Ahhhh.

Everyone gets a breather once in a while and I took one yesterday by not posting a blog. Actually, I didn’t even get on my computer for like 12 straight hours, which may or may not be a personal record. Most of the day, my laptop is within 10 feet of me and turned on.

But yesterday, sugar mama wanted to go to an outlet mall so I figured it’d be nice to get out of the house two days in a row, an Atlanta record for me.

We went up to the North Georgia Premium Outlets in Dawsonville. I couldn’t resist looking for Awesome Bill, and by my replies after updating my Facebook status with that, I don’t think many people got it. (It’s a reference to NASCAR’s Bill Elliott, who is from the area and they call him Awesome Bill from Dawsonville)

But going to the outlets, well that gave plenty of food for thought for the day, such as:

  • Whether I like it or not, I am going to adjust to living in the South again just fine. This was established in my mind for two reasons yesterday: 1) there were people speaking in about seven foreign languages than I could tell while walking around, and I didn’t even count Southern as one of them and 2) while walking by a family that was sitting on a bench outside an adidas store, I immediately thought it was Mark Martin. I turned to sugar mama and at the exact same time, we both said, “Was that Mark Martin?” So that’s now two NASCAR references in this blog before I even mentioned the word football. Next thing I’ll be saying the ‘Y’ word. Nah, that ain’t going to happen, but I guess I am settling in.
  • Who does the play lists for store music? I mean, seriously, it is some of the oddest shit anywhere. We’re in Pottery Barn and Kanye West’s ‘Golddigger’ is blaring; we’re walking outside of some shoe store and B-52’s ‘Love Shack’ is throttling my mental stability; and several Sara Bereilles or Alanis Morissette or Sinead O’Connor songs interspersed all over the place (Yeah, I have no idea who the chick singers were but they were all whiney and sounded like they need a group hug and other bullshit).
  • Ed Hardy has a full store. Hmmm. Now, I have a flame tattoo on my foot and poker cards on my right arm and yin-yang on the left arm, so I guess I could always go in there and get some new ideas to get a full sleeve going at some point. Or not. Really? A whole fucking store?
  • They really like diversity in that area, and I think that’s great. Or at least that’s what I think the t-shirt I saw a 50-something guy wearing was promoting. It was a little different than the kinds I’d normally see other places promoting love and peace and acceptance and diversity. This one had four rows of four guns each and the line “We believe in diversity here” along the bottom. So, that’s about the same, right?
  • Question unanswered so far from the trip: what is a cougar’s mom called? Not saying anything, but the question came up.
  • Something that doesn’t need an answer but was noted: If you’re a city and your name is Cumming, do not put your city name on anything. Signs, billboards, nothing. Because honestly, there will be a lot of jokes–maybe only from 13-year-old boys and me, but still–about the sign that says, “Get your MBA in Cumming Now.”
  • And lastly, the one thing that was unequivocally proven yesterday: The Coach store is the woman’s version of a strip club. No, listen. Bare with me here. Think about it….

    First. No woman can manage to not go in if she gets within 20 feet. Sugar mama said she didn’t need anything in there and we walked by it once to go in Eddie Bauer, but then on the way back, we had to make a stop and see what deals were available. Check. Guys who get within 20 feet of the front door of a strip club are automatically required to go in or be deducted ManPoints.

    Second: You get inside and the music is pumping and every woman is looking at everyone else there thinking, “If I really want one, I can get one, but I bet she can’t.” Check. Every guy who walks into a strip club thinks he has a chance if he meets one of the “workers” in a real-world situation. Proven statistic: about three guys every 15 years actually do.

    Third: There are two types of women in that store, the kind that want to spend a shitload of money and brag about it for months, and the kind who want to hold the merchandise a little but not spend anything. Check. Enough said.

    And finally fourth: The whole time they’re there, the women are thinking in the back of their minds that they know they don’t need anything else Coach, they just want it. Check. Guys don’t need to go to strip clubs. They just like the product.

    So the next time your man wants to go out with the boys and there’s a chance they’ll hit the strip club, just remember the Coach store. And tell them to leave the credit card at home.