Secondly, I am jealous of the Jewish paradox of wringing out each every cent for the dollar. If you are from the north shore of Massachusetts, you would probably think the last name Hoffman means bar/bat mitzfahs, lots of red wine on Friday nights (taken away bread due to choloesteral) and making the penny that could be avoided--exiled. As my last name is Hoffman there is sometimes confusion that I am Jewish. I'm not--religiously speaking. However--and I am sure that those that know me would agree--I only like to spend money on things that really matter to me or at least I care to drop billz on.
Transportation is not one of them (unless if I am not paying for it of course and there is no reasonable/instant effect on the contributor).
Public transportation is da bombbb! Your city pays enough for it to be in effect (affect?) in the first place and if you ever get lost, there is usually someone lingering around that can and will point you in the right direction (failure to due so would only amount in degenerating that city's ability to manuver around the city with one's eyes blindly shut). Don't drive in--you'll end up paying $30 for parking remotely close to your desitnation or risk towing/vandelism/PIA-ness driving endlessly looking for a spot/now you can have at least 2 drinks.
Now that you have your head semi out of your arse, allow me to continue.
My dearest mother and I began our big day in the citay on Charles Street, a neighbor of Beacon Hill and extravegant territory for you splurggers. Accompanied by new trustafarian boutiques, antique shops still manage to prosper on this quaint, one-way traffic strip. Watch out for the BMW's and energy efficient Hummers (whatever that means) because they will not even stop for Katie Holmes but do mind the abundency of drop-dead gorgeous emerald, saphire, and brassy vintage jewelery that hangs in these antique shops.
Here's a glimpse of the 20th Century antique jewlery shop I snagged a photo of while browsing the pageant queen crowns and other evening bags.
If you could only see the array of men's tie tacks and cuff links....
If you head south (or with the one-way traffic) down Charles Street, you'll come to Boston Common. This legendary area is where Frog Pond resides so you can get your ice skate on (what a place for a date!...none have you have taken me there by the way) which eventually trickles over to Boylston St. and its notorious parallel, Newbury St. After I got my H&m fix, our plan was to go over to a shoe store. My undeclared and politically incorrect ADD kicked in as we passed a newly installed British gem called All Saints Spitafield. E-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g in each square foot of this place schmammed me with aw and attraction. It's edgy, **hella** riskay, clothes heavy as my ski boots, and shoes that will drive you to venture out to Michael's and purchase a gluegun and Payless pumps and hire that obscurly small middle aged man to be your cobbler.
One of my favorite childhood films, Little Mermaid as Ariel makes herself decent thanks to a makeshift dress of a sail and line ("rope" for all of you non-seamen) reminded me of this work of wearable fashion.
After my mother dragged me out of my delusionally affordable state of mind, we trudhged over to the shoe store SHE has been ranting and raving about, called the Tannery.
and one of the grandest yet underwhelming shoe stores I have ever encountered.
Word to the wise--Presidents day is a day we not only give major props to those chuckleheads who founded our country, but also hit up those freakin sales! It's a day of no work for a lot (minus retail) but more importantly, it's the..
End Of the Winter Season bulk/retail.
AKA everyone wants to get rid of their winter stock and since a lot of college students/staffers of the real world have the weekend of, they go shoppppinnn and drown in deals because the winter is really only half done.
The "Tannery" was selling all of their winter boots for 50% off (Frye's were 20% off, respectively).
Now, if ONLY dating could result in such assurance and reliability...
After I made my grand purchase ma and I crossed the street over to a bar called Solas. Snagging two seats at the bar, we order two glasses of wine, bread, and a soup for $20 (the resembelence among this bartendar and my recent ex-boyfriend we both dawned upon as he graciously asked for my ID was priceless).
The couple next to us were from Britain and we discussed things of their ski trip to the in-door ski resort of Dubai and our blow-out (not kidding...70 mph winds) at Waterville Valley over the past weekend.
The night concluded with my fashion show strutting in my boots in the kitchen and leftovers of beef stew, riggatoni, and copious amounts of Kendall-Jackson.
Did I mention car payments???