It's 2 am when I stumble in from my night of binge-drinking, proving once again that the end of black-outs and drunchies does not correlate with the acquisition of a college degree. Au contraire, it gets worse, as alcohol works to numb your "I just got rejected from another job" pain, instead of a rewarding you for finishing your homework.

Either way, the late nights are unavoidable, and after 10 minutes of fumbling with my finicky lock, I'm inside. I quickly splash some water on my face and slather on some soap, which, I'm ashamed to admit, has been mistook for lotion on more than one occasion. I have an interview, or date, or some momentous occassion tomorrow that calls for the utmost attention to my skin-care regime. No pimple will ever be to blame for the loss of a job. My teeth, however, are a different story. What's a little plaque if it can be easily removed in approximately 7 hours. I won't waste another three minutes of precious sleep time to make sure I go to bed with good breath if I'm alone in said bed.

My world, however, may be about to change. Always the oral hygiene procrastinator (between you and me, I only brush my teeth once a day), the Blizzident toothbrush is a new product which uses 3D scanning to create a brush that can clean your teeth in 6 seconds. 6 seconds! Imagine those 174 seconds (348 for some) piling up every day. I could cure cancer, or at the very least write more than one blog post per month. 2014 never looked so good.

Every week as of late, I've been going to Mustache Mondays. It is a gay dance party in DTLA where there are pretty good dj's and slim pickings in the cutie department. I guess that could be attributed to its gay nature - but combined with my heterosexuality and four vodka's deep, it is definitely a buzz kill.

I digress. Anyway, I've been to hundreds of dance parties, and have been known to enjoy a solo sesh to Solange on occasion, but I have never loved dancing. Bodies flailing, feet stomping in awkward unison, and fingers pointing upwards to familiar words never fail to make me the slightest bit uncomfortable. That's not to say I haven't mastered to art of, "get out of your head and move your body to the beat", but it makes me wonder why there are such polar opposites on the dancing spectrum, and after last night I'm convinced it has less to do with ability than a predisposition. My real question is: what's a gangly, tone deaf girl to do in a world where dance parties are the epicenter of social gatherings?

I believe I have been destined to be surrounded by great dancers. My best friend in high school would drag me to every school dance, grabbing my hands and moving them with her hips, trying to bring out some hidden rhythm. My ex-boyfriend happened to be one of the few guys who doesn't look gay or shrek-like when he gets down. And currently, every week I'm convinced by my friend/dj/music enthusiast via free booze to put on my Monday's best and get in the car.

On a rare occasion I am in the mood to dance, but all too often I cherish our cigarette breaks, much preferring talking and scoping to bumping and grinding. I do wonder, though, am I alone in my disdain? I know there are those who don't care to socialize, and would prefer a good read over a good party, but to simplify it down to a correlation between those who like to party and those who like to dance would be all too simple.

Psychologist Peter Lovatt explains that recreational dancing after the age of 16 is essentially "fertility based courtship displays", which would make a lot of sense in my case, considering my love life. Let's be real, though, how much do we really trust this guy:
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My friend was visiting from New York last week, and of course, as any host would, I took her out for a night on the town to get as drunk as possible and really cherish her vacation time. After all, what good trip goes without a hangover recovery day, complete with not one, but two trips to McyDees.

I digress. Anyway, I was ready to go out, dressed in my Saturdays best - who doesn't love a good, sheer, palazzo pant - when she said it: "Oh that's what you're wearing? I thought those were your pjs".

Now, of course, I was not wearing my pajamas, but what's wrong with a little bed-time inspiration? I've been waiting patiently, since pajama day was ruled out along with hair wraps in 6th grade, to once again don my unmentionables in public, and the day has finally arrived. Phoebe Philo, the super hero and innovator extrordinaire, has so thoughtfully brought fuzzy slippers into our workday attire, in turn flipping business casual upside down.

This season is looking like a veritable parade of "morning afters". We've seen baggy pants, slip-on shoes, and outerwear that blurs the line between bathrobe and trench coat. The trend has been updated from it's 2012 counterpart, the more straight-forward pajama-shirt-turned-silk-blouse, to just a nod (though some may confuse this nod for the real thing. Ignore them, you're a trendsetter.)

stylesnooperdan, what do i wear, zara
I have an insatiable apetite for new clothing. I shop online nearly everyday and dream of neoprene and leather. My budget, however, can in no way match my desire, and I am left with wishlist upon wishlist stored on my hardrive.

I am the type one might call an "anti-hoarder". The second I no longer wear something, even in an impulsive attempt to ignore my period bloat, that baby is in a bag and on its way to the nearest Buffalo Exchange. Granted, my closet is the size of that of a dollhouse, so this purging is more of a neccesity than a hobby, I still consider it a good habit. A good habit, however, that is too easily sabotaged. What, inevitably comes after purging?


I have found, though, that lately my impulivity is best tamed by web browsing. I have now memorized which stores will delete items from your shopping basket within 24 hours (I'm looking at you shopbop) and which stores provide free shipping with a $50 purchase. Somehow, knowing that Nastygal will save my beloved finds until next month's rent check is paid makes me rest a little easier.

top - topshop, pants - topshop, shoes - choies
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Ah, the endless contradictions and confusions of a 20-something. I own a car, yet could not, for the life of me, work the air pressure thingamabob at the gas station today. (Thank god for boyfriends, am I right?) I went to college, yet work a minimum-wage job with high schoolers and armenians with a shopping habit. I go to fashion shows yet shop at thrift stores, and find my self control is wearing thin. And please tell me why my fashion magazines cost more than my dinner.

With a college degree and three internships under my belt, I thought that this was the year I could finally deem myself employable. I have experience, I have an education, I have bills. But alas, the only thing I've gotten this year is a title. I can now call myself, editorial assistant at a magazine that still doesn't pay me (hence the minimum wager).

So far, my 20s have not been kind to me. I have seen too many hangovers, too few showers, and an embarrassing amount of "I can't make rent can you help me out just this one last time" phone calls home. One thing I can thank my 20s for - they have truly taught me the meaning of want. The day my budget catches up with my taste will be the day I'll know I've truly made it. Until then, some eye candy.

Carven Pre-fall 2013
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It is only seventy degrees today and I am thanking God for that. Fall in SoCal has an approximate temperature range between 60 and 80, so I'm ecstatic to be nestled right there in the middle. I can officially take my massive sweater collection out of hiding.

With this welcomed temperature drop comes a few necessities - space heater (for those cool 50 degree nights ;), closed-toe shoes, and the ubiquitous return of layering. This season I am loving overalls and all of the layering prospects that exist therein. Button-ups and blouses can all be grunged up and aged down with the simple click of two suspender straps.

stockholm streetstyle, pixie market

In my life, a woman's common affinity for shoes has been redirected toward sunnies. No matter how many heels I buy, I just can't justify that kind of punishment to my feet - the poor soles who carry me throughout my 8-hour work day. Though most bloggers would scoff at the thought, heels are saved for special occasions and the days in which one of my two pairs of black flats have disappeared into the depths of my dirty clothes.

No, for me, sunglasses are my drug of choice. After a year of a complete lack of self control (and by lack of self control I mean spending my meager paycheck each month on clothes instead of hot water), i've accumulated a pile of glasses on my dresser that will soon need to find a new home.

And just as one might match shoes to her mood, sunglasses are my form of expression. Am I feeling minimal, fancy, elegant, or thrifty? Well today, I'm feeling incognito. I need to get myself a pair of these mirrored lenses quick. I love the playful nature they exude. The only question is, to sparkle or not to sparkle?
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Although remnants of the 90s remain (overalls anyone?), this season I have fully embraced a new kind of cool. Gone are the ditzy florals and creepers, as I move towards a romantic modernism. Right now I am loving prints, costume jewelry, short hair, and matching tops and bottoms.

For me, though, at the essence of chic, lies an inherent contrast. A vintage sweatshirt with a pencil skirt, a tattered shirt adorned with jewels and lipstick, or an oversized jacket with sleek hair and stripes. But despite all the amazing prints and colors, I'll always be a sucker for minimalism.

streetfsn, jak & jil, hel-looks
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Went to FYF fest this past weekend and it was amazing. Chairlift was definitely the standout performance to me. Her voice sounded otherworldly. M83 put on a good show, of course. Yeasayer wasn't bad either.

But sadly, I think this is the end of my festival days. Either that, or next time I need some serious uppers. I was so exhausted I had to take a break between every set. Can't even imagine those 110 degree days at Coachella. Brutal.

It's just one of those days. The heat is so stifling I can barely move. All day I'm sweating. And on top of that, I worked yesterday so it feels like Tuesday. It's going to be a long week.

On a happier note, I picked up these really awesome, retro-looking jeans last night from crossroads. Feeling good about that.
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