Thursday, January 5, 2012

Malls Can Kiss My Fat Ass Twice a Day... and Three Times on Sundays

Please be warned: this has nothing to do with my trials and tribulations as a freelance writer.

I hate strolling through the fucking mall.  Nevermind the fact that I'm anxiety-ridden, impatient and slightly claustrophobic (there's medication for all that), my issues with malls go deeper.  Don't get me wrong, I love to shop.  But, I'd rather drive and park in front of each store I go into.  All this walking-through-the-mall crap is bullshit and highly over-rated.  And, the older I get, the more passionately I want to blow those bitches to smithereens.

First of all, there are those pesky kiosks situatued... well.... EVERYWHERE... and the people running them are annoying, pushy assholes.  The super fun thing about them is that I seem to be a magnet for them.  They seek me out and offer me ProActiv for my PMS breakout... or fat burning cream for my belly rolls.... or hair extension clips for my thinning and graying hair.... or my favorite, miracle hand cream that claims to be a manicure in a bottle. And, when I kindly decline their fucking offers to beautify myself, they get all pissy and holler after me. Next time I go to the mall, I'm going to wear a shirt that says, "FUCK OFF KIOSK FREAKS".

Then, there are the teeny-boppers.  I get enough dose of teenager in my regular, daily life.  I don't need to be exposed to that shit while I'm having my "me-time," too.  All the giggling and sashaying and trolling is ridiculous!  I don't remember ever behaving like these kids do.  And, taking my teen spawn to the mall only makes the experience worse because we have to go into all the "cool" stores.  And by "cool" I mean "stupid, shitty and over-priced".  You know... the ones that are overly crowded and reek of cheap perfume and loud music.  Hollister, American Eagle, Abercrombie and Fitch, etc... everyone working in these places is a teenager, too. They don't know shit, they can't find shit, and it takes every ounce of patience in me not to smack them upside their big, empty heads.

Ok, I'm done.

But I'll leave you with this brilliantly written song:

 Foghorn Leghorn = Fucking Awesome!
Don't get me started on the cut-off uniform shirts!

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