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10:16 am | 21 January 2004 | ...and now for another entry about people i hate

Well, so two of my co-workers must have been leaving Rich Girls on in their sleep and have sublimated it or something, because, for serious, homegirls got issues. I am referring to the emaciatedly pretty blonde as Malibu Barbie and the more-obnoxious-because-playing-the-role-of-sidekick brunette as Newport Beach Skipper, for clarity's sake. To wit:

- Both are Fashion majors*, despite a daily uniform of pricey, typical jeans and the expected accessories (I can only dream of covering my yawn with Malibu Barbie's Burberry scarf);

- Both, despite being Fashion majors, declared a passionate hatred of sewing on day one--while Malibu noted that "sewing machines are so heavy!" and then whimpered in remembrance of the HORRIBLE WEIGHT her three-years-carbs-free skeletal frame must have endured, Newport Beach Skipper proceeded to note, FOR SERIOUS: "Well, everyone knows you just make the drawings and then send it to Hong Kong and then they make it and send it back, it's really cheap," oh my god no you di'in't;

- Malibu was all busting my chops about how she lives on fancy-assed Ocean Boulevard (the last line of houses between the city and the, duh, ocean, and therefore hellaciously pricey in the rentery), but i bumped into her last night while walking the dog, and bitch lives like a block from me, in the "regular people" ghetto, oh give me a dang break;

- Both evinced shock at the idea that Goth kids might come into the store, with muttered asides about "drinking blood." Yes, I fear that as well, melancholy being so catching these days;

- They both remarked on the fact that one of the makers of Seven Jeans does a line for Express (the horror! the horror!) that are not the real Sevens, "you can tell because they've got a 3/4 [percent] stretch," Malibu sniffed, and when we discussed ways to tell the two apart, both girls leaned back, examined their waistbands (one slack, one straining), and announced that real Sevens say "Seven For All Mankind" on the buttons.

What would we do without them? I feel a subtle sense of gratitude, if only for the boost they give my recently-flagging self-esteem. I may come across like an ass on this site, but I really have a lot of dread issues and whatnot, and without the Bipsies of the world, I might forget my own genius in the face of their Fred-Segalized fa-shawn. As someone said recently, though, "We're better than them, we're just smarter," and it is to aphorisms such as these that I must cling in these trying times. clm.

* This encounter has given me a new, grudging respect for the Fashion majors of the Art Institute of Chicago and Columbia--at least they are taking some risks, despite the retardedly fruity impracticality of their, like, tunics woven of green nylon hair, or whatever.


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