؟ Irony is a Lifestyle ؟

‘Sup Bro

This torrid little tale (definition 1, not 2), is just another example of how idiot douchebags underrate the practicality slash logic of anyone wearing anything that doesn’t say BRO-CAL across the front. Ahem.

Last Saturday, I had grand plans for the day:

1. Manhattan Beach to play a little volleyball
2. BBQ at a friend’s place in the occasionally breezy Hills above WeHo
3. Possibly a quick stop-by at another friend’s nearby pool party
4. Hotel Cafe to see a friend’s band perform

You will notice that nowhere in these plans was there a scheduled stop back home. (I’m a huge fan of expedition slash efficiency.)

Sooo how exactly was I to dress? In the magically fickle city of Los Angeles, you can never be sure that boiling temperatures won’t drop to hypothermic levels when the sun goes down.  And a bathing suit isn’t exactly out-on-the-town attire, especially when it is guaranteed to end up in the ocean at some point.

I decided on a black sheer blouse (complete with vertical back cut-outs) tied over my orange bikini, my fav ruffly skirt and ShoeMint’s Hejsa Sandal.

In my DIYed carryall, I packed my Suki Boots, socks, a bag of accessories, a black slip dress and a leopard print bralette.

Great success.

I felt officially prepared to take on the entirety of my day, no matter what it should bring.

When I got to MB, I found a stellar parking spot, just a few blocks from my friend’s place.  As I trekked over, I hit a crosswalk at the same time as a couple of surfers.  A peripheral glance led me to believe they were decently attractive, but my ego prevented any sort of a full assessment.

As we crossed, one of the surfers took note of the a-hole driver who almost took me out, tossing a conspiratorial comment my way. I smiled shyly, in recognition of his remark, keeping my eyes glued to my BlackBerry in heightened awkward timidity.

I turned left and they continued straight. As they passed the bushes on the corner, Surfer #1’s friend muttered a query of his own. With a tone. “How can you wear all black to the beach?”

First of all, I can still hear you.

Second of all, hashtag go f*ck yourself.

Thirdly, I would be more than happy to break it down for you.

…

And that hat is disgusting. 

Exactly How Broke is Broke?

As some of you may know, I recently penned my first article for Broke Girl’s Guide.

(In case you are curious, said article details where you should go and what you should do in Manhattan Beach - specifically, when a budget is involved.)

After a quick read-through, ironysformerbossman offered the appropriate conciliatory slash laudatory commentary, but then remarked that a couple places weren’t exactly broke-chick friendly.  One of these places being Lemonade.  I still don’t understand this.  For a mere $10, you can get 6 half portions of amazingly delicious sides that will probably tide you over ‘til halfway through dinner.  With leftovers. What’s not to love?

Maybe it depends on what you plan on ordering?

I should also mention that neither Shellback nor Sharkeez made it on my original list, and were added in later by conscientious editors who know their audience. I would never endorse such establishments, mostly due to my non-penchant for being groped and or puked on by fraternally-minded douchebags.

As I mulled all of this over, another almost-recent incident came to mind. My dear friend and fellow under-paid (but never under-appreciated?) blogger, isomehowthinkironyisnormal, found it amusing that Dominick’s, the bastion of Italian warmth, was (and remains) my fave neighborhood go-to for a casual dinner. I was similarly confounded.

Italian Wedding Soup? $8. Fried Rice Balls? $4.50 after you split the order with your dinner companion. Glass of wine? $9. That’s roughly twenty bucks for a ridiculously cozy meal and an ever-so-slight buzz. Bargain.

In short, I have come to the conclusion that I may not understand what “Broke Girl” means as well as you’d think I would, given the state of my finances.

…

Which perhaps explains the state of my finances?

…

I don’t want to hear it, Dad.

Spin Class ADD

A good-looking workout instructor can be an amazing point of inspiration.  It can also lead to extreme embarrassment.

One of my favorite spin instructors is one of those people who is so ridiculously attractive that it makes you uncomfortable.  Like, I can barely make eye contact and immediately regret the vegan chocolate chip cookie I ate yesterday uncomfortable.

Especially at 6:45 in the morning. (Or 2p on a Saturday, which sometimes may as well be 6:45am.)

After a series of events, including, but not limited to:

1. Taking ten minutes to clip in
2. Being unable to clap to the beat (I know I’m really white, but I can usually manage a simple hand clap exercise)
3. Holding my breath, looking down and swallowing really hard when he was in close proximity to my bike
4. Talking and laughing with people at the front desk, until he appeared and things suddenly weren’t funny anymore, my eyes shifted to the side and down and my feet shuffled slightly, while I sort of bit the inside of my lip
5. Pure avoidance of any form of interaction, obviously peppered with creepy over-staring

…I decided I needed to reclaim at least a single shred of my dignity. 

The following Tuesday, I came into class well-rested, made an appropriate amount of eye contact, focused on my workout, and even managed a few words of conversation. In short, I almost acted like a normal person.

Great success!

…

And then I turned around and walked into the door. Literally.

…

Needless to say, I did not look back. Just. Keep. Going.

This morning, I received this text from a friend of mine:

“Just had the MOST embarrassing interaction with Jacob* at spin. It really pales in comparison to your walking into walls! Lol”

*names have been changed to protect my ego

I’m assuming she intended that to be vice-versa. Also, in case you are curious, this is not just a female thing.  My male friends have echoed similar statements in regard to his general physique.

Dear Jacob*,

Please be a little less hot, for the sake of all of us.  Or at least for the sake of our pride slash dignity.

Xo Everyone

You Can’t Sit With Us!

I was with an acquaintance earlier this afternoon, who brought over one of her closest friends to say hello and get a little advice on what to wear an upcoming function.

Mid styling-sesh, they started quoting Mean Girls.

Normally, I would jump right in with abandon, as it ranks just below Clueless in most quotable movies in my Most Quotable Movies book.

This time, however, I didn’t jump right in.  I paused, straightened slightly in surprise, and stared in fascination, as my head tilted both slowly and instinctively to the right.

I was caught off-guard…and I was put off.

I took it as a personal affront that two girls who have self-categorized themselves as boring in both dress and personality were spouting the genius of Mean Girls half-correctly in semi-lackluster tones.  And having a great time doing it.

Suddenly, I realized that I have never been put in the middle of a Mean Girls quote-extravaganza with anyone who wasn’t a cute girl or an adorable gay, with a strong attention to slash penchant for detail.

…

Is this what happens when you get a real job?

…

I don’t feel safe anymore.

The Night I Met My Future Boyfriend

This went down last February.  I haven’t been back since.  I’m about to go back tonight.

Deep breath.

ithinkironyisSOfunny and I decided to go to The Den on Sunset last night to grab a couple drinks and a bite to eat. A nice mellow, casual place for a girl-talk-catch-up-sesh.

Enter Keith. Name has been changed to protect the ego of the offender.

Keith was our waiter. Keith decided to sit down at our table with us.

Ok. First of all, I sort of have this thing about personal space, where I cherish it and do not appreciate when its existence is completely and totally disregarded.  Initially, his awkward level of immediate comfort  was fascinating enough to render it amusing.  I was even willing to crack a smile at his layman banter about the three of us dating. (What? I had just moved back to LA at the time.  I was both hard up for humor and hesitant to turn my back on any potential neighborhood-bar-friendship. Momentarily.)

5 minutes later, he was still sitting there, my cracked smile had realigned into polite, obscured annoyance and ithinkironyisSOfunny and I made unobscured eye contact of the whenishegoingtogetupandtakeourorder variety.

The answer was not any time soon. Keith launched into a less than scintillating autobiography.  I half-listened, awestruck at his inability to discern that ithinkironyisSOfunny and I possess individually supreme senses of narcissism and were apathetic about both his career choice (actor) and training center (Beverly Hills Playhouse).

At the end of his diatribe, he stared at me, expectantly. Oh, right.  This is where I respond with signs of interest.

“Ooh.”

“What does ‘ooh’ mean?”

“It means I’ve never heard of that and know nothing about it, but I’m not judging you.”

…  

Things started off well.

We finally coerced Keith into taking our order and leaving our general area for a peaceful moment. Our catch-up convo took a turn for the serious, when guess who socially-ineptly chose to slide right back into our booth.

Pregnant pause. Awkward expressions clearly broadcasting the silent version of dude-are-you-serious.

Ignored. Keith was back and ready to chat.  This time about the relationship he and I were allegedly about to begin.

Deep breath. Where the F is our food?

Oh. There it is. Being brought out to us by the chef. It had apparently been sitting there for awhile, dropping drastically in temperature. We sent Keith away to procure us some utensils.

He came back with more than silverware.

“Are you a famous actress and should I not be hitting on you right now?”

“Is that a two-part question?”

We then learned that he once told Jon Hamm he should be an actor because he was such a charming man.

…

Swoon?

Somehow, we got him to leave again and picked up our heart-to-heart chat-sesh, ignorantly believing we would finally be granted a little bestie alone time. When Keith sauntered over again, he was a man with a purpose. 

“You guys should come to our karaoke night.” Turns to face me. “Actually, you and I should go to karaoke somewhere else. When I’m not working.”

*crickets*

Now, I love the sh*t out of karaoke, but even my microphone mania has its limits.

“Your boyfriend would probably be upset.”

I nod.

“You have a boyfriend?”

I nod. “He’s mildly protective.”

…

Attempt at humor. Awkward linger. Uncomfortable shifting.

…

…

…

Eyes down. Pay bill. Exit Quickly.

Wish me luck tonight!!

boaconstrictyou asked: That sounds like the coolest kid on earth, idk what you're talking about. I was in Santa Monica last night, I wish I saw him.

Haha - Sounds like the cool-factor bar has been set pretty low as of late.

Kids These Days

“Kobe is the best person in the world,” said the small child on the streets of Santa Monica.

…

The future is bleak, my friends.

Vodka = Fountain of Youth

Buzzfeed recently posted an article titled 35 Life-Changing Ways to use Everyday Objects.

This was #23:

Flowers and I have a lot in common.

My Enthusiasm is Curbed

Noon: Yay! Meeting cancelled! Early lunch break = hopefully no traffic = going home to clean/organize/breathe.

12:20: Made it to my driveway in 16 minutes! 25 minutes just for me and my mournfully-neglected-as-of-late apartment.

12:21: F*ck. My apartment keys are still at the office. I hate my life.

12:22: Perhaps I can break into my apartment?

12:25: Apparently not.  At least I’ll be able to sleep better at night?

12:30: At least there’s still no traffic. Perhaps I shall pick up my prescription in an attempt to salvage a few minutes of this wasted hour. 

12:33: Why. WHY would I choose the one exit with construction, closed lanes and an excessive amount of traffic?

12:40: I hate my life. Stiiillllll stopped.

12:43: Thank God. It only took 4 rotations of stop lights to get through that intersection. Now, where’s that Rite Aid? Oops, I think I passed it. U-turn!

12:45: Hm. Nope. Deeefffinitely was right the first time. Flipping a b*tch!

12:46: Made it! But wait. Seriously? No parking? Hm. Maybe I can squeeze into this mini space?

12:47: Seriously impressed with myself.  That was a stellar park job. I’ll just run inside with my prescrip-

…

12:48: I am an idiot. One of the things I was going to my apartment to get…was my prescription.  I hate my life. Welp. Back to the office it is.

12:50: Why is this cop following me? Left-hand turn, avoid pedestrians slash on-coming traffic, lose cop. Success. Phew.

12:54: At least no one took my parking spot. That was a rollicking good lunch time adventure.  And by rollicking good time, I mean terrible. I’m hungry.

I open the little compartment above my glove compartment to grab my bag of almonds.

Out flutters my prescription.

…

Dear Larry David, I need a hug.

Anonymous asked: Hi Stacie! I just received an email from Jewelmint where you are showcased as the trend expert. :) I love the cream and black aztec sweater/cardigan you are wearing in your picture. Can you tell me where I can pick one up? Thanks so much!!! - ANNIE

Hi Annie! Sure! I purchased that sweater at LF last year - it is ridiculously cozy :)

The Classic Leave Behind

A very dear friend had a sleepover with a new friend. New friend used his roomie’s car to take her home.

2 weeks later she received this text:

My roomie came home from his trip today and went on a date and she found this in his car. I wish I could’ve been there to see him talk his way outta that one. How about you take me out and reclaim this so I don’t feel like I was used as a piece of meat? ;) 

…

Priceless.