Au Revoir and Cheers (is that right?)

Until next week, as I journey to the oh-so-international/cosmopolitan destinations of Paris and London! Lots of pictures and sore thumb outfits, I promise.

My Kind of Man

Somebody find him and give him my phone number A.S.A.P.! I have "been in love" with Pharrell (of N*E*R*D and the Neptunes, for the cave-dwellers) since the 8th grade (that's uh...10 years?!) But every time I think it may be waning, I read something amazing by or about him or see something like this:

Ugh, excuse the dramatic in me, but I am dying of squee! Personally, I would have made everything on the menu for him, even though as a former waitress, a fast food job sounds like hell on a stick to me. I don't care how deplorable and uninformed this is, but I would have this guy's kids...really. I love stuff like this, and I particularly love when guys can be silly like this. Typically, guys I meet are too concerned with appearing hardcore or something in that vein...but I guess being a millionaire quite a few times over has made the difference in Pharrell: that or he's higher than a Jackie Wilson song. He might just be happy that he and his band of merry men weren't detained in Malaysia.

I recall serenading a group of New Orleans Westbank Wal-Mart employees at 3 am with a song, I think it was something from Usher's "Confessions" album. They were about as amused as the girls in this video, especially when my friend took it upon herself to remove her stilettos. I also sing to anybody who has the good (or mis-) fortune to look into my car when I'm in a good mood and listening to a CD at full blast. I...sound a lot more annoying than I actually am in person, now that I think about it. In my defense, that impromptu early morning medley was under the influence of Everclear and various other liquids that tasted suspiciously like what I imagine drain cleaner tastes like. Well anyway, the video is funny, and I remember playing a hand-clapping game to that song as a kid. That makes it more endearing, I think.

Good Job, Mescudi

I feel a little better now. :-)

Visit Pigeons and Planes if you haven't already.

Enough Already

I know the GO International/Designer Collections for Target are not everybody's "thing", but I have been following them for quite some time. Sometimes they look nothing like the designer's typical (or just most current) aesthetic, to the point where you assume surely some intern must have been relegated the duty of overseeing the design process. Sometimes the material is disappointingly sheer or rough. Sometimes you can karate chop one of the dresses or shirts in half because it's so damn thin, or the patent leather looks too plastic or whatever. I accept all of these things with an understanding I carry into thrift stores: it's worth it because some things are just that great. Although it's not everyone's style, I'm still loving the hell out of my Thakoon for Target trapeze dress.

I am, with my newest pieces of clothing, like a teenage girl is with her first boyfriend, i.e. imagining all of the places we'll go together, what I'll pair it with, how nice I'll treat it, etc. Well the McQ by Alexander McQueen for Target collection is my latest crush. I don't know if it'll work out, but I sure love daydreaming about it in my wardrobe. I don't combine our names in a school notebook, but I Google/look for it, trying to figure out where it'll be and when...imagining how amazing a few of the pieces will look with some of my other clothes. Each time I go into Target lately, it's on a cloud, hoping my crush will be there...and it isn't. It just isn't. It's downright frustrating. How is this national chain not synchronized about receiving the collections, damnit? I can't even ask the employees, because at best, all I ever get is a blank stare, or they ask me how to spell McQueen. Hmph. Just wanted to pout a little, I guess. I may like nothing when I see it in person, but that studded denim jacket I saw is just dying to accompany me to Europe.

Does anybody know when the full national release date is, or when it's supposed to be? I can't even find the original info I read in January that said the release date was March 6th or something.

Welcome to Heartbreak

Kid Cudi, noooo! I can't say I really blame you, but no! This news has really got me Down & Out. I just put my two best friends up on you, even though I've been loving your mixtape for a minute! Your debut album hasn't even dropped yet, and you're stepping back from rapping? How can I Embrace the Martian if dude is running in the opposite direction? I guess you're questioning Is There Any Love in the industry...but since you say you've achieved your goals, do you really have to play the industry game to keep making G.O.O.D. music? You talked about 50 Ways to Make a Record, surely there are at least 50 ways to keep from being affected by the bullsh*t business! It sucks that your friends are seeing you in a different light now and all, but I guess the limelight burns sometimes. Well, as a fan, I wish you good luck, Mr. Solo Dolo, and I'll definitely be on the lookout if (or Whenever) you change your mind.

Wear Your Green...

if you don't want to get pinched today! Unless, of course, you're violent and just waiting for someone to dare touch you.

This video is still funny, 3 years later. Oh, someone help me. Am I having some kind of attack? I can't stop laughing, so I really hope that I am typing this correctly.

Soundtrack for My Life: 3/16/09

For The Record...

Just saw Watchmen, and it was pretty damn weird...and I say that in the best way possible, because I loved it!

And You Ask Yourself..."Where Is My Mind?"

I'd like to preface this with the fact that domestic and sexual abuse are not foreign, unrelatable concepts within my family.

Aside from emotional outbursts and snarky comments/jokes on other blogs and with my The View-watching mother, I've tried not to address/place judgment on this whole Domestic Disturbia thing. It should be a semi-private matter, worked out between those two involved, their families, friends, and legal and spiritual counsel. But it isn't. It's a media circus, a mess, a fiasco of epic proportions, complete with "Bat Boy exists!"-esque rumors and speculation as well as interviews with Chris Brown's Sunday School teacher and the custodian who cleans Rihanna's regular recording studio, even by those media outlets with a semblance of credibility. It has in part helped me realize that when it comes to the American media/publicity machine, there is no bottom. "Can this be any more depraved?" has become a purely rhetorical musing, since the answer is always yes, all under the guise of the journalistic standby that people deserve to know everything. Who will get ahold of Rihanna's bloody dress? Who can find the most gruesome photo of her face? Will the person who called the police speak out? Will the girl who sent the alleged text message be revealed? What are Chris Brown and Rihanna doing right now? It's downright unsettling, because I am only just now noticing how desensitized the public (including me) is about these things. It's as if we think we have the right to know, to pass judgment, to demonize and analyze. Yet, things of this magnitude or greater occur with seeming regularity right in our own families, neighborhoods, and towns, and we (collectively) turn our heads, say it's not our business and that we don't want to get involved. Why does the situation change when a celebrity is involved? We are no more connected to them than a person we make eye contact with once in a hallway, maybe less so.

Anyway, I admit that I've been guilty of it as well, so excuse me if I come across as hypocritical. I've just read so many comments and opinions that I didn't get to address and really, would have loved to talk about this with those people to understand why they feel as they do.

"Rihanna's so stupid for (allegedly) taking him back. She deserves whatever she gets, because she's enabling an abuser."
I do think, provided she really did take him back, that she made a very stupid decision.
I understand that abuse is difficult to differentiate when combined with love. Both actions require emotion and passion, so it's possible and even probable to become conditioned to believe they are related, or even one and the same. However, I define "stupid" as having a wealth of information and support at your disposal to influence your decision-making away from dangerous choices (or at least those with very high risk), yet making said dangerous choices anyway. I don't think people were stupid for smoking in the 40's; they had very little information, so I'd just call them ignorant. People who choose to take up smoking or continue to smoke currently are making a stupid decision. Of course, this doesn't reflect on their overall mentality, just their thought processes for a particular decision. Same goes for Rihanna. I've been guilty of it too. I stuck with a guy who wasn't like he used to be, thinking he'd change back to the person I thought I knew instead of getting out while the getting was good, before I got my heart broken. So to a lesser extent, I am not immune to stupid decisions. No one ever deserves to be abused, however, no matter what. Violence is not an answer to a problem, because it only creates more problems.

"Chris Brown is a monster who should be put under the jail. He's sick and deserves to die/be anally raped in prison/be castrated/burn in hell/etc."
No. Absolutely not. The demonizing of this young man is downright disgusting. He did an awful thing, yes that's true. He even (allegedly) is a repeat offender. He deserves to be punished by law for his actions. Anything else is up to God. Or karma. Or whatever you believe in. None of us have been appointed as his judge and jury in this life or after.

"Chris Brown/Rihanna is an adult who shouldn't be cut any slack for whatever reason."
These two people may be adults in age, very close to my own, but I see them as children/teenagers. Think about it. Both of them witnessed some traumatizing things in their lives. Some 30- and 40-somethings are still working similar issues out with therapists or medication. I know that some people who have also seen drug-addicted or domestically abused parents have grown up to become stronger and better people for it, but everyone does not have the same constitution or emotional pain tolerance. These two became top-earners and breadwinners within in their families at an age when many are worried about acne, getting an A in sophomore biology, or going to the prom: i.e., seemingly frivolous things. From that point on they've lived a lifestyle alien to most of us. They've been primped, prodded, spoiled, and coddled for years since. How could they possibly have managed to go through whatever experiences are necessary to "grow up normally?" Even children should be punished for things that are reprehensible, but I can't imagine not feeling bad for both of them, not just Rihanna. Clearly Chris Brown has not had the time he's needed to confront his demons, nor has Rihanna had the time to build up a self-esteem that matches her public persona.

"You're stupid for criticizing Rihanna because you don't understand the cycle of abuse."
Many people were saying that to commenters, particularly those who experienced it first hand. The cycle of abuse is easily comprehended: honeymoon phase ->build-up/tension ->explosion ->honeymoon phase. That doesn't mean it should be accepted. (Some) People who criticize Rihanna's role in all of this are basing their opinions on how it should be, not how it is. Having a chart on the widely accepted abuse cycle does NOT make it all right. It merely makes it common, which is not the same thing at all. It seems as if these people are defensive because they also took back an abuser, currently or in the past, and (perhaps rightfully) feel like a criticism of Rihanna's decisions is a criticism of their own similar decisions. Well, for their sake, I wish someone had been around to talk them out of it, too.

"Celebrities are not immune to the cycle of abuse."
Obviously not, but Jesus Christ, she IS a celebrity and it is 2009, not 1969! My grandmother (as lovely a woman as she was) had 10 children, a gambling problem, an abusive boyfriend, and black skin in 1960's and 70's Mississippi. Now, tell me that ain't hard. She had very few options for herself. Rihanna is financially independent (even if she is "broke", if she would just forgo the $12,000 shoes and bags for a while, she'd be good to go), has no children with Chris Brown, has a security team (who obviously weren't on their job that night), and a support system in her family, millions of fans, and incredibly powerful industry friends (hello, Jay-Z and Kanye). Why on EARTH would she stay? Well, people would go for this garbage:

"Love is very complicated."
No, it is not. Call me a romantic, but love is the simplest, purest thing in existence. People are complicated. It is our thoughts and questions that complicate it and our need for qualifiers that muck it up and turn it into all these things that we don't understand and ruin for ourselves. One drop of pee can spoil the bucket of water, or whatever the dumb saying is. Trying to mix love and pride, love and fear, love and jealousy, or love and abuse will always leave you confused and hurt. Not that it's impossible to overcome, but to me it's really like eating a fallen souffle: it's kind of hard to enjoy when you have that constant reminder that something's wrong or off. Chris Brown and Rihanna will make their own decisions about being together, but personally I think it's a bad idea. When there is physical evidence that a person invokes that kind of ire in Chris, why would he want to continue walking that tightrope, possibly regressing and hurting the woman he thinks he loves...again? Would Rihanna ever really be comfortable with him again, or would she walk on eggshells, afraid to do or say the wrong thing? What kind of life is that? What kind of love is that? I would think love, real actual love, would be expressed in the ability to let the other go, when a relationship is that volatile, to preserve the life (biologically or socially) of that other person. Obsessive relationships should have died with Romeo & Juliet. Grrr. I blame the drippy nonsense that is Twilight.

There is so much more. I suppose because the whole subject is so taboo, yet so intriguing to the public because of the "high-profile" people involved. I can hardly ever stop myself from talking once I get going, so luckily with typing, my hands get tired. I'll just leave you with a song that's lyrics are appropriate with the situation, I think, sung by one of the better, underrated contemporary singers.

Amel Larrieux: "Say You Want It All"

Someone Stop Me

What do you do when your friends are at Mardi Gras weekend festivities, and you have to stay home and study for a test?

Paint leopard print on your nails, of course! Forget "swagga"...no one on the corner has boredom like me. I am so very much over studying for tests. Why did I choose medicine? Damn interests... Ignore the blurriness of the photos by the way. My digital camera's on the rag (she's...kind of a bitch) and the iPhone's default shutter speed is abysmal.
Clearly I went to the Solange Knowles School of Girl, You So Different. It's painfully obvious they aren't professionally done, but I love them. I did this on my first try! No redo's or anything. I'll be very sad tomorrow when I forget they're painted and start gnawing on my fingernails or whatever other "unladylike" thing I'm always doing. These came out a lot better than my spotted dice nails from last year. Haha, I can barely paint by numbers, but I always feel pretty creative when it comes to my nails.

Oh, and I am thisclose to getting this monstrosity tattooed on my finger (except not so crooked):
Don't tell me I was the only chick in 8th-9th grade giving herself temporary tattoos...anybody? Well anyway, I'm embracing my inner d-bag, heh. I know I'd love to see the ridiculous looks I'd get about this tat. If people asked "what does it mean?" that'd be my cue to put my pinky up to the corner of my lip and say in my best Dr. Evil voice: "One beeeellleeeun dollars..." Talk about old meme, but I still like to do that (hey, I'm a simple girl). I must say though, I'm torn about finger tattoos. On one hand (ha), they aren't very private, like my other one, and they're often inane (see above), but on the other hand, I often find them funny and cute (with the exception of the finger mustache, but hey, different strokes). Perhaps I should refrain from mutilating myself further. I've still got a handful of piercings I want to get and regret in 15 years. Seriously though, now that I have this idea in my head, anyone around me is best advised to keep me away from tattoo parlors when I'm feeling either impulsive or drunk...or both. I swear I'm going to be the most dubious-looking M.D. in my graduating class, at this rate, unless there's a Doogie Howser admitted.

Spring Trends I'm Sporting: The Cold Shoulder

Ok, confession time: I haven't owned anything with one-shoulder since this obscenely ostentatious and bedazzled Baby Phat club top from my first year in college (better known as: my last and most shameful year as a mid-priced "label ho"...all that money, yeesh). I know they've been popping up on runways for the better part of the decade, particularly in Greek Goddess form. That's all well and good, but not too many things I attend call for such glamour, so I typically ignore them. That is, until this year. I have to admit, my infatuation with the designers' collections (RTW, mostly) is fairly recent in my life...as much I've loved beautiful, expensive clothes, and thumbing through Vogue most of my life, for a long time, all S/S meant to me was short-sleeved. So anyway, I'm loving one-shoulder dresses and tops and their asymmetrical necklines. I know NY Fashion Week for F/W '09 is upon us, but spring isn't here yet, so technically, I'm not late at all.

My favorite portrayal of this look by a collection (of the ones I saw) had to be Erin Fetherston.

Hmmm...why is this my favorite? Well, I loved (most of) the one-shouldered looks. And, I appreciated the variety Erin Fetherston gave; rather than just dresses, there were tops with skirts and pants. It looks a little more true to life, especially with the colors she used, adding her own bit of edge with bows, ruffles and sequins. I would definitely wear any of these in a heartbeat. Plus, I love her and the fact that Zooey Deschanel is her current face for her high-end brand.

Luella's color scheme was much brighter and absolutely dead-on for spring. Some people abhorred this collection, but I love it. I especially loved the hot black gloves being paired with these colors. I'm having a hard time deciding which is my favorite of these. I'm torn between the two lavender dresses and the floral coral (haha) pink one.

Catharine Malandrino stuck with the elegant dresses, and I am a huge fan of the dress in the middle. I love everything about it: the simplicity, the girly ruffles, the sheerness, all of it. It's definitely in my top three favorites. The other two dresses made me love them because of the great draping and beadwork, plus she went for a creamy, ivory-ish nude color (I'm such a great writer) I wasn't seeing in other shows.

I really like these dresses, especially the beadwork on the right sleeve of the dress on the right, but I mostly posted this because I had NO idea La Perla showed clothes. I honestly thought a La Perla runway show was the high-end equivalent of the Victoria's Secret Fashion show. Haha, color me embarrassed.

Looking at Monique Lhuillier's collection, my first thought was that it was "dated" and didn't look unique, which is weird, because how many ways can you make a one-shouldered dress? But the more I looked at these flowy gowns, the more I liked them. If you can't tell by now, I'm a sucker for intricate, non-tacky beadwork. And then, I saw the gown on the right. I love the full, sheer sleeve, not sure why. All I know is I let out a squee of excitement when I saw it.

I loved these primary-colored gowns and the way they flowed, even in a picture. My favorite is probably the blue gown, with the sheer yellow bow on its side: gorgeous. All of these colors are bold and amazing. It makes me feel like a child seeing colors for the first time, or something similarly strange and hard to describe.

Marchesa was my favorite collection overall. What can I say? At the end of the day, I fall for dangerous, romantic dresses, every time. The dresses speak for themselves, I think, but the black ones are my favorite. The champagne colored dress on the left seems incredibly unforgiving to any girl who isn't shaped like a prepubescent boy, but it sure is flawless to look at.

Calvin Klein was kind of disappointing. I look forward to his basics and monochromes, but the dresses in the show looked like bags from the front, which is deceiving because they are fabulous from the back. I do still love the sleeve of this dress, but I was hoping to see more waist than architecture.


These were my favorite dresses from Celine. If I recall correctly, they were the only two that were asymmetrical at the shoulders. The black is my favorite, naturally, another top 3 winner, but the blue of the other dress is amazing, as well as its cut. It looks kind of baggy in motion but like it would hit all of the right spots in pose.

Dsquared surprised. I really thought their dresses would look more like the topmost black dress from my Marchesa picture or like the Lacroix dress below. But they kept it simple with a white sheath, which I could take or leave. My ADHD demands busy patterns. The belt and cuffs are killer, though.

Last but not least, the daring Christian Lacroix. There were other dresses, but this one I loved immediately. I felt it was the only one worth showing. It's the right amount of edge, and that arm cuff is so great! Sigh, I wish I was rich.

Also: Happy Valentine's Day, to anyone who cares to hear it. ;)

pics courtesy of: style.com, a fashion novice's best friend.

Janet Jackson Deserves Reparations

She does, from the stigma of Nipplegate. Her career just hasn't been the same, all because people caught a glimpse of a nipple for half of a second. We need some Nipplegate/Penisgate shirts A.S.A.P.

Well what's going to happen to Comcast and the wagging penis guy? Clearly, if we are to judge by the footage, he was going to be the big winner of the night, not Jennifer Hudson (who may have lip-synced?) or the Steelers (who made a fantastic comeback at the last). Damn my DirectTV and its uninterrupted game footage. I missed the most epic imitation of Tyler Durden in Fight Club ever, even if it was only in Tucson. I mean, it's the most watched sporting event next to the Olympics, and this was Tucson's hometeam.

http://www.comcastsuperbowlporn.com Such a clever name. You'll have to use Internet Explorer to view it, for whatever technical reason. NSFW/church/life/etc.

I find it hilarious that last time the game had a stunning rendition of the National Anthem by a black woman (by Beyonce) it was overshadowed by soft-core porn (i.e. Janet's S&M nipple), and this time, the performance was beyond stellar (by Jennifer Hudson), and it was overshadowed by a flopping penis. My big question is what were the reaction of parents whose children were present? I mean, it was like 15 seconds. Did they cover their children's eyes, change the channel, sit in stunned silence, or try to explain it away? What do you say to little Jimmy (lol) or Dana that will change the fact that they just saw a man wag his privates?

Begging Your Pardon...

These past two weeks have been hell...I've been trying to wrangle up money for med school. I haven't finished my FAFSA, and I just got my W2 form from work to do my taxes. Unfortunately being the spoiled dependent that I am, I don't even know what a tax form looks like, or are there multiple forms? Gah, it scares me how green I am. Not to mention first exams coming up in classes soon, and I'm building my mother's clinic's website with my dad. I am trying to come up with posts, but I haven't had the time. I think after the Superbowl I should be good, but I do want to thank the people who still check here and have asked me if I'm MIA...again. I swear I'm not. I'll be back to my random, sporadic postings by Monday.

By the way: I noticed that this is the third time I've done this. I'm horribly unorganized with this whole thing.

The Hell Date Has Tentacles...

And they are reaching out to me through the phone and Facebook. I must be the the first date queen because Shaggy has called and texted me for over a week, despite my ignoring him. Just when I thought it was over, I get this lovely message in my inbox:

"I don't know what happened between me & you but oh well thanks. Life is still great for me."

What kind of fuckery is this? You must think I'm a cold-hearted witch for posting this but it's all totally anonymous. No one I know knows him or anything. We are no longer Facebook friends (that even sounds childish in typing). So, what I'm thinking is, that he searched my name just to write me this message. Why? Why? Why? Doesn't everything I'm doing or not doing say that I don't like him? Nothing since the date could be taken as the contrary. Man, he's dense.

What is he thanking me for? Putting up with his inconsiderate, David-Banner-beard-having, Kanye-plus-Neyo-minus-any-attractiveness-sized-ego-carrying self?

Life is great for me? What does that even mean? Did he think I was assuming I rocked his world, and he'd fallen in love? He's acting like I broke his heart, and he's trying to be strong and prove he's over it.

Congrats that life is great for you, really. But, I don't give a crap. I'm not lamenting on how you're doing. It was a first date, for crying out loud! Sometimes they work out, and sometimes, especially this time, they just don't. This dude is 80% cornball, and as for the other 20%, well he may want to check his boxers (or briefs?) because he is a straight up p*ssy. I'm trying to avoid the vulgarity, because I said much worse when I first read it, but this guy is just...ugh. I'm hoping this is the end of it.

Is this all Mississippi has to offer? I need to know because I have 4 years of medical school ahead of me, and I might just have to spend my summer going on a nationwide one-night-stand fest to last me throughout the drought. What's worse is today I received a scholarship that may pay for medical school (at least partially) with the exception that I must practice in MS for 5 years after. That's my whole twenties, spent in this God-forsaken state! I'm beginning to think MS is like the mafia. Just when you think you're out, they pull you back in. I need the money, but I might freak the hell out if I have to stay here for that long. I'm talking Mariah-Carey-handing-out-ice-cream-in-a-tshirt-on-TRL or Amy-Winehouse-visiting-her-husband-in-jail kind of breakdown.

So Was I on BET This Weekend?

It's quite possible I was. In fact, I'm still waiting for one of the vertically challenged devils to pop out at any choice moment (my shower, my morning stretch, etc.) and tell me I was on that God-awful BET show Hell Date. (Not that I watch it or anything...)

Jacked from The Urban Spin

I've had plenty of dates, but I guess I'll say I've been spoiled. I always have had the luck of choosing to share my time with guys who, despite their character outside the context of the date, have always managed to show me a relatively good time. I can't think of any that made me want to call it a day on single life and wrap my lips around a gun, at least.

But this one...whooo man, this one was, for me, the worst. The Best of the Worst, and yes, it deserved capitalization.

I've toyed all week with the thought of putting this up. I mean, he might visit my blog; it was on my facebook page, and he was ALL into my facebook page. But then I remember that: 1) I don't get that many visitors and 2) I don't really give a shit. Maybe he'll learn something...?

I understand that this is completely passive aggressive, and I probably should have just gotten up and walked out on the date. I think in some sick way, I wanted to go ahead and have the experience. Besides, no matter how hard I try to leave my "nice girl" past in the dust, that heifer creeps up on me now and again. And, damn it all, she was really showing out Saturday night. Or, holding it all in, whatever is appropo.

Silver lining: I learned to i.d. an asshole almost immediately. Any kind: big ones, small ones, some the size of your head...I just have to stick to my gut instead of listening to my mother's "don't judge a book because the glass is half full when a stitch in time saves a penny" lecture. Come to think of it, I don't think I own an ugly, but intriguing book. They're all directly proportionate.

Like any woman might, I have to give you back-story.

I had been talking to, let's call him Shaggy, on the phone for about a week (i.e. about 3 phone calls of varying lengths). I'd say about 50% was genuinely interesting while the other 50% was primal chest beating and ego-stroking.

I've never, ever had a guy ask: Don't you remember what I was wearing?* How many times (not partners) have you had sex? Are you as excited about our date as me?

Or

Talk about his best friend (who is a girl) incessantly. (Not ok, by the way. There's a difference between funny anecdotes and just flat out sounding obsessed/in love.)

*As far as the "what I was wearing" thing...I didn't remember, because I had been either drunk or almost there when we met (Strike 1, right?), and he sounded genuinely hurt. He said he'd been wearing a blazer, a button-down shirt, and some jeans. Uh, want a gold star? That's the quintessential 20-something guy party uniform.

It was like talking to a stereotypical girl, and in some ways, it made me feel sorry for a lot of men. Sitting through all that chatter and insecurity for a little sex? Sheesh. I spent the better part of our conversations "mm-hmm'ing" and "mmm-mmm'ing" while trying to improve my sniper rifle skills on Left 4 Dead. Not the norm for me.

Understandably I was apprehensive about our date. I was completely on the fence. Our conversations were good but bespattered with awkward moments of just saying the absolute wrong thing (usually him). Forgive my shallowness, but he didn't even have attractiveness on his side to tip the scales. (Sorry, I can't deny that physical attraction is as big deal to me as intelligence and communication and all the rest. Not a big fan of the "grow to love"/"learn to like" thing. Hey, I'm young, I may grow out of this...or gain some desperation?)

I talked to my friends about it. I even talked to my mom, and I try to leave her out of my dating anything: if she knows, my dad knows. And that leads to "talks". *shudder* Essentially, I got the "you're too picky" speech from everyone (minus the one friend who actually saw him and advised me to run screaming in the other direction - Strike 2?), and decided to be positive and hope for the best.

My Saturday culminated into the perfect storm of events all occurring at once:

1) My bffff was having her first post-partum outing, with me, to the mall.

2) My childhood besty was having a pre-birthday meetup, with me, at the mall to pick out a present for her.

3)She was also having a sleepover (it's kitschy!) that night.
4) My cousin was in intensive care at the hospital, which I found out just before the mall outing and had to postpone a few hours.
5) My parents went out of town and my brother was at a friend's so I had to find someone to babysit my sister while on my date/at the sleepover.

Shaggy called me at the mall to choose the movie (it was too cold for anything else fun), a conversation during which I relayed all above info to him. He wanted to see Not Easily Broken, a movie easily deciphered (heh) from the previews as a Tyler Perry knockoff/Church of Latter Day Saints commercial with black people. I wanted to see something - oh, I don't know - not stupid. Essentially, he decided we were going to see this movie, the star of which has been the star of about 90% of every black movie of the past ten years, Morris Chestnut. Things were sucking before the date began.

The movie was at 7:45 and I had only just arrived to drop off my friend at home at 7:35. He called and asked should he get tickets. Duh? I asked my friend to watch my sister for the two hours I'd be gone, then after the date I'd have time to take her home to get her stuff, then across town to our aunt's house. I relayed this info to my date when I called to inform him I was on my way. He said nothing out of the way of agreement.

I get there, and he makes me stand in the cold (in my day gear, I never had time to change into warmer clothes) to meet him. Then, he proceeds to tell me that the 7:45 was sold out and he bought tickets for the 10:15 showing. Where in the hell was the disconnect about all of the obligations I'd told him about? Luckily (?), my parents called to say they'd changed their minds and would pick my sister up for me, sparing my poor friend with the newborn infant from having to stay up all night watching an overly energetic 4th grader. I had to tell one of my friends, who recently totaled her car in an accident that I couldn't be her ride to the sleepover, seeing as how I wouldn't arrive until after midnight. All he said was, "Aww, now I feel bad..." as he continued talking.

Alright, so this could drag on forever, so here are the highlights:

He took me to Pizza Hut to kill the 2 whole damn hours we had before the movie started. This is what he says as we enter:
"I have to apologize in advance if a lot of people are running up to me like they know me. I used to work here."
Unbeknownst to me, I was on a date with the Pepperoni Pimp. Anyway, no one even acknowledges Shaggy when we go inside. And then, all country-like, he yells a greeting to the guy behind the counter, who halfheartedly waves before returning to his job. Shaggy then apprehends an elderly employee he knows and asks if there's anyone in the back working that he knows. The elderly man mentions someone, and Shaggy requests that he send her out. The elderly man says, "I think she's busy [i.e., doing her job, assclown], but I'll tell her you're here." She never comes out, by the way.

His iPhone is the 3rd party of our date, on which he shows me pictures of his gorgeous best friend who his parents adore for some reason (uh, because she's your best friend?) and likes him because he doesn't give her attention like other guys do (um, what), and checks game scores. Constantly. Which I hate. You can't see the action, so why not just get the final score and record the game or watch the highlights?

I no longer get relaxers, and warned him in advance I wasn't pressing my hair for the date. He touches my hair and says, "It's not that bad." Hetouchesmyhairandsaysitsnotthatbad. Hetouchesmyhairandsaysitsnotthatbad. Hetouchesmyhairandsaysitsnotthatbad.

He complains that he's such a shopaholic, as he's always in JC Penney's.

He brags about his blazer, which he got from Sears during a clearance. While there's nothing wrong with sales, here's the kicker: he still has that outer label sewn on the sleeve, the one you're supposed to remove. And, it says Dockers. Labels aren't everything, but the stain-resistant khaki people? C'mon. I didn't even know they'd branched out to blazers.

There's just two hours of him babbling about everything and nothing, and then he says "Wow, that sure went by fast." I mean, really dude...if you're gonna talk that damn much, get a blog. Between the cold, the crowd (yes, crowd, for a frickin' movie by Tyler D. Jakes-Perry), and the "conversation" (a word I'll use loosely), I just wanted to rip open my shirt and take off down the dark road, all devil-may-care-like.

To top it off, who should sit next to him in the theater, but this incredibly cute guy with the sexiest profile I've ever seen in real life who came to the movies by himself like I sometimes do and was wearing totally offbeat plaid Converse much like I might. While I was on a date. With Completely-Undeserved-Arrogance Guy. I spent the movie alternating between stealthily staring at this guy like he was my soulmate and gawking at Taraji Henson's terrifying wig.

The date ends with him telling me two things.
1) " On our next date maybe we can see that movie you wanted to see." That tells me he heard me loud and clear when I said I didn't want to watch the crap he picked. Everyone knows the one who is invited on the date picks the restaurant/movie/venue.

2)"I think our date was a success with a capital S." What what what? Who fucking says that?

To counteract any kissing action he might've taken, I went in for a hug, just to keep my face out of reach.

Then later I saw he had updated his facebook status on our date, and a friend commented, asking if he was "oiling" which for some dumb ass reason means having sex at his college.
I was squicked out beyond measure, and immediately deleted him. I have an irrational anger for people who constantly update their status, and the thought of having sex with him made my shmagina want to pucker, curl into itself, and die.

I don't ever want another date like this. I just don't get it. I'm a freaking catch, and I don't even want a boyfriend! Just a cute, funny, smart, single, healthy guy to have fun with. But, that's another post. Heaven knows this one has dragged on, much like my date did.

I Sometimes Wish I Knew NPH

So I could just bask in his awesome. Not awesomeness. NPH does not require 'ness'.

NYE outfit

I know Herve Leger has been done to death by the celeb crowd throughout 2007 & 8, but look at it this way: this isn't actually HL, it's BCBG. Plus, I could care less. Leggings have been shot, stabbed, burned, drowned, and run into the ground, but you still see people running around in them. Uggs, too. Besides, bandage dresses, unlike some other zombified (Just. Won't. Die!) trends, look fab, especially when you've got the body. And, pardon my ego, but I do! Lol.




I only tried on two dresses, because I already had the look in my head. The second was hot and very 90s, but I loved the first one's color, so I stuck with it.
You can't really tell in the iPhone pic, but my hair looked like this, only longer. I love Kelis!

Oh, and I just found out the guy I'd hated (translation: secretly was in love with) since I was about 8 has a kid and is getting married in July. :( That sure sucks. Not for him, obviously. But I'd always hoped I'd see him again/get together with him if I ever ended up back in my hometown, where I'll clearly be the next four years. Oh well...crumbling cookies and all that.