FREE.99

Everyone loves free samples. Everyone also loves Costco. Now I'll go ahead and apply some of that scientific research skill I am learning in grad school to create the following theory: Everyone loves Costco because they have free samples.

I honestly think that's the stone cold truth. I mean why else do people need to shop there? Who could possibly need at 80 ounce bucket of peanut butter? Or a 150 pack of cup o noodles. Let alone if it's not a perishable item, who even has room to store all of these bulk bargains. I remember when I moved to college I thought Costco and I were going to build a beautiful relationship, but I quickly realized it was going to have to be either my wardrobe or a semester's worth of peanut butter in my closet. Despite San Francisco being "liberal" they still haven't developed a clothing optional policy, so my choice was pretty much made for me.

Now if you're a real stickler for some facts to back up this theory of mine, I think the last trip I took to Costco will  sufficiently suffice. Last Friday around noon my Dad and I ventured to the great bulk food supplier. When we pulled into the parking lot, my first concern was why there were so many freaking people at Costco on a Friday at noon. Don't people work anymore? Well I am sure you are asking, "Hey Lauren, you weren't at work either..." My response to that, "I doubt all of those people at Costco are blessed with a glorious retail job like myself." I know some of them are just sneaking off on their lunch breaks to cash in on free samples, which leads me to my next issue.

The love people have developed for free samples has become unhealthy and possibly damaging to our society. I was actually concerned for my safety while in the store. Now granted, since my new found (well not so new anymore) glutarded-ness, I can rarely eat the free samples, so possibly that has given me a much clearer mind. Everyone else has freaking tunnel vision. They're minds are on one thing and one thing only: free samples! MUST GET FREE SAMPLES! Those people take that mentality and run, literally run. From this trip alone, I realized that these crazed sample get-ers can be categorized into five different categories; each just as problematic and tantalizing as the rest.

1. The Repeat Offender: I saw you try and sneak a second sample! Move over buddy, some of us are still waiting for firsts. I understand that that spinach ravioli was a burst of flavor to the mouth, but maybe you should stop being such a Jew and just invest in a bag (or in Costco's case, eight bags) and enjoy the delicacy at home. Despite what you think, not making direct eye contact with anyone does not make you invisible. I saw that attempt at a second sample and so did the woman running the station. Get some dignity and just walk away.

2. The Immediate Stopper: Yes, I agree, that roasted turkey was good, but was it really that good that you needed to stop in the middle of the aisle, the space that is actually designated for WALKING or passing other stopped people on the sides, abandon your cart, and rush over to the sample station? Have we learned nothing from Dane Cook?  I doubt that the three seconds it would have taken for you to politely push your cart out of the way would have deterred you from receiving that small piece of turkey. A little something for you to think about next time you're willing to risk cart abandonment, just for a fraction of a small snack.

3. The Immediate Stopper and Cart Turner Outer: Just imagine shopper number 2, only this time she turns her cart horizontal in the aisle, so there is no hope of breaking through. I could give you the benefit of the doubt and assume this is some sort of protective tactic to slow other people down and ensure that you receive your free samp, but I won't. Instead I know that you live in a world of oblivion, where other people's lives mean nothing to you. Especially when there is the possibility of  a free sample on the horizon. but please don't worry about me, I'll just stand around behind your blockade staring mindlessly at the 12 packs of cereal. I was hoping for a 15 minute period of rest time anyway.

4. The Patient Waiter: They say that patience is a virtue. In this instance though, I think it's more a pathetic attribute to have. Is it really so necessary that you wait fifteen minutes so you can try a eighth of a ham and cheese hot pocket? I can tell you, having had a hot pocket or two in my day, it's not really worth the wait. So creating crowds around the sample tables not only makes it harder for everyone to maneuver around, but it just makes you look sad and desperate. If you plan to sit and wait fifteen minutes for every sample table, you have just extended your quick trip to Costco into a 2 hour debacle. There is a pretty simple elegance to doing Costco sampling right; you hit up all the ready ones first and then double back cart less (for better agility) for the ones that you missed. Then at least you're much more discreet about your desperate need to have every sample in the store.

5. The Cuts You Off Bee-Liner: This in my opinion is the worst of all the offenders. This person has lost every ounce of their integrity and humanity, and is to the point where they will do ANYTHING to get their free sample. They have sold their soul to the sample Gods and go into a complete frenzy when they see the opportunity of something free close by. They use their cart as a weapon to cut you off, slow you down, or just cause you repeated physical pain until you get of their way. Their only duty is to dispose of anything blocking their path to the hair netted woman holding a cube of cheese on a toothpick. They are relentless, and it's best if you discover one early on, to stay out of their way, because they will have no problem mowing you down if you so much as slow them from getting their sample.

Costco can be a jungle of crazy people. If you're not interested in fighting to the death, it's probably a good idea to either go early on, or later in the evening, when the samples are closed. Then you will find other like minded, fearful, and timid shoppers, jumping at the sound of any shopping cart speeding up behind them. I think it has been one too many times that I have had to deal with the cesspool of idiocricy that has developed in this store, and it has definitely decreased my need to go in. I am happy to say that I finally realized the samples just aren't worth it. Plus my ankles can't deal with anymore cart ramming damage.

A Letter, With Love

Dear Man from the Jersey Shore, shopping at my store this afternoon,

First of all this is California. I don't care how popular MTV has made the Jersey shore, but I'm not having it. You're obnoxious accent and "all about me" attitude was not charming the customer service out of me, and I could care less if all you do is gym, tan and laundry. But that's okay, I could tell you were a d-bag the minute you walked over to the graphic thermals. Really? Nothing quite says douche like "Untouchable" written across your chest in a smocked velvet.

But as if that wasn't enough, because it definitely wasn't, I think it was probably pretty unnecessary to melt into a panic over the lack of sizes we had. The shirts are dirt cheap, and we don't have a thermal tree behind the store, so when people buy them, we tend to run out. It's a tough life out there. What I especially loved was the fact that you asked me eight times if we had any in the back. Each time I politely responded with "No", but I guess you didn't hear. I probably should have gone back and checked though, I forgot about how if a customer asks if you have stock in the back ten times, it magically appears. My bad. Even when I explained that I am actually the visual merchandiser for Men's, and therefore I have a very accurate grasp on how much stuff we don't have in our stock room, you didn't seem to quite understand.

What concerned me most though was your apparent worry for what size you wore and whether or not it was going to shrink. The whole situation really seemed to stress you out. For me, it was less stress and more.....frustration. It was pretty disheartening that I actually got to put my degree to use, explaining that a 40/60 cotton/poly blend really wouldn't shrink, being that polyester is a super fiber and all, and it just went in one ear and right out the other. I assume you had more important things to worry about like gym, tan, and laundry. So for the fifth time, when you said, "Are you sure this won't shrink?" I just answered with, "Yeah, you're right, it probably will." I hope you have a good steroid supplier at home, because you're gonna need something to fill out that lack of shrinkage. Although, I have heard steroids could cause some shrinking of their own......

But the cherry on top of the entire rendezvous was when you asked if you could try the shirt on right there. I auto replied yes, because I assumed, like when I try shirts in IN stores, that you had an under shirt on. What you should have asked was, is it okay if I take my shirt off, and stand topless in the front of your store. Being that this is not Abercrombie and Fitch I would have replied, "No, I think that's a bit inappropriate." Because it was. Not one person who walked into the store during the ten minutes you didn't have a shirt on enjoyed it one bit. Especially not me, who had to sit and advise on which size I felt was better. And I have to comment, it looks like you need a little work on both the gym and the tan.

So please spare me next time. I am pretty sure our entire interaction cost me more brain cells than I would have liked to give up. And a little advice for next time: No shoes, NO SHIRT, no service: it's a rule for a reason.


Love,
Lauren

Things I Learned/Thoughts I Had While in the South

navigation tool collection

You should check your GPS software before you embark upon your adventure. Dealing with a GPS that does not recognize Mississippi, Tennessee, Arkansas, and Oklahoma as actual places, can be quite difficult to work with, especially when you are traveling to Mississippi, Tennessee, Arkansas, and Oklahoma, specifically. 

Every street is a “highway.” Every “highway” or “freeway” or “interstate” has at least three names it goes by. Therefore not only is it Highway 66 East, but it is also Highway 142 North and Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd. This makes directions increasingly harder to understand.

While automatic toilet seat covers might sound cool, they don’t work. Therefore I would appreciate you providing a second method for “my protection.”

The one issue I now have with California malls, in fact malls across the U.S who haven’t jumped on this bandwagon, is that they do not have frozen daiquiri bars in the middle of them. 

Even though Johnny and June thought Jackson was the place to “get married in a fever,” there is in fact nothing there. Definitely wasn’t worth the combing of my hair. 

The myth of the “Southern Gentlemen” extends to all wait staff in restaurants. Never have I had such polite and convenient service. Why yes, I would love you to split the check, and if you have a chance, could you call California and get them interested in this phenomenon.

Beale St, Memphis

After about seven "Honey” s come out of your mouth, your cute Southern drawl, tends to wear off and just becomes annoying.

There is NOT an abundance of cowboys walking down the streets in hats…and no shirts…much to my disappointment. 

If you try and smother your bed mate (being kimi) with love (or a pillow) she'll make you suffer the next day. (i.e. force you to take all your pictures solo.)

There seems to be a lack of spinach in the spinach capital of the world. Especially a lack of giant spinach cans. But water on the other hand, now they have huge towers of those.

Popeye Park. Alma,AR

Being single is no way to make friends with any of those Southern gals. They are all married, and your obvious singledom is considered a national threat to their own marriage. 

on the road

One way car rentals are ridiculously expensive. Gas on the other hand is cheap. And even if Archie, at the New Orleans Rental place chooses not to let you know, you should always get a gas receipt. That way, when you return the car, you can prove that you didn’t actually siphon water into your gas tank. FYI to the car rental companies: If I just gave you an obscene amount of money to drive a car 800 miles across the South, I’m not going to cheat you out of another 20 dollars worth of gas. Not to mention, if I even had the talent to siphon water into the car's gas tank, you should give me the rental for free... out of principal.

Oklahoma sucks. Your one redeeming quality were the shirts in your airport, “Nothing tips better than a cow.” But it’s not enough to escape from my shit list. 

the blushing bride and reason for this entire trip.

Leaving on a Jet Plane

In like 36 hours I'm getting on a plane and heading South to New Orleans to embark upon Kimi and I's Southern adventure. I am in severe need of a vacation and I am really excited to go exploring. So what's the problem you ask? Just the fact that planning trips are STRESSFUL. And if you know me at all, you know I don't handle stress that well.

Towards the end of high school and my first few years in college I noticed that whenever I got stressed I would get sick. It would build and build and build as I was frantically studying for my statistics final, and then the second I finished the test, it would hit me as if I just ran into a brick wall. And I would be out for a week. Unfortunately for me the only times I would get stressed would be around midterms and finals, all right before we would have breaks from school, so that meant I spent a lot of thanksgiving, winter, and spring breaks laying in bed in my parents house being sick. I guess it was better than having to take those finals while also fighting the illness, but still, coughing your head off in bed while all you're friends are partying and celebrating sucks.

As the school work, and sorority responsibilities, got harder, the way I dealt with stress got worse and worse. Junior year had me throwing my back out every three months to the point where I couldn't move for a week. that was the absolute most frustrating way my body decided to "calm me down." There is nothing more stressful than having to miss work and school, and not being able to move anywhere without having your roommate help you put your pants on. I spent a good part of my spring semester in my fourth year of college on the floor with back issues. And my school work suffered greatly.

Since then I have been extra careful with my back, so of course my body being mine, it had to devise new ways to make me suffer. The most recent occurrence during my last semester was canker sores. Now those sucked! There is nothing like having canker sores (multiple multiple ones) all over you're mouth, hurting and preventing you from eating and talking. Too much information? Hey, they are canker sores, not herpes, and it was stress that caused them, not a lack of personal hygiene or anything.

So just my luck that past few weeks have been stressful to the max. Between work and school and planning this trip, it's no wonder that after working eleven straight days, I completely crashed on my two days off. I have been home sick with a horrible cold the past two days, and I have to get it under control before I sit on a plane for five hours Monday. The pressure of that time constraint isn't helping my calm down though. Not to mention I have been scrambling to get my suitcase packed and all my homework finished, and all the final touches on the trip in order. It has not been fun. I feel like I am no where near completing any of them. And now I seem to be breaking out in some sort of hives. Seriously? What is my problem?! I think I need to become a hippie and care about nothing and just sit around and relax all the time. Would that be a waste of my future master's degree?? If I am happy and stress free than I guess who cares. Now how do I break that new discovery to my parents.....oh, well guess this blog just did it for me. Sorry Mom and Dad, I'm gonna be a hippie, here's to hoping Ally is infinitely more successful.....someone's gotta support us.

Anyway, Bon Voyage! I promise stories and pictures when I return. Kimi and I have a competition going to see who can look like the biggest douche bag the entire trip. I might have a couple popped collars hiding in my suitcase. Hilarity and pictures to ensue. Until then.....Au Revoir!

Do you Want to Know a Secret? (ooooo waaa oooo)

I love Post Secrets. Every Sunday morning, the first thing I do when I wake up is go to the site and read all the new secrets for the week. Sometimes I get so excited that I check Saturday night, and if you're lucky, they are sometimes already up. Which really just leaves me with nothing to do Sunday morning, just checking my email, which is never nearly as interesting. I just love the entire concept and story behind Post Secret. It's just really cool to read other people's secrets and realize maybe you're not the only crazy person out there. Whenever I find one that makes me laugh, or one that I agree with, or one that makes me go "awwwwwww," or something that reminds me of a friend or a situation from the past, I always save in a Post Secret file on my computer. I think I probably have two years worth of secrets on my external, and every once in a while it's always fun to go through and read them again. It always makes me smile, so here are some that I have saved over the years, hopefully they make you smile too.

All of these pictures were obtained from the Post Secret Site. If you haven't checked it out before, do it!

Work Work Work and No Play

Oh the woes of retail!! It has been a while since I've shared something about the activity that seems to consume most of my life: Work. In fact it's been a while since I have shared anything about my life, there just never seems to be enough time. When I'm not working I'm having enough trouble squeezing in the important things; like school and my two new obsessions: re-watching the entire series of Veronica Mars and playing Words With Friends on "my" iPad. Persnickety crime fighting and scrabble with strangers and friends, all while lying in bed. Life's rough. I know.

But back to my main priority. Work. Work, and more Work. I have become a slave to my job recently because I actually just got a promotion. (insert woo hooo here). I'm moving on up and there is no stopping me now, I'm not going to spend hours listening to customers "return stories" and not make it worth anything. My new position has me working a lot more with the kids and babies departments. So often times, if you're looking for me, that's usually where I am, or somewhere sprinting in between. Since I am always there, people see me and get the impression that I am some sort of childrens clothing connoisseur. The truth of the situation is, I do know a lot about my stores childrens clothing; need to know if we have a certain style? or color? or size? I'm your girl! But if you want to know how the clothes fit, or what size your kid (who is not present I might add) wears, I have no idea, and it's a pretty simple breakdown as to why that is:

I unfortunately haven't been able to wear child sized clothing since I was probably ten, and I neither have a child (thank god) or any children friends to try the clothes on for me, and then provide me with detailed descriptions on how each article of clothing made them feel. I was under the impression those sorts of friendships were frowned upon.

Therefore when you ask me, how do those pair of pants fit, I am baffled as to what you are expecting me to spit out in response. "Well they're a little snug in the waist and loser around the hips and leg area, then they taper in at the ankles so she can accessorize them with little booties. But as a side note, they do make the butt look a little big." Your daughter is six! How does it fit? If it buttons it fits. If she can squeeze that skinny jean over her soccer calves, then they fit. But even better, if you take her to the fitting room, and she puts them on, you'll have your very own personal description of how they fit....to your daughter.

One major thing I have noticed, is that a lot of parents don't know what size their child wears. Now I understand that kids grow, so the sizes can change very rapidly, but there is a quick solution to this, have your child go try on a few options and then go with the one they can securely fasten over themselves. Parents are constantly showing up, sans child, asking me what size their kid wears. "My son's eight, what size should I be looking for?" My silent mind rebuttal: "My father is 55, what size do you think he would wear?" Age does not denote a universal size. For all I know your eight year old could be 150 pounds, or takes after your giant husband and is 5 feet tall. I'm no psychic, so unfortunately I can't help there. Wanna know if we have those bootcut jeans in a 14...we don't. So rather than stressing out the sales associate and yourself for that matter, if you are clueless to what size your kid wears, bring them with you. I can tell you that will be 100 percent more accurate than anything I could offer you.


I hope this has been advice to you all, since I know my main blog reading demographic parents with young children. If I am severely wrong about that, at least it amused you for the five minutes it took you to read. And just remember, the same goes for adults too, believe it or not just because I am 23 does not mean that's the size I wear in clothing. A fun fact for you all to absorb: they stop sizing clothes by age in the toddler sizes. So now you won't look like an idiot asking in the future.

In other, completely off topic news, I am completely putting my entire life on hold in a week and a half to go on a "vacation." I am pretty sure the timing is quite crappy with school and my job etc, but somehow I am making it work. I'll keep you posted on the aftermath of that decision, I'm sure it will be amusing in some sorts. But until then, watch out New Orleans, Jackson, Memphis, Little Rock and Fort Smith...you're in for a ridiculous treat!!

Also, as a P.S vote for my friend Kimi's graphic design for the H&M window display. It's amazing! As is she, and it's really easy to vote!! go here: http://www.yourarthere.com/entry/i-heart-ny/

I'll love you forever if you do it! Well scratch that, I already love you because you read my blog. Well vote, and then let me know....maybe we can work something out. ; )

TMI

You may or may not be familiar with a little social networking site called Facebook. Like most of the 20 something crowd I too consider myself to be a part of this phenomenon. I've been a member since before I moved to college, which was back in the dark ages of Myspace, when Facebook was only for those elite people who had college email addresses. Ah the good times. In fact, if you read this blog we are probably Facebook friends, because you most likely wouldn't know about it otherwise, unless of course you're a new reader who frequents the Serramonte Denny's. (Holler Chelsea!).

It has been an interesting few years watching Facebook slowly morph from a way to make new college friends, to a way to make new all aged friends,  to a creep-tastical stalking platform. I mean seriously, it's kind of ridiculous. Funny thing is, my thirteen year old self would have died with excitement over this kind of invention. And every once in a while she creeps back into my life and I find myself laying in bed with my laptop, eyes bugged out and burning, and somehow three hours have disappeared and I suddenly have a vague understanding of the current lives of people I never talked to in highschool. As more and more changes were made to Facebook, I slowly became less and less interested in the site. Don't get me wrong, I still check it every day, probably multiple times a day, and I use it more or less, but I don't find myself spending hours upon hours on it, and here is why:

I think we very easily forget just how many people we are Facebook friends with. Your collection of friends vary anywhere from your best friend in elementary school to that guy in your freshmen year college statistics class. People who you probably don't talk to at all anymore, yet they still have access to all your updates, and boy do you have access to theirs. Which brings me to my main Facebook concern:  Over-sharers.

Did I miss the memo where Facebook is no longer a public site? I understand there are privacy blockers etc, but not from the people you are friends with. So what do you want me to do with your status update detailing your "douchebag boyfriend" and how he "broke your heart, and you have been uncontrollably crying for weeks." Ummmm.....great weather we've been having? Why would that be necessary to post in public domain, is this now an occasion where I need to send a virtual card? Not to mention to continuing status updates every hour with things like "I thought we were meant to be," "You were the love of my life," "Please call me and we can work it out." Now you're just giving girls everywhere a bad reputation. Keep your crazy desperation to yourself, like the rest of us. I definitely think that writing out your feelings about a situation can help the venting process and clear your mind, but get a diary, make those pages suffer, because quite frankly I'm sick of logging on and being bombarded to by your pleads to get him to call you. It's possible I just don't have any compassion, but if he isn't returning your calls, I don't think the "power" of Facebook is going to change the situation.

Also included in the over sharing category: bowel movements or lack thereof, STD's, pictures of your pregnancy tests (you may be thrilled, but all I can think about when seeing that picture is how you peed on that stick, and then left it out long enough so you could grab a snap shot!) Deaths, this could be me being incompassionate again....buuuut it seems inappropriate to me to make updating your Facebook status one of the stages of grieving.

I also very much dislike those of you who feel it is necessary to update your status with a five paragraph essay. You understand the basic concept of sentence structure! That's great! Get a blog and prove it to the world like the rest of us. And please, if you are going to insist on using song lyrics, make sure they are correct! It's just sad if I, the most incompetent lyric person in the world, recognizes that those are the wrong words. It only means one of two things, the song you used is either a Country song, or not a good one. It only takes 2.5 seconds to hit up AZ Lyrics or something, and trust me, it's worth the time.

I guess we can basically conclude that I just think personal things should be kept personal, and not written all over Facebook. Could be hypocritical considering I sit here and write a blog about my life. But I would like to think for the most part I have abstained from any extreme over-sharing. And my defense is this: people can make the informed choice to read this blog or not, unlike my newsfeed which seems to have a mind of own. Right....? Right!

oooohhh South Park. Nails it every time. 

Words from the Wise

I officially started Graduate School....no turning back now! Despite the usual frustrations that come along with attending school, I am honestly really excited to be getting my Master's degree. The past few weeks in my classes have really made me realize that this is exactly what I want to be doing. So although I joke that this decision was all a big procrastination scheme to avoid growing up, it's actually part of the plan, and I wouldn't imagine my life any other way.

Doing a Graduate program is completely different that your Undergrad. It's insane. I kind of feel like a celebrity, I mean they really pull out all of the stops for you. You can practically pick and chose exactly what classes you want to take, you get a lot of extra perks, like extra library usage, special study areas, and the teachers and advisers are all so willing to meet with you and provide any help necessary.And then in the end I get to write a 120 page thesis paper on pretty much anything I want, as long as I can back it up with some research. How cool is that?

I figured, as a warm up, I'll write you a little piece about fashion right now. Obviously I'll probably never be able to parlay this into my thesis, and at this point in time I have no real research other than my personal opinion (why that isn't enough I'll never know). But I am very passionate about this, and I think it's important to share with the world:

Reasons Why I Have No Respect for Women Who Wear Jeans With No Back Pockets.

1. I know you bought those jeans in the juniors department. I can guarantee when you pull our your size tag, it's going to have an odd number on it. 5, 7, 9. Those would be juniors sizes, which in case anyone needed some clarification is meant for girls going through puberty. While you may have felt Paris Blues were a trusty jean through your middle school years, it is very important that you let go and accept the fact that you are no longer a teenager. I can't take you seriously as you strut through the market in your pocketless, bedazzled Baby Phat skinny jeans, I'm too distracted by the fact that you're pants are shouting "Immature! and Irresponsible!" at me.

 2. Pockets are amazing. Why anyone would want less pockets in the world is beyond me. Believe it or not this is one of the few design elements in the world that actually has a function! You can put things in them, like cash, or your ID, or your hands as you're standing around waiting for your friends to show up. There is nothing like trying to slickly pose attractively, while a cute guy walks buy, only to stumble as your hands slide right down your ass, because there was no pocket there to stop them. Plus, did I mention you can put things in them!

3. Not only do pockets have a practical function but they have a visual function as well. To make your ASS LOOK SMALLER! Seriously. Pocketless pants just shout "Look at my ass!" Which don't get me wrong, is awesome, if you have a great ass. Unfortunately in my experience most of the great asses in the world have more dignity and respect and spend most of their time parading around in pocketed denim. They too get self conscious you know. With those asses being covered up, it just leaves a bunch of cottage cheese jiggly-ness for the rest of us to witness. And if that isn't a sight for sore eyes, I don't know what is.

4. VPL- Visible Panty Line. Before we get into this one I would just like to say I hate the word "panties," but I understand that it is necessary to the topic so I am willing to make an exception. I'll just break this one down for you. The only reason you wear pocketless jeans is to show off what you consider to be a "great ass." If you wear regular underwear, all anyone can see is that thick outline under your pants, cutting into what you consider to be a "great ass." Therefore we cannot appreciate this considered "great ass" because we are too distracted by the incredibly large amount of underwear you have crammed under those tight jeans. All in all, just invest in something with some pocketage in the back. Or if you are insistent that you have a "great ass" get yourself a thong, or at least have the decency to go commando. 

5. The original jean sans back pockets is a little garment you so fondly refer to as Mom Jeans. So just remember next time, when you are thinking you are infusing some flavor and unique style into the world, you're wearing pants that originated from that wretched thin, high mid waisted, tapered number your grandmother used to wear. There is no amount of "modern" jewels and adornments that can hide that fact from the world. Hopefully next time you'll be wise and think twice before squeezing into those pocketless pants.

I hope the overall consensus after reading this bit is that all jeans baring no back pockets should be burned and never brought back into society. If you really have an issue with pockets, try a nice slack, or possibly something with a less noticeable welt pocket in the back. And for the love of God, don't pick something so tight! Or if you must, wear some leggings, but that could be quite another risk that I would love to discuss at another time. Like tights, I have a lot of things to say about leggings. Just embrace pockets, you never know, they could change your life!

A Letter, With Love

Dear "Bouncer" at Barney's Beanery,

The most descriptive thing I can say about you, to really encompasses that pleasurable personality, is that you are a huge dick. I'd really like to give you the benefit of the doubt, and assume you were trying to joke around about the situation, but it's obvious that if this was the case, your delivery needs some severe work. I understand that checking ID's at the door is a serious issue, but your apparent dedication and thoroughness to the job is absurd. I'm thinking you need a hobby, that way you can invest some of the passion into something healthier, and less of a nuisance to me. 

First off, I know you knew the minute you scanned the black light over the ID that it was real. There really aren't questions about that. I even excuse your need to shine your light right up in my face to make sure my eyes were really blue. The picture on my ID looks almost exactly like me. Oh wait, that's because it IS me. Not even 15 year old me, it's me like 20 year old me. I have the same hair color, pretty much the same cut and style, and I even took the time to straighten it last night which should have avoided any confusion. Never have I had such an issue with proving my own identity.

My opinion of you took a turn for the worse when you insisted I present you with a credit card with a matching name. "Really?!" It became obvious to me at that point that you don't seem to be very well educated because it took you a while to read and confirm the name. I understand it's difficult because my debit card says Lauren E. Welden, whereas my drivers license says Lauren Elizabeth Welden. It's a challenge, and I'm mildly happy that you were able to pull through in triumph.  But it wasn't enough to convince you. You know what, let me just throw my social security number you way, and then I'll write you a personal check. There's always room for a checkbook in my going out clutch. I hope they taught you how to compare signatures!

But what really cemented my disdain was after I showed you both my ID and credit card,you proceeded to ask me what my zodiac sign was. I hope to God that you are also a fellow Aries, because I find it extremely pathetic, that as a dedication to your job, you have memorized the time frames of each of the zodiac signs. I find your love for reading horoscopes an extremely emasculating trait. And I don't think I'll be completely alone in this feeling.

While to a small extent I am flattered that you possibly thought I was underage, I don't really appreciate being belittled and made to feel like a delinquent juvenile when just wanting something to eat for dinner. I'm pretty positive you just get some sort of pleasure in giving people a hard time. It's called a power complex, you should probably look into getting some help for that. FYI, being able to turn people away from a bar does not make you King of Everything. For future reference, the least you can do after making a girl stand outside for any length of time proving her identity, is throw her a smile or wink. I'll just have to take my gluten free business to a different Barney's, one that has less of a douche manning the door.

Much Love,
elle dub

midnight madness

As you can tell, I like to write a lot about my family. I guess you could say they inspire me. While I have said many things about my parents, I have yet to spend any real time talking about my siblings, my brothers in particular. (Don't get too excited Tommy and Bobby, the entire post isn't going to be about you.) Anyway for lack of a better word my brothers are kind of Star Wars nerds, in a cool gangsta way of course. Which is pretty limited being they are two white guys, but that's just a whole different story. Since they are seven years older than me, and at some point in my life I was young and impressionable, and not nearly as wise as I am now, I wanted to be just like them. Cut to elementary school Lauren in basketball shorts and a huge Nike basketball shirt. Again, a whole other part of my life we could tap into at a different time. But the point still stays the same, I wanted to do whatever "cool" things they did too.

 Straight up!

I'm pretty sure Star Wars (or Star Trek for that matter) put midnight showings of movies on the map. Because only people with enough passion for the characters and their fictional world, would be crazy enough to spend hours camping out to see a movie that won't be over til almost two thirty in the morning. And it's through that exact portal that midnight movies were introduced into my life. My brothers had that passion. Not quite the "full Chewbacca get up, camping multiple days" passion, but enough that we spent time in line, waiting with five hundred of our favorite Star Wars loving friends, to see the movies. Which I am almost positive I slept through parts of. In high school I was an amateur, I didn't have the right late night mentality. Obviously college has more than fixed that for me. Then of course comic book movies became the craze, and all the big ones started being released at midnight (anything to push those weekend box office totals!). So Star Wars turned into Pirates of the Caribbean, Superman, Batman, Iron Man, HARRY POTTER, and so many more. And unfortunately it would be a big lie if I left out the Twilight Saga.

But, since midnight movies has become such a trend, they practically release everything at 12:01 now. Back in San Francisco, my lovely roomie Kimi at Tv Snobbery and I, became midnight regulars. The reasoning behind it is genius if you ask me; if the movie isn't a huge release, practically NO ONE goes to see the movie at midnight. Which includes cranky kids forced to stay up past their bedtime, our ultimate pet peeve. It cracks me up that parents can't figure out why their kids are crying through the entire movie, I'm no expert but it might be because it's four hours past their bedtime, and they just don't care about Ashton Kutcher's half naked body as much as you apparently do. Midnight movies became SO much more enjoyable not having to deal with people on their cell phones, or kids throwing temper tantrums down the aisles. It was pure bliss. Of course this only applies to the smaller movies we saw, like Adventureland, Hairspray, or The Runaways. Popular movies are a whole different ballpark:

On Thursday night, Kimaaaay and I decided to go see Scott Pilgrim vs. the World. Sounded like a great plan, but what I didn't for see was how popular this movie was gonna be. A duh Lauren!! It's based on a graphic novel. Well silly me was just looking forward to a little laughing with Michael Cera and Jason Schwartzman, but what I really got was a fun filled evening with a hundred of my graphic novel loving friends. I'll break it down for you:

After making a trip to the market to get snacks and magazines we walk into the mall, purchase our tickets and go up to the theater at about ten forty to get seats. (Not because we thought it would be packed, but because I got off work and the theatre is right there). Turns our we weren't even close to being the first people there. It was pretty crowded. Immediately I realize everyone is of high school age, I discover this due to the volume at which they were shouting. Remember when you were in high school and you talked really loudly to get attention from people? No...that was just me? Hmmm. Anyway, everyone is obnoxiously screaming. Thinking they're being cool of course, which just makes me cringe. I try and steer clear of reminding myself how obnoxious I possibly once was at that age. Now pair that with the naivety, and I am just raging with embarrassment. I feel bad for kids in high school who think they know everything, there is just so much more out there, they are unaware of, I had an urge to tell them to just calm down and be patient. (Johnny's gonna grow up to be a douchebag anyway, so no need to shout obscenities at the screen just so he notices you!) Not to mention it wasn't really my type of crowd. I was outcast due to my lack of beanie with animal ears and striped knee socks. I opened my giant issue of Glamour and tried to focus on all the hair/makeup/dating/health tips and avoid any eye contact, so as not to have my lack of geekiness discovered.

Overall the movie was actually really enjoyable. Once I got over all the screaming and cheering from the crowd (IT'S A MOVIE, THEY CAN'T HEAR YOU!) I was also tired and freeeeezing in the theater, which probably attributed greatly to my crankiness. I think I learned that I should definitely do some more research into movies before I decide to see them at midnight.... during the summer....when school is out of session. It was clear we were some of the very few in the over 21 crowd. I tried my best to talk loudly, but it hurts my aging ears. Even Kimi, a fellow nerd, was out of place. I mean here I always thought she put forth all of her passion into her love for sci fi, but it's clear she's been half ass-ing it. Which I think is A-OK. Cause I kinda like her the way she is.

As for my brothers....since I know you are all wondering. They have mellowed in their old age. Not nearly as intense as they once were, but still very avid fans of the Star Wars franchise. And don't forget those Ninja Turtles! Thanks to them I probably know a little more about Star Wars than you do, and I have developed quite a healthy love for comic book movies. And I'm hot. That's right, I'm the perfect girl. Oh juuuust kidding. Up next for sure on the midnight movie list: AAAAARRRYYY POTTTAAAHHH and the Deathly Hallows. Now there's a crowd I can put on my glasses and lightening bolt and get behind.

Oh those crazy kids.