blog crack

nice. 

My intern started today. A nice, wide-eyed young man from London. This one doesn't seem like a crackhead. We'll see.

At lunch he told me that after his interview three weeks ago, he was accosted. He was walking down the street when a big, Greek-looking man in a convertible pulled over to the curb and called out asking for directions. Being completely new in town, said intern paused in confusion. Thankfully, another guy on the street intervened and provided the directions. Intern, relieved, kept on walking. But the convertible guy pulled alongside again.

Convertible guy: That didn't work, did it?

Intern: Excuse me?

Convertible guy: That whole "I need directions thing".

Intern: (uncomfortable laugh)

Convertible guy: Want to take a ride?

Intern: Pardon?

Convertible guy: You know, a ride…

Intern: Um...Sorry, but I'm not gay.

Convertible guy: I'll give you $100.

Intern: No, really. I'm *not* gay. (scurries down street)

Intern told me he was actually offended -- not at being thought of as gay, he was actually flattered that the convertible guy was so enamored that he went through all the trouble -- no, he was offended that the guy only offered him $100. "I'm worth a lot more than that!" he told me.

So not only did the guy think intern was gay, he thought he was a 'ho and a cheap gay 'ho at that. He he.

Evil Incarnate or Pawn of Satan? 

This morning I woke to the following headline: "Michael Crichton, Novelist, Becomes Senate Witness" in the New York Times and almost fell out of my chair.

I think the reporter as well as the copywriter were equally confused, as is evident from the way in which the headline was worded. They could as easily have written "Novelist Michael Crichton Becomes Senate Witness" But no, they didn't.

And about what he did testify? --That global warming is one big scam. (tell that to all the people who suffered from flooding in excessively stormy weather this year). The reason, a mere writer, is qualified to offer a testimonial on a complex scientific subject? He wrote a (fictional) book: State of Fear, "an environmental thriller that casts doubt on the widely held notion that human activities contribute to global warming."

And, "Senator James M. Inhofe, a plainspoken Oklahoma Republican who has unabashedly pronounced global warming 'the greatest hoax ever perpetrated on the American people'" asked Crichton to speak on the subject.

The Times writes, "'I'm excited about this hearing," Mr. Inhofe said, nodding toward Mr. Crichton as the proceedings began. 'I think I've read most of his books; I think I've read them all. I enjoyed most 'State of Fear' and made it required reading for this committee.'"

A lousy action-movie actor is the Governor of California and a bad novelist is helping to shape environmental policy.

Sigh.

The Breakfast of Champions 

Can anyone tell me why Kate Moss is being vilified when practically every single person in the fashion industry is a cokehead?

Please see Guy Trebay's awesome piece in the Times.

Just when you thought men (read: metrosexuals) couldn't get any closer to being complete and total drag queens...

First there were beauty products for men, then there were mani/pedis, next, before you know it, there'll be ladies panties for men and stimulated menstrual cycles for men and virtual pregnancies...*breathe* but I get ahead of myself. Now's there's laser beard sculpturing.

What in the hell is this, you say? I thought one "sculpted" their beard with a freakin disposable Bic shaver and a dollop of shaving cream, you say? Yeah, I thought so too. The Times ran an article in the Fashion & Styles section today about this new up and coming procedure.

It's for guys who want to get that "I-haven't-shaved-in-a-few-days-because-I'm-a-rockstar-and-I've-been-on-a-weeklong-crack-binge" look, but have hair growth issues which make them look like woolly mammoths after only a day or two off the blade. It's also for guys who are lazy as hell and don't want to bother actually shaving with care.

So what else than to get laser surgery for it? Do people have too much money in this country to spend it on crap like this? The answer, apparently, is yes.

The article goes on to say that many men are seeking the procedure for their necks. Ah, so it's because they're total spases and can't trust themselves not to accidentally cut open their jugulars. The article cites an example:

"Like many men with very heavy beards, Mr. Marino had a rough time shaving on his neck, where hairs tend to grow every which way. "I was always getting razor burns and nicks and cuts on my neck," he said. "And believe me, the last thing you want to do is get blood all over a $250 Ermenegildo Zegna shirt."

Yes, Mr. Marino, that's the last thing you'd want to do.

But back to the article:

"Dr. Katchen warned that because the laser is imprecise, the result can be patchy. He added, "If too much hair is removed, you can end up feminizing the face, which is one thing most guys definitely don't want."

If they don't want to look like a chick (please refer to my "Hair Removal Hell" posting), then why are they acting like one?

You can do it! 


According to the New York Times, I'm not a dork but rather incredibly hip. In fact, I'm ahead of the trend.

Today Stephanie Rosenbloom wrote about how spelling bees have come into fashion. The gospel of movies like the documentary Spellbound and the upcoming Bee Season, based on the book by Myla Goldberg, coupled with the award-winning Broadway musical "The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee" have helped to spread the word.

Spelling bees are like the mental Olympics. They teach one about sportsmanship, cramming, working under enormous amounts of stress, obscure words derived from dead languages, unreasonable parental pressure, the agony of defeat and much, much more. And when combined with alcohol, they can even be fun. Having a decade or two to heal old wounds from past, scarring-for-life elementary school spelling competitions helps too.

So haha! to all you nay sayers who teased me about my upcoming party: The 1st Annual Patel-Kyung Spelling Bee (and reading!). I have my finger on the pulse.

Today my writing partner told me his father believes America should be ruled by a king.

You know you're in trouble when all the librarians at your library branch not only recognize you but also remember the last book you read.

I love libraries. They offer one of the few free things in life. The SF Public Library system is awesome mainly because (and I'm sure you can do this at most libraries as well) you can request books and have them delivered to your closest branch all on-line.

Thus, I have my very own version of a NetFlix library queue. I've had books on order for months - particularly The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova. It seems like every freakin person in San Francisco wanted to get their hands on it. Over the last few months, I've kept on adding more and more books to the queue, including: Zadie Smith's new book On Beauty, Myla Goldberg's new book Wickett's Remedy, and Anita Diamant's new book The Last Days of Dogtown (which I am currently 32 pages into). Plus, I have to read a couple of books for Kirkus and for KQED. Not that I'm complaining. Spending your day reading is one of the best ways to pass the time.

But now, suddenly, they've all come pouring in! I have eight books I need to read in the next few weeks. I shouldn't even be writing this right now.

What I should be doing is reading.

Have you ever noticed how fast five minutes can pass yet when you microwave something five minutes seems to take forever?

Another very good sign that the apocalypse is upon us, besides war, famine, floods, etc.: Jon Voight (Angelina Jolie's very own big papa) is set to play Pope John Paul II (you know, the one who slumped) in a television movie to be aired on CBS.

You may recognize Voight from his other stellar, standout roles such as Derek Zoolander's (Ben Stiller) daddy in Zoolander and that crazy guy from Anaconda. His other claim to fame is being born in that city of all cities: Yonkers. Ahem.

What possessed CBS executives to make such a decision? Were there Catholic lobbyists knocking down their doors and calling them at all hours of the night leaving strange messages with Voight's name followed by meaningful passages from the Bible? I'm pretty sure that in every role I've seen him in, he plays some kind of unstable lunatic. But maybe that's just it!

Maybe this is some kind of giant conspiracy against the Church. Another cultural blow following The Da Vinci Code.

Or maybe Voight had committed some kind of grand sin and his agent and manager took the casting agents out for a nice dinner at Koi then slipped them a heavy bag of blow and had the finest hos' money could buy entertain them for the rest of the evening, just to make him look like a decent guy.

I mean, come on, Charlton Heston is the freakin' spokesperson for the NRA and people still love the bastard because he played some guy with a fake tan who walked through the desert and pretended to talk to God. Everyone's still all "Oh, but he played Moses!" Whatever.

The point is Voight could possibly go down in history as that guy who played the Pope.

God help us all.

Received some hate mail today.

You know what they say...all press is good press. This particular commentator passionately disagreed with my review of A History of Violence. Apparently, the reason I didn't like the movie was because "I didn't understand it". He didn't mention what exactly I didn't quite understand. I wish he did.

He thought, however, that this reflected on my ability to review films as a whole. =).

I stand by my opinion. The movie sucked.

The Cause of the Decline of Western Civilization 

Met with my Korean partner and her husband (who accompanied her) today. Started reading Korean. I think I've mastered the word for "milk" .

While Ji Eun's been here for 7 months, her hubby just arrived two weeks ago. Last week he asked me how he could improve upon his English (which is really quite good and about a billion times better than my Korean). I told him he should watch TV.

So tonight I asked him if he's been watching television like I suggested.

Him: Yes.

Me: Like what?

Him: Cheaters.

Me: Seriously?

Him: Um...and Divorce Court.

Me: What?

Him: Oh, and Jerry Springer.

Me: silence

Him: Jerry! Jerry! Jerry! (thrusting his fist in the air like they do on the show)


As an American, this is my personal cultural nightmare. That people from other countries will watch shit like this and then look at me (or, rather, us) and think that we're all cheaters/divorced/sleep with our own family members/divorced cheaters/cheating on our significant others with our own family members/missing teeth. How sad.

I told him to watch something else.

Ricky Gervais in Extras 

Caught the premiere of HBO's new series Extras. Created by Ricky Gervais (the boss from The Office, one of the most brilliant shows ever created, which is soon to be slaughtered by NBC), Extras is hilarious and original.

Gervais plays Andy, a guy who likes to think he's an actor but who, in reality, can only land bit parts as an extra. Shot like a documentary, the show also has scenes in which the movie being filmed is featured. For example, tonight's show opened with some kind of Holocaust movie with Kate Winslet as a nun and is shot as if you are watching the film itself. For a second, you're like WFT. But then "Andy" sticks his head into the scene.

In this episode he unknowingly makes fun of a woman with cerebral palsy in front of her own sister, lies about being a catholic so he can get laid and ends up on what might qualify as one of the worst dates ever in which he accepts said woman's offer of meeting up with friends after work. Turns out the "friends" to which she was referring was her prayer group headed by a very insightful priest who calls Andy out for the fake Catholic he is.

I try to keep my TV watching to a minimum and the only show I make a point to watch is Rome, but I think I'm going to have to make room for Extras.

Was at a party tonight and someone posed an interesting question:

Cake or pies?

If you could only eat one (in all its varieties) for the rest of your life, which would it be?

Personally, I pick cake. A life without Carvel ice cream cake is no kind of life at all.

It's amazing what you can learn from craigslist. I think I'm going to start posting a new piece of terminology every week.

This week's word: Molly.

Do you know what molly is?

Molly is a new, purer form of MDMA. Basically, really good ecstasy. It's called "molly" because it's supposedly derived from the word "molecular". Whatever.

Maybe I'm totally out of it, but I've never heard of the thing or anyone doing it. And when I did a google search hardly anything came up. If you've went out with molly let me know.

Holding Jenny's awesome sign/painting at the anti-war protest 

Attended the anti-war rally this afternoon. When I spoke to my brother earlier and told him about the protest all he said was, "They still do that kind of thing in San Francisco?" Yes, yes they do. There was also a much bigger protest in the belly of the beast, Washington, D.C.

I've just been so pissed off lately (more so than my usual disgruntleness about Bush's policies, e.g. the war, among other things) about how our government reacted to the Hurricane Katrina disaster, that I felt it was my duty as a citizen to stand up for what I thought (I know this sounds a bit lofty, but it's true). I was supposed to hang out with Ann (see partner list) and it would have been so easy to just chill and take care of all the errands I've been meaning to do...But I believe you should stand up for what you believe.

And if you think George Bush and his advisors are all a bunch of ignorant, privileged, irresponsible, hypocritical idiots and total assholes who, as Kanye West so eloquently puts it, do not care about black people, and if you disagree with a war that's, let's be honest, is about securing oil reserves, and if you feel it's wrong to send out young men to be killed for such a useless less than honorable cause, then you should go out there and show it (peacefully).

We need the billions of dollars going into the war effort to help the people of Louisiana, Mississippi and, I guess now, Texas too. If most of the army wasn't in Iraq getting blown into little bits by bitter, angry kids their own age, then we'd have had help when it was needed. I could go on and on...

This is how I feel and so I thought it was important for me to march today. And so I did.


The view down Market street. Not sure how many people attended, but it seemed like a lot...  


A really cool sign this woman was holding. You can't really see it, but the blood dripping down are the names of all the countries we've tried to "bring democracy & peace" to. 


The end of the protest, a rally at Jackson Square park.  

good night, and good luck. 

Saw this movie today. One word: Amazing.

threading 

There should be laws against non-hairy women doing any kind of waxing. Like when you walk into those little joints run by completely hairless Asian women to get a cheap waxing done and they have no idea what they're doing and then, on top of it all, you get the sneaking suspicion that they're talking about you in Korean/Vietnamese/Chinese and how hairy you. I think that in order to be certified to wax, you need to be hairy. You need to pull up a sleeve or a pant leg or grow your moustache out or something.

Yesterday I went to get my eyebrows threaded as I hadn't gotten them done since April and let's just say that it was time. When it comes to eyebrows, threading is hands down the best method as it is much more exact than waxing. However, threading seems to be a strictly Indian (and from what I've heard certain some south east Asian countries too) and Middle Eastern thing. So it can be...difficult to find someone to do it for you.

And, since there are only like three Indian people in all of San Francisco, there is only one freakin' place I've found that can do it. And, of course, she's a Patel (and she doesn't live in SF either). Usually I go to my fab threader in NY, but since I haven't been 'home' lately, I was desperate. The reason for my reluctance other than mere loyalty? The salon where this chick work charges TWENTY freakin dollars! I pay five bucks in NY. And that's after she increased the price from three dollars. It's akin to gasoline price gouging!

And then when I called to make my appointment, the receptionist informed me that yesterday (my bad day) was the only day I could do have it done because BOTH of the threaders were going away on maternity leave. How could they be so selfish and just leave all those hairy woman hanging like that? What, just because you have a baby, you can't thread? (sarcasm people, sarcasm. okay, and maybe a little bitching too.) So I make the appointment after much grumbling. And while I'm at it, I decide to get some waxing done as well.

Anyway, so the threader does her magic. And then I go over to the waxer, this very peppy white chick (read: not hairy). I tell her that I would like my face waxed. Now, you hairy girls know what I mean when I say that, but for all you men and non-hairy bitches, I'm referring to my sideburn and lower cheek area. Usually, I Jolen, but after getting waxed in April and loving not feeling like my face is burning off every month, I decided to keep it up.

However, my peppy little hairless waxer decided in the negative. She told me that I should get it threaded. What is she, crazy? You can't thread that much hair! When I told her that I've had it waxed before, she gave me a look like I was smoking crack or something. And then preceded to deny me again! I was dumbfounded. I wanted to say: "Bitch just take the damn stuff off and quit asking questions!" but that would have reflected poorly on my already tarnished mental state in her eyes. Even after I told her that I have really sensitive skin and that the only thing I can have threaded is my eyebrows, she still was like "I don't think waxing's a good idea..."

She said that I would have a line between that which I had waxed and that which I didn't. When I gave her look saying: "What freakin' line?" She handed me a mirror asking me where I would like the said waxing to take place. So I show her. And then she's all: What about this peach fuzz here?" and points to my cheekbones. To which I say: Why can't you just wax that off as well?" And then she says: "Well, we can't wax your whole face!" Eeeeeew. Let me just note here that we're talking about a little fuzz in one area.

I wanted to say to her: "Listen woman. It's hard enough that I'm a hairy Indian girl living in a world that likes to pretend body/facial hair doesn't exist, but now I have to sit here while you make me humiliate myself even further by having to explain myself all while having to get a procedure done that is already embarrassing as it is and then you deny me service because you don't get it and have probably never threaded or waxed any area of your body north of your bikini line in your life?" But what I really said was: "Okay."

Okay, technically, it wasn't a total all-nighter as I got to sleep at around 5:30, but it was a labor dripping with love. Thursdays are my bad day, the day SF Station goes to press and all our fabulous and interesting articles are posted.

This week's issue was particularly brutal as we had nine film reviews which all require a bit of production time.

Two of which are mine:

Everything is Illuminated (go see this movie!)

and

A History of Violence (do not go see this movie)

Why are we the only country (and I'm pretty sure it's only America) in the world that doesn't freakin' use the metric system. Why?!

Today my writing partner (see partner list) told me something interesting about Pygmies. They have a similar myth to that of Adam & Eve, the tree, the apple, blah blah blah, however, instead of Adam & Eve being cast out of paradise (not sure if I'm repeating that quite right...), God went off into the heavens on a cloud. Till this day there are certain designated trees which they consider sacred and do not go near...they also believe fire is sacred and therefore are forbidden from creating fire.

They can't start fires! They live in the jungle (i.e. the middle of nowhere)! How are they supposed to cook? What do they eat? Something tells me they aren't surviving on the raw food diet. Turns out they do use fire. But they don't start it themselves.

They go and steal it from the Bantus. Picture the carrying of the Olympic torch, but different. The Pygmies go over to the Bantu village/camp, get a torch or something from their fire and then bring it back to their place and keep the fire going. Supposedly, they can keep these fires going on for years. Who's job is it to stand there and constantly feed wood into the fire?
(maybe it's this kid's). That job must be stressful.

And, hey, it's not likethey started it right? So technically, it isn't sinning. I love rationalizing.

This could all be total and utter bullshit, but it's what Chaimee told me and so here it stands. I know there are probably different kinds of Pygmies and various tribes...If anyone knows more about this, please let me know.

I wrote my first entry for *KQED's snazzy new arts blog Scene and Unseen today. It's a hybrid of sorts: half book review and half personal essay. It's short and sweet, so please go and read it!

Usually I would have written more about the novel itself, however, as anyone who's actually read Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro can attest, the plot is such that even the tiniest hint could give away the story. It was spoiled for me by an over-eager Amazon reviewer who must have decided it would be fun to write about the plot in-depth, thus giving away all the mystery. I wanted to stray away from this cardinal sin of reviewers, so instead I talked about how the book made me feel.

Man, I am in book hell. It's only the 15th and I've already read four books! And I still have five more to go! Ugh.


*KQED is the the fabulous and amazing public radio, tv and web presence in the Bay Area so I'm honored to joined their ranks. If it's good enough for Sesame Street, it's good enough for me. Ahem.

Met with my writers' workshop tonight, otherwise known as TUTIE. We've been meeting for almost five years and I look forward to meeting with them every month. This month Sonya and I were up for critique, and I submitted excerpts from my novel All Good Things Die in L.A. They gave me immense amounts of great feedback and really boosted my spirits. It's easy for a writer to drown in self-doubt, so it's up to peers like this to prevent each other from driving to drink.

Every month we have a writing exercise. This month each of us had to eavesdrop on up to three conversations. As I have a tendency to hole myself up in my house or walk about with my iPod on, I had a bit of difficulty spying and what I came up with totally blows, so I'll spare you.

My comrades however...Sonya overhead two brothers in bar drunkenly and blithely talking about their cousin being run over and killed by a car while on his bike by someone he knew (he worked in a 7-11 or something and this girl, a friend, worked at the convenience store across the street and they both got off of work at the same time, she in her car and he on his bike). She was at the funeral and "totally fucked up" as they said.

Lisa was in some nail place in the middle of nowhere in Michigan with her friend and overheard a conversation between a little girl and her (Lisa's) friend.

Little Girl: Hi

Friend: Hi!

Little Girl: Has your daddy ever been shot?

Friend: What? No!

Little Girl: My daddy's been shot. Twice.

Friend: !

Little Girl: You like my nails?

Surreal. Tahd witnessed some kind of lesbian abuse situation at Amoeba. And Shannon was on the bus (#43) watching as a freshly budding relationship withered right before her very eyes. A young preppy guy and hipster girl get on the bus. There's no room so she sits on his lap. They are showered, most likely post-coitus. Out of the blue, the girls asks the guy if she ever told him about time she was fifteen and went out with a 65 yr. old. The guy asks her not to tell him and that he really doesn't want to know. The girl ignores him and proceeds to indulge in her very seedy story.

If you want to hear the rest, leave a comment and I'll continue...

If blogging is like crack, completly addicting and of no nutritive value but which nonetheless consumes one's life, then is Friendster like weed, the starter drug?



Quite possibly the best Friendster photo ever... 

You can credit the title to my writing partner who was telling me this morning about his crazy genius mathematician mother who speaks 15 freakin languages (including that one with the clicks in it) but all with a Chinese accent (and, no, she's isn't Chinese...that's the funny part) since that's the language in which she's most fluent and because she lived in China for some time.

Well, I can barely get my Korean accent going...but at least I don't speak it with a Gujarati accent. That's would kind of cute in a disturbing kind of way actually...but I digress. On Mondays I meet with Ji Eun (tonight was our third session), my fabulous and amazing language exchange partner. Before I continue, let me say that I use the term "exchange" lightly. I am leaching off this poor girl's skills with all I've got, and she's too sweet to admit it. The "exchange" entails my helping her with her English and she helping me with my Korean.

The thing is, her English is amazing. She's studying for some kind of qualifying exam so that she can work as a nurse and this test is ridiculous. I can barely answer some of these questions! Apparently, being a nurse requires the ability to pontificate on a wide variety of complex social and political issues. Funny, I never got any of this from any of the nurses I've worked with (long story) or been treated by. Anyway, what I "help" her with is her pronunciation, otherwise she's a rockstar. Me, on the other hand...well, I don't even know what to call what I have...

Let's just say that she's teaching me a WHOLE lot more than I'm teaching her. It's so very, very sad. I know, literally, like three words. Okay, maybe five. Seriously. And there are whole schools of sound in Korean that I need to train my mouth and throat to utter forth. Tonight I learned how to say "he", "she", "I", and "you" while Ji Eun philosophized on the rigors of being an immigrant in a new country. There should be books written on my uncanny ability to grasp language.

But I'm determined. I will have a decent conversation with my mother-in-law if it's the last thing I do. At this point, I sound like a five-year old with a speech impediment. And a not very bright one either. This week's homework is to get my alphabet down.

I'll keep you updated on my progress!

After having to attend a function that required my wearing something nice as well as black, I realized that I have NO nice pants. This, of course, being an unfortunate by-product of having an office located down the hall from my bedroom in which a nice comfy, pair of pajama pants passes for "business casual". I'm not complaining -- I'm all for drawstring pants and loungewear, but every now and then, I need to go outside and look somewhat respectable. So, I realized that it was time to go shopping. A task I hate. Okay, that might be too harsh. Let's settle for "dislike very much".

And one of the hardest parts of shopping is buying pants. It is nearly IMPOSSIBLE to find a pair of pants that fit me. It's as if I've stepped into an alternative universe populated by women who are all 5' 11" and wear a size 0. During my last shopping excursion, I went to Anthropologie. Every pair of pants on their damn racks were four inches too long and they were size 0-2! Girls who are that tall should not be wearing something that small! Okay, technically, they can do whatever their anorexic hearts want, but it ain't healthy. And who do these designers model their clothing on when the vast majority of consumers buying their overpriced crap aren't supermodels? Designing your clothing for 0.5% of the population just doesn't seem to make sense. Furthermore, I just feel there's something wrong with having to pay $120 for a piece of clothing that doesn't even fit right. What's the point?

Argh! After bitching about not being able to find a proper pair of pants, three of my girlfriends recommended the Editor pant at Express. The vast majority of the female population, you know the ones who actually have decent clothing and go shopping more than once a year, probably knew about this pant, but I did not. And being an actual editor, I thought it fit that this should be the pant for me. =).

So I enlisted my shopping partner (please refer to my partner list), for a trip to the dreaded, ego-destroying, self-image crushing, money-draining mall. On a crowded Saturday afternoon in downtown SF no doubt. I'm an "in and out" kind of person when it comes to shopping. My goal: get two pair of nice pants. The Venue: Express and J.Crew.

No joke, I tried on 10 freakin' pairs of editor pants in various styles. I entered the store, saw the display tables for the pants and raided the size 2s and 4s. The result: 1 measly pair in flannel. Unfortunately, the fabric on all the other pairs of pants were so thin you could see the outline of the pockets! Eeew. Not classy. The flannel were lined and the material was thick. And, yes, even though a size 2, they were three inches too long. Maybe I just have to resign myself to a life of alterations? I hate tall people. Especially skinny tall people that can fit into sizes meant for tiny people like me. They ruin it for everyone. Damn them.

To make up for not achieving my shopping goals, I bought the cutest shirt ever. I can't find it on-line but it looks like a modern-day kimono. Very cute. I also bought a pair of what I like to call "little man pants". Those trendy new shorts that look like cut off trousers. It makes me happy that I bought something that will make me look somewhat stylish, even though I'm three months behind the trend and have probably missed the boat entirely. Sigh.

After losing it a little at the cash register (three clothing items are not supposed to cost over $200 in my cheap-o Guju book), we hit up J.Crew. On of my girlfriends, who's 4'11" was wearing a really cute pair of chinos (hemmed, of course), so I decided to hit that joint up as well. When I walked into the store, it took me a moment to gather my senses. It was as if I had literally walked into the incredibly preppy world that is the J.Crew catalog.

I went to college with these people and when I graduated I had hoped never to run into them again. Well, now I know where they've all been hiding. I've never seen so many blonde people in my life (well, maybe I have, but let's just let that statement stand as is for now). I was immediately all too aware of my own brownness and my very un-preppy appearance. I caught the eye of two punk-rock adolescents and we exchanged knowing glances, all three of us thinking the same thing: "what the hell are you doing in here?" But, then again, I had just walked into J.Crew upon my own volition...on a quest to find the elusive good pant.

I didn't find anything there btw. I tried on a really cute pair of bright pink cordswhich, as Michelle pointed out to me, were in the pajama pant section but they were so cute I had to at least try. Upon doing so, I had to reject them. They were serious pajama pants and god knows I have enough of those already. Thus, the very mission I was currently on.

This is two hours into our excursion and my shopping limit had officially been reached. I grabbed something chocolaty and we left the god-forsaken mall. Until next year then.

Okay, this is my first post, obviously, since there's nothing preceding this. I created this blog so that I could stay in better touch with my friends, share all my random stories, and be generally fabulous on the world wide web. I'll be posting thoughts, stories of the day, links to my reviews, and maybe, if you're lucky, excerpts from my elusive novel.

Anyways...I'll just get right down to it.