I Now Offer Services as a Personal Shopper

So I've gone shopping with my friend Marc Aaron a couple of times over the last month or so, because he recently got a full time job and very wisely decided that the best way to expend all that disposable income was on men's fashion.

The only problem is that prior to this his sense of style ran mostly toward oversized t-shirts and basketball shorts, and my area of expertise is in short skirts and see-through shirts. A compromise would have to be made.

Things That Were Said On Our Journey to Develop a New Style That Did Not Involve Oversized T-Shirts, Basketball Shorts, Short Skirts or See-Through Shirts

By Marc Aaron:

"I would never wear that. Come on."

"Elbow patches. I want something with elbow patches."

"I am not buying that leather jacket. I don't want to look like someone from the Fast and the Furious."

"I should be a model because if I were a model all the guys would come into the store and say, 'hey he looks like a regular guy, we should buy those clothes he's wearing.' With the real models they just say, 'what a douchebag, I would never dress like him.'"

"That vest has too many buttons."

"I should be the head of all men's fashion. I would be so good at it. People would bring me stuff and I would say 'no that's ugly we're not selling that' or 'that's pretty good, let's sell it' and I would make millions."

"This is not the men's section. What are we doing here?"

"That vest has too many pockets."

By me

"You should get some skinny jeans. I should get some skinny jeans. I want a pair in yellow."

"I need to buy a luggage and also a teapot."

"This is pretty cool. It's like playing dress up with a human-sized Ken doll. Except you're not blond and you don't take any of my suggestions."

"Oh my god it's a puppy store. Let's go look at puppies."

"What is that smell?"

"Puppies look a lot cuter than they smell."

"You should get that leather jacket, you'll look like one of the guys in the Fast and the Furious."

"I don't think this place has teapots."

A sign of my success: I helped him pick out a pair of mustard yellow pants. The next time I saw him I asked if he wore them yet.

Him: "Yes I did."

Me: "What did you pair it with?"

Him: "A dark blue polo."

Me: "Did anyone make a comment?"

Him: "Yes, my friend said I looked like a '70s astronaut."

Me: "Is that...good?"

Him: "Yes, I looked exactly like a '70s astronaut."

This Post is Gonna Be So Long You're Going to Be Sick of My Writing for a Good Three Weeks so Yay! It All Works Out.

Remember me? I'm sorry. I know -- yes, you have every right to be angry. It's just that things have been so hectic, and then -- of course I care about you, how can you ask that? I know I promised to write on -- but you should understand that they needed me to -- you know, have you ever thought that maybe it's you? Yeah, I said it. Maybe you're just not supportive enough and I couldn't feel like I could talk to you. So instead of pointing fingers, maybe you should take a long, deep look within yourself and -- oh, don't cry. Here, let's just call it even and forget everything, okay? And maybe make me a sandwich? Great, you're the best.

And that's how I would apologize if I were a boy.

But anyway, hello. Apparently I have this tradition (I'm going to call it a tradition instead of an unfortunate habit because that is the kind of denial positive thinking I am capable of) of not writing for a really long time and then feeling bad and putting up a ridiculously long and nonsensical post right before I leave the country.

So yeah, I'm leaving the country! My flight out is this Thursday, right after Mango's birthday tomorrow (happy birthday fool). It's like a fourteen hour flight to Korea (I wish so hard that I was exaggerating right now) and we'll be there for two to three days before making the shorter flight over to Taiwan. I'm not scared of flying at all, but sometimes I get a little claustrophobic in the stale cabin when it's going on hour eleven and my legs feel cramped no matter how much I am intruding into the personal space of the passenger in front of me, and I've already gone through the Sky Mall magazine twice, and made a third attempt to eat the congealed lasagna in front of me and OH GOD IF I DON'T GET OUT OF HERE I'M GOING TO THROW UP OR SHOOT MYSELF. Usually I just play the most soothing music I have and try to fall asleep. Sometimes I throw up.

So anyway, there's that to look forward to. I don't really know what I've been up to the last two weeks. I've definitely been enjoying my student pass to all the UCLA basketball games, and that might have something to do with all the tall, good-looking athletic guys because it sure isn't our 3-6 record that keeps me enthralled. Anyway, our student section is called The Den (because we're Bruins -- isn't that cute?) and they pass out a newsletter kind of thing at the beginning of each game debriefing us about who the opponent is. And there's this section called "The Dirt" where they trashtalk the other team and oh my god look at this one from a little while ago:

It's like they're personally attacking me. Also I'd like to meet this AJ guy. Also I don't know why my Paint made that stupid white erasey mark. Life hates me today and GUESS WHAT THE FEELING IS MUTUAL. Okay I might be PMSing (I bet you guys are like omg why does this girl get her period every other week? but sometimes it's not that, sometimes I'm just a bitch).

Also I spent a lot of time studying and a lot of time playing video games. Speaking of which, Mango has gotten into the habit of complaining that I've become "too girly." His comments are based on the dual facts that I occasionally roll some glitter around my eyes and that I seem to fall into an unbreakable kind of trance anytime I approach a store that even remotely looks like it could be selling some sort of clothing.

This second thing is nothing new though, if you have ever shopped with me you should know this. It's like I am some sort of homing device. The second I spot something of interest I will completely zone out my surroundings and make a beeline for whatever has caught my eye. I often lose my shopping companions by doing this. But it's not my fault they can't keep up, it's not like there's a rule against running in malls. I should know. But I guess it can be disconcerting to the people who accompany me; one second we are having a perfectly pleasant conversation about whether or not it is acceptable to wear black and brown together (it is not), and the next thing they see is a somewhat possessed gleam in my eye before I take off sprinting. Sometimes I don't return for days.

This is why I am looking so forward to shopping in Taiwan. It's like one huge Ross except everything is aimed at young women who like cute things oh my god it's heaven.

Well I mean there's also a lot of weird shiz. Like I remember when I went back years ago there was this really popular chain of stores decked out in bright neon lights that my childish eyes were immediately attracted to which would be a good marketing strategy except that the name of the store was "CONDOM WORLD" and they only sold one product (three guesses what it is -- although I'm sure there were many, many varieties of that one product).

Also trendy when I was last in Taiwan were black blinged out tshirts showing a giant middle finger wearing like three rings with silver chains around the wrists. And the silver chains were actual metal chains hanging off the tshirt. So it's really more of a pick-and-choose market.

But that was a long time ago. So long, in fact, that Iz and I weren't yet allowed to wear nail polish (I know, insanity right?) whereas this time I plan to bring back a small suitcase filled solely with metallic and sparkly bottles of awesome. Jesus, maybe Mango is right.

Something else I want to do in Taiwan is streak my hair purple and get a tongue ring. Only one of these will be accomplished, and I'll give you a hint as to which one -- my parents like the color purple much more than they like punching holes into any part of the body that is not an earlobe (and even then it gets at least three disapproving clicks of the tongue). I'm trying to console myself by thinking about how I can get my ears re-pierced (this is how lazy I am -- I lost two of my earrings and didn't put in more studs for months and then when I tried: lo and behold, piercings heal, and now I just have one piercing left [if you're good at math or at least didn't get flunked out of remedial addition then you know I was supposed to have three piercings] so I'm like some sort of weird lopsided earring pirate... you know, like instead of having one eye I just have one piercing? okay never mind) and so I can finally wear cute earrings again and Iz will stop asking if the one piercing I have is "on the gay side."

So there's that.

Since we're going to Korea and none of us know anything about Seoul except that all the girls have cancer and all the boys are in love with someone who is actually their biological sister separated from birth (unless you're saying Korean dramas aren't an accurate indicator of the country's societal norms?), my mom asked if I could look something up online so that we don't get lost and never return or accidentally purchase a life-size cow made of solid gold that costs more than our house in America is worth.

So then I googled something like "korea tourist guide" and the first result was for the wikitravel article on South Korea and I was very happy because I love wikipedia and then the second search result caught my eye and it was the wikitravel article on NORTH KOREA. So naturally I had to click that one first and this is what I found:

Click to enlarge and you better do it because look how hard I worked

Isn't that awesome and weird? And terrifying?

And then I went to the Seoul page and found out I would not be entirely safe in the south either:

I'm a little nervous about my trip.

Speaking of angry, it's come to my attention lately that certain people who will remain unnamed think that I am a really angry but well-dressed person who is sincere about wanting to stab everything in sight. So I feel like I should clear this up, and not just for future litigation purposes: I only want to stab half of what I talk about stabbing. Are we good now? Okay. I tried to explain to these people (actually it was just one but I don't want to single this person out but then I was like well I don't want people to think that there is just like a horde out there who doesn't understand me so yeah it's just one person) that "it's just my writing style" and the person was like, very skeptically, "I've never heard of the writing style stabby" and I was like "well maybe you should spend more time reading and less time suggesting I look into anger therapy, yeah?" And then we ended our conversation in a completely civil manner that involved no bloodshed. See how suppressed mature I am?

Okay so I'm grouchy and don't know what to wear tomorrow and my feet are cold and my cramps feel like a stampede of thirty pound centipedes wearing soccer cleats are doing a jig in my stupid UNNECESSARY uterus so I'm going to leave before anyone reading this gets too alarmed and tries to come put me down before I can cause any damage to my immediate vicinity.

One last thing. Happy 20th birthday to my favorite tropical fruit even though I'm slightly allergic to it:

This blog loves you and dinosaurs. More dinosaurs though.

If You've Ever Wanted to Trap a Man's Love Like it Was a Wounded Bird You Should Read This.

I came home this Thanksgiving to three copies of Women's Health magazine on our washing machine in the garage. I'd forgotten that whenever I order make-up from e.l.f. my purple eyeliner and fuchsia nail polish come with a complimentary subscription to this magazine. Usually I don't mind reading about how to "BURN MORE FAT!" or "Eat, Drink & Still Shrink!" while eating cookies in a comfortable chair, but today I came across an article that reminded me of why I don't actually pay for these things.

The first red flag? The article is entitled "Lock Down His Love." I mean, they're not even trying to put up a dignified front anymore (there's also a sub-heading called "How To Make Him Your Boyfriend" -- it was highlighted). But let's look at the content, shall we?

Some interesting quotes from the article:

"According to research, women have a greater chance of landing a boyfriend when they don't have sex on the first date."

Okay I have to admit I'm conflicted on this one. I can't imagine being comfortable enough with a guy I've met only a time or two to sleep with him, but if it's like you've been friends/joking about sexing each other up for months and you finally get him alone I'm not going to judge what happens. Not that.. I would know. Anything about this situation. Let's move on.

"Don't skip yoga or happy hour just because he wants to see you... Not always being available keeps the mystery alive."

If this is true I have totally failed because I am the least mysterious woman alive. I mean, first of all there's this blog, which the last two guys I've dated read regularly enough to make snide comments about it to me (they're not fans of eye-stabbing -- hits too close to home?), and other than that if I want to see a guy and he calls (or texts, I guess I'm easy) my response usually varies between "when will you get here?" to "omg I am more excited about your visit than I have ever been about Santa Claus." So I might have to work on that. Although I don't really see it happening, I am way too lazy to put any effort into attempts at coyness. Also I'm pretty sure my fingers text faster than my brain can think. This would explain a lot.

So in the interest of journalism, I decided to form a guy panel to survey the accuracy of these statements. My panel consisted of Mango and Jamerz, not just because they were my only close guy friends online (apparently some people spend the Thanksgiving holiday with family and not their computers? Who knew?) but because they are sophisticated men whose opinions are always honest and eloquent. As you will soon see. As an afterthought I added Iz to the panel as a voice for the girls, not because her answers are usually insightful but because I figured that could count as my contribution to family time.

So here are my very scientific results, complete with their own subheadings:

Being a Ho: Does it Pay Off?

Me: Would you be less likely to date a girl if she slept with you on the first date?

Mango: Maybe.

Mango: Is she good?

Me: At sex?!

Mango: Never mind. Next question.

Me: Come on, I need your honest answer. This is a scientific survey.

Mango: I'd say no. I wouldn't be less likely to date her.

Me: You wouldn't think she's a ho?

Mango: Well I wouldn't sleep with her unless she was super amazing and perfect with me so I guess if that were the case I would date her.

Isn't he sweet and even more naively romantic than me? He's single, ladies. And makes a delicious salami-and-corn pasta. He really likes watching Spongebob though, so I hope you'd rather spend a Saturday evening in a pineapple under the sea than at a club or something.

Me: [same question]

Jamerz: Tough question... so I barely know the girl?

Me: Let's assume she's hot though.

Jamerz: Of course. <-- I enjoyed this response of his.

Jamerz: I'd definitely have concerns.

Me: About her ho-ibility?

Jamerz: Yeah.

Me: So if a girl sleeps with you on the first date, you'd be less likely to make her your girlfriend, is that fair to say?

Jamerz: I think that's fair.

Ho-ibility.

Me: Would you sleep with a guy on the first date?

Iz: If it's not my first time.

Iz: And if I'm just looking for fun.

I've taught her well.

Mystery: Necessary, or a Waste of Time and Disguises in the Form of Fake Mustaches?

Me: Do you prefer it when women are mysterious?

Mango: I guess in a way. If they're all boring and stuff it's not as fun, right. But not too mysterious.

Me: Like they don't always meet you when you call.

Mango: If I planned something really spontaneous I'd be sad if she said she was busy. If it always happened I'd be like oh she's too busy or something. But it might stir up interest in the beginning.

How did we ever start dating then? I lived across the hall. I don't think you can get much more accessible than that.

Me: [same question]

Jamerz: If I'm looking at her as a potential girlfriend, I'd like some degree of openness. I think I'd like someone I can communicate frankly with.

Thank god guys like this exist because I have a suspicion that sometimes I'm as frank as a hot dog. Oh my god I'm so sorry. That was the lamest joke ever. I don't think it can even be classified as a joke. Let's just pretend like it never happened.

Me: Do you ever pretend to be mysterious with a guy?

Iz: Depends on how much I like him and how solid my original plans are.

By "how solid my original plans are" she means "how many cupcakes will be at the party I was planning on going to versus how many cupcakes he is likely to be bringing on the date." Hint to potential suitors: less than a Baker's Dozen? You're out of luck.

Maybe He's Just Not That Into You or Maybe You Shouldn't Have Used that Mustache After All: Top Three Reasons He Hasn't Asked You Out Yet (Carolyn's Guy Panel Edition)

Mango: 1. If she's actually a boy.

At this point I had to intervene and explain to him that this is referring to a girl he is already dating so if he wouldn't date her as a him then it's not applicable. Unless he'd date him and just not ask him to be his girlfriend.

Mango: Oh.

Me: Start over.

Mango: 1. If they were fake. Like with over-make up. Like it covers their arms.

Sometimes I don't even try to understand him.

Mango: 2. If they were anorexic.

Random. But in retrospect it makes sense, as I clearly don't have this problem. I have like the opposite problem. What's the word for when you're the opposite of anorexic? Oh shit. It's obesity. Let's ignore this part too.

Mango: 3. If they're a boy.

Me: Okay, I just explained this to you.

Mango: Oh, right.

Mango: 3. If we didn't have anything in common.

Me: That's a pretty good--

Mango: Or if they go to USC.

Then he started explaining to me (in detail) what happened in the UCLA-USC game today.

Jamerz: 1. We don't share similar values (i.e. family, career.).

Jamerz: 2. We don't have similar tastes in what we think is fun/funny.

Jamerz: 3. We don't have similar opinions about what a balanced relationship consists of, like what we expect from each other.

Can you tell who is the easier interview subject here? Anyway their answers are kind of encouraging and contradicts that whole theory that girls are more mature than guys because if you had asked me the same question my answers may or may not have been along the lines of:

Carolyn: 1. He uses messenger bags.

Carolyn: 2. He doesn't think Call of Duty is fun.

Carolyn: 3. He often subtly hints that I need to stop drinking.

Maybe it's just me.

Last Bonus Question as a Reward for You Reading All the Way Down Here

Me: What would you do if you were about to propose to the girl you're dating but then you found out she was a guy?

Mango: Wow. I probably wouldn't propose.

Me: Would you break up with them?

Mango: I'd go to counseling and figure it out with them. Why didn't they tell me?
Me: They were afraid you would leave them.

Mango: Yeah, counseling.

Me: Alone or with them?

Mango: With them.

Aw that's kind of sweet and definitely surprising because Mango isn't exactly liberal so this just proves that the power of love can overcome anything, even Republican values. This must be some kind of journalistic breakthrough. Pulitzer?

Me: [same question]

Jamerz: Whaaaaa

Jamerz: I would be devastated.

Jamerz: That's not something I would be okay with.

Me: HAHAHA

Me: Oh my god I'm sorry. I didn't mean to laugh. I didn't read the devastated part.

Jamerz: [silence]

Me: So you'd just never see them again?

Jamerz: Probably. That is just too important to withhold.

Fair enough. I am of the opinion that love transcends gender but to be fair I've never fallen in love with a girl masquerading as a boy who's been lying to me the entire time I've known her and who knows how I'd react if I did. Pretty sure eye-stabbing would be involved, it's another thing that transcends gender.

Me: What would you do if the guy you wanted to marry proposed but turned out to be a girl?

Iz: I'd be like "..."

Iz: Then I would rethink things a bit. Although he did lie to me.

Me: But he was perfect in every other way.

Iz: Hm, then I'd have to think about it. Now let me write my essay. We'll discuss your sexuality later.

Oh god I've taught her to be witty. Kind of. But I do like how her initial reaction would be speechlessness -- she must really be surprised then.

Wow longest (and most imformative? yes) blog entry ever. I'm pretty sure I spent more time and effort on it than I did on the three essays I have due within the next week. You're welcome.

I Totally Take Back What I Said About Pictures Being Easier to Blog.

Hello hello. So I realized that I'm going to have four papers due within a span of about seven days for a total of maybe forty pages? Of original thought. So that sucks. Anyway, I'm going to save all my words for schoolwork so here are some pictures courtesy of my iPhone and Microsoft Paint.
Not sure what this guy was doing on campus. Not giving out free samples, that's for sure. I checked.

So for Jenn's birthday we went to Medieval Times and it was awesome because I'm pretty sure that makes me a princess. A classy one, as you can tell from our napkin menu bill of fare.
That guy is our host/chancellor. He was tall and pretty good looking and there were a bunch of girls there who'd been patronizing the bar and they were flocking around him like crazy. I wasn't one of them. Just to clear that up. I did bring a flask though (not pictured).
They had these knights assigned to each section. Ours was yellow. He lost though.
Probably no explanation necessary.


On Jenn's actual birthday her boyfriend and sister and best friend brought over some ice cream cake. For some reason we let the Y put the candles on.



At the basketball game last week Mango pointed out how they seemed to have buffed up Joe Bruin over the summer. We think they just stuffed extra padding onto the original costume. Either that or steroids.

Oh my goshhh so when we entered Pauley at the start of the game they had these raffle slips for students to fill out, and there was one that if you were chosen you could try to make these shots during halftime to win prizes. AND THEY PICKED MANGO! And he totally refused to go up, even though they broadcast his name like thirty times and had it up on the big screen and everything. He's so going to regret this forever.

Aren't these cute? If anyone ever has to give me a perishable token of their affection I hope it comes in puppy form.

That's all. I hope you enjoyed this because it seriously took me forever to get these pictures to this level of awesome and then I kept accidentally deleting shiz and I was this close to just throwing my computer out the window but instead I powered through it like a real trooper. You're welcome.

The Sickness Didn't Kill Me, but My Life Might.

Hello, world wide web. I haven't been blogging lately because life has been sucking hard and I try to preserve the naivete of my poor innocent blog by shielding it from the big bad world of collegiate stress as much as possible. But yesterday was the last straw.

Let me tell you a little about the weeks leading up to this moment. Ever since class started, my life has been steadily spiraling downwards to the point where, when I fill my Eeyore thermos with mineral water every morning, I wistfully eye the half handle of Svedka in the fridge. But it hasn't quite gotten to the point of alcoholism (yet).

Instead, I've decided to fill my days with other worthwhile ambitions, like flyering for Prolit ("do you want to help children?" -- this was quickly shortened to "help children!" while I desperately shove the flyer into the passerby's hand; this strategy is alarming enough that it works up to 20% of the time), pretending I understand other English majors (how can one relate Curb Your Enthusiasm to Aristotle's Poetics to Soviet and Japanese productions of King Lear? Come to my senior seminar to find out!), to attending mandatory training sessions for volunteers working with minors (Powerpoint presentation: "try to limit your physical contact with children to high fives. No hugs! If absolutely necessary, side hugs only." Have you ever tried to high five a seven year old while she is sprinting toward you for a hug? I foresee this information causing more trouble than good), and desperately ransacking my apartment for food. It was the fruitlessness of this last endeavor that led me to a midnight rendezvous at Ralphs with Roro, Laycon and Mango. And that was where my weary spirit was dealt its last, crushing blow.




Now goodbye, cruel world.

Carolyn's Diet Days 1 and 2, or, Why I Suck At Life

Hello. Yesterday I bought the cutest dress in the world, except for one major flaw: it is sleeveless. This is not a flaw on the part of the dress, just on my body. When I wear it. So I am going on a diet. When I told my family the news, my mom clapped, my dad evinced slight exasperation, and Isabel had already heard the same thing so many times she just said the basic obligatory, "no you don't need to" before turning back to her webcam. I sure love having a 5"3 100 lb. younger sister.

Since I made this decision around dinnertime, "day 1" is really just the six waking hours after dinner, which even I couldn't mess up. So for the next 15 days or so this blog will be turned into a diet diary with a play-by-play of me sneaking food when no one is looking winning the war on weight. Consider it my little way of making you feel superior inspired. You're welcome.

Day 1
7 PM: "NO RICE," I say to my mom. "I'm cutting carbs." It is also around this time that the clapping occurs.

8 PM: I make myself a diet plan, which is a notebook page that I've scribbled helpful hints on, such as "WATER ONLY" and "DO YOGA."

9 PM: I'm looking up diet tips online and come across this interesting little fact: "the human stomach is only about the size of a fist, so you should only eat a handful of food at each sitting." I tell this to Stuffin, who helpfully points out, "yeah, but your stomach expands, so.."
"I ONLY NEED TO EAT A HANDFUL OF FOOD," I reply. "THAT'S ALL. IT SAYS SO RIGHT HERE."

9:01 PM: Stuffin stops replying to me.

10 PM: OMG I'M SO HUNGRY. Apparently a dinner of bamboo shoots and baby scallops is not super filling. I drink a lot of water and chew some citrus gum to fool my taste buds into thinking it is drinking orange juice.

1 AM: Oh my god I'm starving. I'm going to bed so I don't have to suffer anymore. Maybe I'll die in my sleep.

Day 2
9 AM: Oh gosh, I'm sorry about that moment of weakness last night. I silently thank myself for not dying in my sleep.

10:30 AM: Jesus I'm starving. I try to delay lunch for as long as possible so I won't have to eat multiple times in the afternoon.

11:00 AM: Screw it. Lunch? Bamboo shoots and steamed spinach. So this is what my life is going to be like from now on. I almost lose my appetite. Almost.

1:00 PM: OH MY GOD I'M STARVING.

1:30 PM: I eat a string cheese and briefly consider bulimia. Throwing up without being drunk just seems like such a waste though, so I watch tv instead.

4:00 PM: I WISH THOSE WALNUT BUTTER COOKIES WOULD STOP STARING AT ME.

6:00 PM: Yoga class. Good. I can work off all those cheese calories. We're late to class again so I get a spot in the very back and every time we do downward facing dog I hope nervously that no one is standing on the other side of the glass walls looking at my pre-diet butt.

7:30 PM: We decide to go eat hot pot for dinner.

8:00 PM: It's a buffet. Goddamn it.

10:00 PM: I'll start again tomorrow.

Immediately After Writing This Post I Went to Check the Mirror.

So recently I've been thinking about make-up. I don't wear it, at all, and I'm 21 years old, so what's up with that. Actually I think this is because of my mom. When we were little my mom wore you know, the standard amount of make up for a woman of her age, and once in a while when she didn't have lipstick on my sister and I would be like, traumatized, because if you have a mom then you probably know when women who have been wearing lipstick for years suddenly don't they look like leeches have sucked all the blood out of their faces. And when Iz and I would be like, "omg mommy what happened to your mouth" she'd sigh and shake her head and say, "see, girls, this is why you don't wear lipstick."

And apparently I have taken her words to heart because I never wear lipstick and so far my mouth is still an acceptable healthy sort of color. Right? Right??
Also when we were little my mom would try to force a little bit of lipstick on me for when I had piano recitals and I hate 1. the feeling of anything on my skin (this is why I use spray-on sunscreen and hate pants) and 2. piano and 3. recitals, so I probably associate lipstick with all sorts of childhood trauma. Anyway this is just a really long-winded way of explaining why I don't wear make up. Here is a picture I took while scouring the aisles at Target for a base coat (nail polish is NOT make up, despite what the aisle distribution at Target tries to tell you) that gives another reason, much more succinctly.

What the. I don't wanna be a more beautiful version of myself. I want to be an accurate version of myself. Like, it's all well and good when you put on a few layers of foundation and some mascara and eyeliner and whatever else and everyone on the street is like "ooh look at her maybe it's maybelline" but then it's another matter entirely when your boyfriend sees you come out of the shower for the first time and screams "OH MY GOD WHY DID YOU EAT MY GIRLFRIEND."

So this is why I don't wear make up. I am way too lazy just like the au naturel look. Also I'm lazy, did I mention that? honest. Speaking of which, my mom gave me a girly kit with cool stuff like shampoo but also mascara, and I tried it today and I look exactly the same except five minutes later out the door, so I think I will give it to my sister for her birthday. Shh. Don't tell her.

Ross is a Legal Religion, Right?

So last Saturday Mango and I went to the mall because we are poor and occasionally like to be in air-conditioned places where everything is clean and no bugs fly though open windows to buzz around your head for hours on end while you watch your third consecutive episode of "Suite Life on Deck."

On our way back from the mall we decided to walk because we didn't have enough change for the bus (you see now that I am not joking when I say we are poor) and we just happened to pass by a Ross. Completely unplanned. Wink wink.

Let me explain that I love Ross. I know a lot of people don't share my passion for bargain hunting, and I'll admit that the messy aisles can be disheartening. Not to mention that weird smell on your fingers after you've touched the clothing. Wait, let me start over.

I love Ross because they sell brand name things for way below what it would cost at some cooler store at the mall. Case in point:

Mango's Adidas cleats.

Well, they're not really his, in that he didn't purchase them. But if possession could be won by a person longingly lingering in an aisle for the better part of an hour, turning the shoes over in his hands and coming up with increasingly far-fetched reasons why he would need cleats, then they are definitely his.

After efficiently speed-browsing through the "juniors" aisle (and trying to suppress the realization that I am way too old to be wearing this stuff -- no way am I ready for Women's World) and coming up with nothing, I realized that I had lost Mango. I backtracked to find him standing in front of the same pair of black Adidas cleats he had been staring at for a while now.

"Look," he finally said reverently. "Adidas cleats."
"Yeah?" They didn't look special to me. "So?"
"They're only $16."
"Told you Ross was cheap." I felt proud. I had converted another.
"$16 for Adidas cleats!" Mango said fervently. "Do you know how much this regularly costs?"
"So what?" I said. "You don't need cleats. What would you use them for?"
"Like.. running," he replied finally. "on grass."
"When do you ever run on grass?"
"I could," he said defensively.

This went on for some time before I was able to gently extract him from the allure that is Ross: Dress for Less.

I thought it was over. Then on Wednesday, while driving to dinner with our friend RoRo, we passed by a GIANT ROSS. It was like the mother of all Rosses. It was the size of a Walmart. This prompted Mango to tell RoRo the story of his cleats.

"Isn't it cheap??" Mango concluded.
"Yeah.." RoRo said dubiously. "I guess so. I mean I don't really know the market value of cleats."
"It's CHEAP." Mango insistented.
"Okay," RoRo said, slightly annoyed. "why didn't you buy it then?"
"Apparently I don't need it." Mango replied sulkily.

I don't know why they say girls are crazy shoppers. I have never had the urge to buy cleats. So in conclusion: Ross rocks.

Marriage Made in My Confusion.

Yesterday Mango and I were perusing the stationery department of the UCLA store when I came across something that was simultaneously delightful and worrying.

OUR SCHOOL IS SELLING ED HARDY STUFF!

Let me back up a little. I have a love-hate relationship with Ed Hardy. I love the tattoo-inspired style, I hate the heavy use of skulls. I love the "love kills slowly" slogan, I hate how emo it sounds. I love the colors, I hate the exorbitant prices. (Side note: I once saw an "Ed Hardy" stand at a Hawaiian swap meet-- the Ed Hardy is in quotations because while I was browsing the owner of the stand came over to inform me that his products were all fakes. Encouraged, I inquired about the prices. Apparently Ed Hardy knock-offs are still out of my budget.)

So when I saw the Ed Hardy notebooks, binders and pencil boxes, I wasn't sure what to think. But I soon realized that the prices (everything under $10? who are you and what have you done with Ed?) were actually ... well, reasonable. My bitterness evaporated. I was ready to purchase.

That is, until I slowed down and looked at the pencil box in my hand. I felt a sneaking suspicion. "Mango," I called to where he was slowly inching towards the electronics. "Mango, what does this remind you of?"

"Uhm," he said nervously, one eye on the bright purple and pink in my hand and one eye on sweet escape in the form of manly technology. "Nothing. Ed Hardy?"

"No," I said grimly. "This looks like Lisa Frank. Remember Lisa Frank? All those sparkly stickers little girls had in the '90s?"

"No," Mango said, confused. "I wasn't a little girl in the '90s."

I waved him away. As much as I was eager to actually make an Ed Hardy purchase for the first time in my life, I felt.. reluctant. Why was this pencil box so glaringly pink? Why did it have equally bright purple accents? Why did I feel that if I bought this I should also remember to bring a check for the lunch lady and put on my sticker earrings?

I was in a pickle. I spent the next five minutes glumly contemplating the fate of my $7 and the sparkling new pencil box in front of me. As I was giving it one last one-over, I made a discovery.

"Mango!" I shrieked. "Mango, come here!" He sprinted over. "What's wrong?" he asked worriedly.
"Look at this!" I shoved the Ed Hardy pencil box under his nose. "Look! IT SAYS LISA FRANK. RIGHT NEXT TO THE ED HARDY LOGO. WHAT DID I TELL YOU?"
Mango did not have a satisfactory response. He gave me a look of mixed confusion and annoyance and meandered away.

So now I am here, letting off steam and wondering WHAT ED HARDY IS DOING. First advertising on the back of a recently divorced father of eight who spends his days ho-ing around on boats, and now making products aimed at tween girls, the same demographic that created the menace that is Twilight?

Come on, Ed. I stuck with you throughout the realization that a lot of people think "Ed Hardy" is another name for "supreme d-bag,"and throughout your "sales" that marked tshirts down from $150 to a mere $75. I even generously overlooked the fact that I don't relate to or even like most of the other people who wear your clothing. I thought it could be different with me. I thought I could pull off your brand without seeming lame. But this? This might be the last straw.

I am a loyal if poor consumer but even I'm starting to be glad I can't afford any of your stuff.