Jesus. Look at them. I hate people who just don't stop smiling. I mean, really? What delicious benzodiasapine are you all on? There are starving children in Ethiopia. Polar bears are eating each other while Klondike Bars lie in puddles. Michael Jackson is touring again. There are people passing you by who think that there's actually some kind of bean in a Vanilla Bean Frappuccino (true story)! And you just stand there in a politically correct diverse group, with your perfectly-mixed-breed dog, smiling to yourselves, wearing your Old Navy clothes (which are always so weirdly proportioned that the few I actually like never fit me). And 3.5 kids in the scene! What the hell? Where's the barbecue and Arbor Mist, you bastards? I bet you're gonna have fancy Jello-molds too. And Neil Diamond on the stereo (you do know that he sucks, right?). Stop deluding yourselves, Suburbia! Life is tragic. It has weird smells. I hope one of your kids sprains an ankle on the Slip'n'Slide.
Kiosks are the evil trolls of the mall. They're always around the corner, waiting for you and your unsuspecting children, ready to steal your souls and curse you with senseless trends and tacky, over-priced products. Like Wind Spinners... 
"Ooh. Look at the shiny..."
They lurk outside the food court and in front of your favorite stores. If you walk quickly and don't look at them, you may escape. Sometimes they call out to you, nail-buffer in hand. You must not oblige them. They will hypnotize you, manipulating your impulses with bright colors and demonstrations of their magic tricks. You will end up buying Lucky Eyes, silk wrap skirts, hermit crabs, back-scratchers, steam-irons, or worst of all, Crocs. You will realize only when it's too late that you have paid too much for mere novelties, or thrown away a week's worth of what could have been coffee or gas money. Then you will walk past the dollar store, and see the same hot pink Crocs (which you shouldn't have bought anyway) being sold for the price they're really worth. You will bite into that "gourmet" cupcake and realize you could've bought a box of cake mix for the same price and had twelve cupcakes that taste the same! Tragedy!
Do not give them a chance! Pretend to be on your cell phone; act like you are blind, deaf, or foreign; make yourself busy and hit your child! Do not succumb to the retail trolls! Save yourself...
Dear Sir,
It's been such a pleasure meeting you and your wife. You seem like a lovely, mismatched middle-aged southern couple. I've enjoyed talking to your wife about the education system and the progression of the women's movement. (She's pretty intelligent, how'd you manage to snag that?) And you have also been enjoyable to talk to-- you apparently have a lot of experience in bullshitting people. I can appreciate that, as well as the relationship advice you tried to give me; sure, I may find it pretty useless, but I can see you're just trying to be nice and that it's not your fault your perception of relationships is so dated and stagnant. Perhaps you'd be interested in the Ashley Madison Agency? Oh, and don't worry, I already know the bartender just wants some tang. Men are like that, right? By the way, sorry to burst your lesbian-porn fantasy bubble-- my friend and I have not engaged sexually. I know, hard to believe. I guess not all girls have sexy pillow fights. And thank you so much for the wine you bought for us. It's not everyday a rotund, married middle-aged man buys a couple of young gals a drink. I do love a good shiraz.
But please, if you don't mind...
Stop. Touching me.
Thank you.
I found these abandoned items last night while closing at Starschmucks.
Really, people? You can't clean up after yourselves a little bit? You didn't even take your study papers. Did Abuela call and say she broke her hip, causing you to flee in desperation, forgetting everything else in your life? Or did you just meander away, thinking, "Oh, the supercool Starbucks peeps will clean up after me. That's their job, to give me over-priced, over-sugared, under-caffeinated hot milk and then pick up my crap. Like mom."
You know what?
NO!
It is not overtly in our job description to pick up your trash (and other materials such as school hand-outs that are not Starbucks-related.) Sure, we are supposed to go around and wipe the tables, sweep the floor, straighten things out. Yeah, if a handicapped customer can't really make it to the trash can, we'll throw out their cups and do whatever else they need. That doesn't make it okay to leave your mess behind so carelessly. At least consolidate your garbage and put the wrappers and napkins in your cups. Do something. We're not bussers. This isn't Denny's. We don't come around with the big dish tray and pick up the remains of your consumption. There's a reason Starbucks kills thousands of trees to make paper cups-- so you can conveniently throw them away wherever there is a trash can, because you're big kid now. And I know there are... [doing mental count] ...one, two, three, four, five... at least five trash cans available to customers at my Starbucks, and more outside around campus. Use them, dingbats!
I'm accustomed to evangelicals. Evangelicals as in, "Have you heard the good word, my friend?" My mom is one. She likes to buy me little books (like The Da Vinci Deception) and stuffed bears from the LifeWay Christian Store. And after a few months, I like to give them to Goodwill. (Don't worry, Mum will never read this.) It's not just because I've been resigned from Christianity for nearly ten years. I don't want a whole bunch of stuff lying around if I'm not going to use it.
Anywho, evangelicals. They're not only in my family, but all over Miami, because in case you didn't know, Hispanics are so Christian it hurts. Kidding, please don't douse me in holy water. But it's pretty common to have some kind of "missionary" experience in this city. A teenage girl at Barnes & Noble was very persistent with me one evening, returning even after I declined her mini-sermon. Twice. That was fun. Like being flogged. (Obviously not everyone is like that girl. I think most would get the message when one is interested or not.) And of course, it's always a Christian sect. Mormon, Jehovah's Witness, Lutheran, etc. In Broward County, where there's a bagel shop on every street, no Jew has ever tried to convert me.
But on campus at FIU, I have observed, and been approached by what I like to call "yoga thumpers". They walk around with Hindu scripture, asking if you're familiar with yoga and reincarnation. They're exceedingly soft-spoken. I'm pretty sure they ask for donations (donation to what, I don't know/remember). The best part is they're white. I have been approached a total of three times. The first time (which was last year) I thought, "Hey, this scenario is familiar. But wait, that's not a bible!" The second time (earlier this semester) I assured the guy that I had already talked to one of them in the past. The third time, before he even said anything, I just told him, "You guys got me yesterday." Before I met the yoga thumpers, I was already into karma and learning about reincarnation. I already own a copy of the Bhagavad Gita, which sits on my bookshelf like the family bible that never gets read. I had even named one of my kittens Shiva but then he freakin died a week later. Because I'm white like that. Yet these guys are still annoying to me. Frankly, I like learning about all that dharma schmarma and krishna krunch on my own. The more they hunt me down, the less attractive it is. Besides, why would the culture that spawned the Kama Sutra and Tantric sex need its own evangelists?
::sigh::
Honestly, I don't understand. Did I miss something? Can someone tell me why these damn family stickers on car windows are so popular? Am I the only one who wants to sneak around a parking lot and place an ominous X over random sticker-family members?
I know this little fad has been going on for a while now, maybe a couple of years or more. But I have to talk about it. My main question is, Why would you advertise your family like that? For one, it's just annoying, like the parents who send album-loads of baby pictures to their family and friends (your kid can shit on the toilet now, congrats). Secondly, it sometimes feels like the beholder of the stickers is boasting some kind of social perfection- "Check it out, 2.5 kids and a dog! Quintessential suburbanite, bitches!" And on that note, how does one not feel like a sickening sugar-coated cliche? Beaver Cleaver could kick your ass. Then what about the people who have but one or two stickers? They're just asking for pity, especially if that one sticker is of their dog.
But more than anything, I question the logic behind this fad. The first time I saw these stickers, however long ago that was, the first thought that came to my head was, "Now if I were a predator..." Call me cynical, evil, disturbed, whatever. If I were a predator out on the road, these stickers are all I'd keep my eye out for, because then I'd know which cars lead to households with plenty of possessions, and if there are any kids or teens for the taking. With any luck, the school at which the children are "Honor Students" will be on the bumper too. Stalkerlicious. Some stickers even have the names of the family members! Really, people, come on. That's like holding your baby over a balcony. Okay, not quite, but it's dangerous. Keeping-It-Real-Mom knows what I'm talking about! (Now, I don't know exactly how real she keeps it, but at least she would agree with me).
