So I put my dog Luc outside to “go potty” last week after a crazy rain storm in NJ. Since we don’t have a fence around the yard and because Luc is blind and going more deaf by the day, ya gotta keep checking in on him while he’s out there. When I looked out the window there was no sign of him, so to prevent another episode like the one we had in December (we lost him for a few hours, thought he was a goner), I went to the closet to get some shoes so I could go outside and look for him. The part of the story that involves Luc ends here; he was in the driveway wandering around, no worries. The part of the story that pertains to this post is what I discovered in the closet. It was shocking. It was appalling. It was a little embarrassing. It was blog-worthy. What did you find, Sassarella? I found out that my dad has way cooler sneakers than I do.
Why so shocking, so appalling, so embarrassing? Well because my dad’s style is, how should I put this, it’s…it’s…I don’t even know how to describe it. Put it this way, my mom buys him twelve shirts every year at Christmas and those are the same twelve shirts he wears all year until she buys more the following xmas. The khaki pants he wears to work sag on his butt, makes him look like he doesn’t have one! Not to mention how completely traumatized I was for most of my life because of the bright blue, high-waisted, Spandex-esque shorts he wore to my softball practices and then to the highly populated with people I know gym. “I’m stylin’, Chris”, good old Dad would say. He’d also have his arms stretched out in front his body, shrugging his shoulders like “check me out.”
So now I see these sneakers and think, “what is wrong with this picture?!” Here I am, a self-proclaimed fashionista with less than stellar kicks. The Nike ones I wear to the gym are different shades of blue and gray, which highly clashes with my typically all black ensemble. I bought them when I was in DC because I ran outside on the street so the weight/specs of the shoes were more important than how hot I look in them. Pshhh, get your priorities straight, Sassarella!
The thing is though, it gets worse. These aren’t even his working out sneakers, these are walking around, hanging out, let’s go to lunch sneakers. He has this type of sneak and I don’t, what is wrong with this picture? I used to have a lot of these kinda sneakers in different colors and what not but I seem to have let that part of my wardrobe fall by the wayside. I know why and it’s because given the choice between new pumps and trendy sneaks, I choose the pumps. It only makes sense that the LBD-wearing, sassy side of my personality over powers the hipster/indie girl in me who wants cool kicks very badly. Dad has cooler kicks than I do, there’s something wrong with this picture.
Here are some other pictures that have things wrong with them:
What are a few of my favorite things? Music, photography, and my blog. I’m newly obsessed with Twitter and I also started the fan page on Facebook that I want to keep updating, so we could say that social media is another favorite thing. What is wrong with this picture? I still have a dumb Blackberry, that’s what’s wrong! I would love to have my digital world at my finger tips so that I could update, keep track, and stay in tune with it more efficiently. I need an iPhone. I love to take pictures and I’m constantly hunting new music but I’m still stuck with the formerly hot Crackberry….there’s something wrong with this picture.
I once chased a guy down the street, who already rejected me at the bar, still wanting to give him my number. I usually call and text the guy I’m seeing at all hours of the day and/or night because I need to know where he is and what he’s doing at all times. I sleep around. I purposely eat garlic before I make out with someone. I’m secretly dark and twisty, I have so many issues I can’t even sleep at night. I smell like poop….on a good day. I make a habit of talking down to people, especially those in the service industries because I am better than they are in every way possible. I’m a racist. I don’t shave my legs. I will whine and complain that you don’t love me unless you buy me presents like diamond earrings and a Maserati. Mothers hate me because I disrespect them and tell them that their famous lasagnas really just aren’t that good. I’m selfish, inconsiderate, lazy, wasteful, jealous, pretentious, dishonest, unreliable, and extremely insecure. What’s wrong with this picture? EVERYTHING. It’s all false. And yet, I don’t have a boyfriend…there’s something wrong with that picture.
I’m going to California next week for a much needed and long-ish vacay slash job prep sesh with my cousin. I’ll be making stops all over the state. I get to go on an airplane, which I love. I’ll have five hour plane rides and hour long trips in between each city to do nothing but listen to music and write. I’m going to see family members that I don’t get to see very often. What’s wrong with this picture? Allison J won’t be there. Who is Allison J? Only my most favorite Zumba instructor! At some point during each class last week I thought about how I only have a couple more before I leave and how I’m going to miss at least 3, if not 4, of her classes while I’m in CA. The classes last for about an hour and for one hour, I am happy. I am so consumed with dancing that I’m not thinking about anything stressful and I’m also comforted knowing that I’m burning about 700 calories. Woot! I’m going to have the time of my life on this trip but I keep thinking about how much I’m going to miss Zumba…there’s something wrong with this picture.
And finally, I have 12 followers on Blogger and 28 people who “like” my fan page on Facebook. That’s so awesome, it really is. However, the day I made the fan page, my blog had 171 page views. The day I posted the “Capital 1” article, the page had 87 views so what’s wrong with this picture? I have a ton of people who read my blog but not a lot of people willing to publicly admit it. I hope you read and enjoy my posts but even if you don’t, if you know me, if I support you, if you’d call me a friend….just “like” the g.d. page on Facebook. I don’t care if you read it once a month, once a day, or never! I mean, of course I would like you to, but it’s just about me trying to be somebody so help a girl out. The more fans I have, the greater the chance is of someone reading it who can help this little blogger’s dreams come true! I have a ton of readers but I’m lacking the public displays of love and support…there’s something wrong with this picture.
Sassarella Says…I need new kicks so I can keep up with stylin’ Dad, I would love an iPhone, I wouldn’t hate finding a guy who I actually like and he likes me, I’m going to miss Zumba while I’m away, and please “like” my fan page on Facebook. There are some pictures that have things wrong with them and there are bound to be many more but that’s life. Off to Tiki Monday!