So, truthfully it came as no great shock when I received this in the mail the other day:
Yes, Gil was late with his child support yet again. Now the delightful thing about living in the great state of Or-ee-gone is that when one is late with their support they get their ass cheeks slapped with a $200 fine and a letter to their employer telling them what a douchebag they are. So, seeing as I had this sudden $200 windfall this month I did what any responsible single parent would do: I took my ass to the mall, y'all.
Now, shopping is cathartic for me. It is the one time when I can breathe deeply and know that I am among my people; a safe haven, if you will. And it's not just me! Science has proven that acquiring pretty, shiny things releases dopamine in your brain. Ahh, dopamine. . .sweet, sweet dopamine. . .This is the shit your brain produces in response to sex, recreational drugs, or an In-N-Out burger with extra bacon. It serves all kinds of functions related to behavior, cognition, movement, and other important things like keeping the drool inside your mouth and preventing you from smacking your child like a ten-dollar whore when he's being wicked annoying. But most importantly, dopamine is the gatekeeper to rewards and punishments, a system it uses to motivate us to, among other things, explore, learn and acquire new stuff. . .preferably somewhere with a food court and a Nordstrom Rack.
Despite being about a social as an agoraphobic with Tourette's, I hate to shop alone. It is so much more fun when you have someone supportive and loving to codependently support your negligent consumerism, so today I invited someone to join me that I knew would be honest, caring, and make the day even more glorious. So, of course, I brought Nathan Fillion.*
*Although he was ten minutes late meeting me at Starbucks. That irrepressible scamp!
After sufficiently caffeinating ourselves, Nathan and I strolled hand-in-hand to the third member of my Holy Trinity: H&M.*
*The first two being Starbucks and Target, duh!
I was initially frustrated at the lack of selection and was momentarily considering filing a formal complaint over the amount of navy and gray in this season's palatte because, hello! I am SO not a Summer or a Winter, when Nathan called my attention to some darling sequined tanks.
Oh, Nathan. . .you had me at 'sequined'. I am like a goddamned magpie; anything that sparkles, glitters, or shimmers is going to find its way into my possession come Hell or high water. I'd like to think this is a pretty natural reaction; most people like shiny things. Hell, my friend Max swear his car runs better after it's been washed and waxed. "There's no way this can be the same piece of shit Honda CRV I was driving this morning! Look how shiny it is!" So, naturally I feel about three inches taller and twenty pounds lighter when wearing sequins which may explain why my closet looks like I've been shopping with RuPaul.
After H&M, Nathan was feeling a bit peckish, so we headed to the food court for some sustenance.
Sure, we drew a few stares, but that's what one can expect when dining with a celebrity of his caliber. I politely turned away some onlookers whom I was sure would be asking for autographs and declined a bystander's offer to give me the name of a good psychotherapist. He must have thought I needed counselling to deal with the pressure of being a celebrity's girlfriend. How sweet!
After lunch Nathan decided that I should treat myself to shoes as well because, damn it! He's a giver like that! Honestly, I was shocked, because most men don't give a shit about shoes. In fact, the average man owns no more than seven pairs of shoes while the average woman owns somewhere between a shit ton and "oh my God I can't believe you have twelve pairs of black shoes, and why do you need four pairs of boots, and what the hell is a 'mule' anyway"? OK, technically the average American woman owns nineteen pairs of shoes.*
*Nineteen? Pfft! Amateurs.
In much the same manner that men don't get the religious experience that is the perfect pair of quality footwear, women don't understand why men are physically and emotionally incapable of giving a single shit about them. Here's why, ladies. Men don't notice shoes because they are nowhere near a woman's breasts, face, or ass. If we started wearing them around our neck, men may take notice, but until then your zapatos are not even on his friggin' radar.
As the day drew to a close, I could tell that Nathan was growing tired, and he suggested that we head for home to snuggle in front of the fire and eat Thai food while watching "Firefly". . .again. I wasn't really in a Pad Thai or sci fi mood but true love is about compromise, people! Besides, I just can't resist Nathan when he holds me in his arms and whispers sweet nothings into my ear.