Frankelstache

Life, America, Randomness

Posts Tagged ‘Shopping

My Fashion Halo, Part I

with 7 comments

As all three of you readers (may have) noticed, I haven’t written anything in awhile. The reason being that unlike my freelance days, full-time employment is a) exhausting, b) laborious and c) sucking every bit of inspiration and creativity out of me. It’s almost the best blowjob I ever got, and similarly, it’s going to be a mess once it’s over.

Nonetheless, all us dearly beloved have gathered here today to talk about fashion. Chic. Attire.

Working in a very fashion-progressive environment that almost forces one to express himself via clothing, turns every day into a struggling battle. Knock on wood, I’ve been blessed with having pretty much every material need taken care of throughout my life. But my wardrobe still resembles that of an 8 year-old kid in Angola. I have 3-4 tshirts, 2 pairs of pants and a handful of underwear. Shoes etc. were always somewhat of a privilege, probably because of the sizzling Israeli summers that required barefoot-ness. In any case, I had to get a real makeover before starting this thingy here in CO. This made The Woman I Love exceptionally ecstatic, but before the shopping spree began, I was dreading like an anal virgin, minutes before the lube comes out of the drawer.

So we went…and spent…and then spent some more….all in the name of making a good impression. Soon enough I was armed with a plethora of nakedness-hiding gear. The Woman I Love chose famous brands and contemporary designs, navigating between the need to hide my beer belly and the desire to emphasize my unibrow and nose-hair. It felt odd to wear all these clothes that have buttons and neckbands. Still feels odd. I wonder if I’ll ever get used to it. The saddest thing about all these fashion shenanigans is that I ended up still looking like a shlump. Okay, stop for a minute – I make this sound way worse than it is. It’s still Advertising, and it’s still casual. No one wears a suit or anything, unless they’re trying to be ironic. We’re talking basic polos, some sweaters and reasonably tight jeans. Still, I can wait to hopefully finish these three months and go back to wearing my 3-4tshirts.

I have much more to add about general American dress code, and general fashion tips from my inner Tim Gun, but I’ll spare them for now. Maybe in part II of this.

Frankelstache out.

P.S. happy Holocaust day!

Advertisements

Written by Frankelstache

April 12, 2010 at 8:58 am

A Day At The Mall

leave a comment »

The woman I love sent me on an errand to fix the squeaking noise in her red automobile. Predictably, the guys in the garage found no squeaking noise, but were nonetheless happy to inform me that a full set of new tires is required. So there you have it: you go to the garage with problem X, and find solution to problem Y. Can’t believe I fell for a trick older than Sophia Lauren.

Refusing to be affected by this unexpected $505 garage visit, I dragged my ass to the nearest shopping Mall for some free people-watching. Ahhhh…. The Mall. Such a lovely blend of homeless men, senior citizens in sweatpants, white trash hoe’s and 20-something year old Latinos dressed in baggy pants and  XXX Large wife beaters. Also in the Mall, you will surely encounter a never-ending scent of baked Choros, loud teenagers and security guards riding Segways.

Entering the Mall, I immediately walk toward the restroom in order to mark my territory and loosen up the leftovers from last night’s dinner. 4 pages into my book, approximately 2 pounds lighter and 8 toilet paper sheets later, I exit the restroom and start wandering around the vicinity. I scope the brands and franchisees, only to stop in bewilderment as I witness a store whose sole purpose appears to be selling people on the idea of joining the Army. Oh man, that’s even weirder than the time I had to witness my mom lifting the woman I love at the gym. I heard about impulse shopping, and sure, I’ve practiced my share of idiotic purchases right near the register. But even if you combine all the beef jerky I bought just because it was placed strategically, all the trashy tabloids and all the Aids cookies* I bought on a whim, altogether is not as stupid as walking into the Mall in search of a new shirt or maybe in hope to pacify your child, and in there – sandwiched between these great marvels listed above – deciding to join the Army. Sweet Moses father of Jesus – how insanely naive can these people be? Sorry, but this Army store disturbs me so much that I must leave this subject behind in fear of reoccurring nightmares. I must stop conversing with this Sergeant without much ado.

The cool thing about the Mall though, is that it’s always been a place of innovation in terms of battery-charged vehicles that move fat people around (I like to call them ‘ObeseMobiles’). No other country in the world offers such a variety of ways to stroll the Mall. Since childhood I was fascinated by these awe-inspiring ObeseMobiles, an invention that appeared to be created just so it’ll be easier for fat people to continually spend their dough on dough(nuts). Awesome.

As I continue touring, I find an earth-shattering discovery. This Mall has a Wall-Mart store inside of it. Ah…Wall-Mart…. The bad guys. The bullies of corporate America. It’s actually been awhile since I entered a Wall-Mart store. Almost 4 years. Now like every other socially-aware kid, I too have once found anti-globalization books to be semi-erotic. I too have read and heard about the wrongdoings of this retail giant. And as I entered the store, all of that (mostly true) propaganda was running through my mind. I was expecting to find a young Chinese boy tormented between the aisles, the store manager to be drinking blood and the employees to be zombies that are scarier looking than Paula Abdul in Drag. Instead, I found four white trash moms, all with different variations of written tattoos across their chest/ necks, 6 socks for only $6, and a bottle of vitamin water for a buck. I thought to myself that this is a damn good deal. So I paid for all of the above (minus the white trash moms and their tattoos – the woman I love wouldn’t approve).

Did it make me feel bad that I’m helping this evil corporation? Yeah, maybe a little, cause obviously I’m writing about it. But in this economy, 6 socks for $6? – Screw Michael Moore.

*You know, cookies that you buy in order to cure Aids or whatever. The checkout lady at Safeways sells them to me all the time for $2 a piece. They’re actually not that bad.

Written by Frankelstache

March 9, 2009 at 11:44 am