Fashion Letter: William Rast

Dear designers of William Rast (although I am specifically talking to you, Justin Timberlake),

Look. I get it, JT. You're trying to pull the whole mogul business thing that Jay-Z, Diddy, and J.Lo have mastered long ago. And I applaud you for branching out. Your music is fantastic and your appearances on SNL make me love you even more and hope that you quit making music to become a full-time cast member, spending the rest of your days making awesome sketches with Andy Samberg and the rest of The Lonely Island, so it's about time that you decided to jump into another industry.

But, JT. Fashion? Really? I understand that you dress rather snazzily in real life, but a decent portion of your show for F/W '09 (Right before Marc Jacobs, I might add. Kudos for having the balls) felt like an extension of your first show last season. Those awful, fringe-ridden shoes were still there, only you put them on the men as well, and there was even more denim than last season's collection. What happened to those fabulous mens' dress jackets from S/S '09? What happened to the semi-cute mini dresses, too? I feel like you took a trip to the 90's with the ultra-matchy denim pants and jackets. JT, do you not remember what happened when you wore something like that when you were still dating Britney Spears? HAVE YOU LEARNED NOTHING?

Also, while I commend you for not borrowing from Marc Jacobs (Elie Tahari and Alice Temperley, I'm looking at you), don't try to do something that Christophe Decarnin did for Balmain last season, only Christophe Decarnin did it more awesome. While I can't stand shoulder pads, Balmain's military jackets looked much more fabulous in comparison to your black denim, over-sized ones. You might have gone a little overboard with your Bedazzler and box of rounded, silver studs.

I'm not asking for much. I'm only asking for clothing that does not scream American Midwest and South. Keep your Tennessee roots, but refine what you already have. And for the love of god, please, please use different fabrics.

With love,

Mia

A Public Service Announcement and a Daily Recap

For those who do not know, tomorrow, February 14th, is Singles Awareness Day. In layman's terms, this "holiday" is know as Valentine's Day. As two single ladies (All the single ladies, all the single ladies, all the single ladies. Now put your hands up! And thus ends the only Beyonce moment we will ever have. We were doing the dance a la SNL, in case you were wondering), we thought it would be polite of us to get the word out on this most unfortunate of days. If you are one of the fortunate ones to have some form of significant other for tomorrow, we salute you. (Note that our salute is coated in layers of sarcasm and crotchety, old cat lady bitterness.) But for all of our fellow singles, we ask that you join us in celebrating this most wonderous of holidays by going to your local CVS/Walgreens/Wal-Mart/Target/etc, and purchase a pack of those neat, little conversation hearts. Those sappy pieces of candy that taste like nothing in particular that look made of stamped chalk, that say little tidbits of cheesetastic Valentine's goodness like, "I Love You", or "Be Mine", or "Cutie Pie". Now why would we want you to purchace such offensive little morsels? Well, we have some instructions for you: upon seeing a couple, grab a handful of them and throw them at said couple, shouting phrases such as, "I DON'T Love You!", or "NO! You CAN'T Be Mine!", or, our personal favorite, "NO! I Will NOT Send You a Love Fax!" To which we say, who the hell faxes anymore? Please. Do NOT take this mission lightly, or as a joke. Just as something to brighten your day. (Note: this joke will made that much more hysterical if you run around dressed as Cupid. Really. Trust us.)

And so we end our Public Service Announcement. Our good deed for the day. Scout's Honor.

In case you guys didn't notice, we didn't post a blog yesterday, or on Wednesday, for various reasons. But boy! Did we have a day on Wednesday. We guess it had something to do with the fact that we discussed Pleasure Parties in our last blog and our friends read about it (Hi, guys!), but, for some odd reason that we really aren't up to investigating, our day seemed to revolve around the topic of sex. And rather awkwardly so.

It all started off with us walking through this little outdoor market, flea market style, but with odd, faux Obama shirts that declare "Obama's My Home Boy", and of course, The Condom Lady. Now Condom Lady is a rare breed, rarely seen in broad daylight, for they are creatures of the night. But on the very special occasion that they DO happen to venture out into the sun, it's to the market, a plate o' condoms in hand, ready to pounce on any unsuspecting victim, questions at the ready to make you squirm at the sheer thought of the answers. We were ever so fortunate to avoid The Condom Lady, for her fowardness frightened us and we scurried away, only to be comforted by the loving arms of the Muffin Man, a chocolate chip muffin in each hand to soothe our frazzled nerves. Well Played, Muffin Man. Well Played. And although we appreciate this blessing from the heavens that was the Muffin Man (and to a lesser extent, our rush to go to math class), we can help but wonder as to what The Condom Lady's questions would have been. We have thought of a few: "Do you NEED protection?", "Have you been tested for gonorrea?", "Do you know the time?", "Herpes! Are you familiar?", "How many times a week, on average, do you have sexual intercourse?", "Do you participate in such sexual intercourse?", "Do you masturbate?", "When you masturbate, do you focus on one area, or do you provide lovin' to your whole body?", "Do you know of an excellent restaurant?" But we do promise you this, Dear Reader: one day in the not-so-distant future, we will go on a safari, in hopes of encountering The Condom Lady, again. We swear.

Next order of business: The Todd. Oh, The Todd. That den of rampant uncensored sexuality, established in 1969. We must mention that the threshold of The Todd looks like something that we would expect a drunken trucker to be stumbling to at 2 AM, his hat askew, a finger rubbing his belly button as he stared at the photographs of the women on the front of all of the packagings, knowing that that's as close as he's going to get to that type of ass unless some form of payment is involved. And while the various toys and treats found within The Todd (no pun intended) stand out in their own special way, we can only think of a few things to say about the entire trip. One: the lingerie. Example: we kid you not, a costume was two separate strips of strategically placed playing cards hoping to pass for a bra and thong. Or the surprisingly covered up Girl Scout uniform, for those who are into that type of kink (Funny story about Girl Scouts. But that, dear friends, is for another day). All of it was so deliciously tacky, so ridiculously skanky that we can't help but applaud those who dare fit into those scraps of string and lace. But the cherry on the top of this proverbial ice cream sundae, was at the very end of our trip, when we were exiting The Todd. Taped to the side of the checkout counter was a poster for a Pirates of the Carribean-like porno with an all-female cast and, as we were leaving, one of our friends (a girl) says, as though it was no big deal, "Oh. I've seen that one before." And while that statement alone brought the lolz, it was the reaction from the guys behind the counter, who just about lost it as they doubled over in laughter. It was so unexpected from our friend that it was one of those great moments that we shall treasure: "Hey, guys. Remember that time? You know the one when we went to The Todd?" Oh, good times. Good times, indeed.

Pleasure Parties v. "Get to Know Your Lady Parts" Parties

As of late, Nicole and I have been hearing tales of girls in our dorm (we live in an all-girls dorm, mind you, so the action is few and far between) wanting to have a "Pleasure Party". Now for those of you who don't know what a Pleasure Party is, it's basically like a Tupperwear Party (a bunch of women, in that instance, usually menopausal, who sit around and discuss which kitchen wear is the best for preserving food stuffs and then proceed to pay for the overpriced items in question), only with sex toys. Nicole and I consider ourselves to be not only pretty mature for our ages, but also rather progressive in our thoughts on such parties. Because, really, we would attend such a party only because of how funny it would be to see our friends sit around and chat about which vibrator works the best when the Mister is not around to provide some lovin'. So we thought, 'Cool. Where and when would such a party happen, since we obviously can't have 30+ girls in a small, prison cell-like room filled to the brim with sex toys?' But then things took a turn for the worse when our RA heard about it through the grapevine. Suddenly the Pleasure Party turned into a "Let's All Get Together and Learn About Our Respective Vaginas" Party. Woah, woah. HEY. Nicole and I don't roll that way, Miss RA. Our RA single-handedly managed to turn what sounded like a fun, frivoulous girl-bonding time with some laughs thrown in into this Den of Iniquity where the walls are covered with tacky wallpaper with a fleur de lis print that's peeling off in sketchtastic areas, with gauzy, sheer curtains hanging all around with all of the girls writhing on the floor masturbating to a background of Enya, Charlotte Church, and Josh Groban. SO AWKWARD. We would commend her for this stunning feat if it weren't for how grossed out we were by the idea of it, how weirded out we became by even thinking about Pleasure Parties. So, thanks RA. Thanks.

The following is the dialogue Nicole and I had on the topic when it was first brought up:

Mia: I still can't believe that our RA took the idea of a pleasure party to mean that. *shudders*

Nicole: I know. I'm not sure what her fascination is with all of our "danger zones" but I personally have no interest in sharing that particular moment with any of you. No offense.

Mia: It's cool. I just think it's awkward that she felt the need to ask all of us about it. If she was so interested in pleasure parties, she could have just googled that shit. I know that she may have no problems discussing her sex life with others, but there are just some things that I don't need to know about, and her sex life is definitely one of those things.

Nicole: *shudders* I am so creeped out right now. The more I think about this, the more disturbed I become. I'm sure that's not a rational reaction....she just makes me want to vomit. Can I say that? Do you think she looks like a chipmunk?

Mia: *laughs* No joke, I think I just threw up in my mouth a little. I think she reminds me of the squirrels we have on campus! Those are some scary little bastards. I seriously hope that if the plans for this party goes through, that she's not invited. I don't think I could handle how awkward that would be if she was all, "Oh-kay, laaadies. We're going to go around in our liiitle circle discussinggg our sexual adventures." And yes, she DOES drag out her words like that.

Nicole: You're so right!! She sounds just like that, except in a 5-year old, baby voice kind of a way. No, I'm sure she would make it so much more awkward and uncomfortable for everyone. "So, I'm sure you don't even know where your clitoris is..." And we would all gape at her forwardness. She's insane and unpredictable. Wait, we may need her there. I mean, at least we'd have something good to talk about (and I'm quite positive she'd be the first to volunteer to try out the titty tassels. Kodak Moment!)

Mia: Nicole. Stop reading my mind. For serious. Because you KNOW that, at first, everyone would feel so awkward until someone broke the ice with the pasties. She would be one who would break that metaphorical ice. I feel like I should appalud her for her special brand of crazy. Brava! *claps*

The Sarasota Connection & Intros

So Nicole and I found ourselves wondering, "Why, exactly, do we NOT have a blog?" I mean, we're both interested in pop culture (and by "interested" we mean "OH DEAR GOD. WE LOVE IT!") and politics (same reaction applies). Plus, we've talked about it before, but never really acted out on it. So yeah. We decided, "Why not? We'll find what we write funny," and thus, we give you our blog. Jointly written whenever we feel like sitting down together to discuss what happened in our lives that day.

Let's start with some basic introductions:

Hi there. *waves* I'm Mia. As of this moment, I am 19 and a freshman at USF. I'm a Pre-Mass Communications major and next year, I'll start my magazine journalism track. I'm obsessive about Harry Potter, the fashion industry, and British Alternative bands. I dress rather snazzily, if I do say so myself, and Nicole plans on hiring me as her stylist when she runs for public office. Any questions? Fabulous. Nicole's turn!

I've been told that I am a combination of Fergie and Jesus, but I'll leave that for you to decide. I prefer to think of myself as a combination of a jedi master and 1/3 of the Clinton dynasty. I'm a freshman at USF(with Mia) and am majoring in Political Science. Obsessions include: The Clintons, Harry Potter, Disney Drama, RDJ, Marie Antoinette, Dancing....all forms, and many other things that we will get into much later.

So now you may find yourself wondering, "What IS The Sarasota Connection, Mia and Nicole? Is it like Six Degrees of Separation? That crazy game with Kevin Bacon?" All of these questions shall be answered. Starting now:

The Sarasota Connection: we don't know what exactly causes it, or who it affects, but for some reason that Nicole and I have yet to discover, the boys who come out of Sarasota (specifically, the boys from Sarasota who attend USF) have some magic in them. Magic that attracts not only Nicole and myself, but our friend, First Mate*, as well. It's quite a conundrum and we're putting all of our scientological resources to work (we have a Mole amongst them. The truth will be revealed!) and, thus far, we suspect some crazy, cancer-inducing growth horomones in the milk. We just pray to god that that doesn't come back and haunt us with some busted looking men in the not-so-distant future. Our repsective fingers are crossed.

It's like my (Mia's) mom said, "That's SO incestual!" And, Mother, you would be right in this occassion, except for none of that whole "Oh-Sweet-Jesus!-I'm-attracted-to-my-sister/cousin/brother/West Virginia-style" nonsense. We swear. Or, we hope. :/ But it all started way back in first semester where I (Mia) stumbled upon Lumberjack. Only, he wasn't like that when I first saw him. I swear. He was legit hot. Like, ridonkulously hot. But anyhoodle, beyond all of that, the point is is that he's from Sarasota. How do I know this? I'm observant like that, bitches. I can read, and it was on a shirt. So there's number one.

Numero Two: another boy my friend, Curly Cue, and I stumbled upon thanks to multiple encounters at the dining halls. We shall call him With Honors. Interest fades with Curly Cue, but we knew enough about him to learn that he was also from Sarasota. How? We had lunch with him a bunch of times. Questions were asked, information was gleaned.

Number Tres: First Mate met someone recently that is friends with Lumberjack. First Mate likes Friend of Lumberjack. They went to high school together.

Number Four: Curly Cue has a current boy toy that LIVES in the same dorm as Lumberjack. B t dubs, this guy doesn't live in Sarasota. He's the odd man out. Weird.

Number Cinco: Nicole likes one of my friends, who we shall refer to as Granite. Granite comes from Sarasota, but did not go to high school with any of the aforementioned boys.

In conclusion, Nicole and I have formulated a theory that we have named The Sarasota Connection.

Theory: there is some crazy-ass food/drink/something in the city of Sarasota (or in Sarasota county, in general...) that causes the boys who come from there to give off this weird, ray-beam-esque attraction thingy that causes Nicole, myself, and our friends to go all loopy at the sheer thought of these boys. Our solution: WE'RE MOVING TO SARASOTA, YA'LL!!

Answers to our previously asked questions: Explained above, maybe, and yes; such a strange game.

And so, we give you the conclusion to our first entry. We hope you enjoyed it. There shall be plenty more to come.

(* <-- Denotes changed names.)