u s e y o u r h a n d s

Do old people still keep their savings in mattresses or the freezer? Did they ever? I have a little bit of money now and I decided to investigate housing options for said funds. My mattress was out. I don’t have a real mattress, just a shitty futon mattress, which isn’t a mattress at all, just a cloth envelope for rocks. I decided against the whole freezer thing. Early in life, I met a gypsy along the road who prophesied that a legion of frozen chicken breasts would rise up and bankrupt me. The only logical choice was the bank.

I haven’t had a bank account in a year or so. I prefer to deal on a cash-only basis as it prevents me from making short order of my limited funds. If I see two twenties in my hands, I like to hold on to them; however, if I’m holding a little plastic rectangle, game on. I chose Bank One, and so far, the excellent lever of service I’ve received totally trumps those fuckers at my last bank.

Yesterday, I decided to exercise my small amount of funds at a nearby shopping mall. I have been afraid of the Woodfield Mall since I moved here. I’ve heard stories of this mall, this huge, huge mall, with more chain stores and restaurants and people. But there was a store I really, really wanted to go to, and in all of Illinois, the only one is at the Woodfield Mall. I would brave this Woodfield Mall in order to get tights that fit and long skirts. Yes!

I would never visit any dense population center on the weekend. Every time I do this, I end up crying. I pulled in to a spot at Woodfield at a quarter to eight. The mall was sparsely populated and I powerwalked between marauding groups of teenagers and stationary old people. It seems that these two groups peacefully share the mall by completely ignoring each other’s presence.

Due to the bizarrely circuitous manner in which the glass and metal walkways were constructed, I had to consult a directory twice before I found myself in some sort of teen-themed corridor inhabited by Hot Topic, American Eagle Outfitters, and the Wet Seal. My target, a Hot Topic spin-off called Torrid, was here. Torrid’s a store, it seems, for the plus-size goth. While I am in no way a goth (and liking Morrissey a lot does not a goth make) and barely a plus anything, I like funky clothes that fit. Torrid has them.

I’m going to divert from my Shopping Journey as Interesting Blog Entry for a moment here to explain how I feel in the plus-size store. When I have occasion to go to a Lane Bryant or a Torrid, I feel tiny. I wear one of the smallest sizes in these stores and pants are always long enough without being crazy, tall-girl-store long. I don’t buy anything else at these stores but pants. Pants, pants, pants. I feel like a lithe gazelle, the pick of the savannah, in these stores.

But Torrid was great. They have cool shit at great prices. I picked up some glittery bits for my hair and a pair of fishnet stockings who’s crotch won’t hang down to my knees. I enjoy this store. I’m sure little portly girls with style across the land are jumping for joy.

Reading: Empire Falls by Richard Russo. I will begin this book today.

Opening: A savings account. Each dollar I save is one more minute I don’t have to spend in this hellhole.