LA LA LA

Welp. I officially graduated college. Well, I officially wore the cap and gown and received my official "upon final review of your application you will receive your diploma" letter. So now I'm just sitting with my fingers crossed waiting for the grades to roll in. I'm pretty positive I'll be okay but sending some luck my way couldn't hurt.

So now what do I do? I guess it's time to start progressively growing up right? Well like most things in my life I'm gonna procrastinate on that small detail just a little bit longer. That's right in a weekish I am reverting back to my childhood and moving back in with good ole Mom and Dad. I'm sick of paying bills, hunting people down for rent, and fixing things. I have re lit the pilot light in the water heater, stuck my hand down the garbage disposal, and reset the fuse box way too many times. So now I think I am gonna to take a break. Next time something sparks and then explodes I'm gonna sit back and shout, "Daaaaaaaaad!" I heard that was the magic word to get things fixed, I'm just itching to see if it works. (Oh Dad, I can already see your smirk and hear your scoff as you read this. Don't pretend you're not excited to have me hanging around the house all the time.)

I'm pretty stoked for this new roommate situation. I think it's gonna work out real well. I'll just be happy to have food in the house with regularity, and the occasional home cooked meal. It takes very little to please me. I have even been upgraded from the library to the guestroom. Which is great because I don't think my college degree was going to provide me with the appropriate credentials to manage my parents book collection. The Dewey Decimal system always confused me. I doubt they'll let me forget that my new room is actually the guestroom though. Pretty sure they don't want me getting too attached to living there. I'll try not to, but I can't promise they won't get too attached to me. I am pretty awesome.

Luckily this time when it came to moving , my Dad and brothers were able to come up and help me out. The last time I moved I had to fend for myself and I think four girls with a 24 foot U-Haul in San Francisco is explanation enough for why it was imperative I get some help this time around. Unfortunately my Dad was here last weekend for graduation, so he only wanted to stay until Tuesday. This means that all of my stuff, with the exception of two suitcases and a mattress topper has been gone since Monday night. So for the rest of the week I am inhabiting in what my roommates so fondly call a crack den. My life is nothing if not thrilling.

I am excited to embark on a new adventure in a new (old) place, meet new people, and try different things. It's clear that a change of scenery is something I really need, but I am really sad to be leaving this city. It will always have a piece of my heart and I think that's collateral enough to keep coming back. (DANIELLE!) It hasn't even hit me that I'm really leaving. I have been so caught up in finishing school, packing, cleaning, and dealing with my job that this whole past week has been a blur. Even though I have lifted box after box and donated all my furniture to Salvation army, it still feels like I am just heading home for summer break and eventually I'll be back. I am sure that once I am home, possibly unemployed, and with what will seem like an endless amount of unpacking, the sadness will probably set in. I'll have to find something to keep my mind off of thinking about it too much.

So for now, it's a weekend filled with 22 and a half hours of work, cleaning, and tying up all the loose odds and ends. Then it's up early Monday morning for one last decent down the lovely I-5. (I'm excited to hit all my favorite gas station bathrooms, unfortunately I'll be way to early for Sonic slushie happy hour.Which is even MORE collateral for making a trip back!) But don't worry San Francisco, even though I am heading back to the land where people talk like me, I'll be visiting before you know it!

Thanks for showing me a hella good time. <3

RING RING!

Isn't it weird when people have "regular phone" ringtones on their cell phones? I honestly get really tripped out when I am walking around the mall and all the sudden it sounds like my parent's land line is ringing. How confusing is that when these people are at home and someone calls, how do they differentiate between which phone it is? I am definitely slower than that average smart person when it comes to these things, and if this was a problem I had to face on a regular basis you would see me standing between the two phones with my eyes moving back and forth like a koo koo clock. That's right, I would be perplexed, undoubtedly every time. The other thing that gets me is how it always has to be the most ancient regular phone sound. It seriously sounds like that candlestick phone that my grandparents have in their house. You know the one where you have to hold one piece to your ear and talk into the other. There is nothing like hearing that crazy ring and turning to see some guy answer his iphone. Always cracks me up....and maybe that was his intention.

I think ringtones say a lot about a person. In a world where we are practically inseparable and dependent upon our phones, ringtones are open ground for making judgements about people. I know this, because like all of you I am guilty of judging based on ringtones. Maybe judging has too negative a connotation, but you know when you get to experience a person's ringtone for the first time, it makes you think. Why that song? or Really?? This is precisely why I spent days trying to find the perfect one. That and the fact that I know I am too lazy to change it all the time, so I had to come up with something that I wouldn't get sick of. And it was worth it, because I found the perfect ringtone.. It is everything I could have ever asked for. And more.


"Tootsie Roll" by the 69 Boyz. First of all this song brings back nothing but fond memories of elementary school. I had older brothers, who were into the whole rap/ r&b thing, so obviously my taste was advanced for my age, I don't really like to brag about it. Second of all it is a jaaaaaam! I love this song, and I do a mean tootsie roll. (for a completely uncoordinated, rhythm less white girl). Every time my phone rings I like to do a little dance, because the song is so good! How could you resist? But what I love most about this ringtone is people never expect it from me. They hear my phone ringing and turn around, definitely not expecting to find an awkward bright color wearing white girl. I like that look of surprise people give me, it makes me smile. I feel like I am earning extra cool points; "Alright Lauren, you're kind of weird, but legit ringtone, we'll hire you!" haha A girl can hope!! So my advice to all of you is to take some time, come up with a good ringtone, and give the people around you something to think about...

Stupid Retail Question of the Day

"This dress is $29.50!? I was here just last week and it was on sale for $15!" 

The first two things I draw from this statement, is that you have a good memory and pretty decent observation skills. These are great characteristics to have, and I think they are really going to aid you in understanding this concept I am about to blow your mind with. Get ready, it's going to be a doozy...

While I understand there are things all throughout the store that are FOR SALE, in the sense that you can purchase them, there is a big difference between that and being ON SALE. A "sale" is a promotion, a reducing of prices, it's fun because it only happens for a certain amount of time. It's like a game, you have to get to the store during that time frame, and if you make it, you are rewarded with the merchandise for that special price! It's thrilling and exciting! How boring would it be if everything was the reduced price all the time. Come on now, embrace the challenge! Not to mention it pretty much negates the concept of being "on sale" if it's the reduced price all the time. And where is the fun in that?

So yes, that dress is now full price, because last week was last week, and the sale is now over. Obviously you have not quite mastered the technique to successfully winning at this game. But guess what? practice makes perfect, and this week we have a new sale! So get out there and charge charge charge!

Snoozer Loser

I have never been much of a snoozer. I could never really understand the point behind it; the alarm goes off, you snooze, you finally fall back asleep, and then the alarm just goes off again! It seemed so frustrating to me. I have always been a "get up as soon as the alarm goes off" kind of a girl. That was of course until recently, when I really discovered what that snoozing button is all about. And that has led me to nothing but trouble...

Believe it or not, I actually used to consider myself to be a morning person. My whole family (with the exception of my sister) are pretty early risers, and I have never had a problem getting out of bed, even if I didn't really want to. But lately this has not been the case. Whether it be the lack of sleep due to all my final projects, or the fact that I have developed probably the biggest case of senioritis known to mankind, I have just been so freaking tired all the time! Getting out of bed has become the bane of my existence, and I am ready to do anything to prolong it. And so snoozing gets involved...

Looking back on it, it's really a big surprise that snoozing didn't corrupt my life sooner. I mean I LOVE to procrastinate, which is exactly what the snooze buttons enables; just five more minutes before I have to get out of bed. Just FIVE more minutes! Cut to me, ten snooze hits later, jumping out of bed and having to forgo my morning crack coffee, because I'm going to be late to class. And I am never late. I began to hate myself and everything the snooze button made me become. But my addiction got so bad that I started setting my alarm two hours a head of when I really needed to get up, just so I could feel the power of snoozing. This, I have to say, was not one of my brighter plans in life, but I just couldn't stop.

It's clear that I had developed a problem, one that needed to be solved immediately, but I wasn't sure if I was ready to give up my snoozing. I tried to tell myself that it was under control, and I could stop at any time, but I have now realized that I lack the self control needed to take up snoozing professionally. I will never be able to do anything more than dabble in the amateur level, and it seems the consequences are starting to outweigh the perks at an alarmingly (oh puns are fun) fast rate. This morning after snoozing six times, I fell asleep only to wake up at 8:07, when my class started at 8:10. Unacceptable. I have never been this sloppy and scattered, and I don't like it at all. So snooze button, our short lived flame was fun while it lasted, but it's back to the traditional one time alarm for me.

I guess what they say really is true. You snooze, you lose!

Unecessary.

Retail stores usually have a set time that they open and a set time that they close. This allows for a specific amount of hours in which the store is admissible and available for you to shop in. For many stores it's a good twelve hour chunk of time, sometimes even longer depending on the type of store. It is true that for smaller shops the hours can get trickier, closing early, opening later, possibly being closed completely for whole days. But for the most part store hours are pretty generalized and I think it's fairly easy to get the gist. These hours however, are not merely a suggested guideline that you can manipulate to whatever fits you best. You should not expect to saunter into a store ten minutes before it closes and start shopping at your own leisure. There are things that need to be done to achieve the actual closing of the store, and you continually touching and unfolding the neat piles is not helping us accomplish them.

Quite frankly, there is no way that it is absolutely imperative that you get a Graphic T at 8:58pm. If at that point in time you don't already have an outfit picked out for your evening, just go home, and get into bed, the night has no possibility of success anyway. I understand that it is impossible for everyone to be gone immediately as the store closes, but once that music shuts off, I think it's necessary to at least acknowledge the oncoming close, and start swiftly making your exit. Being the last customer in the store gives you no benefits in any way. You will not get an exclusive prize, you will not score on any extra deals, and believe it or not you won't be treated special in any way. In fact, there is a much higher chance that we will be short with you. So don't be rude.

Just because you have managed to wander around the store, oblivious to the fact that most of the people have vacated, and the store is looking more put together, does not give you the right to be rude to your cashier. I sympathize, what a drag, you have to wait in line! Well guess what, while you're standing in line, your cashier is dealing with the 12 idiots in front of you. Do you still wonder why we don't have any expectations for your IQ when your turn finally arrives? Not to mention the eye rolling is not encouraging me to scan those barcodes faster. The line is long because the store is CLOSED, and most of the employees are off for the evening.  Shouldn't have waited til the last minute to buy those sixteen pairs of flip flops. Procrastination is never really rewarded. I would know; I procrastinate my procrastinating.

So get your shopping done early;  Make an event out of it! Grab some lunch, enjoy the daylight! And if for some extenuating circumstance you must enter a store right before it closes, pick up the pace, and at least try and be quick about your decisions. If nothing else, I'll appreciate the effort. .

Whoops!

I don't think I have always been clumsy. I'm sure my parents will read this and beg to differ, but I honestly don't remember being so accident prone when I was younger. It all started when I was about fourteen, and after that, it seemed like I landed myself in the emergency room for something new every year after.

In October 2001, I suffered my first major injury: I broke my arm. In half. Go big or go home right? I was at my Dad's union picnic where they had all sorts of fun carnival rides and games, including one they called a "Bungee Run." It's one of those inflatable games, that looks like a giant bowling alley. You strap a bungee cord around your stomach and then you run down the lane, jump up, and let the bungee cord snap you back to the ground. Sounds fun right? Well it totally was! I loved it like the first four times I did it. My whole family thought it was hysterical. Turns out though, the fifth time wasn't quite as fun as it was before...

All I remember is trying to run as fast as I could, so the cord would really whip me back. What I obviously did not take into consideration was that my left arm might twist behind me, causing me to land on top of it, creating a pretty loud *snap*. Huh, that didn't sound right. It's clear that at the point I went into shock, because I don't remember pain, I just remember knowing I needed a medic, and I needed one ASAP. The color must have drained from my face, because the game attendant could clearly see that something was wrong, and I needed help. They chauffeured me to a bench where I waited for the strapping medic to cycle down on his bike. Man was he hot! My fourteen year old self was quite upset at the fact that I was not having a better hair day.The medic decided that since I couldn't move my arm, my shirt needed to be cut off, to better examine what he thought might have been a dislocated shoulder. That's when the tears started rolling. I swear I was totally in control, until he took giant scissors and sliced right down the middle of my favorite San Francisco 49ers shirt. There was no stopping the waterworks then.

After some discussion with my parents, and whatever things needed to be said to make sure I didn't sue the location, I was strapped to a gurney and taken to the hospital in an ambulance. My broken arm was apparently not "life threatening" enough to warrant sirens and lights, so I had to just lay in the back in silence. Booooring. When we arrived at the hospital they wheeled me in, and in typical Emergency Room fashion, they asked me to please get up from the gurney and go sit in the waiting room to be helped. I bet those sirens would have gotten me some VIP service... Lots of X-rays and Vicodin later I was put into my parents car and sent home with my arm secured in a sling, strapped to my chest. My arm had broken in half right under my shoulder, and then my shoulder dropped so the two pieces of the bone were sitting right next to each other. That's the kind of thing you get to go to an orthopedic surgeon for! I woke up in my bed a couple hours later, and that's when the excruciating pain set in. Chocolate milk laced with some Vicodin and I was in and out of consciousness the rest of the night.

Luckily a few days later they were able to get me into surgery, where they had to cut open my arm to push the bones back together and then stick three pins in to hold it in place while it heeled. The pins had to stay in my arm for six weeks or so, where they stuck out from my shoulder, Frankenstein style. So with my new metal hump of a shoulder and a sling I was able to go back to school a week later. I quickly found out that no cast means people not considering it a real injury. This lead to not a single one of my friends offering to be my official back pack carrier. What kind of demented teenager wouldn't want to leave class early and arrive late to their next one? Or at the very least help their supposed bestie... Oh wait, that would be my sucky ass high school friends. They didn't want to "miss anything" in class. Should have dumped them then instead of having to deal with the devastating break up four years later, but eh, that's a whole different story. I survived carrying my own backpack.

The pins were pretty gnarly, and I absolutely refused to look at them while they were sticking out of my arm. They had to be cleaned every few days and I left that up to my Dad, he was pretty stoked on how grotesque it looked. I remember the first time we took the bandage off I was sitting in the bathroom with my eyes shut and head turned the other way, and all the sudden I was noticing flashing lights. "Are you taking pictures?!" "Absolutely", my Dad responded, "This is gross. Gotta show the guys at work." Faaaabulous. Six weeks later I went back to the Doctor where he pulled the pins out, which surprisingly barely hurt at all, and I was left with a weak arm in need of physical therapy, and a pretty sweet scar.

Years later the scar has faded a lot, but it's still there and pretty noticeable. It doesn't bother me at all, except sometimes it stings when it gets cold. That's right, almost Harry Potter status! Jealous? When people notice it, I get all sorts of different reactions. Everyone always wants to know what happened. to which I usually reply, "got knifed, you should see the other guy." Every once and a while people ask me why I don't keep it covered or suggest that I should use make up to make it less apparent. First off, I am not as offended by my scar as you obviously are, and second of all, I can barely get myself together to get makeup on my face every day, there is no way I'm going to sit and paint it on my arm. I'm lazy, remember? Plus the scar adds to my personality and I like it! I can't even remember life without a scarred shoulder...

And why would I want to, life's been pretty sweet since then. Plus I hear after nine emergency room visits, you get the tenth for free!

For G.G, With Love

It miraculously seems like I pulled it off. Somehow I managed to think up seven designs, sew them together, and get every single one of them down a runway. I'm still not sure how any of this happened, but I know that there were A LOT of people who made it possible. This whole past month has only proved to me that I quite possibly have the best family and friends in the world, and I'm sorry to get a little mushy, but I think it's necessary to thank them...right now...on this blog.

Most importantly, this line was for my grandmother G.G, without whom I wouldn't have ever learned to sew or swear at that god damn machine quite so eloquently. I wish she could have been here to see it, I think despite the many flaws and mistakes, she still would have been proud. I'll always be thinking of her when I'm attempting to sew something together, made with love....and then blood, sweat and tears. Of course.

This past month has been an insane blur, I'm still confused on how it all came together. But I know I owe the people who put up with me on a daily basis BIIIIG time. My parents are obviously amazing, always believing in me, for who knows what reason. My Dad taking me to the garment district, and just calmly watching as I had a "light orange pink, but not too pink, but not too orange" fabric meltdown. Then walking with me to store after store searching for the perfect blue khaki, only to finally decide the fabric I had passed up a thousand times, was actually exactly what I was looking for. Oh those crazy designers! My Mom for ripping the seams in all the mistakes I made, and cutting my patterns out of fabric. She even let my "sewing studio" explode all over her dinning room table for a week...and not once did she ever complain about the mess.


My sister Ally, and Nath for spending an entire 28 hours straight with me, the day before it was all due, cutting threads, ripping seams, and keeping me company. All though they were wary about it, they even let me have my coffee equipped with caffeine shots twice in one day. (Decaf is for babies!) But more than likely that was for their own benefit, I saw all the smiling and laughing as I mumbled things incoherently in my cracked out state. Those 28 hours were sleepless and rough, and I'm grateful that they stuck by my side as there definitely was a moment where I ended up crouched in a ball, in tears. I was going to throw it all away and give up, and they told me I had to power through. In that dark moment, somewhere amongst all my panic, Ally was able to MacGyver me an invisible zipper foot, basically saving the day (or reaaaally early morning). I was ready to just call all the outfits "backless." Zipperless and unfinished...new up and coming fashion trend! Watch out!

But most of all I think I have to thank Kimi. This would have never happened without her. Between her button sewing, zipper creating, hook and eye attaching, and knack for laying down the rules, I would not have had a single item to bring in that Monday morning. She sat up the entire night with me. From 6pm until 7am the next morning when I put all my garments on hangers and walked out the door. She even co piloted a 3am Walgreen's run, for duct tape and crazy glue. And at 5 am, when all I wanted to do was stalk people on facebook, she made it blatantly clear how irresponsible that was, and ordered me to keep sewing. So I did. Sew. Sew. Sew. Throughout this entire process she has been there to answer my stupid color and cut questions, and to okay every design decision I made. (So if you hated it all, blame KIMI!) Juuust kidding. If you didn't like it, you can suck it. So thanks once again to my buddy. Love, your pal.

Thanks also to Nicole who brought over her machine for me to borrow, even if i did maybe break it (which if it needs to be fixed, you better let me pay for it!) All of my models who looked absolutely beautiful, but especially Chelsea and Melissa, who let me practically molest them in alterations, and helped cut threads when I was adjusting everything. Plus they made me laugh. I needed it for the small amount of sanity I kept. Sammie, obvs, for just being her, and for enthusiastically loving all my clothes, even when they were still in muslin. Oh yeah, and for attempting to dress me. But really just humoring me in wearing the ridiculous outfit I picked out. Thanks to everyone who came out and supported the show, my brothers for being my professional photographers (even if you seemed a little too interested in the nipple pictures you got). And lastly to all of you who wished me good luck! It meant a lot to me that you even remembered it was happening. But then again I have been blogging, facebooking, and tweeting about it for a month now, so maybe there was no way you could forget.

I am so relieved that it's all over. I can't believe all of that work just disappeared in a quick four hours, but it was well worth it. Unfortunately for you all I did not trip down the runway, but apparently this was the face I decided to go with. I just couldn't figure out what I was supposed to do, wave? I'm not a princess or a celebrity. Clap? It seemed a little too "go me!". So obviously halfway sticking my tongue out was the appropriate middle ground. Sometimes I really am such a goon. But a goon with some amazing people in her life, so thanks again to EVERYONE! (especially my loyal readers, you guys are pretty freaking cool. i promise less sewing stress means more fun bloggin!)

t minus 7 days!

i have pretty much had no life the past couple of weeks except: cut. sew. rip it out. do it again. cut. sew. rip it out. do it again. third time's the charm? try twentieth time.

my fingers are sore, and sick of being pricked with pins and needles, my wrists can barely hold my steroid infused scissors, and the only things i ever think about are zippers, buttons, thread, and that awful zig sag stitching.

oh that wretched zig zag stitching.



but i'm gonna power through! the fashion show is in ONE WEEK!! i officially have four days to finish all my garments. yiiiiikes.

there just isn't enough time in the day, i might even have to reschedule my birthday, which sucks. who knew that 23 years later i would be kicking myself for being so impatient and popping out six weeks early. although april is the absolute BEST month, i'm thinking it wouldn't be so bad to be a may baby right about now...

ONE MORE WEEK! and i will get my life back. ONE MORE WEEK! and i will finally be able to see the floor in my room. ONE MORE WEEK! and i can sleeeeeeeeep. ONE MORE WEEK! and i can do something stupid, hopefully resulting in a hysterical story to share with you all.

ONE MORE WEEK! see ya'll when i emerge on the flipside!

Maxi Don't

For some outrageously ridiculous reason I have had the urge to write a lot about fashion recently. Go and figure. Must be the anticipation of having to figure out my life's career soon, cynical fashion critic is a real job right? Hope so, because that is pretty much all I am good at. Well, not to completely belittle myself, I have been known to sew a dress or two, or a whole seven for a line, debuting in two weeks, *cough cough* ya'll should come out to the show. Arpil 22nd: Runway Nouvelle 7:30pm...go buy your tickets! www.brownpapertickets.com

Now that my shameless plugging is out of the way I know you are all excited to hear about my latest rant: Maxi Dresses.

That's right, those long empire waist-ed, flow-y dresses that fall straight to the floor. The ones you probably see women every where wearing, walking around and tripping over their hems. I loathe these... for many reasons, but I'll just briefly go over a few, and then we can address my major concern with a little anecdote. Firstly, I think we should keep floor length gowns for formal occasions, it's weird to see women frolicking around in these flowered frocks during the day. It confuses me. I also think they make even the skinniest girl look pregnant. Maybe it's just me, but that's definitely not something I strive for when getting dressed every morning. I do understand that I am a bit biased, with my extreme infatuation with my legs, of course I would never chose a dress that hid them in yards of shapeless length, but despite that one fault against me, I think it is safe to say that this is a trend not suitable for the masses.

My final and most important reason is that maxi dresses are a HUGE SAFETY HAZARD, and I will tell you why. Before I begin this story, I would like to give a quick shout out to my mother. Sorry Mom, I hope you can forgive me for what I am about to do. I think though, you will understand that this is a situation people need to be aware of, and hopefully by now you can appreciate the humor and necessity in my sharing the story with the eight other people who read my blog. Together we are protecting them from the perils they could possbily face on a daily basis. We are informing them and practically saving their lives.

With that in mind let me talk a little bit about my beloved Mother. She, unlike me, has a great sense of style and knows how to dress herself very well. Despite her also having great legs, she wears a lot of long skirts, but they work for her, and she always looks very classy and put together. While I do not have quite the same issue with long skirts as I do with maxi dresses, (they are MUCH more flattering), they still provide the same safety risks. My parents were out together enjoying a simple evening of dinner and leisurely shopping, when all the sudden my mother's night took a turn for the worst.

As they stepped onto the escalator of a department store to make their descend down to the lower level, my Mom's skirt got caught in the vicious teeth of those moving stairs. As the escalator continued to go down so did my Mom's skirt as the monstorous machine started to devour it. My dad being the hero he is, immediately hit the emergency stop button at the end of the escalator, as my Mom crouched there, stuck, in what was left of her skirt. Had my Father not been so quick thinking who knows what would have happened. So for the next forty minutes or so my Mom stood there, in the middle of the department store, wrapped in a sheet, while my Dad took apart the escalator. That's right, you read correctly, MY DAD took apart the escalator. The store maintenence team was was apparently comprised of a few of the duller tools in the shed. Their ingenious plan was to turn the escalator on backwards, so the skirt would just slip out....right?! Uhhhmmm I don't think so. So unfortunately my Mom had to stand there, embarrassed I'm sure, but hopefully enjoying some of the humor of the situation (as I am really hoping she is now...eeek) Apparently the cherry on top of this sundae of fun was the out of town couple who stood there the entire time, enjoying the "show" while chowing down on their dairy queen cones. Hello, this isn't a zoo!! She can see you! They obviously hailed from a town where tact is not an important life lesson.

In the end the department store gave my Mom a new skirt for free, one because their escalator absolutely destroyed her skirt, but let's be honest, it was more than likely because they were embarassed at the incompetence of their maintenance team. Thank god my Dad is a handy guy, otherwise that could have been a really long and even more dangerous evening. Thanks Mom, for being you, being amazing, and being just as ridiculous as me, so when I have a lame week, I can still laugh at something funny. You're the best, and hopefully you still love me after this. Moral of the story: don't wear maxi dresses. Not only do they most likely make you look fat, they can get caught in escalators and ripped off. And that would suck. If unfortunately you cannot resist...you have been warned....ride escalators at your own risk...

Why Everyone Hates Me.

Almost every friendship I have ever had has begun with the other person saying, "I thought you hated me when I first met you." Let me tell you why:

First off sarcasm and a dry sense of humor do not really make for a great first impression. In fact they mix together to create a horrible one, usually resulting in everyone thinking I am a huge bitch. Which, although I can have my moments, I can assure you that most of the time I am pretty genuinely nice. Second, I am very shy, therefore making me seem uncomfortable and awkward when meeting new people. Again, to someone I have never met before, this translates to me being snobby, and uninterested. In reality I am probably extremely intrigued by you and therefore intimidated beyond belief. My mind is most likely racing to try and come up with something impressive to say, usually this is overturned by my nerves and ends in an epic fail.

These two characteristics present the basis of my problem, but what really seals the deal together is the lack of control I have over my facial expressions. That's right, this beautiful face of mine gets me into A LOT of trouble, and never the good kind. I guess nothing about the way my normal expression looks says "Hey! Be my friend!" It is really difficult for me to walk around smiling all the time and not looking creepy. It does not come natural to me at all. I just can't look like this every day:

I mean that is smile deserving of a special occasion, and I can't justify wasting it on something as mundane as walking to and from class. So I have to settle and accept that I'll never be that person that just exudes happiness, in fact on a regular day, I probably look something more like this:


Why no one wants to befriend that, I'll never know.

While those lovely faces prevent me from making friends, the worst of all are the facial expressions that ruin my friendships. Apparently my expressions are an open book, and whatever I am thinking in my head is easily read through that look on my face. So the entire time someone is blabbing about something absolutely absurd and ridiculous, as I am thinking what an idiot they are, my face is shouting that same sentiment right at them. I'm also sure the eye rolling I can never control, doesn't really help either. I suppose acting will never be a possible career choice for me. Oh well, cross that off the list.


My ingenious solution is to spend some time training to perfect this problem. I plan to sit in front of a mirror, while someone shouts possible scenarios at me, and I struggle to keep my face straight and blank. Then obviously I'll spend at least an hour a day doing smiling exercises. Other than that, I can't really think of a way to come off as friendlier. Maybe I'll try telling silent jokes to myself and laughing as much as possible. Would it be better to come off as a mentally crazy person, or an uber bitch? Tough decision...