Retail Re-tales

When I lived in San Francisco the store I worked at was in the heart of the city, right down the street from Union Square, so most of the people I dealt with were tourists from foreign countries. But now that I am back in the valley, the clientele could not be more different. The new store I work at is much smaller and therefore has a much smaller pool of customers. This store being more of a local neighborhoody one, rather than a huge tourist attraction, deals with more returns and exchanges of clothing than I could ever imagine. If there is anything I have learned in the last few weeks, it's that every return has a story.

This is mine:

" I don't have the receipt because I obviously shredded it the minute I got out of the store. I do that with all my receipts. I don't like the possibility of all my information floating around. Identity theft is a big crime, ya know. I also ripped all the tags off the clothes because I don't really like trying things on with that little piece of paper hanging off the side. It just throws the entire look off.

I washed each of the items, because who knows what kind of germs and infestations grow in clothing that has sat in a store for a few weeks. When I washed them, these little holes developed in the front of the dress, most likely because I put the clothes in the washing machine with rocks. A completely normal practice, everyone does it. A dress should be constructed to withstand a rock washing, it is absolutely absurd that it would disintegrate on only the first try.

 After I washed and wore the shirt I bought three times, I realized it's the wrong size. So I'd like to return it, and I would like cash back. I'll take my shirt business to another store. One that has HUGE size labels so I don't ever make this mistake again. I knew when I threw it on for the third time, after my gym session last week, something seemed a little off. This is a XXL, and as you can see, I only wear a XL

Lastly, I have a pair of sandals I bought only a week ago that just completely ripped apart. I was running full speed through sand and then water for about eight hours. Then when I got home, my dog got a hold of them, and it was somewhat of a confrontation struggle to get them back. But as you can clearly see from the shredded nature and teeth marks, these shoes seem to be very poorly made.  I expected twelve dollar shoes to be much sturdier than that.

I am sure that all of this information is really going to help you process this return. Surely since I have had such a traumatic experience, you can make an exception when it comes to taking these items back. I have no receipts and no tags, and nothing to prove that I actually bought any of this stuff recently.. But since they all have sewn in tags that clearly display your store name, I am expecting you to take every destroyed piece back and reimburse me fully. In cash. I also intend to dictate to you all the prices I paid for each of these items. I don't care if it's on clearance now, I paid full price for it. I swear."

Best Friend Adventures

Life is always an adventure when it comes to my biffle Cori. I think she is probably my oldest friend, and one of the only people I still talk to from those dreaded middle school/ high school years. That alone should say how pretty freaking awesome she is. After high school we traveled our separate ways to college, and it has been five years since we have been in the same town together, so it's obvious that some real craziness needs to happen. Apparently we have been making up for those lost years, because since I have been back we have been hanging out ALOT, and when Cori is involved, good times are sure to ensue. So far she has made my move to LA feel like the right decision, and the fun has only just begun.

Yesterday, feeling fun and adventurous, we decided to ride our bikes around Balboa Lake. The fact that I am not the most practiced bicycle rider should probably have been my first red flag. Let's just say for the safety of the cars on the road, it is much better that I ride my bike on the sidewalk. You would think that as a twenty three year old, I should be able to ride my bike pretty steadily, but in my case we can just say the "wobbling" is part of my charm. Despite this important factor, I decided to be spontaneous and power through. I borrowed my Dad's truck and I got ready to go pick up Cori and her bike. When I arrived at Cori's house, I realized that we both had very different ideas of what this bike ride was going to be like, let's go ahead break it down:

Lauren: thinking this was going to be an exercising opportunity, I put on running shorts, a tank top and my running shoes. What else would you go bike riding in? I threw my wet hair into a single french braid, for obvious practicality: staying out of my face, but not interfering with safety of wearing a helmet. I also put together a bag with a bottle of water, sunscreen, chaptstick, and the other essentials like phone, keys, etc. I threw my purple mountain bike in the bed of the truck and zoomed off to pick Cori up. I find her on the corner of her block as follows:

Cori: Standing there with her electric blue beach cruiser, my dear friend has on a slinky black summer dress, rainbow sandals, curly voluptuous hair, and a little side purse. And no helmet. WHAT!? (can we just reiterate for one moment that my hair is in a single french freaking braid.) Did I miss the memo, is there some sort of hot guy biking convention happening, was I supposed to dress to impress? Not to mention as we get later into the ride, we find out that in her side purse she has lip gloss and breath mints, all the practical items for a bike ride. I think she may have had a minor lapse in clear judgement, and forgot that we actually don't live in a cute beach town like Venice. I don't think the Balboa Lake crowd is really an appropriate pool to fish for men. But hey, that's just my opinion. I have been wrong before. (it's rare, but possible.)

Although my little bag was packed with a girl scout's "always be prepared" mentality, one thing I did forget to put in what Cori so fondly called my "man satchel," was an extra tube for my tire. I think on normal bike excursions this precaution is not usually necessary, except when your tire pops less than halfway through the five mile journey. Which mine did. Obviously. It's okay though, we weren't really looking forward to bike riding, what we really wanted to do was to go bike walking. I mean Cori was so appropriately dressed for that sort of activity. And thank god for those breath mints, they really kept us going.

And so went my walk of shame, with my butch braid and man satchel, pushing my flat tired bike all the way back to the car.

Lesson Learned: get a full bike tune up ASAP. Dress cuter when "working out" with my best friend. But none the less, even when things don't go according to plan they can still be hysterically fun. As long as you're in good company.

.

old adventures in Tuscon

Parental Guidance

Disneyland is easily one of my favorite places in the world. Growing up in LA, I have been fortunate enough to visit the park a lot during my childhood, and at least once a year for the last ten years. Tickets have become so outrageously priced, it makes me sad to think how much money parents spend to give their kids that magical experience. If you like Disneyland, (which there are some crazy people out there who don't) it's one of those places that can be fun no matter what age you are. Yesterday I got to do my first trip of this year, and while it was still every bit as magical as it always is, it also reminded me of some serious issues I have with the general public.

Obviously when you go to Disneyland you expect to deal with a lot of children running around, laughing, and crying. And although I think it's unnecessary for your child to scream bloody murder for 20 straight minutes while you eat lunch, it's not the kid and his set of lungs I have a problem with. It's the parent. I completely understand that there needs to be boundaries set, but sometimes when it comes to a public place, with a thousand of your closest Mickey loving friends,  you might just need to give that kid an extra fucking cookie. Yesterday just pretty much confirmed an idea that my pal Kimi and I have had for quite a while:

People should have to take a test before they are allowed to become parents.

This needs to be a serious test of whether or not these people have the skill set necessary to raise children. We will of course have to address the obvious stuff, like whether or not they are abusive, or horribly addicted to drugs, or in the mafia. But once they get past that first set of evaluations, the real issue will be at hand: Stroller Etiquette.

I get it. You birthed a child. I give you mad props for that, and I am in no way trying to say I know more about raising children than you. I don't. But when I do have a child, (in the far far future) I don't think I'm going to suddenly feel it's okay to ram people down with my stroller. It's not a utilitarian vehicle. It's not even a hummer. You do not have the right to plow through the crowds. You are not getting where you are going any faster. In fact, you continually "flat tiring" my shoes is actually slowing me down, which in turn is slowing you down. While the back of my foot appreciates your subtlety in asking me to get out of your way, if you're so insistent on being a raging stroller driver get a horn or a megaphone. I'd rather be given the opportunity to get out of the way before I am just mowed down.

Contrary to what you may be thinking child leashes are not the answer to this problem. I have never been a fan of "walking" your child like a dog, it seems degrading and barbaric. But most importantly, for anyone who has ever seen a 101 Dalmatians, we all know what kind of sticky situations leashes can get us into. When it's you, me, and your five year old child fighting to get out of the tangled mess, I hardly think I'll come out of the situation with a soulmate like Roger and Pongo did. As a society we should just nix leashing our children, I have faith that we can survive with some love and hand holding.

So next time you're feeling the urge to powerfully thrust your stroller into a crowd of innocent bystanders, save the rage for the underground stroller racing ring. At least there you have the possibility of coming home with some cash. Although I guess if you mug the next person you plow over, you'd also be coming back with some winnings. Thoughts for later. But most importantly, calm down, and exercise patience when pushing your child through crowds. Remember we are all practicing constraint, because if I had it my way, I'd sucker punch the back of your head.

If we are all just aware of each other, then we can enjoy the magic. I mean it is the fucking happiest place on earth.

 To Infinity and Beyond...!

pet PEEVED

When did it become okay for people to have conversations on cell phones in quiet public places? i.e. the waiting room of a doctor's office?

I know I have talked about this issue before, but this is honestly one of my biggest pet peeves, and it seems as if the problem is just getting worse. As much as I embrace technology and am absolutely addicted to my *crack*berry, I cannot stand the lack of etiquette people seem to have when it comes to using their cell phones.

From my own personal experience the past few days, it seems that loudly rehashing the events of last evening, to a mystery person on the other line, especially in generally quiet areas such as waiting rooms and elevators, is now an acceptable practice. I guess I missed the memo. This entire time I have been politely leaving these quiet areas to answer my phone in a hushed voice, only to inform the caller that I will call them back when in a more acceptable atmosphere. I had no idea I could have just been enjoying the conversation without exerting any effort to move at all. Think of  all of those wasted extra steps! For a person of my laziness, that really hits me where it hurts.

Call me old fashioned, but I think conversations about how your bowel movements, or lack there of, should be discussed in a more private manner. But what I especially dislike is the fact that you have chosen to have that conversation in a venue in which the surrounding people cannot escape. Believe it or not, I'm not sitting in that Doctor's office reception area at my own leisure, looking for a good time. I'm most likely stuck there. Waiting for an appointment that's an hour behind schedule. Getting up and leaving is not really a feasible option, and therefore I am being forced to listen to the drama you're having with your best friend, and what a dirty whore this supposed best friend is. It may seem shocking, but I don't care. And if I don't really care about something, I most certainly do not want to listen to only half of it. I have no idea what the person on the other line thinks, but judging by your blatant stupidity and rudeness, it's their opinion I'd probably rather hear. If you're gonna be so disruptive to us all, the least you can do is put it on speaker, so we can hear the entire story!

So next time you're sitting in a classroom before it starts, or a movie theater 20 minutes before the show, or riding in an awkward elevator, or sitting in your dentist's waiting area; go ahead and take this advice: Stick to Texting! There is no need to alert the people around you to your idiocy. We can probably already tell from the blank expression on your face. While most offenders in this area are the young teens and adults of this world (it's apparent that our generation has a large dilemma in the manners department), the older generations should not rule themselves out completely. In fact that last three times this has happened, it has been people in their 40's+ causing the problems. While I have great respect for those older and wiser than me, just because you're a "grown up" does not mean the rules don't apply.

The Climb

I really love to walk. And for the most part, when I'm not tripping over thin air and running into walls, I am actually pretty good at it. My temperamental back limits the kinds of activities I can do, and since running, jumping, and pole dancing are all out, walking has become my main focus. Living in San Francisco gave me plenty of opportunity to really challenge and fine tune my walking skills. There are so many amazing scenic walks you can do, not to mention since the city is so small, I tried to use walking as a mode of transportation as much as possible. My favorite walk was one I did right from my house. It was about a 3.5 mile loop that peaked at the Moraga Steps and then winded back down to my house at Ulloa. That walk kicked my ass many times, but it was always worth it when I got to the top of the stairs and could see over the entire Sunset all the way to the beach. Unfortunately once this past semester got crazy, it seemed I never had time to fit in any long walking adventures, so instead I just settled for the decent walk to and from school.

Now having moved back to LA, walking to and from places seems to be a laughable concept. Not to mention the pretty flat layout of the valley doesn't really provide much excitement or challenge. So I have decided that the obvious next step is to become an avid hiker. Duh, right? It makes total sense in my crazy mind. I'm determined to make this happen, and I am taking my parents down with me. The first weekend I was back I made them get up at 7 am, and we hiked up near the Franklin Reservoir and the Lake where they filmed the opening to Andy Griffith. (OH the glamor of Los Angeles!) It wasn't until my Dad said, "Watch out for rattle snakes" did I think maybe I made this decision a little rashly.

But I'm going to power through. Rattle snakes schmattle snakes! I'll just have to pick up a walking shiv, just in case any shanking becomes necessary. I am really looking forward to exploring different and more nature oriented parts of the city. And with any luck, I'll do something stupid, providing laughs and enjoyment for us all. If your looking for a hiking partner, you now know who to call....

Under Construction

New city. Kind of new life. I think it's time for a revamp. My technical team (*cough Jason cough*) and I are working on a new look. Hopefully I'll be back and blogging in a few days ish. If I ever freaking finish unpacking. Dear lord I am getting owned by that massive task. If I'm not back in a week, my stuff probably exploded and I didn't make it out on time.


I'll be back. Not new, but hopefully improved! Til then....

picture here

Swedish for __________?

Oh Ikea, how I hate to love you.

Once again, as I have embarked upon yet another move I found myself weaving through the furniture clad maze of this Swedish gem. Because really...where else is there to go? Ikea seems to have a monopoly on decent ish affordable furniture, which was exactly what I needed. This time I was on the hunt for a dresser, one that screamed COLLEGE GRAD, but wasn't completely selling out on my craaaazy personality, and could handle the ridiculous amount of clothes I own. Almost every single time I go to Ikea, I immediately regret it. Why? Well to start; they have EVERYTHING you need, and then a THOUSAND other things you never even knew existed, but now that you have discovered them, you suddenly need. I mean the person who created the layout is an absolute genius. If you aren't stealth enough to know the secret shortcuts, you have to walk through the entire store, where you inevitably decide that what you really need is a cartoon shaped, hot pink loft bed with matching desk...or is that just me? Not to mention, finally after you have frantically scribbled down all your aisle and bin numbers for the products, with your tiny golf pencil,  you have to walk through that god damn marketplace. Fifty cents for a drinking glass? How can you say no? I'll take ten! I guarantee everyone comes out of there with something they never intended on buying. Guilty: today we left with not only a "grown up" dresser, but also with a ficus tree. Who knew?

 Then of course, once you get home, you have to put everything together. This I suppose is just what you get for wanting cheap furniture. Conveniently the pieces to the desk you just bought came in five different cardboard boxes, which you now have to open and sort if you have any hope of figuring this thing out. Then there are the directions. Oh the directions! In an effort to not have to print out manuals in eight hundred different languages, Ikea directions contain only pictures. This is apparently supposed to make it idiot proof as well. What I actually think it does is make it so only idiots can put it together. It could very well be me over analyzing everything, but I really struggle with those pictures. Pictures can easily be interpreted in different ways, whereas in my mind words are much more straight forward. I'm sure it looks ridiculous watching me pick up every piece and examining it next to the drawn out directions to make sure it is the correct shape and size. I honestly don't think a little wordage would hurt anyone...just sayin Ikea, just sayin. And lastly there is that fucking allen wrench. That fucking allen wrench which is the key to all that is made by Ikea. It's always a good time putting giant pieces of furniture together with that dumb miniature sized tool.  Well what's even better than that, is when you're moving three years later and you can't find that fucking allen wrench anymore. Thank god I have a set of allen wrench shaped tips for my screw gun. Of course none of those fit exactly right, because where would the fun in that be if they did?

 One thing I always loved about Ikea was their delicious and ultra affordable fro yo. Only a dollar! Dollar cones of fro yo are a powerful thing. They can make you forget the madness you just ensued upstairs, beating people down for that last light birch malm bed frame. One lick of that cold yumminess and I remember why I keep coming back to this store. Unfortunately on this particular trip, Ikea had to rip this one joy away from me. Since my diagnosis as a  glu-tard, I can no longer eat the cone that the fro yo comes on. Sad, because sometimes that is the best part. Anyway I went up to order asking if I could just get my cone's worth of fro yo in a cup instead, explaining that I can't eat the cone. I first realized that this is not a common question, because the woman looked completely baffled. She said, "No we don't have any cups." I replied with, "Oh okay, well what about a drink cup, could you just put some in the bottom of that?" She goes, "We don't have any spoons, but I guess I could put some in a cup for you, and you would have to eat it with a straw, and it's gonna cost two dollars." Hmmm, well this presents an issue. First of all, I am not sure when a straw became an eating utensil... she said it so matter of factly, like everyone has eaten things other than a smoothie with a straw. Honestly that sounds like a disaster waiting to happen. So not only did she want me to eat my fro yo with a hollow stick but she also wanted me to pay extra for it? Um, I don't think so. It's supposed to be dollar fro yo, and I have to respect the principal of that. I kindly declined her amazing offer, and walked away satisfied that I just stuck it to the man. Take that Ikea. Take that!

pictures found here and here

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!