What's a Buyer Do?

My sister is a buyer and whenever people ask me what that means, I'm never quite sure how to answer. The NYT explains.

While I love the Times, some of this stuff just floored me:

"The men favored short haircuts and dark suits with white or pale blue shirts. Their physiques were soft, perhaps from riding on the seats of commuter trains. The women, on the whole, looked in better shape, and their attire fell on the side of tasteful rather than fashionable."

Tasteful isn't fashionable? Huh? And yes, only commuters are fat with "soft physiques." This problem doesn't afflict the good people of Manhattan.

And:

"During the meeting, leggings were a source of surprise and excitement. Macy's sold 2,000 pairs the previous week. Customers, filled up on black leggings, now wanted them in stripes and floral prints with lace. "

WHY GOD, WHY? Leggings? Floral print leggings with lace? I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit. I had those leggings circa 1990. It's like if I went to a designer and said, "Look, I really need a pair of pants that will make my ass look lumpy, droopy and just HUGE too. In a synthetic stretch material. And oh yeah, if you could add a little lace too, that would be great." Leggings = BAD. Just BAD.

Buy My Crap

If you're in NJ, this weekend, please stop by here. Although it will likely be disgusting and rainy, I really need to unload some stuff -- lots of books, clothes (many still with tags on them), kitchen stuff and knick-knacks. I also have some furniture like a stereo table and a dresser that I won't be taking with me to the sale, but am willing to sell (or at this point, just give) to someone.

Insert brief moment where the full extent of my immaturity shines through: The guy who sits in the cube across from me is talking to someone about another guy with the last name Cox, and he keeps repeating "Cox said" and "I was talking about Cox" and I laugh everytime. Because I'm twelve. Heh.

I took a break from packing this weekend and went out to Long Island. This is the first Memorial Day weekend in a LONG time that I can remember being able to go to the beach. It was hot as hell, but I did all my favorite Shirley things including a whole lot of nothing, a whole lot of reading and eating, outlet shopping, and sitting on the beach and staring at the large number of enormous people in very tiny bathing suits -- something of a Shirley phenomenom.

Now it's back to packing and prepping. All the energy that I had for this a few weeks ago has disappeared and I really don't want to do anything. It's a huge pain in the ass keeping the house clean enough for showing and I find myself only wanting to watch t.v. The only big pare down project I have left is to go through all my clothes and shoes -- something I really don't want to do. I was staring at the shoes last night and....I want them all. Sigh.