Malls Scare Me

Yo. Wuzzup? You know who I hate? I hate the guy from the Spence Diamonds ad on the radio right now. He sounds like such a smug little weasel. Like he's wearing kahki pants with pleats. And brown leather deck shoes. And one of those ugly t-shirts with the little femmey collar. Smirking. You can hear the smirking. I swear. He makes me not want diamonds. Okay, now I'm getting a little carried away. I mean, it's not the diamonds fault that he sucks. Why punish them? Did I mention I like diamonds? I also like my doglet. Which is why I feel quite sad that she launched herself into a tub full of really, really hot water the other day and scalded herself. With much yelping and scrabbling of claws and whatnot. It wasn't nearly as much fun as you might think it would be. Poor little doglet. She's okay though. And no, I didn't find a bun big enough to put my boiled weiner in. People think they're sooo funny. And I bought my first pair of stiletto heels yesterday to wear with my pink sequined New Years dress (is it really pink Senor? you just don't know). It was exciting. Now ask me if I can walk in them. Tee hee. Um, not so much. But as long as I stand absolutely still and lean against the wall it's all good. And they look supa sexy. I'm kidding (but not about the supa sexiness - they're some hot shoes my friends). I can walk. Just not with what you would call grace. Or even coordination. But I'm working on it. I'm sure by downstairs neighbours can attest to that. You gotta love hardwood floors. Now, what is it about Christmas that makes people so damn bitchy? I love Christmas. I'm a single, separated, 30-something year old woman, living with a small dog in Duncan of all places and I still love Christmas! Hello, prezzies! So what's the problem? I was in the mall today and I thought people were going to kill each other. Which given the selection of people at the Mayfair Mall in Victoria might not be an entirely bad thing but I digress. So I'm in the mall, malling around (I hate the mall) and all around me were frazzled moms hissing at their children (because a really angry mom doesn't shriek, she hisses) while death gripping their ears or arms or in one case their face. It was scary. And then I had to shove one vapid mouthbreather out of my way in Le Chateau because apparently me standing directly in front of her saying excuse me in my super friendliest voice while trying to squeeze past her and her 8 million kids (each from different fathers I'm sure) and stacks of hootchie wear while she examined yet another must have mini (or was it a tube top? it's so hard to tell) that she really shouldn't have been looking at at all (as with spandex, the mini is a privelege, not a right) wasn't a clear enough indicator that her giant trailer park ass was blocking the entire aisle and she should perhaps get the hell out of my way. In retrospect I probably shouldn't have shoved her. Her herd of little monsters could easily have taken me down and I'd've disappeared beneath a pile of tiny halter tops and glitter sweaters never to be heard from again. The mall is a dangerous place. Not for the faint of heart. And now I must Buffy. I'm bored and tired but it's too late to nap so Buffy it is. Who doesn't love Buffy? Lesbians, that's who. I don't even know what that means. Okay bye!