Hello, My Lovelys! Let me re-introduce myself. I am Sparklebumps, and I work as a Pizza Whore, which makes me unable to post daily on my blog like I’d like. Instead, you have to wait 4 days in between amazingly entertaining posts. So sorry about that. I missed you.
Today I get to to tell you of my adventures in MOA. For those of you not from Minnesota, (I believe that’s all of you besides Delightful) MOA is what we Minnesotans call…dum dum dum…. THE MALL OF AMERICA. The greatest mall in the ENTIRE world. The convergance of everything retail. (And some things not, like Hooters) A place filled with sparkly and over-priced items….
I must admit, each time I go to MOA, I am slightly more disappointed than the time I went before. I am still not entirely sure why, but I think it may have something to do with the fact that I end up walking by the same stores 6 times and don’t buy a thing. In the 15+ years since MOA has been there, I can honestly say that I’ve only bought something there twice. (Unless you count the purchases in the multiple candy stores.)
Anyhoo, yesterday was the first day of spring break for my Rockstar’s Daughter, and he had taken the day off, so we decided to venture the 70 miles to entertain ourselves at MOA. Despite having bought new 5″ heels that I haven’t had the oppurtunity to wear yet, I wisely refrained, and instead donned my sequined ballet flats.
The intent was to entertain the Daughter for the day in the Nickalodean-themed amusement park that sits smack dab in the center of the mall. Since I am not the child I once was, I can no longer spend a day taking multiple rides on the Spongebob roller-coaster without feeling like I will hurl my lunch all over the children standing innocently around. So I stuck my Rockstar with the job of chaperoning his Daughter on the many vomit-inducing rides and ventured out into the rest of the Mall.
Having been absent from the MOA for nearly two years, I was delighted to find a few newly added stores. Imagine my excitement when I passed and then did a retake of the Betty Page Store. WHAT?! An entire store dedicated to the fashions of the greatest burlesque dancer of all time?! Not only was this wondrous store full of polka-dotted textiles and sailor-inspired dresses- it had T.V.’s actually playing Betty Page videos! I felt a little awkward when the sales girl startled me out of my strip-tease watching trance…
Also, I was exstatic to find that my beloved Betsey Johnson has decided to grace Minnesota with one of her stores. The most awesome of shoe and clothing designers has made it possible to NOT have to fly to Vegas to purchase her wares. Sadly, her adorable bubble dresses do not come in sizes sufficient enough to cover my excessive boobage, so I was forced to only try on her equally-adorable shoes.
In my voyage through the Mall, I also realized where it is that I belong.
From four stores away, the glitter of Swarovski called to me, and I was immediately drawn to their display windows. I stood slack-jawed as I walked into the store and found myself surrounded by everything crystalled and sparkling. How unendingly happy I would be if I was to work in such a place every day. I am quite certain my almost-O face assured the manager that I was unfit for employment, however.
It seems that creepys exist away from my town of residence as well. I was minding my own business, ogling yet another shoe store as I walked by it, when I realized a not-unattractive man was following me. I continued on my way, quickening my pace, intent on losing him. Sadly, my short little leggys were lacking the extra 5″ of stilletto necessary to outrun a persuer, so he easily matched my pace. I stopped, and cringed, waitng for the expected assault. It came.
“Hey, I’m Ray.” Ray’s eyes did a once-over of my body, which always immediately makes me hunch into myself.
“I was, uh, just wondering if, you know, maybe, uh, I could get your phone number and get to know you.”
Narrowing my eyes, I straightened myself out and hit him with my best defense.
“I have Man Parts. You can have my phone number if you still want it.”
I, in fact, have no Man Parts, but apparently Ray didn’t want to get to know that.
Also, as I was waiting to meet up with my Rockstar and the Daughter on the third floor by Steve Madden, a boy resembling Justin Beiber kinda sauntered over in my direction, stood several minutes ogling my boobage, and then decided he was too much of a pussy to engage me in conversation. That was a little weird.
Strange, too, was the instant I came around a corner and had a man nearly collide with me, only to have him say, “Whoa! I saw your shirt and had to look twice!” (For your info, there was no cleavage showing yesterday.)
When I met up for a snack with my Rockstar and his Daughter, I was thrilled that after a decade of aching to check out Hooters, my wish was finally to be granted. We entered Hooters and I realized I did not hear the choir of angels I expected as I stepped through the door. Instead, the musical notes in my head fell flat, as my boner would have if I had one in my pants. Let me tell you something. When the Hooters menu states that you will be “served by a beautiful Hooters girl”, what they mean is “you will be served by a girl who is a size 00 wearing a push-up bra who has no ass to fill out her delightfully-orange shorts.” Because every waitress there had a waist smaller than my right thigh. Is this a sick game? Is Hooters just a cover for pedophiles? Because all those girls had bodies of 12 year olds. By the way, Hooters wings are NOT that great, so when your boyfriend tell you that’s why he goes there, don’t believe him. At least I got a thrill when my Rockstar bought me a Hooters T-shirt. Which I fill out quite nicely WITHOUT a push-up bra, I might add.
My Rockstar and his Daughter returned to the rides after the Hooters debacle, and I was hustled by the Israeli woman at the Natural Healing kioske when she found out my hands resemble a farmer’s. After she insisted I rub my hands with her miracle salts, she continuously lowered her price on her products, thinking I would break and buy. I stayed strong, and did NOT spend $59, or $49, or $29 for one jar of salt. I must say, my hands are incredibly soft. So soft, in fact, that my Rockstar insisted on actually holding my hand at various intervals throughout the day. That woman’s salts were indeed miraculous. After many hours of ogling shoes and other shiny things, I ended up at Barnes and Noble. Of ALL the stores in ALL the Mall, I ended up spending 3 hours in a bookstore. Imagine that.
P.S. The only other store I spent a decent amount of time in was the Disney store, only to be sorely disappointed that they had no Little Mermaid merchandise.