Because both my cable and roommate were out last night, I chose to hit the Ross Holiday Dress Sale after work, and followed that that my 237th viewing of my Last of the Mohicans DVD. First of all, arriving at the Potrero Center Ross at 6:30pm on a Monday is like wandering into the waiting room at the Hall of Justice Family Court. The place was a madhouse, with highly flammable tank tops strewn over clothing racks and abandoned children drawing on the floor.
No. Literally. They were drawing. On the linoleum.
I didn’t even venture into the women’s separates section, heading straight for the discount scented candles offerings. I needed new votives and serving platters for Berkeleyist’s Birthday Soiree on Friday, and let me tell you, Ross has FABULOUS serving plates. But before filling my arms with ambient lighting and colorful porcelain, I peeked into the holiday dress sale. As I mentioned in an e-mail to Zoe this morning, “Oh my god, it’s amazing.”
Sure, the section is packed with junk I can’t begin to describe, save to mention lots of halter necklines and sequins, but I found enough $14 possibilities to warrant a trip to the dressing room. With Ross, you either leave with nothing or everything. As I stood looking at myself in the mirror, standing in a jersey wrap dress that wasn’t half bad, even over my gym socks and shoes, I thought to myself, “This is going to be an everything day.”
My arms filled with 2 “holiday” dresses, a stack of athletic socks, a dozen votives and holders and one fabulous big porcelain bowl I’ve now deemed “the couscous carafe”, I made my way to the lines I spied upon my arrival.
Turns out, I’d spent and hour and a half in Ross. The lines were gone. I walked right up and paid.
My total? $54.30.
Do you love it? Because I love it.
Thrilled, I went right home and twirled around the house in my new dresses. Only one thing could make my solo evening a bigger success.
There are good movies. There are great movies. And then there are appallingly cheesy movies that I prefer to watch on repeat once a month. Last in the Mohicans is one of those movies. With my turkey sandwich, gallon of CrystalLite and stack of cookbooks (for dinner party menu ideas), I plopped on the futon and began this masterpiece. You know when you watch a movie over and over and over, you begin to notice teeny, tiny details previously overlooked? Well, last night, as I sat watching the opening credits, with Daniel Day Lewis running through the forest circa 1757 in his leather pants and linen shirt, I marveled at his urgency. Look at his hair flowing behind him! Look at him lead his Mohican adoptive father and brother with such speed and concentration! Look at the determined passion with which he sprints up and down wild, virgin mountains! Look at his bare chest and…
Apparently, during this urgent, impassioned chase through the wilderness, DDL has somehow stopped, removed his top.
Ah, yes. Michael Mann.
Maybe, during the half-a-second camera shot of the deer they were chasing, DDL took an unseen breather, found himself a tad winded and sweaty and chose to slowly and seductively remove his shirt, tying it conveniently around his little man-waist. I mean, it does look like a hot, not-very-breathable shirt.
I wonder if he got it at Ross…