Friday, September 21, 2007

Who The Hell Gets Stoned and Goes to Target?

Me, that's who.

I had root canal work on my lunch hour yesterday--today I'm getting my spleen removed on my coffee break--and by 4 PM the Novocain was starting to wear off. I took a Percoset, which I had left over from a previous pain, and at 5:15 I was standing on the F train platform when it hit. I said to myself what anyone on narcotics obsessed with discount shopping this week would say: Instead of going home, let's go to Tar-jhay on Queens Boulevard. Like it's my idea of wilding.

Once there, I partook of all Target-related experiences: Into my cart went Sonia Kashuk make-up and Boots body wash, Method room spray and acrylic drinkware. It's as if Target were some exotic destination and I were bringing home souvenirs. I even tried on some separates from the new GO line of women's sportswear and they were surprisingly well-made, comparable to similar things I've seen at Macy's. This is also because a lot of the stuff I've seen at Macy's lately is crap.

At the checkout line I threw in a Rachel Ray magazine. Rachel Ray is, of course, Martha without the stick up her butt. Martha you can only aspire to. You can actually achieve Rachel Ray in your own home. Tonight, maybe I'll take a whack at one of the 30 Minute Meals. Preferably one that doesn't involve heat; it's unseasonably warm today.

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