Starbucks at the Mall, 6:54 p.m. - It is really noisy in here

Yeah. It is super noisy in here and there are a lot of people. There is a woman trying to maneuver a gigantic baby buggy - the kind with a car seat on top - and stacked with packages out from the restroom.

She obviously has no sense of space or proportion. None of dress either - or she wouldn't be wearing enough make-up to plaster a three-bedroom house and an extension and have some left over.

These teenagers over to the right of me are very annoying. One has bleached blonde hair and the other has hair dyed black as night. Ten to one their natural colors are the exact opposite. I can't make out the conversation over the annoying as hell music up in this Starbucks - but it seems to revolve around some boy, a class or some ginormous trouble that surely isn't.

God. I never knew that jazz music could be so annoying. And here come the howler monkeys. There's a young mother with an awful haircut with two howlers and an aged mother in tow. ARE YOU GONNA GO WITH GRANDMA? OK. LET GO. LET GO. GO WITH GRANDMA. Damn bitch. Kick it in the ass and send it across the floor if it won't let go. Grandma yanks the howler back toward the bathroom and mommy proceeds to order even more sugar for her hopped up little heathens.

The kids are now describing some "throw-down party." HEY, HERE'S THE CAMEL LIGHTS. I LOVE HASH. THAT'S WHAT I SAID. None of them look old enough to be in college, much less smoking hash. Kids today.

There must be a sale at the Victoria's Secret - because every third woman in here has had a Vicky's bag. Old women, young women, fat women, skinny beyotches - they've all had Vicky's bags. Here is my question - WHAT THE HELL IS VICTORIA'S SECRET? I'm dying to know. Is it locked in a vault at the back of the store somewhere or what?

There is a woman in a horribly ugly green and brown shirt and a cutoff denim skirt that has additional rips in it at the counter now.

Ma'am. I'm going to give you some free advice. If a skirt is short enough that you have to slide out of car seats so as not to flash the planet, you DO NOT need to put further slits in the sides or front. NOT NECESSARY. The population of suburban south Florida is certainly not your gynechiatrist!

The woman with the howler monkeys is walking by me. I think her mother is trying to shoplift. The staff here is so slammed with customers that they would never notice some ugly Christmas merchandise walking right out the door. I mean really - why is small and easily pocketed merchandise located right by the entrance.

The woman right now is practicing a classic grifter move. Put the drink down. Put the purse down. Adjust the purse. Wrap napkin around drink. Examine Starbucks Christmas ornaments. Think about it. Think about it. Think about it. She sees me looking right at her. She leaves. Damn. I deserve a free venti iced mocha for stopping this shoplifter.

Ladies. Unless you are doing some en pointe work, you do not need to be wearing ballet flats. Especially if you are tipping the scales at several multiples of a hundred. It don't be working for fashion. Please. Spare us all. Unless you're going to be doing the dancing hippos from "Fantasia" routine. Then, I'll sell tickets, popcorn and gladly watch.

Here's another question. When did tights - and nothing else - just tights and a T-shirt become acceptable outerwear? I know this is South Florida and the temperature - even in December - never goes below 70 - but no one needs to see your butt cheeks hanging out.

This Starbucks is apparently so busy that they have had to implement rudimentary crowd control measures - by which I mean they actually have LINES roped off for people stand in. The way these yuppies are reacting you'd think the concept of LINE never crossed their caffeine-addled brains. Sir, I need you move over here. SIR. SIR. CAN YOU MOVE OVER HERE PLEASE!

OK. The teenagers just got up to leave and I swear to Kali one of those girls had on flowered pants that were barely enough to cover her copious buttocks. More underwear as outwear. Flower garden as pants. I have seen it all.

OK. My head hurts like MF-er and I feel like crap. Peace, love and and coffee grounds.

Calistoga Bakery Cafe, 7:39 p.m. - There's a woman in a fashionable coat that will not sit down

There is a woman with three children eating not six feet from me. The children have fairly good manners, but they do not appear to know the concept of "inside voice." I can follow the conversation with ease, even as I type. "Oh, so you do good in school? Someone didn't like this at school today but I liked it a lot."

To make things worse, we're having a "cold snap," and the girls are wearing shorts - with long sleeve shirts and jackets. I subscribe to the theory that if you're cold, you need to cover ALL of your body.

The children also appear to be incredibly spoiled. All three had to have coffee or hot chocolate drinks in addition to sodas - the hot chocolate seems to be merely a toy. There is much excessive stirring and playing with spoons and getting up to ask for extra marshmallows and longer spoons and more whipped cream. It's all a lot of nonsense that children need to be taught not to partake of outside the home.

The action is brisk inside the cafe tonight, what with only a few days to go before Christmas. Huge shopping bags abound. I must have seen eight or ten gigantic JC Penney bags. Curiously, there were few large bags from high-end retailers. I only saw one medium-size Abercrombie & Fitch bag - and no bags from the Macy's or places like Victoria's Secret, Hollister or other high-end stores.

"And then she talked about her friend Mitch. Do you want to see me do a trick? I learned how to wash my hands. I'm really glad this mother is engaging her children, but I heartily suspect she might be a parachute mom from the way the children are bombarding her with information. It's like they never see her.

There is a horribly bored looking woman cleaning the tables. I so feel for her.

And the obligatory group of teenage girls is looking at the trash can here with disgust and dismay. There's a look "THEY WANT US TO BUS OUR OWN DISHES?, LIKE OMG, NO." One girl is holding the tray over the pan and holding her other hand out in a 'stop, no, I don't believe this is happening' motion. One of the other juvenile delinquents has to take the tray from her and talk her off the edge before she commits hari-kari with a butter knife or something.

You never know. These priviledge kids nowadays have never washed a dish, taken out the trash or mowed a lawn. That's what the lower classes are for for most of them.
I should not have had that smoothie. Now I feel bloated.

On the upside, there's a woman in a banging black and white and brown print coat that looks just like that M.C. Esher print with the birds walking around. She's a real fashion plate. She's got the kind of heels that go clicky-clicky-clicky on any type of floor and she's totally working this room. Swish. Over to the register for a takeout box. Swish. Back to the table.

Ladies. Let me offer some fashion advice. Cutoff sweatpants do not work when you're 21 and are a size 2. THEY MOST CERTAINLY DO NOT WORK WHEN YOU ARE 40 AND A SIZE 16. OK. Thank you. Now that we've got that settled, we can move on.

There's a boy (well, there's always a boy) with cute hair standing in line. He's got sort of a modified faux-hawk with a flip thing going in the front. He's cute, if a little young.

Remember ladies, 16 will get you 20.

I wish my hair did pretty things. Maybe I need to get a weave or something. Maybe some extensions. Maybe I just need to go blonde again. I need new shoes. I need a new outfit. I desperately need .... well, we'll leave that one alone.

This boy needs to quit walking back and forth in my field of vision. He's distracting and I can't concentrate.

Escher coat lady went by again. If I didn't know better, I'd swear the white in the patter on her coat was the state of Texas. It has that distinctive shape. No. It isn't Texas. It is just a stylized star shape.

That is a totally hot coat though. Seriously though, this woman needs to sit down. She's been back and forth three times on frivolous errands in the last fifteen minutes. No one needs that many damn napkins or one more muffin.

OK. Pretty Hair Boy has left and I'm tired. I'm out.

Café, 6:26 p.m. – I’m not inspired enough to write a clever title

Kim Carnes is pumping out over the hi-fi – singing about those “Bette Davis Eyes.”

I’m parked in one of those trendy new “bakery/café/coffee hut” type places that opened up at the mall here. The atmosphere is nice, but the promise of free WiFi is – for right now – a lie. I can see the network, but every time I connect, it disconnects. This WiFi is full of fail.

The noise level in the joint is also terrifically loud. Very open-plan seating, complete with open kitchen and tons of howler monkeys scampering around flinging poo. Not literally, just metaphorically. And every thirty seconds, there’s a name booming out over the loudspeaker announcing an order “JOYCE,” “CLYDE,” “CARLOS.”

I’m staring at a table of single mothers – or at least a table of pregnant women giving the appearance of unwed mothers. They looks like they’re on a day trip from the local “bad girls” home or something. Three of them are pregnant – and two of them already have howler monkeys in tow.

JULIE!

Across the room, there’s the most adorable little girl bouncing up and down in her high-chair. She’s got a huge Angela Davis afro the size of a bowling ball on her tiny head and she’s bobbing up and down to the Cars and “Drive.”

MIKE!

I love the décor in here. Dark wooden floors, dark wood tables and chairs – which have this neat nine-dot pierced patter in the back of them – and plush cushions.

There is a great curved swoosh of a dining booth – which would be GREAT for a big birthday party – it looks like it would hold 15-20 people. Each end is very nearly an enclosed circle – but it actually connects all the way from one end to the other. The ceiling is exposed ductwork, but there is so much drop-lighting you hardly notice.

Too bad the food is so mediocre.

DON!

Apparently, so is the music selection. Pre-breakup, pre-rehab Backstreet Boys in the house “I Want It That Way.” I never did. Really. Never. No. Really. Not even AJ. Well, maybe. We all know he’s probably a freak in bed!

VERONICA! Where are the rest of the Archies?

Cute boy alert. Although he’s wearing the ugliest white flip-flops ever. And he had to navigate to the the trash can for his stoner-looking dad. Here’s a fashion tip we can all use – ponytails belong on four-legged members of the equine family and sorority girls. No one else.

OMYGAWD YA’LL. I THOUGHT I JUST HEARD A SNIPPET OF SOME CHER!

Wait. It was just Madonna with “Like a Prayer.”

ANNA. Anna Banana. Order up.

There’s something on the menu called “Chocolate Euphoria.” I wonder what that’s about. Or if Taye Diggs is planning to sue for defamation of character.

WOACA alert. Or suicide watch. Whichever you prefer. Older single woman eating alone, reading Tom Clancy. Dunno. She looks like she’s enjoying life. You go girl. But get some new reading material.

This place is worse than Starbucks with the blenders. They have at least three going at once, plus kitchen noise and people and screaming kids. I have a headache.

OK. I’m out. I’m tired and kind of cranky and not really inspired tonight. Plus the food was crap and my muffin tasted like styrofoam.

The mall, 4:49 p.m. - Bad fashion abounds when out in public

Who said the American economy was slowing down? Consumers are out in droves on this bright Sunday afternoon despite all predictions to the contrary. They are not at church, at second or third jobs or staying in. They are shopping.

And obviously not shopping for new clothes. Right now, I'm looking at a woman in line at the Dairy Queen/Orange Julius. Somewhat appropriately, she is wearing an orange T-shirt, an orange and gold print skirt and gold two-inch heels. There was plenty of junk up in her trunk too. You go sister, you go. You go right on down the mall with that double-fudge dipped chocolate waffle cone.

J.C. Penney must be having a sale. I've seen eight bags go by in the last three minutes. Not small bags either. LARGE bags.

The two girls running this Dairy Queen stall are comically unequipped to handle even the running of an outhouse. One looks to be about 12 - and she's got earbuds jammed in her ears even while waiting on her customers. The other one looks like a reject from the Helena Bonham Carter school of "dazed Englishwoman" acting and is probably "HIGH ON JESUS." She looks the type. Her hair seriously needs a wash though.

They both run back and forth from the Orange Julius to the Dairy Queen registers with no apparent purpose. Now it is taking two of them to ring up a banana split. This is why I don't eat at the mall more.

The noise level is so high that it is virtually impossible to pin down any one individual sound. I think there's a conversation going on right behind me, but all I get is various shrieks and giggles from what sounds like a gaggle of teenage girls. Nope. Just checked. Only two.

OH MY GOD. There is a woman wearing a black t-shirt dress, a belt that is styled like a piano and ORANGE NIKE HIGH-TOPS. Is there a Leopard Time Machine for the eyes?

The cute boy factor for the mall seems suspiciously low for a Sunday. Perhaps they are all at the beach.

Speak and you shalt have. One just walked by in blue jeans and a pink polo shirt - with a knit sweater-vest thrown over his shoulder. Secure and metrosexual or budding prom queen? Who knows in this day and age.

What there is a lot of is old people. One old couple just tottered by on chicken legs. The old man is so frail he looks like he would topple over if you looked at him wrong.

Build-A-Bear. Does not compute. Isn't it just a teddy bear? Yet I must have seen about nine go by in the last few minutes - including one zit-faced couple with matching Build-A-Bear boxes. How cute. When you break up in a few weeks after arguing over who gets the pimple cream - you each get a bear.

People. Please put a lojack, a locator beacon and a safety harness on your howler monkey. To wit. This woman is getting a sub down at Charley's Steakery. She looks up and the kid, wearing a pair of khaki shorts and this adorable little pastel plaid shirt, has wandered down three stalls to stare at the waffle cones in the Dairy Queen window. She's freaking and he's just drooling all over the place. Cue frantic *slap* *slap* *slap* of her flats across the mall's tile floor.

Fifty-seven minutes until the mall closes and the traffic is starting to slow down a little.

Thank you, Mr. Goth Preppie I-am-a-scenester. I will have the image of your plaid board shorts and green underwear across your rump burned into my brain. Dude. Green Scooby-Doo underwear? Seriously. I'll give you points for retro-style, but you're not old enough to have experienced the first go-round of Scooby-Do and you are SERIOUSLY not cute enough for me to care about.

The stupid girls have a huge line at the Dairy Queen now. There is an elderly Hispanic woman with four tiny little girls dressed in their preppy best - all pastel sweater vests and turned-up cuffs - ordering cones. It is so cute but if I were in that line I would be going crazy.

The woman standing behind her, a WOACA in plaid shorts and a white tee (both a size too small) is fiddling with the cash in her wallet, as if to say "I have money, they don't, you should serve ME NOW."

WOACA is twiddling the hair of her obscene poodle perm and whispering under her breath to her friend, who is wearing, I can't describe it exactly, but it looks like she's taken a pair of blue jeans and rolled them up past her knees. Hmmmm. That's an interesting fashion statement there. Might want to rethink that honey. The yellow tank top is OK, but again with an atrocious home perm.

Ladies. Salons are not your enemy.

The line at the DQ is six people deep now. It was eight but the last two just walked off in frustration.

My time is up. Thank you. Damn. I think I want some ice cream.