J. Must Stand For Just-A-Bunch-Of-Disorganized-Assholes
Recently, I received a very exciting e-mail in my vastly lonely inbox -- J. Crew, my store of stores, was having a forty percent off final sale! Now, they'd like you to believe that by "final" sale, you must keep whatever items you order, but let me tell you from my ill-fittingly-clothed experience that the store would be happy to take your items back for a refund.
Long story long, the clothes were flying off the digital shelves. No matter what item I added to my "Cart", I would get a screen saying "I'm sorry, we're all sold out of the "BLACK CASHMERE TANKINI" Would you like to instead order "PIPING HOT VOMIT SERVED ON YOUR FACE"? etc. Finally, I was able to eek out a carrot-colored bathing suit for 11 bucks, and a pair of truly adorable flats (size 11 thank you very much, foot fetishists need not apply) for $30. Hoorah! A truly happy and fulfilling lunch hour.
So last Friday the office doorbell is a-janglin, and I hop out of my ass-grooved throne to see who it is -- ah! The UPS man! With a package for a glowing, apple-cheecked young girl with a name that rhymes with Trishelle.
But this is odd -- the package arrived in a padded envelope and seemed, well... small. No way are my shoes inside of here. I tore open the flap to reveal... a tankini... (note: not in black cashmere)... in a size 4 and a size smaw. Haha! Is this some sort of wacky J. Crew practy joke? "Send the girl a spandex hairband, give her a scare!" Mort in packing shouted in the imaginary warehouse bubble in my head. My mind wandered elsewhere, to me, frolicking on the beach with some friends, maybe hitting a beach ball around, all the while my tits and backfat literally sploding out of the size 4 haltered top, while my ass-crack swallowed up the better part of the small, hi-cut briefs. Right as I go to pick-up a sand dollar, the strength of the suit's power becomes too much to bear, and slices me in half. Then, my legs, with a new brain of their own, decide to go for a jog. My torso instead chooses to have a cone of rum raisin and consider disability insurance.
At least my imagination is active.
I dialed the J. Crew Customer Service hotline (tattooed inside my eyelids for safekeeping), and was met by the comforting southern twang of the representative. I explained my sitch, that I was out not only my money, but my shoe/suit combination, and very politely demanded an answer. After some checking, she discovered that my order got switched with a girl in Connecticut -- what the hell! What does she think she's running over there, a baby hospital?
Then it hit me -- while I'm in my cubicle contemplating all the things I can do with a miniature bathing suit, this bitch in Connecticut is probably fantasizing about taking her two new canoes (read: my shoes) down to the lake this weekend and pitching a spandex tent (bathing suit) for a nice, overnight camp out. How dare she insinuate that my shoes are canoes?? This bitch don't even KNOW me!
My shoe arrives safely in CT.
My darling service rep. apologized profusely and promised to sort things out. I would have to send the suit back, and hopefully, lil' miss petite from, no doubt, Darien or some shit, will take my items to UPS Freight, and we can each end up with our rightfully purchased, and fitted, products.
End of story: I'm still waiting to receive my items, hopefully before the first snowfall.
I like it for the coverage.
In other news, I had a Blonde Trifecta of celeb sightings yesterday: Hilary Swank, blondish/long pony-tail, who gave me a hint of an annoyed sideglance, but looked incredibly beautiful, in post work-out gear on Prince; Claire Danes, blonde as ever, hailing a cab on same street; and Heather Graham, who looked great and -- you guessed it -- blonde. Shem smiled at my friend and I on 11th street, and YET AGAIN, looked radiant. All of these sightings leading my to ask myself: Should I lose 50 pounds and go blonde? Don't worry -- I know the answer!
p.s. Does anyone have a spare slide whistle they could send me? I need it for personal reasons. So if you have one, and are willing to give it to me no questions asked, let me know. I wouldn't suggest "loaning" it either.
p.p.s. Kidding about the slidewhistle. Just forget I asked, OK?
My life-long dream: To master the slidewhistle to such an extent that I may one day be able to duet with Chad Karloff, slide whistle virtuosooooOOOOOoooo