she's bitter

Pat and I went to the mall today with the intent of buying Christmas gifts. And since the thickness of fellow shoppers slowed my pace down to that of a gaping tourist, it seems as though everyone had the same idea. I didn't end up buying anything because of what I lovingly call the "holiday paradox" -- in other words, any gift that you even briefly consider purchasing will cost exactly half of all of the money you have in your possession.

A new clothing store opened for business today called Forever 21. I saw a mannequin in the window wearing a skirt adorned with silver sequins. It defeated the purpose of clothing. If I were to wear a skirt such as that and then sit on Pat's lap, the seams would rip like dominos falling and suddenly I would be impregnated.

"That skirt sucks," I said.

Then! A ten-year-old girl walking in the opposite direction shrieked, "Oh, look at that skirt! I want it!"

Son of a --!

It isn't difficult to understand why women are often thought of so materialistically, like vending machines where, at the price of a mere compliment, you can buy sex as easily as a bottle of water. A few years ago Resa and I were in line at an ice cream parlor, and ahead of us were two girls who looked as if they were in the fifth grade. They were dressed in Abercrombie and slathered make-up on with butterknives, and wore arrogant frowns and held their chins high. But they weren't above ice cream. No one is above ice cream.

Save me the pain and write "ten cents" on your forehead with an indelible marker. It's cheaper than a skirt and will obliterate what little self-respect you have left. People sadden me.

Pat just called from work -- the radiator of his car was damaged when he attempted to drive over a bump. He should buy a new car. In September he took it in for repairs and had to shell out about two thousand dollars, which is two-thirds of the car's value. When repair expenses begin to outweigh the original price of the car, it's time to start shopping for a new means of transportation. Luckily, Pat has a AAA membership, so hopefully they can offer him some assistance.

I find that Pat's car has been rendered immobile after driving over a bump a bad sign, like when the school nurse had to take the elevator from the second to the first floor when Emily fainted alongside my desk this past week during health class.

A few hours ago my mom and I went to coffee, and on the way home we stopped by the grocery store to pick up a few items. The check-out lines were lengthy and people had to keep their hands on their merchandise to keep it from sliding out of the cart. Comparing the lines, I noticed one line in particular only had one man in it, who was in the process of collecting his change, bagging his groceries, and exiting the store. I approached the salesclerk and said, "Excuse me, is this line still open?"

Her eyes were glued to the price scanner, and she muttered, "I'm tryin' to, but you people keep comin'."

"Uh. All right." Sweet fuck.

My mom asked me whether or not the line was open.

I stopped to think. "I'm not sure. That woman is bitter."

But then she began motioning for other families to get in line, so about three people filed in line ahead of me.

That is all.