Saturday, November 26, 2011
Monday, November 21, 2011
I am always getting emails explaining all sorts of reasons I need to boycott Target, but the biggest reason I might avoid Target this holiday season is the "Target Two-Day Sale Woman". This woman is the living embodiment of everything I hate about the holiday season. When I Googled the bitch to get the skinny on how other people feel about her, much to my surprise, there are people who LOVE this bitch.
The first thing I hate about the Target Two-Day Sale Woman is her fashion sense. High heels with a jogging suit? Seriously bad -- and are those pantie lines I spy? The Wilma Flintstone pearls don't help the outfit either. The a-line double knit red 60's airline stewardess and little scarf isn't much better.
Next thing I hate about the Target Two-Day Sale Woman is I believe she has a substance abuse problem. No way her adrenaline fueled behaviour is the merely the combination of too much coffee and holiday sugar. That's right: I suspect her of harboring an amphetamine habit the size of Santa's belt. I look forward to seeing this bitch locked up in Dr. Drew's "Celetrity Rehab" sometime early next year.
The thing she does with the frosting gun is kind of nasty. Has no one noticed this but me? Creepy as hell and they show this crap during prime time. Never mind the potty-mouth baby dolls, parents need to keep an eye on this dame.
Most of what I hate about the Target Two-Day Sale Woman is that she represents everything I HATE about the holidays. She IS the stores opening at ungodly hours in the morning luring mostly women, who have spent the day prior to Black Friday cooking, baking, entertaining, etc., from their warm well-earned slumber, into cold, crowded parking lots so they can compete with other exhausted consumers in a seasonal assault in the name of scoring the biggest bargains before they are gone. The whole thing makes me want to hide under the bed until the holidays are OVER.
Merry Christmas indeed.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Miss Phyllis and I were zooming through the back roads of Georgia on our way to another house during yet another move. At first I wasn't sure of what I had seen. What it looked like was two teams of Barbie dolls dressed in football uniforms squaring-off for the Superbowl on the somewhat busy intersection of a country highway. Miss Phyllis, also a purveyor of all things extraordinary turned to me in astonished glee. Indeed, we had both witnessed the same thing.
"I love the South." Miss Phyllis said.
This is just the sort of thing I live for. At first I thought maybe it was just some sort of Southern football thing, but the display changed though out the years. The display was somewhat legendary in that area of Georgia. Ask just about anyone about the Barbie display and they'd seen it. I appreciated it as just another piece of Southern eccentricity and imagined it a gazillion years from now as future archaeologists tried to determine just what it was and what it meant. Until I learned the full story behind the peculiar monument.
A week before the Bulldog and I had to move again I learned the truth behind the legendary Barbie display from my hairdresser.
"Oh!" she said when I told her about this crazy display. "That lady is famous. Do you know the story behind it?"
It seems the woman (we'll call her "Miss Belle" for purposes of this story) who lived in the house on that corner had cultivated some lovely and expensive bushes on the corner where the Barbie display now lived. One day the Georgia Department of Transportation (GDOT) determined that the bushes created a safety hazard. Without warning, GDOT removed the offending shrubbery without so much as a: "Ma'am, your bushes are blocking the view." Astonished at this gross violation of her personal rights, not to mention the downright bad manners of failing to inform her they would be removing her carefully cultivated greenery, Miss Belle hatched a plan. From that day forward, in protest against the almighty GDOT, Miss Belle orchestrated one crazy-assed Barbie display after the next. She has kept this up display for YEARS, changing it whenever she is so inspired. Neighbors have complained that display is tacky, but Miss Belle has stood her ground. The display stays.
As the Bulldog and I drove out of Georgia one last time during yet another move, I couldn't help but look for Miss Belle's display. I was not disappointed. There it was in all its plastic glory: The Barbie Beach and Bar-B Rodeo.
I love Miss Belle, whoever she is.