Skinny Jeans Have Led To An Influx of Nightmares

Question: what’s the deal with these skinny jeans? I mean, really, what’s this world coming to?

First we have war, which is the “in” thing right now. Yes, you read right, tens of thousands of people dieing needlessly is just as chic as buying a new pair of skinny jeans. Why People magazine hasn’t rated it as one of its top ten “most in” things at the moment is still a puzzle in my mind.

Now war is bad, I mean war is just plain old horrifying but even though that haunts my dreams a new thing has decided to creep in along with it; the fact that guys are wearing a pair of pants that most women shouldn’t even dream of wearing. So that and war is completely cutting in to my sleep time, which really gets me mad, and has therefore led me to write a darn rant on the whole issue; which trust me is not a good thing for either of us.

In case you’re a guy and don’t know what skinny jeans are I took the liberty of employing my awesome artistic skills and drew you all a picture. Now you can get a better idea of just exactly I’m going on about.

The Skinny Jean:












There you have it –can you believe some critics have compared my work to such artists as Van Gough? I was totally flattered, but please, the guy killed himself so at least compare me to Monet! - the tight, no air, accentuates fat thighs, possibility of ripping when you bend, tacky, way to bring back the eighties jeans.

They really look like that too, and I added the red pumps because oh-my-God, red is so the new white!

Anywho…

Right, so now you take those jeans, and you slap them on a guy and what do you get? Well chip, you get the epitome of gay. Honestly, I don't even think they sell skinny jeans in the mens department which means two things: 1) You shop in the womens department and 2) you're a total drag queen, so hot my friend.

Seriously, what guy does that to themselves? And please, I’m quite sure not everyone person that passes by wants to see your thighs or package made so damn obvious, especially if you don’t look like Hiritik Roshan! There are some things best left to the imagination –though why I would like to imagine some guys thighs hasn’t be made clear to me as of yet. I’ll get back to you when I’m more certain- kind of like High School Musical…why the hell did that movie win any awards, was I the only one not on crack when I watched it on the Disney channel? I get the fact that it’s a musical and all, but seriously, it made me want to give up on life right then and there.

Back to the jeans…

So I really get the whole “individualization” of society, or rather, of the youth. I mean, that’s a deep and profound movement people.

“Say no to conformity! Say no to good grades! Say no to chilling on a Friday night just watching a movie, and hellllllllllo to our little friend the joint. Oh and say no to conformity…did I say that already? I don’t remember because I’m sooo high right now.”

I mean, heck yeah, look at what a lot of youth stand for. It’s totally about being your own person and not following along like everyone else. Make your own style.

You want to be deep, mournful, and gothic. Dude, then do your thing, just don’t forget you have to be serious and remember you’re being an individual. Go for the gold, you’re a tortured artist.

You want to go all hardcore x-games maniac or just the plain old Tony Hawk thing? Then don’t forget that you have to be high, so be extra cool and carry a joint with you –can we say automatic friend magnet? - also remember you can’t get a hair cut for the next year, because then you just aren’t down like all them other cool x-gamers –and naturally you want to give off this air that you don’t give a flying hoot about what people say. You want to be all zen, like those Californian surfer dudes.

You want to be punk? Then the skinny jeans apply to you. You’re in to all that music that others don’t have the common courtesy to remember, like The Ramones or Guns and Roses. You my friend are what keep the music alive! However why you want to suffocate your jewels is beyond me. Hey, who am I to judge, it’s all about being an individual after all.

You don’t conform to what everyone else does; you do your own thing…sort of like everyone else, but not really because you got the neon pink Vaans while I just follow along blindly and buy Puma’s.

Nonetheless, I see the guys in the skinny jeans, being all individual and stuff like that, and I just can’t help but wonder: Why? Seriously man, what’s wrong with regular jeans? Oh, wait, sorry forgot am I breeching the non-conformist act.

Hey what ever does it for you; I’m not going to tell you to take them off. But come on, most women shouldn’t even be wearing them (I’m not being a shape-ist I’m being a realist) and you’re going around like you still have all your marbles –you know the ones that weed hasn’t yet destroyed.

I just can’t help but wonder if when you’re older and living at Louis’s Motel that you’ll look back on today and think: “What the hell was I thinking?” After which you’ll forget because you just saw a magical bunny run passed your window and you have to go follow him “because he’s late”, word of advice, don’t follow the pretty bunny down the hole.

Salam

Great

Another conflict. Some more deaths.

That's exactly what we freaking need! That's exactly what this world is missing. Job well done. Bravo.

Something more the growing generations can turn to.

That stupid blood stained knife just keeps moving down the line; east to west, north to south, it sees no color, it sees no age.

Great

Salam

GOLD STAR!

I’m one of those people who enjoys going to the movies. I know, what the heck is the world coming to? Why are we wasting both time and money just to see some moving pictures with narration?

Oh those aren’t the movies you watch? Hah, you have no idea what you’re missing out on then, apparently they’re all the rage in Timbuktu.

Anyway, this time around I humbled myself and went to watch the type of movies regular, non-Timbuktu citizens watch.

What I don’t get is why we –by that I mean me- always have to sit either behind or in front of total morons. Morons, should never leave their proper ecosystems (the zoo), and they should really not travel in groups because that’s just plain torture for the rest of us mammals. Seriously, were the zoo guards indulging on their secret stashes of moonshine again?

Let’s continue…

We sit; I wait for the movie to start. All that awesome, pent up energy is circulating through my veins. I have the popcorn, I have the pop, and I have the very important loves of my life, aka MILKDUDS! I’m ready for this show to get on the road. I even put my coat on my lap -which if you’re a seasoned movie go-er like myself, you should know this is a big no, no, because it gets bloody chilly in the theater. Or it might be I’m a wussy?

Yes, so anyways, we were waiting for the movie to begin and the aforementioned morons decided to sit directly behind us. Now I don’t usually mind if people want to sit behind us, heck go right ahead you paid too after all. However what I do hate is when Tarzan forgets that he left the jungle and is now in what we like to call, civilization (omg, that was so 1700’s colonizing missionary of me).

Please people, I really could give two craps for your commentary throughout the movie I’m watching. I’m really quite capable of coming up with my own thoughts on the movie, and the previews.

See, these people sit behind you and then to be really cool they say things like “That wasn’t even funny”, you know, when everyone else is laughing.

I really just want to turn in my seat and give him a banana all the while saying “Goood Tarzan, you made an awesome remark that totally set you apart from the rest of us drones who laugh at things. Oh, what’s that, you can’t understand what is coming out of my mouth? How about, Tarzan shut-up now…good boy.”

But, you know, that would just distract everyone else who is trying to enjoy the movie. So I put up with it, and that’s just the previews.

Honestly, if you want a pat on the shoulder for your oh-so-original burn, I’m sure I can find someone to give you one, along with a new burn and while we’re at it, brain –or is that just asking for a miracle?

Anyway the guy kept giving his two cents through out the movie like:

Moron: “What a beeyotch man.”
My Awesomeness (my mind): “really, you think so? Gosh, that must mean she did a good job with her acting skillz then. rock on!”

Moron: “haha that was actually a good joke.”

My Awesomeness (my mind): “Oh-My-God, so you mean, we can like laugh now? Thanks man, you rock!”

Moron: “What a loser.”

My Awesomeness (my mind): “Gold star. You rock!”

Basically he kept talking and I just kept saying you rock, it helped.

The moral of this story is that if you go to the theaters keep in mind that even though in your mind you’re the freaking King of Cool, it doesn’t mean everyone agrees. Not everyone thinks your oh-so-cool burns are oh-so-cool, in fact they make me just want to jump off a bridge because all you did was take a use-to-be-cool quote from some funny thing you saw on TV and completely, utterly, butchered it. Again, you rock.

Other than that, it was a good movie; I’ll just remember to equip myself with gold stars and bananas next time.

Salam

And then...It was time to shut up

A novelist. A bestseller novelist.

Either way I’ve always had this little dream that one day I’ll write a book. You know, kind of like I thought one day I’d be a world renowned gymnast (even though I could never do a cartwheel to save my life…or a somersault for that matter). Yes, much like that disillusioned dream, I have also wanted to write a book. Odd, isn’t it?

Well if you still believe in me, I’m truly flattered but I’d suggest your hope be placed in more sure things; like Martha Sterwart stocks.

Why you ask? Why would such a talented individual as myself ask you to turn away and shun my hopeless fantasies?

Well, shucks, I guess you’ve twisted my arm enough and that now I must let you in on the secret. On the very reason as to why I won’t aspire to be the next Meg Cabot, or Dan Brown –I won’t even touch Austen, Dickens, or Shakespeare because trust me in a hundred years from now, people will not be reading a Cabot or Brown book.

Anyway, onwards to the reason.

Well, really it’s quite an easy, logical reason. If you’ve ever known me long enough to have the privilege of hearing me recount a story, or summarize a novel or film, you’ll know that the last thing I should aspire to be is a “story teller” a.k.a author.

I just don’t have it folks; that suave way of hooking you with my wowing methods of retelling a specific event that has taken place in my quite ordinary life. Even if at the moment the story was bloody hilarious to me, myself, and I. In my mind, some of the most ridiculous things are funny, however at times I seem to forget that you and I may not share the same awesome wavelength, which inherently means we will also not find the same odd thing funny.

Yet, I still fail to listen to the 23 voices of reason in my head, which sadly all at once yell “PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF ALLAH DON’T TELL THEM THAT STORY!” Seriously, they yell! And not only does it leave that annoying ringing in your ears –as if you had just stupidly decided to sit by the speakers while Mr. T was giving a speech- but your head hurts too; in spite of all that you still ignore their warnings and go ahead and tell the story.

Why? It could be that you just had a whole pack of sour patch kids causing the sugar to boost your blood sugar which boosts your energy which oddly boosts your confidence (naturally I would not know this; I’m just giving you an educated guess). Or you may have just smacked yourself in the face, when you blindly walked in to the sign in the library that reads “This is a quiet place” (again this has never happened to me, but I know a friend of a friend.) Or, you might be so wigged out by "the whole three days till your final, the final that will define whether or not you get in to the program you want to get in to" that eventually that fuse that’s holding everything together decides to blow on you, and there goes all reasonable and logical thought processes (again, not me).

Anyway, whatever your reason, you still decide to go ahead and tell the story. Hey, I applaud your bravery (a.k.a I applaud the stupid side of me. Way to go!).

So you tell the story and one of three things takes place:

1) You’re laughing so hard at the pictures running through your mind, that your audience hasn’t the faintest idea what the heck you’re choking about. And once you get to the end and they don’t get it, you also begin to wonder what the HECK you were laughing so hard about. In other words, it really wasn’t funny and now you’ve totally shamed yourself as well as taken away any shred of respect they’ve just held for you and your state of mind.

If this happens, the ONLY thing you can do to save face is steel your spine, while saying “So yeah, did any of you see what happened in Iraq yesterday?” Steering the attention away from you on to way more important and serious issues always helps. They’ll merely forget about your stupidity because they’re all so peeved about the current world issues.

So way to go, you not only successfully placed your story telling methods on the chopping block but you also successfully depressed everyone. Gold Star!

2) The other scenario is that while you’re telling the story you completely butcher it by forgetting certain, pivotal parts of the story. These parts are always the fine lines that either make or break the story. And trust me, unless you’re a skilled story teller, you WILL forget these parts.

If this happens…well, I’ll be honest you’re screwed. Why? Because, YOU FORGOT WHAT MADE THE STORY A STORY. What are you going to do? Make something up? You can’t, they’ll know, because all of a sudden your story goes from this:

“So we were standing in line waiting to get our non-fat, no sugar, lactose free, chai lattes when all of a sudden this guy is like ‘So why the hell is there always such a stinking long line up?’”
At this point you’re looking at peoples faces (your audience) and nobody is smiling, actually everyone at this point is waiting for you to get to the climax.
You realize that there was no story, that in fact all you did was turn to the guy and gave him other coffee options. How is this a) funny, or b) thrilling. So instead you do this:

“‘So why the hell is there always such a stinking long line up?’ And then he pulled out a 22 and held it in the air, yelling at everyone to move out of the way. But I sooo wouldn’t let him cut in front of me. I mean, I’d been waiting a whole ten minutes by then, and if I have to wait for a healthy, chai fix then so should he. Seriously! So I looked him right in the eyes and I folded my arms over my chest and told him that he’d have to wait. When he threatened to blow my stupid head off, I took my taser gun out and shocked him! Then I kicked him in the balls, and everyone was cheering. And I just looked at them and was like ‘Aww, thanks. No one should cut in line, so stand up to bullies!’”

Trust me; people will know you’re lying between your gapped teeth. Don’t ask me how, they just can tell. They can see right through you, and in to your lying soul. It’s rather creepy actually. So don’t lie. It’s a sin anyway.


3) Lastly, if you are unable to summarize a story you will surely fail. No one will ever want to sit with you, or speak with you again. Things will be thrown at you; ANYTHING will be thrown at you. Sharp things even. Basically if you totally stink at paraphrasing, or summarizing just do us all a favor and never tell a story.

This is advice I give myself because I am one of those people. I can take a trip to the supermarket to get, I don’t know, tomatoes, and turn it in to an hour long rant about how retarded it is that they don’t have more cashiers on hand. Or, I’ll tell you EVERYTHING that happened while I was buying to the tomatoes.

“You see, I went in to the supermarket and the doors! Oh-my-gosh the doors, they just open for you. Isn’t that so cool? It’s like they can sense you or something! Anyway then I took a flyer, Heinz ketchup was on for 2.50$ a bottle. That’s such a bargain don’t you think? Then I took a green basket, because a cart is way to big to just get tomatoes. Then I saw that they had my favorite brand of shampoo on sale. I was so ecstatic..”

By this point half of my audience has ditched. In fact, I can see them running like hell and ducking behind book shelves. But like the smart person I am, I continue. Even though my good friends who’ll always stick by my side are staring in to space, or wearing the most “omg, get me the hell out of here” looks.

So you see this is how I’ve come to the clever and quite mature conclusion that I am simply not cut out for the world of novel writing. I’m not cut out for the world of telling stories, period.

I think this long update which really had no relevance is quite the example of my poor story telling skills.

I’m glad however that I could prove my point, and therefore persuade you to put your hope in other aspiring novelists.

The kind, who, you know, can actually do a cartwheel.

Salam

Big People School

So, technically I should be studying for my upcoming finals, and for the most part I am. Kind of. I don't think I want to fail, in fact I'm quite sure that this is a bad thing.

In big people school I've noticed a few things about myself. Well actually I've begun to notice a lot of things about myself. Like I prefer hot chocolate to coffee, that I'm easily distracted which may be because I've got ADD in some form or another, or that the color red really does look nice on me. You know, the important stuff. Anyway, college is one of those "huge" changes in your life. Anyway, that's what all those people who make you pay hundred of bucks and up, while you sit across from them on a couch, say anyway. College is a growing experience, you try new things and thus experience new things. Sure, sounds good to me.

What have I discovered? Well let me tell you...

1) English is not my calling as I had once thought it was. In fact English is probably the last thing I should ever think of majoring in (and thankfully I'm not, because I originally thought that such a degree would inhibit by chance of having a career outside of education. But hey, I was right , except that I would never have a sound job period, because I suck in English). Could you imagine if I was a teacher?

Child: "Miss, what's a noun?"

Me: "A noun Bobby? Well, you see, I think -and don't quote me on this- a noun is a form of ummmm, you know?"

Child: "I don't understand miss. I don't know what a noun is or I wouldn't have asked."

Me: *darn the inquisitive minds of the young!* "Well Bobby, I think that maybe you should try and 'be a big boy now', and pick up the dictonary. Teacher's won't always be around to pick up after you, so take charge of yourself and be a man! Ok?"

Child (a.k.a bobby): *tearing up* "Miss, I'm only 7! *crying* How did they make you a teacher in the first place?"

Me: "Bobby i'll be honest, they were all high on crack. In fact I don't even have a degree, cause on my journey of discovery in college, i discovered that I'm rather slow. Ok, so that's a rap, you have five minutes to go play and stuff."

If this ever happens I think you (the parents out there) should take this as a sure sign that the world has TRULY come to an end. I will be a sad moment in history. However I'm pretty sure George Bush had a teacher like the one I would be, because, well it's pretty self-explanatory.

Anyway, so basically english is not my calling.

As well, I've noticed that just about everything is not my calling. So what am I even doing in College?

Well Chip, that's a good question. I honestly think I'm only wasting a couple grand a semester because being here makes me feel like I may actually accomplish something and you know, take responsibilty for my life. Take charge so to speak. So that I can prove that I'm not dumb, and that yes, in fact I am the genius I always thought I was.

So I have a little problem with "punctuation" but so what? at least I'm sort of getting the whole math thing, and hey that say's a lot about something. What that something is? Well, I'm not sure, that probably all this time when I thought my talents really derived from my artistc corner of the brain, really, were just a figmant of my imagination (and trust me, i have an imagination like no other) and that I may be a math person! However, that isn't the case either.

So if I don't rock the english world, and I'don't rock the math world, what world do I rock? I rock....your world, you know I do? Joking. Seriously though, I may just have to accept defeat and be an ordinary jewel. Kidding! The difference after all between ordinary and extraordinary is the extra (I can hear all the parent's whooping at this cliche), so I'll search deep inside and I'll try to recover my wonderful intellect.

Or, I could just apply myself a little more, that may work. Like maybe I should stop confusing people with this excuse for an update and instead turn off my computer and take out my math book, and actually study.

I think I've discovered the answer. I think, that this discovery is so profound that one of these days (when I discover my intellect again, that is) I might even get a smart person prize, like the noble peace prize?

What's that?

Oh, this discovery of mine has been in circulation for centuries? Wow, I really am a genius.

Salam