Fashion Pet Peeves

Okay, so we all make them: the fashion mistakes that have most likely ended up on I Love the 80’s where you gag and go “I can’t believe I used to wear something like that!” Well guess what, ladies and gents? We’re amidst the biggest fashion fad disaster of all time! Welcome to the world of skinny jeans, oversized scarves, and those god awful giant gold watches.

First, the skinny jean. I am a skinny jean owner myself, and must say, what am I thinking??? First, the fact that they come in bright purple and green and any other color is repusling. How dare you, Urban Outfitters. Shame on you! I didn’t realize that we live in a modern day circus. No seriously, think about it. Clowns, anyone? Bright blue skinny jeans with shiny pink shoes. Now all you need is clown makeup and you’re ready for the show! Oh wait! Most girls DO rock clown makeup nowadays:

::sigh:: Alas, I cannot end here. Let’s move on to the scarves. First, let me just say, I love wearing scarves. They’re fun and colorful and when you’re riding your bike they come in handy as an essential neck protector. However, there comes a time when one must realize that wearing a scarve the size of your comforter simply is taking the fashion trend a little too far. I mean, if you’re able to use the scarf at a sleepover as your means of warmth, you have a problem. I just don’t get it. What a waste of fabric. Not only that, but wouldn’t it be uncomfortable to tie a blanket around your neck and lug it around as a fashion accessory? Boys, you’re guilty of this one too. Come on, people!!!!

And now I shall continue with the giant gold watches. First, why? Why must we have a watch the size of a wall clock around our wrist? I simply don’t understand. If anything, it makes you look like a dumbass who can’t read numbers smaller than a 48 size font. And truly, this may be the case for a person or two, but I highly doubt every person that owns a giant watch has a vision problem. They’re usually never wearing giant, thick-lensed glasses anyway. I can only draw a few conclusions about the owners of these watches:

1. They need to work out their biceps and forearms. Therefore, every time they need to tell time they simple lift the arm at a slight incline to look at the watch every twenty minutes or so.
2. They somehow feel that a giant watch is a status symbol. The bigger the watch the bigger the……

…Yeah. Those watches need to be destroyed because they’re so damn unpractical. Unless, of course, you sport one of these watches, in which case, I’ll commend you for your bravery and ask you about LARPing:

In conclusion, these three items can join Visa cards and the Barenaked Ladies for all I care. The moral of this story is “EVERYTHING IN MODERATION”. Scarves: fine. Giant bath towels: fashion pet peeve. Skinny jeans: Okay at times. Spandex clown pants: Scary as hell. Watches: Perfectly normal. Wrist weights: Seriously?

THE END.

If I had a million dollars

I’d be rich!

Seriously though, credit cards are the most evil entity of the human race. This whole “buy now! pay later!” attitude we Americans have really grinds my gears. On that note, I have a proposition: down with money! Let’s get rid of it all! All payments should be in light of the Burning Man way. Gifts of all sorts, hugs, kisses, butterflies, and rainbows. Now tell President Bush to stick THAT in his pipe and smoke it. Gas prices would go down, the economy well…would have warm fuzzies.

Okay okay, so what if this is my Candyland utopia? All I’m sayin’ is, credit cards can bite the big one. I’m done. No more. I hope Visa dies a painful death. And if Mastercard’s commercials weren’t inconsistently so damn enjoyable, I would say the same.

The Barenaked Ladies can also bite the big one. That damn “If I Had A Million Dollars” song is the worst song I have ever heard, yet somehow I find that horrible tune stuck in my head about 80% of the time. I don’t listen to it, nor have I heard it for years, but come morning, afternoon, and night, that song lingers in my brain, torturing me and tormenting me to near delirium. Eff you, Barenaked Ladies. You can share a grave with Visa.

Lord of the Rings: Eat Your Heart Out

And on the third day her tears subsided and although Kate was crying on the inside, she got out of bed, took a shower, and took on the day.

Seriously though, today has been the better of my last 6 days, so I need to give it a little recognition. Thank you, Wednesday, for being less shitty than the last two! No one went to the hospital, no computers crashed, no one got in a fight–I was starting to lose faith in Wednesdays.

So, I have a little “qualm” to pick with the members of my Tolkien class. Now, you need to understand, this isn’t your ordinary class. First off, who woulda thunk I’d be able to study one book about wizards and fairies for the whole semester? Now, add to that equation, youtubes of Lord of the Rings Spoofs, Class-long discussions of art and society in America, and questions of homosexuality between Sam and Frodo? Welcome to my J.R.R. Tolkien class. I should have expected it, and it scared the shit out of me on the first day, considering the book was 1000 pages long. But I have to say, it’s actually pretty cool and so are the people in it. I find myself snickering at their inside jokes about Gollum, making snide comments about Frodo, and arguing about the mapping of Middle Earth. I sometimes try to repeat these jokes and comments to my friends and they stare and sigh and realize I’ve joined the land of Live Action Role Playing and World of Warcraft. Seriously though, I can’t help it. They’re all pretty cool cats. Here’s where I draw the line: Don’t start talking about the unrealistic nature of Middle Earth’s mountains based on the fact that tectonic plates couldn’t have formed them. I mean, there comes a point when you’re going a little too far and need to tone it down a bit. It’s a book of FICTION. The End.

And that’s my rant on the land of Mordor and the anxious readers that have formed the future scientists and engineers of our country. As for me, I’m still going to be a high school teacher teaching English. Although now, I will probably slip in a Tolkien reference or two at some point, but don’t hold me to that.

I do think it would be rad to speak Elvish, only because you could talk all the smack you wanted about someone right in front of them and there would be only 20 other people on the planet who would be able to translate. So there you are standing next to a fine gentleman in his popped collar and spikey blonde hair, taking jager bombs, snickering at you and your dorkiness, and all you’re doing is telling him that he smells bad, needs to stop tanning, and has an unzipped fly. Oh, and that jager bombs don’t make you a tough ass.

J.R.R. Tolkien, Eat your heart out.