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I can hope and I can dream, cuz I am full of…full of…full of…

It’s funny, after a wedding actually happens, I spent next month or so just saying that they should totally throw a wedding every weekendAll the hubbub in getting up to the wedding is over, and the end result is so awesome that you really forget about said hubbub.

PAR EXEMPLE.

SoccerGirl requested that the Bridesmaid wear nude shoes with our dresses. Which was well and good, and I was all of course I can wear nude shoes, until three days before the wedding when Poof and I both realized we don’t really have appropriate nude shoes.

This prompted the hubbub of a shopping trip – of finding nude shoes, and texting SoccerGirl pictures of nude shoes because it turns out there are a lot of nude shoes out there, and trying on nude shoes, and finally buying nude shoes. Then eventually, there was the hubbub of trying on said nude shoes with said bridesmaids dress because you really should see how it looks all put together.

You know, just checking and stuff.

I get to this step, and I put the dress on and the shoes on, and send pictures and snapchats and tweets and think to myself —

Said shoes and said dress.

Said shoes and said dress.

YesI can rock this.

After this whole process, I go to get out of the shoes and the dress, because it’s Michigan, and it’s cold, and my family has this thing where we don’t turn on the heat until after it snows, and it’s only November and it hasn’t snowedand this dress is strapless, and-

And I’m like. Mother. Fucker.

I start yelling at my mom like Will Ferrell in Wedding Crashers because it’s seriously really cold and I’m seriously really stuck.

Me: Mom. MOM. MOMMY. MOMMY! I AM COLD AND I AM STUCK.

Mom: Stop yelling. You’ll wake everyone up.

Me: It’s so cold.

At this moment, I get a tweet back to my #GirlProblems twitter plea.

Me: This guy says I’m flirting on the internet.

Mom: Tsk. People shouldn’t flirt on the internet.

Me: I wasn’t even flirting!

Mom: If you flirt too much, people won’t like you.

Me: I’m not flirting.

Mom: People who are like that just have low self esteem.

Me: …

Mom: …

Me: …

Mom: …

Me: …unzip me?

the quintessential halloween post.

When I was in the seventh grade, my classmate Katie hosted a Halloween party. It was for the entire class (boy/girl/gasp), and I had the genius idea to go as a punk rocker. Mind you, I was a 12 year old Catholic School girl. This meant that my idea of a punk rocker was a crushed velvet orange dress, orange colored hair spray, and the highest heels I owned (which meant I borrowed my sister’s three inch silver shoes, similar to what Judy Jetson probably rocked on a good day).  I even tried to mohawk my hair with the colored hair spray, but it’s fine Asian quality wouldn’t have it, and I ended up looking like I had stuck a fork into an electrical outlet and then set off an exploding ink pack.

Halloween 1999

Halloween 1999 probably looked something like this.

Then I showed up to the party, in all my orange glory. Half the girls were dressed like Britney Spears’, ala the Hit me Baby, one more time era. The other half was dressed up like poodle skirt girls. It was like the prepubescent female version of West Side Story. And I was dressed like an angry orange punk rocker fox.

I’ve never cared much for Halloween after that.

11 months out of the year, I’ll be excited-ish for Halloween.

I can be a butterfly.

I can be Daria.

I can be a parallelogram.

I can be a sexy parallelogram.

 

I’ve even passed the great divide of I’m going to be a lush in short-shorts for Halloween because that’s what girls do into the I’m going to be as unique and original as I possibly can be for Halloween because Halloween is a giant Pinterest campaign.

But then October comes around, and then the day off comes around, and I’ve got all these ideas that I’ve never actually gotten around to executing because I’m so dead set that Halloween will probably not be that great anyway. THIS YEAR, GUYS. THIS YEAR, I’M GOING TO GO AS A CATCH-22.

Instagrammed to Perfection. Hello, Sailor! Thanks to @hey_itsjenna for suiting me up.

Halloween Last Year, my thighs and I went as a sailor, courtesy of the House of Poof.

Case in point – last year, I borrowed a costume from Poof because I just could not decide on anything. I headed to Bottom40 with Alto, and while I, as always, had a wonderful Bottom40-y time with her, there were some random females that for whatever reason (Probably because I officially was wearing no pants) did not care for me, and essentially knocked every drink I had out of my hands. A few went onto Alto. Most went on to me. 

Happy Halloween, bitches.

So, here we are. It’s Halloween. 

This year…I’m going to be a Pikachu.

Or maybe a little pony.

Or possibly Mulan.

The Little Mermaid.

Texts with GoldDust about I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO BE EVER.

Texts with GoldDust about I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT TO BE EVER.

I’m being a Pika-LittlePony-Snowflake. So far.

I’ll keep you posted. Happy Halloween, kids.

Oh, yeah. This happened once.

Oh, yeah. This happened once.

Only when the refrigerator is mad at me.

So, I’m in my car heading back to work after lunch. It’s a crappy, crappy day. It’s rained on and off all day, including one torrential downpour for ten to fifteen minutes.

 

Me: Geez, what a shitty day.

iPod: Steal My SunshineSteal My SunshineMe: …that’s exactly what I was thinking.

 

I love music, obviously, and I have a lot of it. More than I probably need, which is why I tend to be a big fan of the shuffle feature on my iPod. It drives some of my friends nuts, because I’m also indecisive as hell, and tend to listen to ten seconds of music before I decide to move on to the next song.

But shuffle is just what a girl needs sometimes. Variety. The spice of life. And sometimes, the iPod gets it just right.

 

Me: Seriously, iPod, that was creepy. What was that even?

iPod: I don’t know.

On the Outside (Starsailor album)

On the Outside (Starsailor album) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Me: Ha. It’s like your in my head.

iPod: Read my mind.

Read My Mind (The Killers song)

Read My Mind (The Killers song) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Me: Did Steve Jobs secretly give you a brain and not tell me?

iPod: You are not a robot.

 

Hoodie Allen’s Pep Rally.

Me: Now you’re just being creepy.

iPod: Lovely Ladies.

Les Miserables’ Musical Soundtrack, not the movie.

Me: I can’t tell if you’re hitting on me or calling me a whore. WTF.

iPod: Why don’t we do it in the road?

The Beatles’ White Album

Me: STOP IT, iPod. JUST STOP IT.

Ipod: Don’t speak.

 

No Doubt’s Tragic Kingdom

Me: OFF BUTTON.

 

P.S. the title of this blog post is from the fully wonderful episode of my favorite teenage angst show, Daria.

Doctor: And do you often talk to your computer?

Daria: Only when the refrigerator is mad at me.

Left to right: Jake, Helen, Quinn, Daria, and Jane

Can’t take it with you (90’s Style)

So, in the midst of closet cleaning, I discovered a number of things that I may have…how do you say…err’d in purchasing. I mean, you never really know exactly what is in your closet, until you’re cleaning it out.

Like…

The colored jean trend. Colors in my closet: blue, teal, purple, rose

The colored jean trend.

Instagram == not nice for embedding. Peplum == nice for everybody.

Instagram == not nice for embedding. Peplum == nice for everybody.

Various trends that come and go as fashion does, and fill up your closet until you…can’t…close…the…door*.

This got me thinking.

I don’t really shop anymore, at least not like I used to, now that I thankfully don’t work in retail anymore and thankfully am better at saving my money. But I’ve definitely (with the exception of my colored jeans, and the peplum shirts, for which I’m taking the trends with me) gone through a few…how you say…

Fashion Faux Pas.

And now, in no particular order, stages of L.A.’s fashion history that would probably make the world a better place if we could just cut them out.

1. The belly shirt

Oh yes. I went there.

The number of times I got in trouble in high school for a “bare midriff” is actually pretty embarrassing  in retrospect. I was always very thin growing, up, and so it just happened that my shirts would become too short while fitting just fine everywhere else.

Growing pains. It’s acceptable. 

Continuing to wear the shirt, because I was just that cool, was not. After graduating high school, I wore too short t-shirts all the time. Just because I could.

2. Clogs

Everyone had these. They’ve even come around twice in the fashion world since I’ve been around. We all wanted them in 5th grade, and then again, when I got into high school. I had a pair the first time around, but mine were different from everyone else’s, and I hated that.

Then, high school came around and I could make my own fashion errors with my own money… I couldn’t afford whatever the actual brand was, so when they came out at Target with the looks just like it pair, I snatched them up. It was my redemption for fifth grade. Unfortunately, that means that I wore them freaking everywhere. Seriously. They’re in my senior photos. Sad to say, you can’t erase those kind of memories.

3. I’m so sorry.

This was me, basically the entire first two years of college.

4. Old Navy Performance Fleece Tech Vest

Old Navy! Old Navy! Old Navy Performance Fleece!

I hope you’re singing that jingle in your head now, because it’ll be stuck in mine. Imagine this. 12 year old me, on the skating rink. I have on Kristi Yamaguchi roller blades. I’m wearing a baby blue baseball tee, flare jeans bedazzled with snowflakes, and my brand new baby blue Old Navy Tech Vest. My first boyfriend and I started dating at this moment. That’s what I was wearing. That’s what I’ll never forget.

Old Navy! Old Navy! Old Navy Convenience Store!

5. I tried to keep this purchase alive. I wore them in grade school. Got new ones in high school. And proceeded to keep them, up until this last purge. I kept saying that one day I would need them. Maybe that day when I decide to be Daria Morgendorfer for Halloween. Maybe when baby doll dresses come back into fashion, or Courtney Love is a role model for young women everywhere. Maybe when Nirvana is played on the popular music channels. Either way. I had them. I loved them.

I’ll remember you fondly, combat boots.

And this sums up today’s post of L.A. likes to embaress herself via public blog! Feel free to steal the blog button I’ve made for the side of other blog type thingys!

COPY THIS!

<a href=”https://chicksinthemitt.wordpress.com”><img src=”http://i1282.photobucket.com/albums/a521/LA_thegirl/BlogButton_zpsb7d38687.jpg&#8221; /></a>

And COMMENT, because you were probably an awkwardly dressed teen once too!

 

Primetime GOLD, and why my house ticks.

On Monday nights, driving home from choir, my father and I discuss what show my mom will currently be watching. Dancing with the Stars is a big one, or whatever comedy sitcom our crappy TV receiver managed to find. Lately, my mom has been all about the Bachelor [who really needs to wash his hair].

This past week:

“Dad,” I tell him. “We actually got out of choir on time. We might get to see who the Bachelor picks.”

“Is that still on?” He asks me.

“Tonight’s the last show,” I tell him. “Then Mom will be watching Dancing with the Stars.”

“Is the mean girl [Courtney] still on?”

“Yup.”

“She’ll win. That will get much better ratings.”

You win, Dad.

We get home in time to see the aftershow. Courtney won. Apparently Ben cheated on her. My father blamed it on his hormones, and asked WHY she would pick a man that screwed her over on national tv, and WHY he would choose to stay with a girl who was such a bitch on national tv.

“You know Dad,” I tell him. “maybe I should be the next bachelorette, but I’ll just let you give out all my roses since you make much better decisions than these idiots.”

Revamp: the bachelorette's bicycling, clock-fixing, bearded father

He laughs at me. “You haven’t let me be involved in any of your boyfriend decisions at all before this, why start now?”

“Because you’re much more cynical than I am.” I’m invested in this idea now. “You’d make great decisions. IN FACT…”

“You would TOTALLY give out clocks instead of roses. It’s a win-win.”

Dad laughs. He was born in the 1940’s and loves clocks. The kind that tick, that you have to wind, that lots of times he buys broken and has to fix. He’s been buying clocks since he was a teenager, and seriously just loves clocks. My entire house ticks. I can tell wheels are already turning in his head as to HOW MANY cuckoo clocks he could buy if ABC picked up this show.

Then he explains his real conundrum with my plan. “I don’t know if I would want to give away the clocks.”

It’s a cog in the works, to go with the clock theme. “But then I’d be single the rest of my life if you never gave out a clock. NO ONE WOULD STAND A CHANCE.”

My dad is silent. I can tell he secretly is wondering if he can keep me single and in his house forever.

“What if you took back the clock instead of handing them out?” I ask.

My mom is now involved in the conversation, and by involved, I mean she is glaring at me for giving my father the potential to buy more clocks.

“No more clocks.” She says.

“But Mom,” I argue. “This show would be GOLDEN. Who DOESN’T love an old man trying to find his daughter a good husband?!”

“No more clocks!”

“He could take the clock back and tell them, ‘My daughter no longer has time for you!'” I’m on a roll.

“NO MORE CLOCKS.”

“Then we could send them off in rickshaws because we are a bicycling family and NO ONE GETS A LIMO when they just got sent off reality tv.”

“NO MORE CLOCKS!!”

I look at my dad for support. He’s been quiet for this, pondering something or other.

“…What kind of cuckoo clocks would we get?”

Viable contestants for the bachelorette's bicycling, clock-fixing, bearded dad. Darren Helm, Tom from Daria, and Ryan Gosling. Comment to apply, plznthx.

Be the next bachelorette: http://www.zazzle.com/the_bachelorette_s_bicycling_clock_fixing_beard_tshirt-235221126772401389