Black Friday Who?

I know it’s been FOREVER since my last post and I sincerely apologize. But…. no excuses. I’ve just been…. I mean…and work…aaaaaaaaah life. I guess it’s safe to say, life’s been getting the best of me lately. How dare it.

So let’s talk about the one thing that’s on all of your minds…. BLACK FRIDAY.

I’m happy to say that I made it through the madness alive, barely. The morning began at 4:30. My sidekicks included my mother and my 10-year-old cousin Emma. Armed with purses that strapped around our bodies (to allow for the “two hands free” technique) coupons, good running sneakers and water to stay hydrated, we set off into the rain and morning darkness. If I remember correctly, the Rocky song was playing as we pulled out of the driveway.

Our first stop—Target. When we arrived there were people running out of the building with giant TVs. Think of the scene in Jumanji when everyone in town is rioting and animals stampede through, over cars. This was the scene at 5 a.m. as we arrived. Clearly we were light-years behind the diehards.

Immediately upon entering the store I noticed a line of people facing the back of the store. I figured that the smart folks at Target had opened a cash register in the back of the store as well as the many in front. Guess again. Turns out the line to check out was literally extending the circumference of the store. The good news here was that all you needed to do was get in line and as the line advanced you did your shopping because it literally led you through the entire store. My mom and I had a tag system. You know, like in wrestling. When one wrestler wants to get into the ring they tag the others hand and switch places. When I got back from roaming I’d tag my mom in and she’d venture into dangerous retail ring.

But let’s back up. Before the shopping could even get underway we needed a shopping cart. On any normal day the carts are lined up like soldiers ready for battle. But on Black Friday? All the soldiers were on the battlefield, engaged in the retail war of the century. So what’s a girl to do? It was sink or swim. And swim is exactly what this girl did.

I followed a pack of women who were sharing one cart. I figured even despite the hurricane force rain, I’d be better off getting a cart rather than waiting for one to come to me. Boy was I wrong. I knew once the ladies passed the fifth lane in the parking lot that they were going to be parked in Detroit, Michigan (give or take). I immediately regretted my decision to leave the warmth of the big red bull’s-eye.

And here’s something you should know. On Black Friday nobody walks; it’s always a sprint. So there I am, sprinting through the rain, weaving through hundreds of cars with tired, angry drivers, hurdling puddles all-the-while stalking this group of women like it’s my life on the line (isn’t it though?). By parking lot isle 748 I decided this was the worst mistake I had EVER made and I honestly thought the women I was following were playing a joke on me. I expected them to turn around and start pointing and laughing. But no such luck. While prancing behind them like a cheetah stalking a gazelle I happened to look left, down isle number 816 and there, swaying in the wind, unattended, soaking wet, was a bright red Target shopping cart. I have never sprinted so fast in my life. You better believe I had that cart in my grasp and was trotting back with a victorious smile on my face in three seconds flat.

Drenched but beaming with pride I returned to the warmth of the store and immediately saw my 10-year-old cousin waiting patiently for me. After a couple of “what the heck happened to you?” facial expressions, the two of us were off to find my mom.

By the time we all made it to the register (a la 5:45 a.m.) I was ready for more. And in the spirit of Christmas, I made sure we carried our bags to the car so someone could have our cart without the hostile search and rescue escapade I endured.

Our adventures continued on to Kohl’s, Macy’s, the mall (yes, the mall) and then home where Emma and I fell promptly to the living room floor and fell asleep.

Bargain of the day? A $50 Alfani dress shirt for a whopping $15.

Take that Black Friday.

Until next year…

Trying Tales of a New York Newbie: Revolving Doors

Oh-yay! Revolving doors. So much fun! Think back to the scene in Elf with Will Ferrell going around and around. How fun. However, in real life these revolving doors nearly kill me every time I use them and here’s why.

I approach the revolving door with respect for the powerful entryway that it is. Go too fast and you risk not being able to step out fast enough. Take it from me, the feeling of being pinched between the doorframe and the revolving doors is a feeling you will never quite recover from. Go too slow and someone comes up behind you in the next glass “cubby” at lighting speed and with the force of hurricane winds, propels the revolving doors forward, as if they are competing for the world heavy weight championship. This gesture in return sends you flying forward, face first, into the glass pain in front of you. If you’re lucky you manage to stay standing and sort of just fall out. At least you make it through. If you’re not so lucky you pass out and someone drags you to safety. Worse case scenario is you make it to your desk looking like you got jumped the night before. No one ever said it was easy.

In better news, Starbucks has their Christmas cups out. Happiness.

Also, I’m determined not to get sick this winter. Today I wiped down my entire desk/keyboard/mouse/phone/etc. etc., (basically my entire cubicle, carpet included) with disinfecting wipes. The problem is that everyone I sit next to thought I was the craziest germaphobe out there. First impressions. Great.

No pictures tonight. Can you read the whole thing? I dare ya!

I would like to start tonight by touching upon the fact that high heels are the devil’s work. Yep- you heard that right. Trust me, I work in fashion now. The devil actually called today and said, “Look at what I’ve created, a sexy, alluring, four inch heel. Wear and be miserable.” See, I told you. Devil’s work.

My feet would be saying the same thing right now if they could talk. I swear. A four-inch heel makes me six feet tall ladies and gentlemen. That’s a whole-lotta-woman and although I’m working in an industry where height is admired, I’m also working in an industry where “Can you get this for me?” means hustle and “Follow me,” means I better sprint. Magazines are the name, soy lattes are the game. Doing all of this in heels is my new daily hurdle. So every night I feel like doing one of two things-- chopping my feet off (highly discouraged) or boycotting anything over two inches. No matter how cute they may be. No matter how cute!

Anyways, now on to the serious stuff.

I like to talk, to write and communicate with the human race. I believe strongly in the power of the written word and communication has always come easily to me. The point is I’ve never been short on words.

Until recently. And even at this moment, I’m struggling to describe a certain emotion that has ruled my day-to-day life for the past week and a half. For lack of a better word, I am feeling GRATEFUL. Not just—Oh thanks, this is wonderful—we’re talking life altering, die happy, make you want to sing out loud all day long, grateful.

All this thankfulness has got me thinking. I’m currently in a position where I cannot repay anything that is given to me. I can’t repay any favors at the moment. I can’t repay loans or provide a life altering opportunity for anyone else. I can’t do anything more than send thank you cards. But for the amount of WONDERFUL that has been happening to me, I simply feel this is not enough. Not even close.

So what does one do when they are so grateful? Gratitude is shown through paying it forward. To me it is not enough to just “feel” appreciative but to show it as well. I’m a true believer in doing to others what you would have done to you. But what about when you can’t?

When I think back on how hard things have been since graduation (no job, the economy, moving back home, the messy end of a relationship, moving away from friends that make me who I am…etc. etc.) I realize that without feeling the low, I would not be capable of feeling the high. I was given the struggles so that when I came through them I would feel true appreciation for those who helped me through it all. If I hadn’t struggled, I would not truly understand how blessed I am today.

I am so grateful the pieces are coming together. It is an unbearable weight lifted. Finally.

In less serious news…

I touched a $2,000 belt on Friday. Lord knows why anyone is letting me handle such things. But I didn’t drop/break it. So take that.

I move into my new apartment on Sunday. I’ll post pictures when it’s all set up. Can’t wait. My window looks out over the George Washington Bridge and I’ve given serious consideration to decorating my fire escape with Christmas lights. With my luck the lights will start a fire on the fire escape. Then what? Oh, city life! I love, love, love, the West Village area and can’t wait to find a great little hide-away coffee shop to lose my rainy weekends in. Suggestions are encouraged. Not to mention the occasional stroll through Central Park. I guess that’s ok too.

I’m so grateful (enough already, I know!) to be back on the East Coast doing what I love, close to family. But everyday is filled with new longings for old days. Everyday I miss California and the wonderful people in it. I miss the adventures of studying abroad and traveling throughout the world. I miss a certain someone who I spent years loving and inevitably lost to dishonesty. It’s not the type of missing that cripples you. Not the type that doesn’t allow you to get out of bed. No. Not like that at all. Much to the contrary.

It’s the type of missing something by protecting it in your heart. It’s almost as if I have taken years of wonderful memories and wrapped each one protectively and stored it for future use. It’s not a sad missing but rather a happy missing. Happy I got to live so much, so young and yes, very excited for the future. Hoping someday I’ll have more memories to miss like I do these ones of late.

Off I go because I have to pee, so much so that I’m doing that wiggle-your-leg-constantly, thing. My Mother would yell at me for saying that aloud. Happy Monday ya’ll.

“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars.”

— Jack Kerouac

Okay, fine. One picture. The fabulous, Lindsey. One of my favorites.