Can I get yo numba?

Attention men of the world,

I'm pretty sure that most of you have gotten the memo on this already. But for the rest of you who were crowded around the water-cooler chatting and for some reason didn't hear the announcement over the PA system... pay attention:

Pick-up lines are jokes. They are things that groups friends say to make each other laugh. They are things thrown around in drinking games. And Categories.

You know the ones I mean:

"Are you a terrorist? 'Cause you da bomb!" "Are your legs tired? 'Cause you've been running through my mind all day!" And my personal favorite: "Baby, did you just fart? 'Cause you blew me away."

They are not, not, not, (let me reiterate) NOT a good way to get girls to go out with you, give you their phone number, or even speak to you.

I bring this point up because I recently met one of those memo-less water-cooler-dwellers at a party. A friend and I were casually chatting with someone we hadn't met before. People were dropping into the conversation and we thought nothing of it. Until one guy sidled over to me.

"Hey, you look familiar, have we met before?"
"I don't go to school up here so I don't think so." I spoke quickly, without really considering it. I'm generally pretty good with faces, if not names. He blinked, looked a little taken aback. It didn't occur to me that I had been expected to ponder it so that he'd be able to snap his fingers and exclaim wittily "Oh! I know where I've seen you before! In my dreams."

He abandoned that. "Oh. Well. Do you want to count shoulders with me real quick?"

I realized suddenly what had happened. He was using a pick-up line. Legitimately using a pick-up line as though it had some possibility of working.

Thankfully, this was one joke that I had heard before. Otherwise, I would have been put into the awkward predicament of having this stranger's arm around me. The punchline of this question involves him counting his own shoulders: "One. Two." He points to your shoulder; the one closest to him: "Three." And stretches his arm over you to land on: "Four."

I instead responded with an uncomfortable laugh. "Oh, no, I've heard this one before."

He walked away.

This kid wasn't terrible-looking. And granted, he probably wouldn't have gotten anything from me beyond some polite conversation regardless, but he didn't even get that.

Because he opened with a pick-up line.

Let this be a lesson to you all.
Jenuinely yours,
Jen

The thrill of the hunt

I like to own nice things.

This isn't really a shock. I mean really, who doesn't like to have nice stuff?

But I really like labels. Probably more than I rightfully should. Even if my scope of labels is somewhat limited (sue me, I'm only just starting to learn about this stuff, I didn't even know how to do my own make-up in high school). This doesn't mean that I won't buy something from Target... or hell, even Wal-mart (I can hear the screams from here) if it's something that I really like. But I like having those things that were trendy, even if it was "last season" (or many, many, many seasons ago...)

I like to wear my Rock & Republic jeans. I like to carry my Kathy Von Zeeland and Coach bags. I have a dress that I looked up on the internet because I just had a feeling it was some obscure, expensive brand (I was right). I love to wear my Brighton earrings because God knows I just live for the moment when someone will ask me if they're Brighton and I get to answer.

Yes.

...Just call me a victim of a consumer society.

But here's my not-so-well-kept secret: I feel like a fraud when I wear these things. Because since, like most of the rest of America, I live on a budget, I don't really indulge often. I'm frugal. To the point where I wish credit card debt didn't terrify me the way it does... because good lord, I want that... dress, necklace, purse, pair of earrings... really, just insert whatever here.

My Brighton earrings? $1. My Rock & Republic jeans? Two. My purses? The results of some fantastic sales.

Garage sales, Consignment shops, coupons, and sales...

I better get back to Plato's Closet soon. I feel like it's my only ally before I wind up like Becky Bloomwood... I've got to get my Shopaholic fix once in a while and at least it's there and not in a designer store where I'd do some real damage.


Jenuinely yours,
Jen