt to reinvent the wheel of line-forming processes. Aside from the ropes used to make the lines being formed from garland or Christmas lights (so as to be festive) that will instantaneously fall to the ground and create a tripping hazard, the challenge of the check out doesn't stop there. There's always a counter-intuitive protocol that you're to follow, and a snooty, minimum wage employee directing traffic that MUST get an extra nickel every time he rolls his eyes at a customer. This guy only works at this time of year. The quantity of nickels he receives during these few weeks will tide him over for the rest of the year. Oh, I'll follow your crazy line rules, guy.

Also, this dodging applies to the mall cops. There once was a time when cops of any genre had to be fit. No more: introducing robo-cop. The mall cops now scoot around the entire place on a Segway. Which I'm convinced is the only way that company is still in business. The best is that they have helmets and everything. I'm 100% sure that "Paul Blart: Mall Cop" is equally as inspirational to these folks as "Rudy" is to the 2nd string football player. I haven't yet gotten to see them enforce the mall law yet: one day I will, and my life just might be complete.

All this walking will inevitably make you thirsty, and getting a beverage will lead to needing to go to the bathroom. The only bathroom I'm aware of is the one at the entrance to the Pink Pig. Yep, we're back at that freak show. I can't comment on the men's room, but I know it's a general rule of thumb that those are usually grosser than the ladies rooms. Should that be the case here, Lenox mall might be condemned by the CDC soon, so get your Christmas shopping done early. The ladies room is a horror show. Once I walk in, I immediately start gagging, which will garner a look of judgement from the friend that I am with, and my reminding them "You know I get gaggy.". The friend will usually already be aware of this, and press on. I've magically managed to accomplish the entire process in the ladies room with 1 hand, because far be it from me to put anything I'm carrying on any surface in that horrid place. Washing your hands is beyond a health requirement, it's almost the law. For the brief moment after you've washed your hands, you are germ free. That's until you go to dry your hands. No paper towels, just blow dryers. I HATE these devices. They don't dry my hands as much as they just blow poop air all over them. Gross. Can't wait to eat a pretzel now.

Once you decide that you are, in fact, done with this place, you get to find your way out of the deck. This might be why I park on the top: you can get a birds eye view of your escape route. Should you be the unlucky soul that parks IN the deck, don't make the mistake of following ANY signs. Those "Exit" signs are put up there by the mall to keep you trapped in the deck so that you will eventually give up and just go back in and keep shopping. I'm on to you, Lenox mall. Should you Copernicus your way out of the deck, high tail it down Lenox and do not look back. You've gotten out alive, possibly without being escorted out by security should you snap at any point.

This little excursion is not enough to ruin my holiday spirit, however. I know my limitations, so I don't put myself in a position to lose it this Christmas Season. I'm not a black Friday camper. More power to the "patience of Job" human being that is.

The Day of the Stake Out

This story is one that I’ve been meaning to tell for a while now, and today I feel inspired to share. I met my friend Allison Jackson a few months ago, and shortly after we met, she moved into the apartment she currently lives in now. Besides the fact that she lives on the tippity top floor of a no elevator apartment complex, everything was going fine. That is until one day, as we were walking her groceries up the steps, we came across something horrific. Some careless pet owner had allowed their animal to relive itself on the stairs and left it there.

Appalled by this lack of care for the community, we deduced that the person probably didn’t notice their animal had done this, and this was a one time thing. Boy, were we wrong. This little episode continued to happen, day after day, week after week.

My issues with this were, not only was this pet owner trying to reignite the E. Coli epidemic of White Water a decade ago, but concrete stairs are no place for a shit themed hopscotch game. One Sunday afternoon, Allison and I both snapped. We were fed up with borderline breaking our necks to avoid these little land mines. 

So we did what any normal yet crazed individual would do: We Nancy Drewed the situation.It started with pulling two chairs into the breezeway so as to set up a stake out environment. Granted, Allison didn’t have lawn chairs, so we had two upholstered chairs stationed next to the stairs. It was clear to us that the person responsible lived on Allison’s floor, given she lived on the top and no one would use those stairs unless they too lived up there. Since there’s only 14 apartments up there, we went door-to-door investigating.

Most people were not home. One extremely small woman in what appeared to be her early 30s was TERRIFIED of us. She even claimed that she was worried to open the door since she didn’t know who we are. Our response was “I’m sorry, this might not be politically correct of us to say, but why don’t you do a little profiling on us. We’re two, young, blonde girls who are unintentionally yet again wearing the same outfit. Not exactly axe murderer material”. This “Chicken Little” inspired woman however did not have a small dog.

Also, it’s important to note that the gentleman who lives in 1405 comes across as someone who would take your skin off and wear it to his birthday party. Maybe you steer clear of that door. Also, no dog.

The good thing about our posting up in the hallway was that we were able to convert other residents to the cause. We literally had people on the look out, putting up posters, using process of elimination to reduce the number of possible culprits down to just one apartment. And this crazy lady has been busted.

Now it’s a waiting game. The SECOND she pulls this little stunt again, she’s going to regret it. We’ve decided that instead of lashing out and physically attacking her, we’re going to be smart about this. We’re going to evict her. Yep. We’re going to, on the apartment “letter head” (or whatever we craft out of clip art and google) an eviction notice for this woman, given she cannot clean up after her pet and it’s causing sanitation issues. We’re also going to jump to the conclusion that she has NOT paid her pet deposit for her tea cup Chihuahua (of course that’s the dog it is) and demand that she pay double, so as to cover the clean up costs in the stairwells.

Maybe this makes us crazy pants. Or maybe this makes us renegades. They make movies about renegades like us. “V for Vendetta”, “Robin Hood”, “Rainbow Brite and the Star Stealer”. So, you can from now on call me V.

The Day of the Steak Out

This story is one that I’ve been meaning to tell for a while now, and today I feel inspired to share. I met my friend Allison Jackson a few months ago, and shortly after we met, she moved into the apartment she currently lives in now. Besides the fact that she lives on the tippity top floor of a no elevator apartment complex, everything was going fine. That is until one day, as we were walking her groceries up the steps, we came across something horrific. Some careless pet owner had allowed their animal to relive itself on the stairs and left it there.

Appalled by this lack of care for the community, we deduced that the person probably didn’t notice their animal had done this, and this was a one time thing. Boy, were we wrong. This little episode continued to happen, day after day, week after week.

My issues with this were, not only was this pet owner trying to reignite the E. Coli epidemic of White Water a decade ago, but concrete stairs are no place for a shit themed hopscotch game. One Sunday afternoon, Allison and I both snapped. We were fed up with borderline breaking our necks to avoid these little land mines. So we did what any normal yet crazed individual would do: We Nancy Drewed the situation.

It started with pulling two chairs into the breezeway so as to set up a steak out environment. Granted, Allison didn’t have lawn chairs, so we had two upholstered chairs stationed next to the stairs. It was clear to us that the person responsible lived on Allison’s floor, given she lived on the top and no one would use those stairs unless they too lived up there. Since there’s only 14 apartments up there, we went door-to-door investigating.

Most people were not home. One extremely small woman in what appeared to be her early 30s was TERRIFIED of us. She even claimed that she was worried to open the door since she didn’t know who we are. Our response was “I’m sorry, this might not be politically correct of us to say, but why don’t you do a little profiling on us. We’re two, young, blonde girls who are unintentionally yet again wearing the same outfit. Not exactly axe murderer material”. This “Chicken Little” inspired woman however did not have a small dog.

Also, it’s important to note that the gentleman who lives in 1405 comes across as someone who would take your skin off and wear it to his birthday party. Maybe you steer clear of that door. Also, no dog.

The good thing about our posting up in the hallway was that we were able to convert other residents to the cause. We literally had people on the look out, putting up posters, using process of elimination to reduce the number of possible culprits down to just one apartment. And this crazy lady has been busted.

Now it’s a waiting game. The SECOND she pulls this little stunt again, she’s going to regret it. We’ve decided that instead of lashing out and physically attacking her, we’re going to be smart about this. We’re going to evict her. Yep. We’re going to, on the apartment “letter head” (or whatever we craft out of clip art and google) an eviction notice for this woman, given she cannot clean up after her pet and it’s causing sanitation issues. We’re also going to jump to the conclusion that she has NOT paid her pet deposit for her tea cup Chihuahua (of course that’s the dog it is) and demand that she pay double, so as to cover the clean up costs in the stairwells.

Maybe this makes us crazy pants. Or maybe this makes us renegades. They make movies about renegades like us. “V for Vendetta”, “Robin Hood”, “Rainbow Brite and the Star Stealer”. It’s just a matter of time.

The Friendly Skies

This post is for those seasoned travelers, like myself, who deal with the same mind numbing situations every time they fly. And by “situations” I’m talking about the passengers whose minds couldn’t be more blown by literally every step of the traveling process.

The airport is a very logical place. So, in the spirit of logic, I’m going to step by step go through the airport highlighting where the pitfalls of dealing with other travelers are. Maybe this post will help protect you and help you avoid what I constantly have to deal with. Chances are you won’t be able to escape them.

Should you have the terrible misfortune to be checking your baggage, you are in for a real treat. No matter what line you stand in to drop your bags off, the person in front of you will either be checking a solid 20 pieces of luggage, or be checking one bag filled with gold bullion. The first situation, at $25 per bag, has to mean that these people have taken out some sort of loan to fund this transaction. These people are also NOT from America, and will be utterly shocked by the language barrier.

The second situation happens most frequently. If you’re a fully grown male adult and you’re struggling to lift the luggage onto the scale, chances are it weighs more than 50 pounds. But instead of saying “wow, I’m an idiot! I should have known, and I will pay the overweight fee as punishment for my foolishness” these people will pop open the top of the suitcase and start consolidating their items in front of everyone. They will layer on coats and shove shoes in their carry ons, each time reweighing the bag to confirm that unfortunately your coat doesn’t weight 20 pounds and you’ll have to remove more.

Once you escape this line, you have to go through security. There’s always someone who didn’t know you have to take your shoes off, because they’ve lived under a rock for the past decade. Or the lady that has a belt buckle built into her clothes and sets the metal detector off but continues to take off non metal items, hoping her socks were setting the detector off instead. It takes absolutely forever to get through, but once you’re through, you have mere milliseconds to put back on your shoes and jacket and repack your computer. How the conveyor belt is FLYING at the back in but CRAWLING at the front end can only be described by Willy Wonka Wonkavetor technology.

Now comes the time to get to your terminal gate. There are 3 options. You can either walk the regular way, walk on the moving sidewalk, or take the train. This is the part that really gets to me, because this is where people will think “I don’t want to walk, but I might want to walk in 20 seconds, so I’m going to just stand on the moving sidewalk and give myself the option instead of taking the train”. They are always blithely unaware of the traffic jam they are creating. Also, I don’t care for the people who are just going to regular walk their way to the terminal. It’s like they are slapping George Jetson in the face with every non-artificially accelerated step they take.

Once you get to your gate, you get to deal with unnecessary lines. These are the “zone 4” ticket holders. They have to board the plane last but have decided to form a blob-like “line” so as to RACE to the ticket checker as soon as zone 4 is called. These people are also the ones that, as soon as the plane lands, will stand up and form a line to get out of the plane, as if there’s a conspiracy and they’ve all forgotten there’s a solid 10 minute wait time before the door opens. It’s literally as if they get anxious should they not be forming a line at all times.

Look at them all... dying to make a line as SOON as the seat belt sign goes off.

Again we’re faced with having checked our luggage. This is the best part of the luggage checking process: picking it up. These same moving sidewalk cloggers and unnecessary line makers are all convinced that the closer you stand to the baggage conveyor belt, the more likely your bag is to come out first. They will literally lean over the belt, looking down the hole that the bags come out. One day I will snap and scream “Everyone who thinks they can crawl fast enough to beat the pace of this belt, please form a line over here so you can crawl down that hole and get it FIRST!”. The opportunity to form a line will convince at least 15 people to do this.

When you do finally see your luggage, you have to borderline body slam these people away from the belt to get it. Even after explaining the obvious statement “that’s my bag” these people are reluctant to temporarily give up their prime spot, straddling the belt practically. This is where learning how to box people out in contact sports will pay off. Sorry tennis and cheer leading, you’re going to have to chase your bag around the carousel til you find a hole.

Doing this process repeatedly will convince you a) to never check your bag, no matter how long you're gone and b) people, on average, are complete idiots. I don’t care what the IOWA test of basic skills told us in 2^nd grade.

As Per Jordan's Request

As per the request of one of my dearest friends, JBush, the following post will be dedicated to her. Should I ever reach a fame status that would rival Chelsea Handlers, you bet your sweet coslopus she’s going to be my “Heather Longboobs McDonald”. These are the topics she’s suggested I write about, so here we go: Childhood toys.

Little did we know that the toys we had as a child would absolutely prepare us for adulthood. Allow me to give some examples.

Mall Madness

The premise of this game, which by the way takes a solid 30 minutes and 18 D batteries to set up, is to dash around the mall making purchases at each store, up to 10 total, without running out of money. The challenges are that the sales perpetually change locations, you will run out of money and have to go back to the bank to magically withdraw more from some endless account, and you can’t walk diagonally. What did this prepare us for you ask? Outlet shopping. If anyone has been to the outlet mall up 400, you can’t just willy nilly walk around up there. You need to go in with a plan. Where are the sales, what’s our gameplan for the stores we’re going to hit up, where are we going to park to maximize the shopping bag drop off in the car half way through. This shopping mall is not for the weak or half-hearted shopper. Maybe if you have a rascal scooter you can just wing it, but you better hope that little device is fully charged. Also, FYI, there’s no diagonal walking at this mall. Straight lines all the way down.

Tamagotchis

An egg shaped $20 keychain nightmare, the tamagotchi was quite the hit when we were little, and quite the life lesson maker as well. I will have to make a few broad assumptions about this game, since of COURSE I had the knock off version from Wal Mart. The premise was you had a pet, maybe a dinosaur, maybe a puppy, maybe a bird, you choose. This pet was equally as needy as a 15 year old girlfriend with unlimited texting. You had to feed it, water it, play with it, let it sleep, clean up it’s poop, the list was non stop. This “game” was fun for about 20 minutes. At some point, we all got board and let our pet die. But you can’t just end this game. No, you have to sit there for hours, days even, and watch your pet cry for help and food, live in its own excrement, whither away and die eventually. What life lesson did this teach us? Don’t just flippantly get a pet or have a baby. It’s a commitment. This is why when one of my friends declares they want a baby, I’m going to get them one of these little horror shows. You keep that freaking dinosaur alive for more than a week and you have my blessing.

Girl Talk and Dream Phone

Girl Talk: Let’s take a bunch of prepubescent 12 year olds and give them a board game themed around truth or dare splashed with a little fortune teller action. Should you not want to perform the dare, you had to put a red “zit” sticker on your face as punishment. Assuming you wanted to waste your zit stickers, which you probably didn’t. This amazing game prepared us for peer pressure and also adult acne. When faced with a challenging decision, I promise you every girl thinks “I’d rather do this than get a zit”.

Dream Phone: Take those same girls from the Girl Talk game, and let’s have them make “phone calls” to guys that are a) apparently seniors in high school and b) way out of their league. You would dial a number on a phone and have a hunky guys voice come over the line to tell you some detail about your secret admirer. These calls were private unless someone played a “Speakerphone!” card. Then your private love affair was over and everyone could hear. This prepared us for sexting. You’re not going to find someone our age sending sexy text messages. What if someone plays a speakerphone card? We all remember that level of embarrassment. Not going to happen. Also, should I EVER see the models that posed for the pictures of these hot throbs, I’m going to feel pretty exposed. I boarderline had phone sex with them.

Clue

This game has played the biggest role in my adult life. The premise is to find clues about the murderer, usually through the process of elimination. What did the murderer kill their victim with? Where was this taking place? Who did it? The skills learned from this game directly translate to real life, the day after getting wasted and passing out. You wake up and initially think “where am I?” Boom, Clue board game. Then, once you find your bearings, you think “Who is this?” Boom, Clue again. Then you Hansel and Gretel your way through the place you’ve landed, finding a shoe here, necklace there, collecting “clues” if you will until you can leave. I’m confident my parents didn’t know they were preparing me for this when they bought me this game, but it’s made me the successful drunken mistake maker I am today.

The Good Ole Days

I firmly believe that for those of us out there 23-28 years old, we absolutely grew up at the best time ever. There were so many elements to our lives that we took for granted, assumed they would always be there for us. And now, as we are adults, we’re left out in the cold, wondering, “Where did these crucial life elements go?!”. And by crucial life elements I’m referencing television programming.

Rockapella

The producers of the life changing show “Where in the World is Carmen San Diego” were power players. They thought to themselves, “What would make a TV geography quiz show with a theme of a global villain running amuck stealing such artifacts as the Sphinx or Taj Mahal really captivate the audience?”. Why of course they landed on having an acapella group that dressed as detectives and would randomly bust into perfectly harmonized songs. This group was called Rockapella. We all thought that Rockapella would ignite the acapella band explosion, but alas it did not. This is not because people didn’t think it was amazingly cool to sing without music on children’s game shows, or later, in Folger’s Crystals Coffee commercials. This is because unfortunately the best group name was already taken. I will say that as an 8 year old, the best part of waking up WAS Rockapella in my Carmen San Diego cup.

Disney Channel Original Movies

If your parents didn’t love you enough to get the Disney Channel (because as I recall, it was not part of the basic cable package) then this portion of my post will mean nothing to you. However, if you, like myself, were GLUED to the TV every month on the Friday night at 7 PM that the new Disney Channel Original Movie (DCOM) aired, you had a full childhood indeed. The producers of DCOM had a system. First, they used the exact same kid in just about every movie.

Whether his role was to slam dunk the funk in a movie about a smart house gone mad, or if he had to do an Irish jig and slowly transform into a leprechaun to save his family and embrace the Irish heritage he had for so long forsaken, this kid was pure gold to the Disney Channel. I do have a few questions about him though. Question 1: Why was he always a basketball player in every movie when he couldn’t have been taller than 5’6? Question 2: Has Pauly from Jersey Shore confessed that this kid invented the hair style that he now claims? Question 3: Where is this kid now?! Disney started to phase him out right around the “Zenon” movie time frame… once “Double Teamed” hit, he was long gone. I’m convinced that he transformed his image and changed his name to Ryan Seacrest. Same height. Same hair. Same first name. Same creepy level of charm and television saturation.

 They're trying to pretend like THIS was Ryan Seacrest as a child. Put some effort into your lie Disney Channel. How about some showmanship for this poorly executed cover up.

Nickelodeon

This channel used to bring the heat when it came to quality television programming. Alex Mac, AAHHHH Real Monsters, Angry Beavers, Are you Afraid of the Dark?, Animorphs… I’m simply still on the “A” list here people. That channel was absolutely fantastic and I couldn’t have been more glued to it. The shows from this channel have integrated themselves into my day-to-day life, and I have a feeling they’ve worked their way into yours as well. Example A: You’re standing in front of a door that is locked and you want to be on the other side. Don’t tell me it doesn’t cross your mind that you wish you were Alex Mac and could turn into a puddle and go under it. Example B: You dare someone to do something and they refuse. You say “I double dare you”. You tell me you aren’t picturing sticking your hand up a gigantic nose filled with slime to fish for a red flag in a relay race involving your entire family, should your family consist of a mom, dad and one other sibling and I tell you that you’re crazy pants. To the point where I was convinced I needed to change my name to “Liza” (my middle name is Elizabeth) because 1) I hated my name and 2) I wanted to be Liza Thornberry from the Wild Thornberrys and I was pretty sure the name change would unlock the ability to talk to animals.

They simply don’t make shows like this anymore. Shut up Selena Gomez. That’s enough Jonas Brothers and Hannah Montana. Why don’t you make a real show. Watch an episode of “Salute Your Shorts” and take some notes.

                                                                                             

Things I Don't Understand

I consider myself someone who can “figure stuff out”. I’m not going to pull a “Good Will Hunting” on anyone and solve impossible problems, but maybe I use 11% of my brain than the average 10% lets say. With this in mind, I’m utterly flabbergasted by certain things, things I will more than likely never understand, and I’m hoping that I’m not alone.

Fingerless gloves

The purpose of a glove is to keep your hands warm. Anyone knows that when someone is left in the freezing elements, the fingers and the toes are the first to go. So needless to say, the fingerless glove couldn’t make less sense to me. First of all, my initial reaction to seeing them for sale in a store is “why would I want to instantly turn myself into a bum?”. And then I think “of ALL people, bums should have the full finger version of a glove!”. What I need to know is who’s producing these half-hearted attempts at insulation, and who is purchasing them enough to keep them coming, year after year.

Wachovia transition

Wells Fargo bought the company a good 2 years ago, and I’m not sure if anyone really noticed. Then, in the span of 1 night, every Wachovia in the entire state of Georgia transformed into a Wells Fargo. The huge building downtown, banks, ATMs, everywhere. My question is “How many people were involved in this over night phenomenon?!’. I can only assume that they forced every Wachovia employee to chip in that night and change the signs, shirts, coffee mugs, etc. And to top it off, they kept it COMPLETELY SECRET until it happened, and no one that works at these establishments will agree with me that it was alarmingly fast and creepy. This level of conspiracy is dangerously close to government quality. I’m onto you Wells Fargo. I. Am. Onto you.

Mirrors in elevators

Here’s a concept. Let’s stick a bunch of perfect strangers into a confined space, have them all face the same way so as to avoid starting at someone from 3 inches away, and then slap a mirror on the wall everyone is facing. Where exactly am I supposed to look? Here are your options: You can stare at yourself and make everyone think that you’re madly in love with yourself. People will notice that you are doing this, and people will make a face about it, which everyone will see, due to the mirror. You can stare at someone else. This will instantly force a conversation to alleviate the awkwardness. Popular topics are “What floor are you going to?”, “I love this remake of River of Dreams for Elevators” and “Man these mirrors are weird”. You could glance around the entire elevator, not landing on one item for more than 1 second. This will make you dizzy and look like you’re eyes are going berzerk. This is usually my choice. I understand that mirrors make small spaces look bigger. Turns out they make them real awkward too.

Travel Show hosts

There are many jobs that I would consider a dream job. Most of these dream jobs still require some kind of effort, a considerable amount of training, luck, and skill. The one job that busts the dream job mold is being a travel show host. Let me break this job down for you. You get to go to the most interesting places in the world. You get to stay at the best hotels, eat at the best restaurants, visit the best sights. You get to test out the spa and also try out the best adventure activities. So I gotta break it to you, sounds A LOT like a vacation. Oh, you don’t have to pay for anything, you get paid actually. Quite a bit. HOW IN THE WORLD do you get this job!?! I tell you how you get this job. You’re going to have to murder Rick Steves and take the job from him. I’m not above it.

Quiche

The invention of this must have been someone who said “I really want to eat a pie, but the only ingredient I have to make a pie is a pie crust. Everything else I have I would put in an omelet. EUREKA!” and the most revolting breakfast food was made. There were quite a few successful inventions created by combining two distinct food items. The sandwich, the ice cream cone, chicken and waffles (also makes no sense, but I’ll allow it because I still think they’re kidding about that actually being a meal). It’s high time someone acknowledge that the quiche was a fail. It couldn’t be more of a let down either. It’s wheedled it’s way into bridal showers and brunches. “Oh, don’t worry about eating before the baby shower, we’ll have food”, and then you show up and you get bit sized scrambled egg pies, and you feel like Ashton Kutcher is going to pop out with a camera. So to all the quiche makers I simply have to say “Calm. Down.”.