Wednesday, December 18, 2002


Now that the semester is, at long last, over with a big "Oh!", I could finally get a start on my Christmas shopping. And where else would I go but the downtown Filene's Basement?

Now, for those of you unfamiliar with this Boston phenomenon, the downtown Filene's Basement is a store like no other. Racks and racks and bins and bins of fine and cruddy merchandise, marked down another 25% for every week it's been there. Oh, the pushing, the shoving, the Cole Hahn handbags for $40.

So, there I am, on a diligent search for Christmas gifts. (Of course, I did get a thing or two for myself. I felt a flutter of guilt at that, but I mean, who knows what I want for Christmas better than I?) During the time I spent at Filenes, I had my stuff stomped on (I had set it down while I was trying on a coat and someone stomped RIGHT on it!), was practically assualted over not getting "far enough" out of someone's way (for which, I assure you, she received that no-Krispy-Kreme tongue lashing meant for Sean....), and got to watch the dismay of Filene's Virgins.

Now, as I said, Filene's Basement is a store like no other. One reason I deem it as such is that its fitting rooms, rather than being the usual rows of locking stalls, consist of one giant room equipped with mirrors and hooks. Yep, you do your thing in front of the world. I'm really not bothered by this. But when people who aren't expecting it walk in...well, let's just say that hijinx can ensue.

Well, Filene's was pretty much a success story. I got some stuff I needed to get. So, the next stop was Strawberries, where I was hoping to pick up a copy of Best in Show for my mom, who is a dog show enthusiast herself (and yes, they are really that insane, but that's another story...). Lucky for me, I nabbed the last one! Hells yeah!
I hit numerous other stores, my adventures in each individual one something I won't subject you to. For instance, Aldo seems to have an obsession with Britney Spears, which did not make me want to buy their shoes. I longingly caressed a pair of over-the-knee boots, then shrugged my shoulders at the jeans I was wearing and left for the next place.

I also tried in vain to replace my favorite jeans, which were rendered non-wear-to-work-able when I slipped on a patch of ice the other night, fell, and ripped out the knee. (Hmmm. That's too humiliating to mention. Maybe I should have said "I was fighting off a pack of rapid wolves that were attacking an infant, when...") No luck.

God, shopping is exhausting. I ended up famished and queued up in line at Wendy's. How exactly this happened, I'm unsure.
Fast food is kind of an odd thing for me. I don't like it. In fact, since I was a vegetarian for so long, my first instinct is that I "can't" eat most of it. But, every now and again, I end up furtively shoving something greasy, paper-wrapped, and gross into my mouth; praying all the while that none of my Health Communication classmates happen to walk by.
It was so last night. I got the #1, NOT "biggie-sized", thank you very much. (Like it doesn't have enough calories as is? I need MORE?)
It wasn't good.
I ended up throwing half of it away, fearful that if I crammed too much of it into my mouth, I'd no longer be able to fit into the Donna Karan blazer I had just snagged for a steal at Filene's.

So, I was finished. I forgot to stop by Filene's on the way home and pick up a rolling duffle for my flight. Damn, I'll have to stop by again today.

So, that's my story.

You were expecting more, weren't you? Like for me to tie it all together, or make some observation about the over-commercialization of Christmas, or something?

Nope. Not gonna.

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