Notes from the Mall, Volume 1.
1. Sometimes I manage to convince myself that going to the Mall of America is a really good idea. Today, the justification was twofold: first, it’s swimming-pool humid outside. Usually that’s not a problem when I take my morning walk around 8 or 9, but I got home at 5:30am, which meant the walk wasn’t happening until 11. So it was hot, and that tshirt-stuck-to-the-back feeling makes me squirm. Now, if you walk around all three floors of the Mall, it’s only a little over a mile and a half total, which is exactly half of my usual walk. But I figured the increased heart rate due to aggravation over dodging slow shoppers would make up for some of that, at least. Also, I’m trying to get all my August birthday shopping done now, just in case I a) die, or b) am busy 24 hours a day for the next month1. Generally, I rely on Amazon for all my present needs, but right now I’m feeling the allure of analog gift-giving. Don’t ask why, because I don’t know. 2. Store update: – Ragstock moved, and their new store is much better than the previous one. They had forest ranger shirts in the uniforms section, but they were all too big. Once again, I’m embittered at how much better men’s fashion is. I’m so, so jealous. – There’s a new Famous Dave’s up on the third level next to Tony Roma’s (Your Place For Ribs), and down the hall from the new Bubba Gump Shrimp Company. From here on out, that corridor is known as Meat Alley. – There’s a new store devoted to charms. Just charms. It’s sandwiched between the refrigerator magnet store and the as-seen-on-tv store. – Cereal Adventure seems to have changed its tactic from consumerism-under-the-guise-of-education to just good old-fashioned consumerism. It’s about time. – Pottery Barn is expanding for what seems like the fifth time this year. Just how much faux fur can the Twin Cities handle? I fear the market may already be at saturation point. – Where do they find those super-slick guys who chase you with their lotion bottles? I think they kidnap them from clubs on South Beach. Recently, I heard a woman give one of them the best rejection ever: “Sorry, no hands!” I have to start using that. – There were about 800 naked photos of writhing models in the window at Abercrombie. Oh, wait, that’s not news. That’s every day. 3. How is it that those tiny little teenage girls with the acres of exposed midriff can order a mocha malt frappuccino with the tower of whipped cream and a cherry cheese danish (approx. calories: 1,500) and still be able to put on their size 1 capris the next day, whereas I can order an iced americano (exact calories: zero) and still have to work my ass off every single day? Oh, right, bulimia. I forget. 4. They’ve started publishing choose-your-own-adventure novels again. Adult ones! No, not like pornographic choose-your-own-adventures (a genre I really need to start, if it doesn’t already exist2), just novels geared towards those in our generation who grew up with the originals. Since I am a good friend and empathetic to Bertine’s dating dilemma, I bought her ‘Night of a Thousand Boyfriends: A Date with Destiny Adventure’. I rule. 5. They’ve put up the sign and started digging the giant hole where they will soon plant the seed that will take root in the fertile soil of Bloomington, Minnesota, and blossom into the hugest fucking IKEA the world has ever seen. Pardon me, I’m hyperventilating. I think I need to go lay down for a while. Jenni
1 I’ve decided I’m going to try to stop saying I’m too busy for things. It’s kind of bullshit, because it’s all about priorities: if it’s important enough, I’ll make time. I feel like I’ve become a slave to my calendar. For christ’s sake, who’s in charge here?
Me. Dammit.
2 Seriously, think about it:
If you give him a peck on the cheek and say good night, turn to page 12.
If you unzip his jeans with your teeth, turn to page 22.
If you unzip his jeans with your teeth, turn to page 22.