How to make ANY outfit look good.

There were two things that I wanted to be as a high school freshman: a Varsity cheerleader, and the lead in the school play. As a quiet, mousy, afraid-to-even-raise-her-hand-in-class kind of kid, these seemed like totally normal things to want. I was too shy to ask a question during English class, but getting up in front of everyone during a basketball game and jumping around in a short skirt? That sounds GREAT! Sign me up. There was a guy I liked on the basketball team.

I mean, of course there were OTHER reasons I wanted to be a cheerleader – because it’s a SPORT. And a healthy extracurricular. And a great opportunity to build life-long friendships with my other cheer… mates? Cheermates? Is that a word? Cheer friends?

Whatever. It was mostly about the guy. And everyone knows cheerleaders are hot.

So I dragged my friend to try-outs with me – you know, because I was too afraid to go alone – and together we learned all of the basic chants, stunts, cheers, I think there was a dance involved? The only thing I can remember is thinking how they made everything look so much easier in “Bring It On”. I couldn’t even do a cartwheel, let alone the front handspring-stepout, roundoff back handspring-stepout I had planned to blow everyone away. You know, if I practiced enough. How hard could it be? It’s just, jumping around. On your hands.

I did the splits for my “stunt” portion during try-outs. That was one of the things – you had to do a “stunt”: a cartwheel, a roundoff, a handspring, you could even do a forward roll if you weren’t coordinated enough to do anything else. Which I wasn’t. But I chose to do the splits, because I decided that a forward roll might be too dangerous for someone inexperienced like myself.

Also I thought the splits would be more impressive. Which they would have been – had I actually done them, instead of whatever I did. Because what I did was slide down about halfway to the ground, until my knees started to bend and my legs made this triangle shape with the floor, and I was like “Ta-da!”

Hah. Hah. Hah. Oh, right, did I mention I’ve never been able to do the splits?

I was shocked (I know!) when I didn’t make the team. The squad? I don’t know, whatever. My dreams of becoming a Varsity cheerleader that year were squandered, and the only thing I had left – the ONLY other thing I wanted – was becoming the lead in the school play. Because, for some reason, I thought this would make me cool. “She’s the LEAD in the school play”, they’d say. “She’s going to be a star!” Like lead in the high school play is the first step to Broadway.

There was also a boy. In the drama club. And I liked him too, and wanted to impress him with my amazing acting skills, because I thought that I had amazing acting skills. Kind of like how I thought I could do the splits for my cheer try-out. I had amazing, and slightly unjustified, confidence as a fourteen year old.

Of course there were OTHER reasons I wanted to be in the school play. Because it builds a healthy level of charisma and increases skill in public speaking, and… it looks good on college applications? Probably? I don’t know. Whatever, we both know it was mainly about the guy.

Shopping for spring trends!

So, I went shopping today. And I walked into this little store called The Buckle. Or is it just Buckle? I don’t know – but you know which store I’m talking about, right? It’s supposed to be this very boho-trendy/Coachella fashion/”I paid way too much for this t-shirt” kind of store. (I know, because I’ve paid way too much for a t-shirt here before. )

But I was in the mall, I’d had my Starbucks, and I was feeling pretty good. (Plus I’ve been saying for the last, like, week and a half that “I reaaaaally want some new clothes for summer”. There is no reasonable explanation for this. It’s not like the only thing I have in my closet are clothes made of wool and fur and winter-y things.. But apparently all of the t-shirts and shorts that I have in my closet from last year are, like, sooo 2016.)

I know. I’m the worst. Some people collect dolls, some people eat trash, my addiction is that I buy a lot of clothes. We all have our things.

When you wear the same pair of pants for everything.

You should know something about me: I am a hoarder. (Well, okay, no I’m not. But I collect pants. Not so much in a “collection” sort of way, but more so in a “I can’t get rid of these” sort of way. Because some day I might wear them, even though they’ve been in my closet for two years and I haven’t worn them yet. But, like, the day COULD be coming. Why risk it?)

It’s gotten to the point where I have to squish everything down just to get the dresser drawer closed. I’m like The Little Mermaid with her thing-a-ma-bobs in the cavern. I’ve got skinny jeans, flair jeans, jeans that are too short (even I don’t know why I still have these. Am I waiting for them to come back in style?), jeans that I can only wear with heels (because they’re too long), jeans that I can only wear with boots (because they’re too short), jeans that I can’t button but also can’t get rid of because “I’m going to wear these again!”…and, ugh. Just, ugh.

Hoarders is going to show up on my door step one day, just you wait. “We hear you have a lot of pants,” they’ll say. “We’re here to help.” And I’ll say things like, “No! You can’t get rid of THOSE – I’ll wear them again, I promise! I just need to lose fifteen pounds and start doing squats!” Stay tuned. It’s going to be a great episode.

Boyfriend jeans: NOT your boyfriend’s jeans.

I used to think that if I wore “boyfriend” jeans, people might think that I actually had a boyfriend. Isn’t that why they call them boyfriend jeans? Because maybe your boyfriend left them at your house and – instead of putting on your OWN jeans that morning (you know, the ones designed for your female body type that actually fit) – you were like, “Oh, maybe I’ll just wear my BOYFRIEND jeans”. Because that makes sense. Why wear your own clothes when you can wear your boyfriend’s clothes that were wadded up in a ball on your bedroom floor? At least that was how I’d always imagined it. Like Boyfriend spent the night, and we woke up together and maybe I left the house before he did – you know, for bagels or something – and I just slipped on his jeans because they looked soo comfy. And because I wanted the world to know that I had a boyfriend, and that maybe he was still at my place, and that maybe he wasn’t wearing pants.