I brought some friends to my parents' beach house last weekend, and Carolyn brought Pancake's gal pal Riley along. Here they are competing for a treat, apparently by seeing who can make the smushiest face.
Good news for people who love Spandex (and Jersey Shore): J-WOWW's clothing line, Filthy Couture, is now available for
purchase. Needless to say, the
website selling the clothing features some Awesome Moments in Copywriting
For example, the description for the "Spring Lilac" dress reads like
it was translated into Japanese and then back to English again.
This dress is for people who "daydream" about spending $319 on something that is indistinguishable from a Forever 21 garment:
Passive voice has never sounded so Jerseylicious!
This next dress is playful . . . like a lily?
Also, "lace inspired fabric?" I am making a WTF-inspired face.
Ready for some Gooolllllden Glaaammourrrr?
Sorry, but if I'm spending $539 on a dress, it should come with complete sentences.
BTW, If you are suddenly feeling infinitely tranquil after seeing this next dress, it is because it is a dress of INFINITE TRANQUILITY!
I am pretty sure that 90% of these names were ripped from the titles of my middle school poetry. See also: "Midnight Rain" and "Winter Innocence."
These are all great, but my favorite might be this pair of descriptions:
Like an oasis in the desert, the phrase "an oasis in the desert" provides a refreshing way to compare clothes to oases in the desert for the hot summer season. Or something.
The line also includes swimwear, like the "Boudoir Babe" style, pictured below:
Be careful, though! The product page for swimwear includes the following note:
While all Filthy Couture Style Swimwear bathing suits are safe to wear
in both the pool and the ocean, they are not meant for strenuous
That's really too bad. I was planning on wearing mine to compete in the Olympics.
Over the past few days I have gotten one voicemail, three missed calls,
and another voicemail, in that order, from the same caller, who sounds about 13-15 years old. Her first
voicemail was clearly a wrong number; she addressed me as "Matt" and
asked why I wasn't at the mall yet. I am assuming the next three missed
calls were attempts to follow up and see why "Matt" had not responded
to her. Then, at some point, she must have actually listened to my
voicemail recording and realized that my name was Lauren, and my voice
is actually deeper than that of a teenage boy. At this point, she chose
to leave the following message--a truly brilliant free association on
my name. I have transcribed it below:
Hi, Lauren! Is your name Lauren cuz
you're so borinnnng?
Or are you a pig? Cuz
you're a boar head? Can I meet you at the deli? Boar Head?
Yeah. You're pretty retarded. You have a really stupid name.
Laurrrrrren. See ya!
I was pretty amused and decided to
Google the girl's phone number, which traced to a landline in Virginia
belonging to someone named Tina. (Tina's last name and the particular
city in Virginia were also given, but I have decided to afford some
privacy to my personal teen poet laureate and keep this information
secret.) I kind of want to find her on Facebook and send her a quick
message, though, maybe something along the lines of:
For the record, my
name is not Lauren "because I am so boring." My parents chose that
name right after I was born, many years before I turned out to be so
boring. However, I was born in the year of the boar, so points there.
I think it is best that we do not meet at the deli.
am not, as far as I can tell, retarded. See ya!
while I may not be the best at finding productive things to do with my
time, I have a feeling that I still have a long way to fall before
stalking teenagers becomes a reasonable hobby. So I'll resist. For
I just got back from a week in the Bahamas, and I am downright exhausted from relaxing so hard. I don't know how that works, especially since doing nothing happens to be the one thing in the world for which I possess above-average mental and physical endurance. But, regardless: me=tired. To get back into the swing of things, I've decided to post a couple of travel anecdotes, in case you have never been on a vacation yourself and are curious about how not being home works.
So, without further ado, here is travel anecdote number one: A Story About the Time My Sister and I Ate A Bunch of Bacon and Sort of Crashed a Wedding.
My sister and I started each vacation morning the exact same way: by waking up and killing the hotel breakfast bar. We ate like we were getting paid $50 per sausage and $100 per piece of bacon, and also competing for an additional Cloggiest Arteries Prize to be awarded at the end of the week. (You've probably experienced the Free Hotel Breakfast Buffet Effect at some point in your life, so don't judge.)
After breakfast on Wednesday (or maybe Thursday, or maybe Friday . . . we were not so good at knowing what day it was), we walked out to the beach and saw that there was some sort of weddingy-looking arch set up, so we set up our chairs within reasonable spying distance in the hopes of getting some free entertainment. Sure enough, within an hour, a small group (bride, groom, officiant, and two other people) had materialized under the arch.
Despite the fact that these were complete strangers, I could not resist the urge to run up and take pictures. A wedding was happening within 20 feet of me--you don't go to weddings without taking pictures!!! Who cares if the people getting married did not invite you and are, in fact, occasionally turning around to give you slightly weird looks?!
Here are our pals getting hitched:
Now, I'm sure these two lovely people didn't plan their wedding by asking, "What would be a way to get married and also provide a modest amount of entertainment for a small collection of breakfast buffet devotees and assorted beach-goers?" But that is exactly what they did, and Kate and I (and the random gawkers) greatly appreciated it. This picture shows you a few of our fellow spectators:
I don't know if I get to include this ceremony in the list of weddings I've attended in my life. On the one hand, I did not know the bride and groom, and I was not an invited guest. On the other hand, I'm pretty sure I was standing as close to the couple as I was during my sister Kelly's wedding, where I was a bridesmaid. So . . . we'll give it half credit.