The Fashionista

I like fashion. I’ve always liked fashion. There’s something about a well put together outfit that screams this person knows what they’re doing. When we have down time at work my friend Cathy and I look through the fashion magazines.

There is a huge difference between runway and red carpet.

For the most part, the women walking down the red carpet for whatever event are looking good. I dream of looking that good. They are in designer gown and borrowed jewels and look fabulous. OK. Gaga doesn’t count.

A few days ago I was flipping through the pages of Vogue. Pages and pages of the latest runway fashions. One such page featured a waif-like woman in a flapper era dress complete with fringe, wearing neon green and beige pointy toed loafers and sporting black socks that reached up 1/3 up her calf. This is fashion? This is ridiculous. People would cross to the other side of the street if they saw me coming towards them in that get-up. I know the bohemian trend reappears time and time again, but that looked to me more like a trash bin trend. But what do I know? I’m not a fashion editor. The only one that could get away with wearing an outfit like that would be SJP as Carrie.

I do like trends. Everything old is new again. If we used this as our mantra the clothing industry would go down faster than the Titanic. Imagine saving every piece of clothing, knowing that in, say, five or six years that clothing item would be back in style. Not only would our closets be bursting to the seams but our wallets would be a little fatter and we could go on that Mediterranean cruise we've always talked about.

At any rate, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to squeeze back into the bell bottomed jeans I have stashed in the depths of my closet. And anyway, who really wants to relive the 70’s?? I think I’ll stick to the here and now but I’ll try to avoid pointy neon green oxford loafers!

Happy New Year!

Legally Brunette

I once had a former colleague tell me that I reminded him of a Valley Girl. Clearly, he needed his eyes examined. First of all, let me make something perfectly clear: I was born and raised in New York. Long Island to be specific.

Valley Girls are blonde and leggy. I am brunette, usually, (we’ll get back to that later), petite and pleasingly plump. OK…short and fat. I am the furthest thing from a Valley Girl that you’ll ever find. I’m SO East coast.

Not that it would be so terrible to be a Valley Girl. All that California sunshine is a tempting alternative to Boston winters.

But I digress. Let’s get back to the hair thing. At this point I’m not quite sure what my original hair color is. When I have to fill out a form that asks for hair color, I stall a little. Uh…brown, red, blonde with a few grey strands thrown in for effect. As we get older we have to lighten up. It’s a well-known fact. Ask my friend Cathy.

Cathy reads all the fashion magazines. And Oprah too. She reads the magazines and I end up buying the products that are supposed to erase fine lines, lighten sunspots and put a glow back into this middle-aged skin. OK, I admit it. I am the quintessential product junkie. And the hair products. I could open a hair products store right out of my own bathroom. Curling gel, smoothing gel, sculpting mud, shampoo for color treated hair, shampoo for shine and bounce, conditioners for curly hair, conditioners for straight hair. The selection boggles the mind. Have you ever walked down the hair care aisle of your local CVS or Walgreens? Incredible. Don’t walk. Run to the nearest exit. Get out before it’s too late.

As for blondes having more fun? I don’t think so. I am SO not a Valley Girl. I’m legally brunette and I plan on staying that way!

Let The Festivities Commence

Well, it’s that time of year again. The one day people look forward to year after year after year. Yes, people, tomorrow is Christmas. December 25. (for those of you in Italy…it’s today: Buon Natale a tutti!)

So why am I so excited? I don’t even celebrate Christmas. I don’t sing carols. And don’t ask me to sing Hava Nagilah. I might have to hurt you. On Christmas day I work. That’s right. It’s time and a half, baby.

As you already know, my bookstore is located in an airport. We are open 365 days a year from before sun up to well after sundown. No holiday is sacred when it comes to airport retail. I don’t mind working. It gives my fellow employees time to celebrate with their families. I work Christmas eve and Christmas day, doing two double shifts back to back. It’s exhausting but well worth the paycheck. You’ll find me at Sephora after the holidays.

There are strings attached. I MUST have Thanksgiving weekend off. It’s not a request. It’s mandatory. You don’t know my mother. She’s tough. She’s from the Bronx. Beware any employer who schedules me for Thanksgiving. She doesn’t back down. EVER. I also take Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur off from work. We have a lot of holidays. If I took off for every Jewish holiday, I’d be on an extended vacation.

So what do Jews do on Christmas day?? Nothing is open. Well almost nothing. We have Christmas traditions too. Movies and Chinese food. Hey…we invented Chinese food. You know that wonton soup? It’s really just some chicken soup with kreplach. Kreplach=Jewish wontons without the pork of course (meat instead). And lo mein? A little lochshen noodle with some vegetables thrown in for good measure.

As for working on Christmas day: you’d be surprised at the number of people flying. It’s not as busy as a regular day, but we do a brisk business. I get a lot of sympathetic comments from my customers. Oh, so sorry you have to work today etc. etc. Last year, a customer felt so sorry for me he bought me a Starbucks. Venti. Nice.

So to all my friends here and across the big pond: Merry, merry Christmas. I hope your day is filled with joy, love, laughter and song.

As for me, I think I’ll go for a little Chinese after work tomorrow. After all, a tradition is a tradition.

Don't Call Me Jo-Jo

I have a good friend. Her name is Cathy. We work together. We play together. In fact, we’re thinking about writing a book together. We’re like two peas in a pod except that we’re almost total opposites about everything. I’m Jewish. She’s Irish. We both have guilt and we both like brussel sprouts. She likes hers with dijon mustard. I prefer butter. And we both love chick flicks.

Cathy has four daughters. I have one son. Major differences. I used to step on Lego pieces in my bare feet. She crunched down on Barbie shoes. She’s big into glitter and Disney stuff. I detest Disney. OK, ok. So call me harsh. I’m just not into all the Princess stuff.

We’re both voracious readers. Cathy is into all this self-help stuff. And authors that make her take out stock in tissue companies. I just finished The Thin Man by Dashiell Hammett. You can see where this is going.

Cathy and I both love to shop. And eat. I’m bad with portion control. Her main food group is french fries. I’m a salad lover. Cathy tells me salad does not a dinner make. OK. No problem. I’ll throw on a bottle of bleu cheese dressing and call it protein.

We shop in different stores. I introduced her to Nordstrom’s and Sephora, which is our FAVORITE indulgence. Last night she introduced me to the joys of shopping 3 days before Christmas at Walmart. I don’t do Walmart. I was there once. I had a panic attack. It was like being in a horror film. I hate horror films.

Cathy was in a bind. She needed a store that was open late, convenient to our trip home from work and priced right. Remember-she has four daughters. I was a little nervous. I was thinking I might need a dose of antibiotics after leaving the store.

She bought everything and then some. I even bought a mascara. Priced $3 cheaper than I usually find it. Success. And the best part was that my car was still intact in the parking lot.

I still won’t go into a Walmart unless Cathy is there to hold my hand. I guess it’s true what they say: opposites do attract. Anybody up for Sephora after the holidays?

I Am NOT a Literary Snob or Don't Judge a Book By Its Cover

I am NOT a literary snob. Well maybe I am just a little. Ok more than a little.

I don’t judge what other people read. Well…now I don’t. I used to. I once had a customer who only bought the skinny little romance novels. You know…the monthly installment kind. Since I felt we had somewhat of a relationship (she came in twice a week for goodness sake) I asked her why she wasn’t reading something with more substance (she looked like a reasonably intelligent person). She told me she was a surgeon. A brain surgeon. This was her escape from reality. Oh. Open mouth wide Ellen. Insert foot. Gag a little.

Hey. I read all sorts of things. Not big on Sci-fi or romance or thriller. I like biography, mystery, history, most all fiction and even the occasional business title. I like chick-lit. It’s like a sorbet between the heavier stuff. I read two books simultaneously as long as they’re different genres. Working in a bookstore affords us the opportunity to “borrow” books. Don’t worry, we shake out the crumbs from the binding when we’re done.

And for those of my customers who think that just because we stand behind a register we’re just brainless cashiers: we probably read more than you do, collectively we have more college degrees than you do and we choose to work here because we love books.

So, don’t throw your literary bullshit at me because sweetie? It will get you nowhere fast. And by the way-one of my very favorite authors is Christopher Moore. He’s obnoxious, decadent, funny, crazy and talented. Just like me.

There's An Elephant in My Shoes

My name is Ellen and I’m 56 years old and I’ve been on a diet since I was 5. Really. No joke. I’ve been on every diet plan known to mankind except the Skinny Bitch plan. She tells people not to eat until they’re truly starving. In my case, that would be 24/7. At any rate, I could probably write the book on diet programs.

So the other day I was feeling especially behemoth-like and I looked at my feet in their cute little shoes and thought, wow, I feel like an elephant today. So I said to myself, self…this has got to change. I called my friend Larry who happens to be a coach for a health program and I said get me started. We picked a date to start. Jan. 2, 2012. I’ll let you know how that goes. It’s not gonna be pretty.

I work in a bookstore. Been doing that since 2003. Before that I taught music for 25 years. But that’s a story for another chapter. Several chapters. Maybe an entire book. When I’m not selling mass market paper-backs, trade or hard covers, I work as a musician.

Life in a bookstore is never a dull moment. This is my 4^th bookstore in 9 years. The first three stores were for a company that no longer exists. You know that one. It had that pretty red card with the name BORDERS on it. Oops. Was I supposed to say that? No matter. They’re out of business and a lawsuit against one of their former employees would just be plain silly.

Currently, I’m working at a bookstore in a major international airport. Actually, the last BORDERS store I worked in was here as well.

Travel and books. Couldn’t be a better combination unless you add food. Don’t lie. I know at least half of you eat and read at the same time. Truly a guilty pleasure. Just remember to shake out the crumbs from the inside binding.

Music, books, travel and food. Welcome to my life. Welcome to my blog.

Just remember: elephants are magnificent creatures even if they can’t get the damn airplane seat belt across their hips.