Originally written 10/20/06
Being in our early 20s, we're now at the age when we've been alive long enough to witness the progression of basically a generation of celebrities. We're from the era of children who were raised on TV and TV tag; that is an equal proportion of media and the outdoors. While children today are being raised exclusively with technology, I feel as though we have a better grasp of reality.
This leads me to my first question: What the fuck has happened to our favorite celebrities? I was never into tabloids before VH1 recently over-took, some would say destroyed, my life and now I'm completely entranced by the seemingly endless changes in celebrities who were once picture-perfect icons.
Today, I ask you, "Icon or iconoclast?"
Tom Cruise
Here's a guy who was once the poster-child for Hollywood. He can now be seen on morning talk shows psycho-babbling about things he knows nothing of and calling people "glib", on daytime TV jumping on couches while professing his love for someone half his age and on magazine covers with his co-stars in life, Katie and Suri. Tom, do you even know the origin of Scientology?!?!
Brad Pitt
Once dubbed "The Sexiest Man Alive," I feel as though Angelina Jolie has transformed our favorite stud into an egotistical recluse. Both the quantity and quality of Brad's recent films have plummeted and, aside from baby-making, the most we've heard of Brad include the following: 1.) He was quoted as saying that he would not marry Angelina Jolie until it was legal for homosexuals to marry and 2.) issues regarding Hurricane Katrina relief. While both are noble efforts :::cough:::, who the fuck do you think you are?! Oh Brad, I long for your Jackass days again...
Britney Spears
What took Tom and Brad 10-20 years to ruin, Britney accomplished in just 5 short years. When I was in high school, she was "IT"; guys wanted her and girls wanted to be her. Suddenly, the cracks began to show after her much publicized split from my personal fav, Mr. JT (what you got for me?). Rumors of heavy smoking, drinking, partying and late-night dance-offs in hot LA nightclubs swirled. She got married randomly in Vegas and then she got married randomly in real life, which was the beginning of the end because someone said, "Let there be 'Chaotic.'" And now, she has dark hair, a white trash lifestyle and 1,000,000,000.3874 babies.
I can totally understand why reality shows like "Breaking Bonaduce" are wildly popular. They completely exploit not the icon, but the iconoclast. We have these images in our heads from childhood that stick with us throughout our lives. When what we've known deviates from what we're seeing, it's like sensory input overload (i.e. pure devastation).
What I guess I'm saying is that we really need to promote the cultivation and development of some really great publish relations people so that our children won't feel the same devastation we feel when a childhood icon goes from just that to an adulthood iconoclast.
Monday, May 28, 2007
"Judge with Budge": Love homeostasis
Originally written 10/27/06
In honor of my upcoming exam in neuromuscular prescription, I will be using positive and negative feedback mechanisms of the body to demonstrate my take on how singles judge whether or not they want to begin/pursue a relationship with another person. This is mainly because I'm an incredible loser and any attempts to flood my inbox to discourage the idea will be futile.
First off, I will begin by giving a brief overview of feedback mechanisms and their components which are tools in homeostatic environments. Positive feedback is when the final response perpetuates more of the same. Negative feedback is when the final response is in opposition to the initial stimulus. Servomechanisms provide information on the current status of a system and are fed back in to help regulate.
Secondly, all information in the preceding paragraph is probably incorrect.
Finally, I will take this opportunity to explain how this relates to love. I recently created a "Judge With Budge" theory to relationships and it goes as follows: The more you are willing to compromise what you want most for another person (your "budge") is directly proportional to your interest in him/her (your "judge").
To put this in the context of real life I will give an example. In college I got into the habit of not going out on week nights which carried into the real world with my full-time job. I had to get up early and was not willing to compromise a good night's sleep for a good night on the town. Then, I met someone who used to keep me out until 3 AM on week nights when I had to be up at 8 the next morning. My interest in him made me budge from what I really wanted.
The aforementioned example could be classified as positive feedback. The time spent with the mother fucker only caused me to hang out with him even more. The servomechanisms could be defined as attractive qualities. My interest in his personality, sense of humor and good-looks told me that I wanted to continue spending time with him.
For an example of negative feedback, I will give you... hmmmm, so many to choose from! Let's take this guy from work who asks me to marry him at least twice a week. The more he continues to hassle me for a relationship, the more I want him to stay the fuck away from me. The servomechanisms in this instance would be his sheer desperation and inability to hear what I'm saying ("NO!") amongst MANY others.
Now that I've released my "Judge With Budge" theory, I shall discuss application. My suggestion based on the theory would be to never budge too quickly because then you end up pretending to be someone you're not by compromising who you are. Also, make sure you clearly define your servomechanisms and be conscious that they're beneficial, not detrimental.
In closing, relationship building is nothing more than a homeostatic environment controlled by feedback mechanisms. Now that I've got the physiology all figured out, all I have to do is work on the chemistry...
In honor of my upcoming exam in neuromuscular prescription, I will be using positive and negative feedback mechanisms of the body to demonstrate my take on how singles judge whether or not they want to begin/pursue a relationship with another person. This is mainly because I'm an incredible loser and any attempts to flood my inbox to discourage the idea will be futile.
First off, I will begin by giving a brief overview of feedback mechanisms and their components which are tools in homeostatic environments. Positive feedback is when the final response perpetuates more of the same. Negative feedback is when the final response is in opposition to the initial stimulus. Servomechanisms provide information on the current status of a system and are fed back in to help regulate.
Secondly, all information in the preceding paragraph is probably incorrect.
Finally, I will take this opportunity to explain how this relates to love. I recently created a "Judge With Budge" theory to relationships and it goes as follows: The more you are willing to compromise what you want most for another person (your "budge") is directly proportional to your interest in him/her (your "judge").
To put this in the context of real life I will give an example. In college I got into the habit of not going out on week nights which carried into the real world with my full-time job. I had to get up early and was not willing to compromise a good night's sleep for a good night on the town. Then, I met someone who used to keep me out until 3 AM on week nights when I had to be up at 8 the next morning. My interest in him made me budge from what I really wanted.
The aforementioned example could be classified as positive feedback. The time spent with the mother fucker only caused me to hang out with him even more. The servomechanisms could be defined as attractive qualities. My interest in his personality, sense of humor and good-looks told me that I wanted to continue spending time with him.
For an example of negative feedback, I will give you... hmmmm, so many to choose from! Let's take this guy from work who asks me to marry him at least twice a week. The more he continues to hassle me for a relationship, the more I want him to stay the fuck away from me. The servomechanisms in this instance would be his sheer desperation and inability to hear what I'm saying ("NO!") amongst MANY others.
Now that I've released my "Judge With Budge" theory, I shall discuss application. My suggestion based on the theory would be to never budge too quickly because then you end up pretending to be someone you're not by compromising who you are. Also, make sure you clearly define your servomechanisms and be conscious that they're beneficial, not detrimental.
In closing, relationship building is nothing more than a homeostatic environment controlled by feedback mechanisms. Now that I've got the physiology all figured out, all I have to do is work on the chemistry...
Why -->this girl<-- ignored him
Originally written 11/15/06
So Lee, as I was telling you on the phone last night/this morning, I met this guy at the gym. I thought he was cute and when he asked for my number I saw no harm. We began getting to know each other through phone conversation which is when he first tricked me into believing he was normal.
We decided to meet up one night and he picked me up at my house. I got in the car, we greeted and it was all downhill from there. Immediately, he blasted the radio and started singing really bad R&B tunes at the top of his lungs. He was not good... In fact, he was terrible.
So much for the "get to know you" portion. It was about this time that I desperately looked for the cameras thinking that I was possibly on an ambush version of "Blind Date."
After what seemed like a 50 year car ride (it was only 5 minutes) we arrived at the restaurant and were seated. *Cue the awkward silence. I kind of just sat there and looked around while he said nothing. Finally, I just said, "So, want to like ask me questions or have a conversation?"
To that he responded, "Sure." *Cue awkward silence again, this time with intermittent "ummms" and "uhhs" because conversing is so absolutely difficult. After about 2-3 minutes of this he asks, "If you could change any 2 things about yourself, what would they be and why?" What?! What kind of first date question is that? Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad if it didn't roll into incessant chit-chat about his ex-girlfriend, but I don't know these things.
I rushed through my food alone, seeing as to how he ordered nothing. I wrapped up the remains and we got back in his car. When both doors were closed he mentioned something about the smell of onions emanating from my doggie bag. He reached into his back seat and sprayed it with air freshener. Yeah, air freshener on my food.
At this point, I was completely checked-out of the date, and all this only in the time span of about 30-45 minutes! On the drive back home, I did as Alicia does and burped. Had I been into him it wouldn't have happened, but I really didn't care AT ALL. He handed me a bottle of Scope (the he had in his CAR) and goes, "Here, use this."
"What for," I asked, confused.
"Because I might want to kiss you later."
I threw the bottle at him and cursed him out a little bit. We got to my house and I couldn't get out of that damn car fast enough. I was just stepping into my room my cell rang... it was him.
"I just wanted to let you know that I had a really great time and I can't wait to see you again."
What the fuck date was this ass clown on?! And like I told you during our convo, he called me about 5 times after that, and I didn't respond to one. He left the token desperation message: "In case you haven't called me back because you lost/broke your phone, here's my phone number..."
So, naturally when he found me on MySpace 2 months later, you can see why I ignored him when he asked me if he wasn't my type. Am I still a bitch?
So Lee, as I was telling you on the phone last night/this morning, I met this guy at the gym. I thought he was cute and when he asked for my number I saw no harm. We began getting to know each other through phone conversation which is when he first tricked me into believing he was normal.
We decided to meet up one night and he picked me up at my house. I got in the car, we greeted and it was all downhill from there. Immediately, he blasted the radio and started singing really bad R&B tunes at the top of his lungs. He was not good... In fact, he was terrible.
So much for the "get to know you" portion. It was about this time that I desperately looked for the cameras thinking that I was possibly on an ambush version of "Blind Date."
After what seemed like a 50 year car ride (it was only 5 minutes) we arrived at the restaurant and were seated. *Cue the awkward silence. I kind of just sat there and looked around while he said nothing. Finally, I just said, "So, want to like ask me questions or have a conversation?"
To that he responded, "Sure." *Cue awkward silence again, this time with intermittent "ummms" and "uhhs" because conversing is so absolutely difficult. After about 2-3 minutes of this he asks, "If you could change any 2 things about yourself, what would they be and why?" What?! What kind of first date question is that? Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad if it didn't roll into incessant chit-chat about his ex-girlfriend, but I don't know these things.
I rushed through my food alone, seeing as to how he ordered nothing. I wrapped up the remains and we got back in his car. When both doors were closed he mentioned something about the smell of onions emanating from my doggie bag. He reached into his back seat and sprayed it with air freshener. Yeah, air freshener on my food.
At this point, I was completely checked-out of the date, and all this only in the time span of about 30-45 minutes! On the drive back home, I did as Alicia does and burped. Had I been into him it wouldn't have happened, but I really didn't care AT ALL. He handed me a bottle of Scope (the he had in his CAR) and goes, "Here, use this."
"What for," I asked, confused.
"Because I might want to kiss you later."
I threw the bottle at him and cursed him out a little bit. We got to my house and I couldn't get out of that damn car fast enough. I was just stepping into my room my cell rang... it was him.
"I just wanted to let you know that I had a really great time and I can't wait to see you again."
What the fuck date was this ass clown on?! And like I told you during our convo, he called me about 5 times after that, and I didn't respond to one. He left the token desperation message: "In case you haven't called me back because you lost/broke your phone, here's my phone number..."
So, naturally when he found me on MySpace 2 months later, you can see why I ignored him when he asked me if he wasn't my type. Am I still a bitch?
The end of 23
Originally written 12/4/06
I'm nearing the end of my tenure as a 23 year-old and I'm not sure how I feel about it. Because of recent interviews I've had to revamp my resume and it seems lacking. Perhaps I believed that I'd have accomplished more by now.
As a teenager I was a chronic over-achiever. Looking at my resume when I was 19 or 21 seems much more impressive than it does now. I can't help but be somewhat disappointed for not having continued the trend, but I guess it's unreasonable to believe that my exponential growth wouldn't plateau eventually, as most things often do.
Nearing the eve of my 24th birthday, I can't help but wonder what the future has in store for me. There's nothing I can do other than continue pushing forward with the hope that my work ethic will make up for my apparently dissipating talents. I thought I was destined for greatness at a young age.
This getting older stuff is bullshit. It makes you all retrospective, introspective, aggrospective... 24 doesn't represent an age at this point; it represents frustration. While I have many things to be thankful for I guess I just wish I had more. By more I mean no debt, someone to share in debtlessness with, a place to call my own, a career; things that adults have.
I believe this all to be a function of my impatience... of my need to have everything done and done perfectly yesterday. I have so many ideas of who I want to be and what I want to do, but it's like I'm sitting in 6th grade science class and it's the last period of the day. There's only 2 minutes left until the bell rings for freedom and I'm staring at the second hand on the clock that's moving so slowly it actually feels like it might be going backwards.
Maybe I have reached my plateau... maybe not. Maybe I'm not the asymptotic type and this is just the slight dip in the middle of my sigmoidal life. Hopefully. Shit, only 2 minutes left...
I'm nearing the end of my tenure as a 23 year-old and I'm not sure how I feel about it. Because of recent interviews I've had to revamp my resume and it seems lacking. Perhaps I believed that I'd have accomplished more by now.
As a teenager I was a chronic over-achiever. Looking at my resume when I was 19 or 21 seems much more impressive than it does now. I can't help but be somewhat disappointed for not having continued the trend, but I guess it's unreasonable to believe that my exponential growth wouldn't plateau eventually, as most things often do.
Nearing the eve of my 24th birthday, I can't help but wonder what the future has in store for me. There's nothing I can do other than continue pushing forward with the hope that my work ethic will make up for my apparently dissipating talents. I thought I was destined for greatness at a young age.
This getting older stuff is bullshit. It makes you all retrospective, introspective, aggrospective... 24 doesn't represent an age at this point; it represents frustration. While I have many things to be thankful for I guess I just wish I had more. By more I mean no debt, someone to share in debtlessness with, a place to call my own, a career; things that adults have.
I believe this all to be a function of my impatience... of my need to have everything done and done perfectly yesterday. I have so many ideas of who I want to be and what I want to do, but it's like I'm sitting in 6th grade science class and it's the last period of the day. There's only 2 minutes left until the bell rings for freedom and I'm staring at the second hand on the clock that's moving so slowly it actually feels like it might be going backwards.
Maybe I have reached my plateau... maybe not. Maybe I'm not the asymptotic type and this is just the slight dip in the middle of my sigmoidal life. Hopefully. Shit, only 2 minutes left...
Destined for cats
Originally written 1/16/07
in•tim•i•date: –verb (used with object), -dat•ed, -dat•ing.
to overawe or cow, as through the force of personality or by superior display of wealth, talent, etc.
How many times have you heard it: Women talking about how men are intimidated by them? I’ve never personally said it in reference to myself, but have been told that I am by other people. I heard it again last night and I am through with that word. I’m ready to eliminate it from the English language.
Intimidation is reserved for bullies, detectives and overwhelmingly attractive women, not me. Sure, my personality may be a bit overpowering, but I do my best to make anyone I come in contact with feel at ease. It’s only after the initial phase that I begin creating the awkward moments.
I can’t accept intimidation as an excuse for why I’m single. I have come to the conclusion that there is indeed something horribly wrong with me. On paper, there are just too many things I have going for me to accept that someone would allow intimidation to be the factor that lets “a catch like me” slip away.
Let’s face it, I’m not exactly beautiful. I’m fit, but you can’t even tell most of the time because I don’t showcase it. I’m smart, but I act like a fucking retard. I’m funny, but my jokes are bad... really bad. I’m talented, but not at anything of value. As a matter of fact, I’m so not intimidating that Jessica actually had to call it an early night on South Beach last week because we were only attracting the caliber of man that she is dissatisfied with (i.e. incredible dorks).
Up until recently, I firmly believed that I am single because the men I’m surrounded by are absolutely unsuitable. My thoughts have changed and I believe now the only unsuitable one is me. I’m that apple that’s been sitting in the fruit basket for a while and it looks all right, but when you cut to the core it’s all brown a mushy.
Cary Bradshaw says we need to “refuse to settle for anything less than butterflies.” I live in Antarctica. There are no butterflies here. I told my last date, and I quote, “It ain’t easy being ice like me!” Yeah, I don’t think he’ll be calling.
Perhaps all that I can do is what I’ve been doing. I will continue to move forward with work, working out and working it (on the dance floor). Who knows? One day I might actually decide on a career and put those hard earned letters that will follow my name to use!
Some people were destined for greatness. Some people were destined for failure. Fuck this bullshit. I was destined for cats.
in•tim•i•date: –verb (used with object), -dat•ed, -dat•ing.
to overawe or cow, as through the force of personality or by superior display of wealth, talent, etc.
How many times have you heard it: Women talking about how men are intimidated by them? I’ve never personally said it in reference to myself, but have been told that I am by other people. I heard it again last night and I am through with that word. I’m ready to eliminate it from the English language.
Intimidation is reserved for bullies, detectives and overwhelmingly attractive women, not me. Sure, my personality may be a bit overpowering, but I do my best to make anyone I come in contact with feel at ease. It’s only after the initial phase that I begin creating the awkward moments.
I can’t accept intimidation as an excuse for why I’m single. I have come to the conclusion that there is indeed something horribly wrong with me. On paper, there are just too many things I have going for me to accept that someone would allow intimidation to be the factor that lets “a catch like me” slip away.
Let’s face it, I’m not exactly beautiful. I’m fit, but you can’t even tell most of the time because I don’t showcase it. I’m smart, but I act like a fucking retard. I’m funny, but my jokes are bad... really bad. I’m talented, but not at anything of value. As a matter of fact, I’m so not intimidating that Jessica actually had to call it an early night on South Beach last week because we were only attracting the caliber of man that she is dissatisfied with (i.e. incredible dorks).
Up until recently, I firmly believed that I am single because the men I’m surrounded by are absolutely unsuitable. My thoughts have changed and I believe now the only unsuitable one is me. I’m that apple that’s been sitting in the fruit basket for a while and it looks all right, but when you cut to the core it’s all brown a mushy.
Cary Bradshaw says we need to “refuse to settle for anything less than butterflies.” I live in Antarctica. There are no butterflies here. I told my last date, and I quote, “It ain’t easy being ice like me!” Yeah, I don’t think he’ll be calling.
Perhaps all that I can do is what I’ve been doing. I will continue to move forward with work, working out and working it (on the dance floor). Who knows? One day I might actually decide on a career and put those hard earned letters that will follow my name to use!
Some people were destined for greatness. Some people were destined for failure. Fuck this bullshit. I was destined for cats.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Steroids included
This is an article I had written for the Miami Hurricane. I was told it was to be displayed, but it never was... alas. Perhaps it was too blasphemous, but that's okay because I have no tact.
Dear Chief Executive Officer Shalala(lalalala):
First of all, congratulations on running the upstanding facility we know as the University of Miami. I have to give you props for what you’ve accomplished in your tenure thus far. Your ambition in raising millions of dollars for this institution is commendable. And while I appreciate the lovely campus and gorgeous weather, allow me to take this opportunity to suggest to you an alternate campus beautification plan: Steroids.
Before you jump to conclusions, let me explain my position. I like muscles. I like having them and I like looking at them. While the students at UM are certainly a good looking bunch, they’re not quite my type as in my eyes there is more aesthetic appeal to magazines like “Oxygen” and “Muscular Development,” as opposed to “Cosmo” or “Maxim.” For me to find a person attractive, male or female, one needs to at least mimic the appearance of hitting the weights a minimum of 4 days a week.
This is why I am suggesting to you an improvement in the student body (pun intended) by use of steroids. I mean, at the cost of over $1,200/credit at the graduate level the least you could do is include steroids in the tuition. I don’t think that’s too much to ask. Issues with legality don’t worry me much as everyone is required to have medical insurance. As far as I know, steroid use monitored by a physician appears to be lawful.
At this point in my life I’m sick of taking out thousands of dollars in loans to pay for my education only to find myself surrounded by people I don’t find attractive. For example, I’m currently paying off debt I incurred for my undergraduate degree from the University of Pennsylvania, a notoriously ugly school – a fact I was willing to let slide for the superior education.
However, when I took the plunge (no pun intended) to pursue my graduate career here at UM I thought things would be different. I understood the expense, but was willing to take out more loans in order to be surrounded by the beautiful model type as opposed to the intellectual brainiac type. Unfortunately, reality fell just short of my expectations and I’m looking at another hefty loan also complete with a lack of visual stimulation.
But you can change all that! You can give me my money’s worth by including steroids in the price of tuition. I’m willing to sacrifice the health of my peers in order to be surrounded by muscles at all times. Heck, I’ll even jump on the steroid bandwagon! Though I’m not about being altruistic, I suppose I can make an exception for what I believe to be a worthy cause.
Hopefully, you can take time off from raising billions of dollars for who-knows-what to help distract me from the fact that the cost of tuition will continue to increase, along with the cost of living and the decreased availability of higher paying jobs. As each day passes, the prospect of paying off my debt becomes evermore distant, along with my aspirations to one day own my own home. Thank you for your time.
Sincerely,
Alicia Montalvo
Dear Chief Executive Officer Shalala(lalalala):
First of all, congratulations on running the upstanding facility we know as the University of Miami. I have to give you props for what you’ve accomplished in your tenure thus far. Your ambition in raising millions of dollars for this institution is commendable. And while I appreciate the lovely campus and gorgeous weather, allow me to take this opportunity to suggest to you an alternate campus beautification plan: Steroids.
Before you jump to conclusions, let me explain my position. I like muscles. I like having them and I like looking at them. While the students at UM are certainly a good looking bunch, they’re not quite my type as in my eyes there is more aesthetic appeal to magazines like “Oxygen” and “Muscular Development,” as opposed to “Cosmo” or “Maxim.” For me to find a person attractive, male or female, one needs to at least mimic the appearance of hitting the weights a minimum of 4 days a week.
This is why I am suggesting to you an improvement in the student body (pun intended) by use of steroids. I mean, at the cost of over $1,200/credit at the graduate level the least you could do is include steroids in the tuition. I don’t think that’s too much to ask. Issues with legality don’t worry me much as everyone is required to have medical insurance. As far as I know, steroid use monitored by a physician appears to be lawful.
At this point in my life I’m sick of taking out thousands of dollars in loans to pay for my education only to find myself surrounded by people I don’t find attractive. For example, I’m currently paying off debt I incurred for my undergraduate degree from the University of Pennsylvania, a notoriously ugly school – a fact I was willing to let slide for the superior education.
However, when I took the plunge (no pun intended) to pursue my graduate career here at UM I thought things would be different. I understood the expense, but was willing to take out more loans in order to be surrounded by the beautiful model type as opposed to the intellectual brainiac type. Unfortunately, reality fell just short of my expectations and I’m looking at another hefty loan also complete with a lack of visual stimulation.
But you can change all that! You can give me my money’s worth by including steroids in the price of tuition. I’m willing to sacrifice the health of my peers in order to be surrounded by muscles at all times. Heck, I’ll even jump on the steroid bandwagon! Though I’m not about being altruistic, I suppose I can make an exception for what I believe to be a worthy cause.
Hopefully, you can take time off from raising billions of dollars for who-knows-what to help distract me from the fact that the cost of tuition will continue to increase, along with the cost of living and the decreased availability of higher paying jobs. As each day passes, the prospect of paying off my debt becomes evermore distant, along with my aspirations to one day own my own home. Thank you for your time.
Sincerely,
Alicia Montalvo
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
The handbag analogy
I'm really tired because I ran a couple miles on an empty stomach at 6:30 AM and this may not be coherent, but try to stay with me on this one.
The perfect handbag:an outfit::The perfect man:a woman
Does that make sense? I don't speak from experience as I don't wear "outfits" per se, but I would assume this is how it would work for other people.
Let me explain this. There's nothing like finding the perfect handbag to go with your outfit. The perfect handbag does many things; it complements without overpowering, it accentuates the positives, it helps one feel confident... But it's fuckin impossible to find!
You can approach the search for the perfect handbag with expectations that may not result in the most desireable match, thus leaving you with possibly a really nice bag, but not one that suits the outfit. Perhaps you find a great bag, but it's not on sale leaving you to ponder the implications of poor timing. Maybe countdown to the event is drawing too near and you have to scramble for any bag that will remotely work, and so you find youself settling. Along the line somewhere, maybe you realize your last 15 purchases were all the same style just different colors...
This is the same way relationships work. Sometimes we date people who don't suit us. Sometimes the timing is off. Sometimes we settle. Sometimes we repeat a pattern.
Sometimes, if you're patient enough, the right handbag ends up on clearance at some obscure store just when you were about to give up all hope of looking absolutely fabulous.
The perfect handbag:an outfit::The perfect man:a woman
Does that make sense? I don't speak from experience as I don't wear "outfits" per se, but I would assume this is how it would work for other people.
Let me explain this. There's nothing like finding the perfect handbag to go with your outfit. The perfect handbag does many things; it complements without overpowering, it accentuates the positives, it helps one feel confident... But it's fuckin impossible to find!
You can approach the search for the perfect handbag with expectations that may not result in the most desireable match, thus leaving you with possibly a really nice bag, but not one that suits the outfit. Perhaps you find a great bag, but it's not on sale leaving you to ponder the implications of poor timing. Maybe countdown to the event is drawing too near and you have to scramble for any bag that will remotely work, and so you find youself settling. Along the line somewhere, maybe you realize your last 15 purchases were all the same style just different colors...
This is the same way relationships work. Sometimes we date people who don't suit us. Sometimes the timing is off. Sometimes we settle. Sometimes we repeat a pattern.
Sometimes, if you're patient enough, the right handbag ends up on clearance at some obscure store just when you were about to give up all hope of looking absolutely fabulous.
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