How Would You Tag Yourself?

When I'm bored waiting on long lines at Forever 21, and I must say that's quite often, I divert my attention from the array of racks stacked with clothes, shoes, and accessories placed conveniently along the path on where you would queue. What started of as hope that my impatient glares might send telepathic waves to speed these people up turned into an entertaining habit of people watching.

You see, Forever 21 sells clothes catered to females (and now males, too) ranging from teeny bopper to 'oh Lord, please act your age'. Through my unwarranted human behavior study, I've learned that young  girls are divided into six categories when it comes to their boyfriends (or lovers) buying them clothes.

Bitch Bella
First of we have the Bitch Bellas. They are the kind of girls who believe that the power of the vagina grants them the right to have men buy them gifts. They would traipse around the store picking out whatever they like and want; hands moving as fast as a Shaolin monk executing a kung fu move. But for some reason, when these Bitch Bellas are faced with the cashier with boyfriend by their side, their hands start to look like a Thai masseuse. Gently rubbing the counter tops, caressing the mouth of the tip jar and running their fingers on the gift card holder. Eyes that were once fixated on racks like a sniper are now swaying left and right like a cat with a ball of yarn dangling in front of it.

Fugitive Fifi
Next are the kind of girls who wait with their boyfriends (or lovers) on line and the moment it is their turn, so does she. She turns left. Or right. And walks to the other end of the store - and is no where to be seen and found for the next 4 minutes when the purchase is being transacted. So how do Fugitive Fifis' boyfriends find their girlfriends? If you were an illegal immigrant or a convict where would you go? Yes, the border. So the couple would reunite at the boutique's exit and casually walk on hand in hand. And that is how Fugitive Fifi works.

Pretend Patricia
Third in this category would be the Pretend Pats. It is when a girl pretends she's paying for everything but in fact, she's not. I once saw a young teeny bopper couple waiting on line to pay. Both boyfriend and girlfriend were holding a couple of items. It was a Saturday, also known as 'date night'. And I thought to myself, "Aww how sweet, young love shopping together". When the cashier called out for their turn, the girl walked up first and her boyfriend waited behind. This is where I began to think, "Why wouldn't they just go together?" Since I'm such a professional in Human Behavior studies, I drew up a conclusion, "Maybe it's their second date and they're really serious about this whole going on dutch thing". When she was done, she stood at the corner of the last row of cashiers, to wait for her boyfriend, naturally. And then he steps up and puts down 3 dresses. Honey, I sure hope those dresses are for you. Young boyfriend himself began to feel awkward paying for 3 dresses alone with 20 girls waiting behind, clearly able to view his purchase, starts signaling stealthily for girlfriend from under the counter to come. But at this point, girlfriend isn't going to have 20 witnesses that her boyfriend had to pay the other half of her bill. So she did what she does best. She pretended not to see.

Dancing Darla
They are the most annoying of the lot because they take up the most time. No, they don't break into song and dance out of excitement while their boyfriend pays but they do the bill dance. He'll offer to pay but she will say "Oh no, but I can't!" and takes out her wallet. He then pushes it away and hands the cashier money to which she grabs it and hands hers over. All we need are some palm trees and a hill to roll down in with 20 costume changes and Hindi music in the background. Watching Dancing Darlas' pay dance is as bad as watching Kate Gosselin on Dancing With The Stars. Because at the end of the day, the boyfriend always pays. The boyfriend knows it, the girlfriend knows it, the cashier knew it and heck, all 20 of us behind you knew it too. So save the drama for Jersey Shore.

Comedian Connie
Ever farted in a room full of people and say "Wow the cafeteria sure does serve bad cheese!" Some people crack jokes to avoid awkward situations. So do the Comedian Connies. They start telling jokes and teasing their boyfriends, trying their best to make the cashier laugh or smile in hope that the cashier would not notice that the credit card she's accepting is from her boyfriend and not her. I've seen enough of these to know that no one really gives a shit. The cashiers either ignore them thinking it's a private conversation or gives a polite smile. Which is why it's best to be a

Smooth Sue
They are the kind who just play it cool and doesn't give a rats ass. But say thank you to their boyfriends after. Verbal or action, I gotta look in the bag.


Don't get me wrong, the fact that these girls are doing any of the above is because they have a conscience. Be it out of shame or guilt, it's great to know that girls are not out there feasting on the idea that men should always pay. Unless of course, you're a Bitch Bella.

BAnD aID(EA)

Apart from watching "The Real Housewives of New York City/Orange County/New Jersey", I have another bad habit - and that is picking my zits. Gross, I know, but I hate bumps on my face and somewhere in my delusional mind, I think by popping it, it'll magically disappear - like all the chocolate around the house. However, I've had a pretty stubborn one for the past month. It hid itself so well that I gave up and didn't bother touching it for a month. However, 4 days ago, it grew weak and l I had it wrapped around my (soaped, washed, clean) fingers - with a piece of tissue paper of course. It was such a stubborn zit that I couldn't get it all out in a day. Results? My cheek is now officially red, angry, swollen and raw from this bacteria bump. 


This all happened on Friday and I thought it would be better by Monday when I have to face the world outside of Facebook. Didn't happen. And my anxiety for it to heal quicker by applying creams just dried my skin up more. So, not only is it red, angry, swollen and raw, feel free to add flaky to that shit list. 


I woke up Monday morning with two options. Skip classes or go for plastic surgery. I wasn't allowed either, so I came up with a brilliant idea. I found clear square mini band aids in the cabinet and decided to apply cream and cover it up to save my classmates from the horror that is my face while 'treating' it at the same time. The only reason why I didn't mind doing this was because this volcano was situated on the inner side of my left cheek, so my hair would be able to conceal it nicely if I walked with my head tilted slightly to the right like a retard.


Here's the problem. As I was walking in to school, the wind started billowing gently like I'm auditioning for the role of Asian Pocahontas. Because I was walking against the wind, my face was exposed and my retard walk failed. My patch has seen daylight! I started walking like a new kind of retard. The 'paranoid on LSD' kind by lifting the folder all the way up my face like if I can't see them, they can't see me.


I kept telling myself that I only have two classes today and to just get by and leave. Doesn't sound too difficult, now does it? Wrong. The fire alarm went off while I was waiting for my second class. Ignoring it crossed my mind -high possibility that it is only a fire drill. As I see kids scampering off toward the exit, I felt compelled to drag my feet and face out the door.


So there I was, standing in the middle of a fucking field with the WHOLE school. Of ALL days. All I wanted was to get through the day with just two classes by camouflaging a patch on my face with a walk I so carefully crafted.


Thanks Murphy. Look, I'm sorry I stole your boyfriend. I guess we're even now.

We, The Confused Creatures.

I use the term "I want it, but I don't want it" quite heavily and every time I use it, I receive stares. Stares that say "What the hell's your point?!" But really, it's not like you've never experienced it before. It's a sort of confusing and indescribable emotion. Like your period. You don't want it because it is inconvenient in so many ways, but when you're late, you behave like someone died.

You know how malls have these model agency kiosks that are supposedly looking for potential talent? We know for a fact that these scouts are nothing but scavengers. They make you sign up but you have to pay in order to get gigs or 'training' to be more model-esque to raise your chances to get picked for gigs. Here's the thing. I know what their deal is, and I try to avoid eye contact when I'm within the vicinity. But when they don't approach me, I'm thinking "This is fucking insulting! Why? Are you calling me ugly? Who do you think you are? Am I not good enough for your pathetic establishment? What?!"

Then you walk into a designer store, where the left shoe is $350 and the right shoe is another $350, and skins of dead Italian cows cost $1500. I'm not hating on designer labels, I'm just bitchy because I can't afford. So I walk into these stores to smell expensive, touch luxury and look at what my life is missing out on. (Is it just me or do you find closed glass entrance doors intimidating?) So, I walk in with the intention to window shop and when the sales person comes up to assist me, I feel the pressure, the guilt and the poverty. I pray they don't come up to me and ask "What are you looking for?" Because I don't like questions I have no answers to. So, I avoid eye contact... again. But then, when there's no one in the shop and 5 salespersons decide that rearranging bags and folding scarves are more interesting than assisting me, I begin to think "What the fuck is the meaning of all this? Why? Are you calling me poor? Who do you think you are? Am I not good enough for your pretentious establishment? What?!" 

It's the weekend and you go to a bar with your girl friends. You see a hot guy. He's with his bunch of friends. Some hey hey and some nay nay. They notice a group of girls and decide to be friendly. So, they ask if they can join you and your friends. So you notice the hottest guy and it doesn't take long before you realize he's a smooth talker - your regular player. You're done dating men like that. You've sworn them off. You've had your fair share of heartbreaks. You're disgusted by their lack of respect for women. So, you talk to his friends and do what you do best - avoid eye contact. Then you realize he's talking, joking and laughing with all your friends BUT you. You start to think "That gay motherfucker! Why? Are you calling me unattractive? Who do you think you are? You manwhore, you!"

  

However, if he did try to make his move on you, you'd be thinking "What an asshole! Why? Are you calling me easy? What do you think I am? You manwhore you!"

So what do I have to say about all this? I guess I kinda know but I don't really know either.