Parrot Parade Brigade: Polly Want a Slacker?

The husband got me this top recently.  Believe it or not, it's actually for a man.  A small man, but a man nonetheless.  I suppose this makes it a shirt, as we all know that real men don't wear tops or eat quiche.  Anyway, it came from Amazon, which is fitting because it looks like a collage from an enchanted rain forest.  I say enchanted because I imagine that real rain forests are more Animal Planet than Magic Kingdom, unphotogenic and gruesome in their circle of life-ness.  Even if "Circle of Life" was a song in The Lion King.  Because if anyone can put a good spin on death, then it's Disney.

In keeping with the parrot theme, here's my old pal Randall.  But for the purposes of this post, I'll call him, or rather her (because if I can wear a dude's shirt, then he can certainly change genders), Polly.  And Polly most definitely does not want a cracker.  Or a slacker.  So, no rum or Jimmy Buffett.  Or rum made by Jimmy Buffet.  She also doesn't want a passel of insects or whatever it is that parrots eat.  What she really craves is a buttery brioche topped with a fresh slice of mango.  She's a discerning one, my precious Polly, demanding only the best from the island's buffet.  Not to be confused, of course, with the island's best Buffett.

Cheeseburger in paradise or not, his kind's not welcome here.

Moving to the Country: Good-bye, Brigantine

Tourist Trap Charm Necklace

Top: Macy's

Shorts: ELLE, Kohl's

Flip flops: So, Kohl's

Bag: Betsy Johnson, Macy's,

Sunglasses: Michaels

Barrettes: The Tote Trove

It's finally happened.  The husband and I bought a house -- and it's on the mainland.  Which means good-bye, Brigantine.  So I thought I'd commemorate the occasion with a little Presidents of the United States-and-Elton John mashup.  And, of course, a new Betsey Johnson handbag.  'Cause there are peaches a-plenty in the country (even if home is now kinda sorta a suburb), and Brigantine is equal parts peaceful and tempestuous.  Or at least its weather is, just like Marilyn/Norma Jean.

I also decided to make myself a souvenir send-off necklace using -- what else? -- key chains from the corner beach shop.  It's funny.  At a time when I was supposed to be getting rid of stuff, I found myself shopping even more, racking up shoes, tees, and cold shoulder dresses as if I were moving to Mars instead of a few towns over.  But the act of acquiring made me feel more armed for the journey ahead.  I guess it's like Cat Stevens sings in "Wild World":

"But if you want to leave, take good care
Hope you have a lot of nice things to wear"

You said (sang) it, Cat.  New clothes have a way of making life's transitions somehow smoother.

At first, I wasn't too sentimental about leaving the island.  Not being able to walk to stores, restaurants, and, of course, the beach would take some getting used to.  But I was too wrapped up in packing and jumping through mortgage hoops to over-think it.  Besides, I was looking ahead, more than eager to vacate a shoe box-sized rental that smelled as mildewy as King Triton's halitosis (maybe that, not Prince Eric, was why Ariel lobbied so hard for legs).  The move had been a long time in coming, and the new casa was roomier, more private, and best of all -- ours.  Also, it was vintage (if you can say that about a building), and I'd always wanted to live in a charming old (albeit restored -- let's not get crazy, now) house.  You know.  Something with more character than cul-de-sac.

So, I was all set to pull up stakes, no looking back.  Then I went to Acme to pick up a few last-minute things and started crying in the cereal aisle.  It suddenly hit me that it'd be the last time I'd ever go there, at least as a resident.  And although I always said it was creepy and overpriced and that the chicken was one step away from salmonella, the realization made me sad.  Partly because it reminded me of when the husband and I were first starting out nine years ago and we'd run to the store for something easy to throw together instead of a week's worth of groceries for grown-up meals.  Partly because there's something bittersweet about something being over, even when you know it's time to move on.  Kind of like the last episode of "Friends" (which also, by the way, made me get weepy).  I could come back to the island any time to walk the beach or eat at The Crab Shack.  But, like watching reruns of the Central Perk gang, which I can do any time, it wouldn't be the same.

Then, this past Friday, on the first day of fall, the husband and I signed on the dotted line(s) and officially became homeowners.  Which was exciting and scary and wonderful and made me realize that we were exactly where we were supposed to be.  And that was before I even started filling my spare room-slash-closet.

So.  If you don't hear from me in a while, then it's because I'm buried in boxes or fighting with Comcast or embellishing an old-timey mirror.  But that only means that bigger, better adventures and all things Tote Trove are just a few weeks away.

Until then, here's the best of Brigantine in pictures.

Trolling for Bargains: A Fond Farewell to Macy's of Voorhees

Trendy Toys Charm Necklace

Tee: Macy's

Skirt: Marshalls

Shoes: Betseyville, Macy's

Bag: Betsey Johnson, Macy's

Earmuffs, Betsey Johnson, Macy's

Sunglasses: Relic, Kohl's

Once upon a time, the Echelon Mall was the place to be.  It was the mall of my childhood, the place where I'd pick out my "prize" after every dentist's visit, embark on first day of school shoe shopping sprees, and gorge on My Favorite Muffins (I still miss you, pineapple cheese).  Its premier department store was Strawbridge & Clothier, which seemed like a more glamorous yet humbler Macy's.  Then, when I was in my twenties, Strawbridge went out of business, and the Voorhees store morphed into a Macy's.  Not long after that, some of the other stores started closing, and the Echelon Mall turned into the Voorhees Town Center, encompassing a new crop of nearby condos and restaurants.  These days, even Macy's is splitting the scene, leaving only Boscov's, an Auntie Anne-less (not to mention My Favorite Muffin-less) food court, and a smattering of doctors' and realtors' offices.  Yes, you read that right.  This mall no longer has an Express or a Hallmark, but if you're looking for a two-story colonial, then you've hit pay dirt.

So, I had to get to Macy's before it locked up for good.  On one hand, I was nostalgic and wanted to see what it looked like.  On the other, I was an accessory-a-holic intrigued to gawk at the weird stuff on offer.

Oddly, the most noteworthy items were the mannequins.  Naked and in various stages of dismemberment, they stood sentinel in what was once the children's department.  It was like the "Westworld" prop closet, and I couldn't help but snap a few pictures.

And good thing, too. Tammy (the Torso, a.k.a. my mannequin) was over the moon to see her brothers and sisters.  Even if Kim Cattrall had gone suspiciously AWOL.  (Although I did hear that Andrew McCarthy was caught smuggling out a life-size Santa.)

That macabre merriment out of the way, I was free to feast on the spoils.  Such as they were.  The Macy's overlords had clearly ferried in lots of old stock from some secret warehouse, and it looked as out of place and embarrassed as a new, slightly awkward zoo creature.  For one thing, the entrance of the juniors section was glutted with Lady Gaga/Elton John paraphernalia from some long-ago, unsuccessful merch mashup.  You'd think such a duo would inspire a colorful array of products, but, alas, every top, scarf, bag, and water bottle was black and white with a sad dab of lilac.  The other big come-on was an influx of Betsey Johnson Trolls accessories, which had been created to coincide with the movie of the same name.  Now, I have to pause a beat to explain just how off-put I was by the cinematic reincarnation of my favorite bridge-dwelling buddies.  The trolls of yesteryear were awesome . . . because they were ugly.  Don't get me wrong.  They were most definitely the cute kind of ugly, all endearing scrunched-up faces and unruly hair (as evidenced by the notebooks and attic escapee below).  

But that was part of their charm, whether they cavorted in wizard or princess costumes or just bare-assed in mall kiosks across this great nation.  That said, I gave the svelte, smooth-faced, sleek-haired newcomers the stink eye (no disrespect to Justin Timberlake or Anna Kendrick).  Not only was I not going to see the movie, I was most certainly not going to support these new-fangled upstarts by buying wearables emblazoned with their likeness.  Of course, that was before I received a darling pair of hot pink Betsey Johnson Trolls earmuffs for my birthday.  "Alright, no big deal," I thought, parading around with them in 50-degree weather, "they're just earmuffs; no one can tell that they're from the Trolls line."  But then I went ahead and ordered a trolls-printed tee shirt from Macy's, rationalizing that it was okay because I just liked the colors, and also because it was only $3.00.  So, when I was met with a mountain of pink, turquoise, and black earmuffs in the outerwear department of Macy's that day, I was terribly tempted by the turquoise (which should surprise no one, as this blog is filled with accounts of me declaring my hatred for things only to fall headlong in love with them).  I marched up to the makeshift counter with my 80% off find only to be told that that register was for real fur purchases only.  Well, excuse me for preferring unnaturally colored and sensibly priced synthetics to costly animal pelts.  I stalked off to another counter, where the sales clerk smirked as she attacked the label of my fuzzy new friend with an angry black marker, lest I try to reclaim my $6.40 at some still-solvent Macy's.  Indeed, the once-obsequious staff had turned kind of surly (not that I blame them, what with getting the boot -- and I don't mean Manolos). 

I (ahem) trolled the rest of the Betsey Johnson trinkets in search of more souvenirs but didn't have the heart to get another necklace or purse charm.  You know how sometimes you buy stuff that you don't really want?  Just because it's cheap and it's there?  Like, if you had a bag of Oreos and you ate the whole thing even if you didn't like Oreos very much?  Wait, what am I saying?  Everyone loves Oreos!  Let's go with Triscuits instead.  Because that's how I felt about shopping that day.  Content with my parting gift of electric blue fluff and in no mood to force down whole-wheat crackers.  So I left that old mausoleum/museum in search of a store that would endure forever.

In other words, I went on Amazon.