She was wearing denim capris.

The following story has nothing to do with style or sequins, hence why I felt the need to at least have the title reference what this woman (my hero) was wearing.

Aight, so I hostess at a sort of Cajun restaurant. I say "sort of Cajun" because our "Cajun Cheeseburger" is just a burger that someone screams "CAJUN!" at before it's taken to the table.

I was working last night, as I'm known to do on Saturday nights, and this awesome party of 10 kids and their parents walk in. It's a softball team, and the kids are all "yay! We won!", while the parents are all "yay! WE BE WASTED." They sat down and were unentertaining for awhile. And then the mother of all mothers came to see me at my little hostess stand.

"Hi, sweetie!"
"Hi miss. Is there anything I can do for you?" (This is me speaking, by the way. I call everyone miss so that I don't insult a cougar who doesn't think she's a "ma'am" yet).
"Yeahhhh....can I get some of these mardi gras beads?"
"Oh, sure! How many do you want?"
"Um...lemme think. Yeah, I need 6--I got 6 kids. 6 necklaces for my little margaritas!"

She endearingly referred to her children as margaritas and then stumbled back to her table with necklaces for her brood. Parenting role model = found.

Oh dear.

My short-shorts love has bitten me in the ass. Almost literally! You see, even though I'm as vain as a teenage beauty queen, I find very few occasions to check out my bee-hind in a mirror.

I know. What a shame.

Anywho, my favorite pair of paint-stained shorts was feeling a little off, so I turned around to see if something weird was going on in the back. SOMETHING WAS.

Yeah, the conventions of cutoff-making say that you should draw a marker line on your pants and THEN cut them, but I'm normally confident enough to think that I won't flip out and stray away from my mental marker line. That confidence has been all but shattered. I messed up on the inseam of the left leg, so there is a huge chunk of denim that's just missing off a pair of already teeny shorts.

In conclusion, I've been wearing paint-splattered denim underpants out of the house for weeks now. What worse is that it took me this long to notice. I should probably inspect myself a little more carefully before leaving the house so that I don't accidentally depart looking like this lil' lady one day.*

*Except on the days when I'm going for "pornographic disco ball." Happens more often than you might think.

Why spending money is awesome and terrible.

So, I went to Target last night with my dearest friend Sanja. This was such a huge mistake. You see, as I've said at least five times before, I'm trying not to spend as much money since I'm moving soon. This is incredibly difficult for me. I'll share this anecdote try to and illuminate this point.

I graduated from college approximately one year ago, and I was one of the lucky souls to find a full-time salaried job in my field. In hindsight, I should have been WAYYYY more suspicious than I was then of my good luck. Anywho, since I was still living rent-free with my parents (which I'm realizing more and more was the biggest luxury ever), I was confused as to what to do with these things called "paychecks for more than $200."

Yeah, I'm not stupid. I have a savings account, and I dutifully deposited a certain amount of each paycheck into said account. But I still had monies leftover. And I lack two wonderful virtues: patience and the ability to have money NOT burn a hole in my pocket. So I would buy $50 worth of cheap jewelry or another pair of shoes or something unnecessary like that.

After leaving said job several months ago and going "ruh roh!" many times about no longer having decent paychecks, I decided to be smarter about my spending and you know, not do it as much. This is like a cocaine addict waking up in his/her own feces and deciding that they're going to lay off the blow and start running 5 miles every day. Translation: NOT EASY, PALS.

Since Target is the mecca of all things good and beautiful in the world (and a place where I have a difficult time leaving without at least $20 worth of goods) it's sort of like leading that now-athletic recovering addict into a crack den and saying "I'll be right back! Try not to sniff anything, K?" Sorry for the extended metaphor. I'm also trying to kick a mean drug habit.

However, I like spending time with my ladyfriend, and since we'll soon be doing different things with our lives in different places, trips to the shopping crack den are numbered. Therefore, I went. And OHMYGOD WHY DO CUTE CLOTHES/ACCESSORIES EXIST? I know this is technically a fashion blog, but seriously. I freak out if I buy clothes that cost more than $10 lately.

First of all, there's this. Stripes AND sequins? My two biggest sartorial weaknesses. I would wear it everywhere except for a prison visit, lest I be mistaken for a fabulous inmate.

I think Zac Posen is cute as a button. And this dress is pretty as a posie.

Every now and then, I like subtle jewelry.

Um, hi. Mauve is my favorite color. EVERY HEEL SHOULD BE MAUVE.

Like the good little spendthrift I'm trying to be though, I left empty-handed and full of shopping frustration/plans to try every "get rich quick" hoax I'd ever heard of.

Um, yay.

My pal Chelsea informed me that she doesn't think they have that shirt on their website anymore, and guess what? THEY TOTALLY DON'T! Huzzah!

I'm sorry, but if you're going to advertise t-shirts that basically say "anorexia is so bomb!", you're gonna have a little bit of a backlash.

For the record, here's a shirt that I have no problem with. "I slept with tiger"? That's dangerously close to an "I love lamp" rip-off, grammatically speaking.

Fuck you, Urban Outfitters.

No, seriously.

FUCK YOU.

Read the description of this shirt. It's priceless. Because nothing says "eat more or however much you'd like!" like a t-shirt that says "eat less."

I fell off the face of the earth while wearing booty shorts.

Heyyyyy brother!

Reader(s?), please tell me that you watch Arrested Development. Because if you don't, "heyyy brother" and this ensuing post will mean nothing to you. If you're a fan, then this next paragraph will probably rock your world. Not really, but a gal can dream.

So, it's summa-sum-summatime, right? Right. It's been hot as Hades in the Chicagoland area, and for some reason, I want to dress even trashier than I normally do when it's hot. This is a recent development, I swear. I used to HATE shorts with the passion of a thousand burning suns. Now I'm all "I wanna be like the girl on the Nair commercials!"

I wear short shorts, and I'm damn proud of it. My favorite (and so far only) pair are paint-stained cutoffs. I like to think that I resemble Tobias in all his never-nude glory. To ensure that I don't wear out my beloved colorful cutoffs, I think I may have to buy some cheap Goodwill jeans and start hacking.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go yell at the children that have apparently decided to camp out underneath my bedroom window and scream bloody murder about the rules of every single game known to man. Yup. It's summer.

SO BOMB.

It's mah b-day today! I'm officially 23, the only age more pointless than 14 (seriously, think about it. 13 was cool because you were finally a "teen," and 15 meant that you were only a year away from possibly starring on MTV in My Super Sweet Sixteen. Yeah. 14's lookin' pretty stupid.)

What really matters about today isn't age, though. What matters is listening to this song and being gifted with glorious things. Yes, things! Things are great. Unlike that song, which is sort of crappy. Even for me.

Yesterday, my sister, brother-in-law, and nephew all came over to celebrate the fact that I got born. I opened up a card from my sis and b-i-l (God, I'm lazy), and saw a picture of the NO SLEEP TILL BROOKLYN BANGLE.

That's right. Let that sink in for a moment.

Waves of happiness were experienced. Wave 1: Aww, my sister reads my blog! That's so neat/nice!

Wave 2: HOLY SHIT THIS IS THE ONLY THING I'VE EVER WANTED TO OWN. Obviously, I exagerrate, but not as much as you're thinking.

Wave 3: Aww, she took time to wade through all of the ridiculous things that I post and choose the one thing that's gotten me more excited than even a parade of trannies could.

Love, love, love.