Head of the Class

"Naturally Beautiful" - me in 8th grade

April 19, 1996: I wore my best blue t-shirt and converse sneakers, made sure my clear braces were as non-yellowed as possible, applied my (No) Escape by Calvin Klein perfume and made sure to draw in my eyebrows extra carefully. It was the anniversary of Waco, my mom's birthday and the day that I had been scheming and planning for for at least 2 weeks. Right before second period, I spotted him kneeling by his locker, I rolled up, mustered all my courage, and asked Jon to the Sophmore Semi Formal. He laughed and asked me "Can I get back to you?" and I walked into my English class on cloud 9, positive that it was only a matter of hours until he revealed the good news. Though I didn't realize it at the time, there was basically no chance in hell he'd say yes. He was cool and had apparently been cool through all of middle school and I was a nerd that had transferred into the school at ninth grade. His friends drank, and my friends drank Hawaiian Punch. I had an awkward period that lasted from age birth to age 26, and let me assure you high school fell squarely in the middle of that shit.

Anyway, the end of the story is that he obviously rejected me by telling me he didn't know his plans for the dance and didn't want to "string me along." Right after the rejection I had English class which happened to be a tour of the library for the thousandth time that day and a dewey decimal info session throughout which I sobbed uncontrollably. This sounds ridiculous, but I vowed that one day he'd be sorry he didn't ask me out, not in a Columbine-type way, but in a wistful way. So essentially I have spent the subsequent years of my life doing everything- working out like a goddamn maniac, going to SHAMAZING schools, working for Gawker.com, getting a nose job, becoming the outstanding, considerate and humble person that I am today - all in an effort to rise above that rejection, which for some reason really fucking hurt. I don't understand - I'm so good at so many things - taking reading comprehension tests, being a friend, writing admissions essays, drinking and not throwing up - why can't I be good at being cool? Even when I wear my hot ass Botkier bag, DVF shirts and expen$$$$ive jeans, why am I still a nerd in cool clothing?

This weekend is my friend Grant's wedding, which I'm really pumped for. Jon will be there. He might even be reading this now, which would be really awkward, but in honor of Black History Month, the truth will set me free. Just so you know, this post was not necessarily supposed to be funny, but I felt like writing it anyway, so if you're not into it you can actually go suck it.

Upon review, it has occured to me that "the truth shall set you free" is a quote from Jesus and not from MLK Jr.

Piratitude

Friday night rules for a number of reasons, the primary of which are that I don't have to be at work, Intervention is burning up my DVR, I get to eat pizza at 4AM and accuse other people of trying to make me obese, and I can drunkenly solicit compliments from friends that will temporarily boost my self esteem. Friday night does NOT rule around 9pm, when I emerge from the shower and face the moment I've been dreading all week long - putting on my "favorite" pair of Paige Premium Denim Petite jeans in size 25.

Some weeks when I've been successfully starving myself all week long and hitting the gymnasio like a madman, the jeans fit well and I look pretty much outrageously amazing. But other weeks when I've been drinking too much or where I've been trying to convince myself that "power yoga" burns just as many calories as seatbelting myself into the treadmill, putting on the jeans is a nightmare. I basically have to dump Crisco all over myself, spray my jeans with Pam, take a shoehorn and force myself in with a pulley and lever system. And once in the jeans, I look like I'm in a denim wetsuit and feel 100% gross all night.

This problem could be easily solved if I bought into the current "leggings" trend and just wore fatso leggings and a "tunic." My main problem with this is that I am not a medieval troubadour. Maybe someone really tall and thin can pull off this towne crier gear but on me I assure you it looks ludicrous. I'm not exactly sure when the 21st century became the 1400s but apparently these days it is acceptable to put on leggings, go backstage at Les Miserables, steal all the rags from the French peasants, pair them with Robin Hood boots, throw on an oversized pirate belt and then be ready to go party it up in the East Village.

Buying a larger size jean is clearly out of the question, but I am open to other suggestions that do not involve the "skinny" jean and Nazi boot look.