Disclaimer: I am in no way suggesting that I am a supermodel. I am far from it. I eat cows, chickens, pigs, and fish. Hell, I’m Chinese/Taiwanese–I eat parts of that cow, chicken, pig, and fish that you didn’t know existed. I eat ice cream. I eat cookies. I box. I lift weights. And I don’t throw up voluntarily. Supermodel, I am not.
However, I do love Banana Republic. Their clothes are of relatively high quality, but I don’t vomit when I see the price tag (usually). However, I have come to the conclusion that their pants only fit women who are 6 feet tall. I’ve never received a pair of BR pants that don’t require alterations. Now I’m pretty tall for being a chick (5′ 8″ with my shoes on, thank you very much). But when I put on BR pants, I suddenly feel like I’m a 10-year old wearing mommy’s clothing and perhaps with a gangload of lipstick all over my face and curlers all up in my hair. Wait. That’s not me. That’s some movie I saw. I never did the wear mommy’s lipstick thing as a kid. Although, I did do the mini hair-bear thing. You know what I’m talking about–you were alive in the 80s (and if you weren’t, you suck and you make me feel old). I took the front part of my hair and made it go just high enough on my head to create a little wave. Kind of like this, but much tamer (since I have flat, straight Asian hair). Thank you Ms. Jackson, I think you’re nasty:
Then I sprayed a shit-load of 89 cent Aquanet all over that beauty until it crusted over. If anyone touched the wave, the Aquanet would flake off, creating a snowstorm of nasty, crusty, hair product. In fact, if anyone tells you they once saw snow in the California Bay Area in the late 80s or early 90s, that wasn’t snow. It was some pre-pubescent chick’s nasty ass wad of hair. Imagine that on a California holiday card. Just put a bunch of hair bear chicks in a treehouse. Plant the family underneath. Hair bear chicks shake their crusty scalps, and voila! It’s a White F*cking Christmas.
Anyways, I digress. I have to go to the tailor today to get my pants altered. Because supermodel, I am not.