I think I need to preface this rant by saying that I'm not out to bash anyone who dresses 'alternatively'. I have no problem with that. In fact, I was all punk-rocked out in high school. I won 'Most Bizarre' for my senior superlative in high school for fuck sake. What I have a problem with is dickish behavior. Yeah, I know - I'm a hypocrite sometimes.
Last Saturday, ML dragged me to the mall to help him look for a sports jacket. Normally, the only way I'll go to a mall is if I'm shopping for myself and I can't get it online. Or, as of late, if there is a Hot Topic involved.
Sadly, neither situation applied to this excursion but I bucked up and shuffled behind ML, keeping my witticisms [he calls them complaints for some reason] to a minimum.
But then, somewhere between me having a shoegasm at Macy's and embarrassing the crap out of ML at Footlocker by loudly exclaiming 'how fucking hard is it to scan a box and put it in a bag?! These sneakers are going to be out of style by the time I pay for them...' I discovered something else.
For those that don't know, Spencer's Gifts is a teen/adult store that sells really trashy junk like t-shirts with pot plants or naked ladies on them and fuzzy handcuffs or crotchless edible panties. It's like the gateway drug to the "real" dirty book store... but without any actual books (just like the real dirty "bookstore"!).
To ML's chagrin and my excitement, nestled between a lamp shaped like a Bud Light bottle and stand with edible massage oils, a paddle that said 'spanky' and some other dreck that I hope I never have the misfortune of laying my eyes on again, was the world's smallest collection of Twilight paraphernalia. We're talking minuscule, here. Twilight: The Game, some Twilight Sweethearts (not to be confused with SweeTarts), and a Twilight lunchbox.
Let me just add that it was after six o'clock when I made my twiscovery, which meant that legions of mini vans were dropping off their disgruntled, angst-ridden youth at the front door. Between the fourteen year old girl dressed like a cracked-out hooker and the goth chick who actually smirked at my outfit, I knew the clock was ticking and I had limited time before I would open my mouth and promptly be arrested. Or attacked.
That time frame shortened drastically when I realized that little Miss Goth Face wasn't the only one judging me.
A little piece of advice, you young little twits: Don't judge a judger. You think you're cute with your passive-aggressive behavior, don't you? You also think you're going to be tough by making a face or comment at me while surrounded by a gaggle of silly little friends. You somehow think I won't respond because I am an 'adult'.
Well, Buttercup, you're so wrong it's funny. I will embarrass the shit out of you if you push me. And I'll enjoy doing it. I'll be like a meaner, more potty-mouthed Kathy Bates in Fried Green Tomatoes and believe me you don't want to make me go there...
You raise your little eyebrow at me, I'm going to open my big fat mouth at you. I've had far more experience than you delivering justice to those in need of being kicked down a notch or two, and if you have the poor judgment to go head-to-head with me, I can guarantee that you will lose. Know what? My vocabulary is better than yours, too. I know curse words that would make your black nail polish peel. And you might not like my original 1970's brown, neon pink, and orange tunic but that doesn't change the fact that you're dressed like a slut. I mean, sheesh, put some clothes on. What is with these girls running around like little prostitots?
I'm only an asshole if you give me a reason to be an asshole. Judge all you want but be quiet about it.
But I digress.
ML slinks away when I pull out my cell phone to call STY.
Me - So, I'm at Spencer's -
STY - Ew, I'm sorry. And you are STILL jacket shopping?!
Me - They have Twilight: The Game and -
STY - Yes! I want it!
Me - So I should I get it?
STY - Are you actually asking that? Um, yeah.
Me - They have a lunch box, too. I don't know if it's worth it though... Unless it has an Edward thermos [balances game box on knee and wrestles open the lunchbox]. Score! An Edward thermos!
I ultimately decide that I don't need a Twilight lunchbox or an Edward thermos and I put it back [but I still want it]. I mean, what am I going to do, fill it with wine and bring it to my friends' houses? Or the New Moon premier? Oh, wait... dammit!
I'm racing around the store, clutching my prize and looking for more Twilight gear when I practically run into an overweight, heavily pierced female employee whose eyes were at half mast. I couldn't tell if she was stoned, mentally challenged, or the victim of a botched lobotomy. Or all of the above. Regardless, she definitely perked up enough to give me the hinky eye when I asked 'Do you have anymore Twilight merch?'
Clearly I have been judged and dismissed. Or executed, from the look on her face. I suppose my brightly colored top was like a beacon of hope in a sea of despair, naked lady pictures and pot leaves.
She waves a meaty mitt in the general direction of the whole fucking store. 'Over there.'
I debate telling her how useless she is, then decided that I didn't want to taint my sublime Twilight experience. Instead I smile, thank her (if ML had been around he probably would have fainted from shock; ditto for STY who would have probably tried to grab hold of me the second she cast her lazy gaze in my direction) and made my way to the counter with my Twi-loot. Nobody is going to rain on this Twitarded parade...
Day of Delirium #350 - Two Heart Cells Beating
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