There’s No Place Like Home

I was invited to the New York Philharmonic on Saturday. 

Ok. 

It was with my plastic surgeon date.

Season tickets.

Front row center. 

Mezzanine.

It’s not everyday I get to attend the symphony, so I was breaking out some fabulous duds.  I decided to wear my black knit YSL dress, Versace coat, Chanel bag, and Christian Louboutin Lady Claude Swarovsky crystal peep toe pumps in fire opal red.

I must say, I looked fabulous.

Everything turned out great.  Hair, makeup, and outfit.

Jumped in a cab, and off I went.

Asked the cab driver to take it slow.  I didn’t want to be early.

How often does that happen?

Turns out I arrived about ten minutes early.  I hate being early for a date.  I much prefer to make a grand entrance.

I also dislike being late.  But I’d rather be a minute or two late than be there waiting for a date.  Don’t wanna look too desperate.  Even if I am.

So, instead of going into the restaurant, I dipped into Duane Reed to kill a little time.

I looked around for something my Mom needed, then roamed around.  I was a little overdressed for Duane Reed.  But, whatever.

I stepped up to the cashier to pay for my purchase.  There were some folks ahead of me, so I waited patiently.  As they left I stepped up to the counter, the salesgirl shuffled away from the counter.

I thought she was going off duty, and I was going to be pissed.  But then she said, “I just have to come out so I can see your shoes.  I saw you walking around earlier and needed to take a closer look.  They are so beautiful!  They look like Dorothy’s ruby slippers in Wizard of Oz.”

I thanked her, grabbed my bag and made my way up the escalator.  As I approached the revolving exit doors another young lady complimented my Louboutins.

I met my date.

After dinner, I hit the restroom.  A woman in there commented as well.

Well, my date didn’t mention anything.  Hopefully he was interested in more than my shoes!  And I don’t mean my chicken neck.

Oh Rats!

Today I had to run some errands during lunch hour.

I had to go to the bank, pick up sunscreen for my trip (yey!), and grab a salad.

It was a beautiful afternoon. The sun was bright, the weather is getting warmer, I was able to zip up my favorite emerald green Prada pencil skirt this morning. (Thanks Weight Watchers!)

So far, it’s a good day.

So good, in fact, that I was practically skipping down the street to the bank, in my stunning turquoise blue spring coat, black suede platform wedges, and my Chanel rhinestone shades.

As I was saying, I was frolicking across 23^rd Street. Suddenly I spotted a small animal running towards me, trying to cross 23^rd Street as well!

Is it a cat?

Is it a dog?

Is it a squirrel?

Oh no! I think it’s a …

Dare I say it??

… RAT!?!?!

Yes. It is!!!

And it is coming right for me!

Then it swerved to the right. I swerved left.

Then it swerved to the left. I swerved right.

I wasn’t walking anymore. I was sort of jumping and screaming at the same time.

Then it came B-line for me.

Right in the middle of crossing 23^rd Street, I started skipping, hopping, and screaming simultaneously.

Can you get a visual?

That thing came so straight for me that I jumped over it to avoid it running right up my black suede platform wedges and emerald green Prada skirt.

There I am, hopping and screaming in the middle of the street as cars waiting at the red light!

I could see people looking at me and giggling, but I couldn’t help it. There was nothing I could do. It was goin’ down.

As I passed the rat and made it to the opposite street for safety, I was still screaming a little, giggling, and jump skipping. Then I made several grossed out, ewww body shakes.

More pedestrians on the corner saw it and were also amused.

Some bald, leather jacket, motorcycle guy turned to look at me as I approached the corner of 23^rd Street and 3^rd Avenue. He chuckled. “Wow, that’s something you don’t expect to see!”

I turned to him and agreed.

Have the rats now left the subways and taken over the streets? Do we have to step aside as THEY pass?

The streets are not big enough for the both of us Mr. Rodent!!

Another leisurely lunch hour stroll gone to shit.

Are You Stalking Me Or Are You Just An Asshole 1?

They say, “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery” but it pisses me off. Did you ever have a friend or family member who copied everything you did or wore? I get that a lot. I had a clothing designer friend who would wear everything I wore. I’d be wearing something different and original when we’d go out. Next time I saw her, she’d be wearing the same thing. It became a private joke after a while.

Ok. That’s clothing. But listen to this story.

I really worked hard to get myself out of the rat-infested hole-in-the-wall walk up on the way upper, Upper East Side of Manhattan, I was living in. I saved my money for years in a mutual fund account so that one day, I could own my own apartment. (Well, if prince charming didn’t save me first.) We all know how that turns out. I won’t go into it right now. All you need to know is he didn’t show, so now I’m purchasing a place. Alone.

I mean, I worked my butt off to find something good. I researched for a couple of years, and I pounded the pavement for at least six months. Saw some really scary, shitty places. I finally found a fabulous one-bedroom coop, with an elevator and a doorman. Exactly what I was looking for.

I have a cousin, Yenti, who is something of an opportunist. She’s two years older than me. As children, she would always treat me like she was so much older than me, which I always found annoying. As adults, she sort of kept that up. She was the type that would steal your boyfriend or use you. She’d use people to do whatever; get into a club, get into school, get a job. But of course, she’d never admit it. But she was my cousin and I loved her.

Oh yeah, Yenti is single.

I must have seen her at some family event. As usual, we were catching up. I mentioned my new Manhattan apartment. (She lived with her mother, in New Jersey.) Ok, so maybe I was bragging a little. But I deserved it. I worked hard for it and was proud. She asked me what street it was on. I must have told her. No big deal. Everyone was sharing, ‘What are you doing? What are YOU doing, etc.’

Several months later, my aunt, Yenti’s mom passed away. At the funeral Yenti asked about my apartment. She told me she really like the block and the building. She’d done a drive by to check it out.

Huh?

Do people really do that if they are not stalkers? It freaked my sister, Hadassah and me out a little.

Years passed.

My back goes out of whack again. I’m home from work. In bed, to rest it a few days prior to my nephews wedding that was to take place that weekend.

I’m home in bad. The front desk buzzes me. I hobble over to answer. (That will teach me to ever answer!) “Hi Blue Shoes Manhattan (BSM). Your cousin is here. Do you want to talk to her?” the doorman says.

“What??”

“Hi BSM! It’s Yenti!! A funny thing just happened. I’m in the city looking for apartments, and I just happened to be looking in yours. What a coincidence! Can I come up and see you?”

“Huh? … Yeah…. Sure. .. Great. … Can’t wait.”

I thought, “Shit!”

I said, “Sure. Come on up.”

So, of course I’m in my pajamas and I’m hunched over. Yenti’s all glammed to the max. Hair, full make up, heels.

“Oh, BSM! You’re so cutie cute cutsie!! How are you? Does your backy wacky hurt you? Poor thing. So, show me around your apartment. A friend of mind and I are thinking of sharing a studio in this building. What are the odds it would be yours”?

“Yeah. What are the odds”? I groaned. But I was thinking, “Fuck you bitch!”

“What? What are you in college or something? Why are you sharing an apartment with a married friend? Anyway, you don’t want to live here. It’s roach and rat-infested.” Well I had to say something!! I really didn’t want cousin Yenti living downstairs from me. I had to think quick. I felt like crap. My back hurt. I just wanted her out of there. She wasn’t getting the hint.

She left.

As I limped back to bed, I glanced in the mirror. I was white as a ghost, I smelled, and my hair was standing straight up into the air about three feet.

Ugh! Why me God!!

I called Hadassah, immediately. She was like, “What the …? You have to do something!”

So I decided to contact her sister Tovah, and tell her how I felt. And to try and talk Yenti out of this. I sent her an email. She didn’t write back.

The rehearsal dinner was two days later. Yenti was there. I gave it to her straight. “You know, I’m really uncomfortable about you moving into my building.”

“Really, why?”

“I’m there, doing my thing on my own. You could have asked how I felt about it before you did anything.”

“Really?? Oh, the thought never crossed my mind. No hard feelings, right?”

“Yeah, right.” I fucking hate her!

It was too little too late. I think she already left a deposit.

Myself and my whole immediate family were pissed. Even the bride. That’s my girl!

We barely gave Yenti the time of day at the wedding.

Fast forward a few months. I get a voice mail. From Yenti. She leaves me this elaborate message happily announcing that she’ll be attending her closing soon and do I have any pointers.

I didn’t return her call.

All I know is,

I gotta move.

Saks and the City

As previously mentioned, I’m in the market for a new Chanel bag. Ever since I returned my turquoise metallic quilted 2.55 Chanel flap bag, I have regretted it. I miss it very much.

Yada yada yada.

As a result of this obsession, I have a few stories.

I like to do my homework when I’m in the market for a purchase. So, I go shopping. One day I popped into Saks Fifth Avenue to take a look at the Chanel department. I was inspecting some of the cheaper bags. About $2200. Hmm. A bargain!

Suddenly, a salesgirl was on me. She was statuesque, blond, well dressed, face totally made up, and striking. Her name was Svetlana and she had a thick Russian accent. I made the mistake of telling her that I was looking for a classic flap bag. She ran away for a minute and came back with a black calfskin single flap jumbo bag with silver hardware. It was gorgeous.

She told me it was on sale. Only $4000.

Wow! What a deal!

Except I was looking for a jumbo black calfskin double flap with gold hardware. But it WAS a bargain. The one I wanted would be more.

It was lovely.

I looked at myself in the mirror for a while. And I looked good!

Svetlana needed to excuse herself for a moment to leave me with the Chanel. Before she left she warned, “Do not let go of the bag. People are looking at it.”

I had noticed that another salesgirl kept approaching Svetlana and whispering something, then looked at some other customers. Then walked away.

They were staring. Not at me.

At Chanel.

It was freaky.

And such pressure!

While Svetlana was gone, I was trying to figure out what to do. The bag WAS a good price. But it wasn’t exactly what I had wanted. For that money, it really should be exactly what I want. Right?

But then again, it was fabulous.

Maybe I should just buy it. The vultures are circling. Omg!

The other salesgirl was hovering.

Customers were still staring.

They were like zombies in a Dawn of Dead re-make.

I was sweating.

My heart was racing.

The other salesgirl passed and stared at me again.

As the time passed, I began to calm down a bit.

I thought, I need to either buy this thing or get the heck out of here. But do I have a credit card I can use? Do I have the money? No! Ugh!

If I leave now, I won’t have the pressure of Svetlana and her damn accent trying to convince me to buy this thing.

I kind of had a tiny angel on one shoulder telling me to leave and a red devil on my other shoulder telling me to buy it.

Damn them!

I put down the Chanel and hightailed it outa there.

As I exited the large double doors and stepped onto Fifth Ave.

I was able to breathe.

Holy shit, that was close!

Is There Life After Shopping?

My life is empty.

Since I was forced to give up shopping.

As you well know, I live and love to shop. For clothing. Footwear, in particular. And not any old footwear, mind you. Very expensive designer footwear.

Clothing comes second.

Food shopping.... last. At the hate end of the shopping spectrum of my love for shopping.

If that is at all possible.

My fetish for fabulous and fantastically expensive footwear got me into a little credit card debt, as my pockets lack my lavish fashion sense.

As you also know, I not onlyl had to stop shopping, but I was forced to return some of my prized posessions, including my quilted turquoise metallic Chanel 2.55 Re-Issue classic flap bag. Which, I might add, I miss very much 'til this day. And continue to dream of the day in which I can buy it back. the thought of the return still haunts my dreams. But my bank account balance haunted them more. The the dreaded, emotional return.

Since then, I supposed it's less than a year now, I have more or less quit shopping. As one quits smoking or drinking or crack.

In the words of Whitney Houston, "Crack is whack."

Needless to say, it has been very difficult.

So, I'm in better financial shape right now, but I'm still an addict who missese her fix.

The new job's been a good thing because I'm traveling a lot. So much so, that I literally have no time to shop. No place to shopo. Various family birthday gifts have consisted of aipport T-shirts and refrigerator magnets that say, "Welcome to Iowa!" with like a picture of a giant corn on the cob or tornado on it.

Birthday cards have been replaced with postcards from Minneapolis or Idaho, with a huge potato on it.

I bought a really cool cuff bracelet for myself at the Indiannapolis airport in June. I mean, really, that's the extent of my shopping sprees. And I really don't count that at tall. Bergdorf Goodman it is not!

Therefore, my life is empty.

I believe I was shopping because my life was empty. I filling a void. The void of no man, no Pop, and no children. Now, to that, I add no shopping. And no quilted turquoise metallic Chanel 2.55

Re-Issue classic flap bag.

So, I have a void from filling my void!

No wonder I have chronic back pain.

However, I am well on my way to zero credit card debt, what with all the changes. And I surprisingly occasionally do not have the urge to shop.

I am able to cheat a little bit. With this new job, I had to buy office supplies to set up my home office. All of which the company reimbursed me for. So, hey, I'm not buying Christian Louboutin Prive pumps, but it IS still shopping none the less. And I've had a love of office supplies since I set up my own play office as a kid. (While other girls were setting up a play kitchen, I was setting up a play business in my basement.)

I need to buy a laptop business rolling luggage bag. I get to spend $150 on it. Haven't bought one yet. I'm holding out for the perfect blue one. Whick doesn't exist because, they are all black. My theory for this is that men invent those for businessmen, not business women. Therefore, you can't find them in cute colors. Maybe there's a market? Maybe I need to start a business, like the Spanx lady!

In the meantime, I can't bring myself to purchase an ugly black bag to travel with, even if somebody else is paying for it. Instead, I continue to use my blue and purple leopard print Betsey Johnson tote.

In a few months I will be paid more. I'm not as yet, because I needed to go through this training process for the first three months, and then pass an exam. Well, I have passed, which hopefully means I will be back in the black in the near future. Hoopefully, by Christmas, so that my fam can get better gifts than they did for their birthdays this year!

But the first thing I want to do is buy back my quilted turquoise metallic Chanel 2.55 Re-Issue classic flap bag.