Say Cheese.

21 Feb

I hate signature “faces.” Faces that people, usually girls, make in 90% of their photos. It is always very evident that these individuals actually spend an admirable amount of time alone in front of the mirror, practicing and perfecting their signature facial pose, honing and tweaking it and repeating it hundreds of times over, so that when someone busts out a camera, they are the first person poised and ready for that photo op.

These people are always the first to greedily grab the camera from the “photographer,” and frantically squeal “LEMME SEE LEMME SEE!!!”, sounding almost blood-thirsty and ravenous to get their hands on the tiny LCD screen to admire the execution of their pose. They also go as far as to make commentary as soon as possible about everybody in the photo as a whole, as to divert everyone else’s attention from their very obvious self-obsession. They’ll say things like, “Cuuuuuute!!!” when 4 out of the other 5 people in the picture have blinked, or looked away, or weren’t aware that a picture was even being taken.

I specifically hate one particular face. The face where chicks try to get a devious look in their eyes, coupled by sucked in cheeks and pursed lips in an attempt to make themselves look a) skinnier, and b) sexy. Same goes for the “kissy face.” Gay. You look gay.

Listen, I’m not saying you can’t be obsessed with yourself. I’m just saying you can’t be obsessed with yourself unless you’re me. Are you a photo offender? If you notice a trend in your profile pictures, i.e., in all the pictures you look exactly alike but with different outfits on, you’re that person. People notice. Stop trying to be sexy. You’re not sexy. Is your name Megan Fox? Then you’re not sexy.

Perhaps the only thing I hate more than girls with signature faces, is the person who designed this atrocity:

I’m sorry, did this woman walk, naked, into a really enormous and dusty spiderweb? The “Lace Catsuit?” Halloween was last weekend. What in the shit is this? Name one situation where this outfit would be an appropriate thing to wear, besides the obvious Halloween, and/or Cirque de Soleil. Onesies in any formation are only cool if you’re 8 months old, or if they are made of flannel and have feet attached to them. On that same note, any outfit resembling a unitard in any fashion should be immediately covered in kerosene and lit on fire. “Hey, I really like your Catsuit. Where did you get it?” No. Kill the designer who created this, and do not apologize to their relatives.

Are they dropping acid over at American Apparel? Have I missed some worldwide fashion movement where suddenly hideous is the new black? I’m confused. I’m not trying to say that I’m a fashionista or designer guru by any means, but I would put money on the fact that not even Ray Charles would pick out an outfit like this by accident.

In the dark.

Drunk.

Moving right along.

Christmas music is officially taking over the radio, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. I could not be more pleased. There’s something about a good Christmas carol that fills me with jubilee. Sure, it’s still sixty degrees out and sunny, but that doesn’t mean I can’t smell ginger bread, hot cocoa, and pine needles in the air. I’m hearing jingling bells and silent nights already, folks. Go ahead and grab your pen and pad while I put together a nice Christmas wish list for you all to choose from.

For me, as soon as mid-September hits, I skip Halloween and Thanksgiving altogether and just dive straight into looking forward to Christmas. When the first snow falls, expect to find me galavanting through the streets donning a stocking hat and mittens, singing “Sleigh Bells” at the tippy top of my lungs and charging toward Starbucks for a quart of hot chocolate. Oooooh I can’t wait.

ANYway, time to go.

“Why the fuck would I blow up Chick-Fil-A? It’s fucking delicious!”

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