Lucky for me, I live in a neighbourhood frequented by an advisor for a group obviously left off the haute couture master list of mighty fashionablness...or, at least, mistakenly overlooked by the publishers of The Greatest Fashion Magazine in the World Weekly.

And they're oh-so-thoughtful and generous. They're willing to give me fashion advice for free! And without my asking, even!

Perhaps I should explain, so that others may understand....

The other day -- Tuesday, possibly -- a meeting-of-the-e-people was arranged out in the Safeway/gas station/mini-strip-mall-whateverthehell lot area, because it's easier to find than much of anything else in this wonderfully confusing area. Gremlin went down there early so he could get something from Starbucks, because they close way earlier than 9 or 10pm. That left me to walk down there alone if I decided that leaving the house was definitely on the 'okay to do list' that day.

It was, so I got dressed and headed down there after dark. I was in a skirty mood, so I went for my full-length strange crinkly material black skirt, my fucked up Gir tank-top hoodie, and my old BDU jacket, because I needed pockets.

The BDU jacket was one of my two 'warm weather' tops, and it's still got the patches from Ft. Drum on it. More importantly, it's got four button-closed pockets that nicely hold things like wallets, cameras, and anything else you stuff in them. And the button holes are sized nicely for clipping my iPod into with the carabiner. Perfect, right?

Apparently not.

There I was, enjoying some lovely Silent Hill soundtrackage in a wonderfully deserted world, heading toward the table where Gremlin was sitting with the person I assumed was Mistressnoble when I heard:

"Ooh, girl, you mixin' goth and gi joe, that doesn't work. *teeth sucking sound*"

Then:

"Ooh, ugly girl!"

There was some gabbling, piggy self-congradulating after that. I didn't think to actually look and see who'd said any of that until after I'd sat down with the only people I'd actually noticed and said "Homey don' like me" as an introduction.

By the time I got 'round to it, it was too late to get a good picture of them. I really wish I had.

The one offering fashion advice was really the height of runwaydom, let me tell you. They're wearing sweatpants and zip-up hoodies on the runways in Europe, right? Goodwill Trashbin is the highest of the high fashion, and dirty, stained white is the new black?

I'm not kidding. This white, ghetto-speaking freak was wearing a stained white sweatpants and hoodie set that looks like it might've fit her three growth spurts and fifty pounds ago. The hoodie was doing an admirable impersonation of a confused tube-top with sleeves, and the sweatpants were looking like this Red-esque thong-and-mid-calf horrorshow. They weren't shorts, they were just too small.

The rest of the gang -- one female, and two males [one of which might've been black, but I was too busy noticing that he was trying to piggyback on the back of Chubby the Fashion Critic in this rather horrible small-dog-humping-a-sofa sort of way to actually catch the colour of his skin] -- at least looked as if they'd gone to the right size rack the day they selected their clothes...in a sense. If you call that fashion trend from the 90s where everything was WAY TOO BIG 'the right size'. The tallest male of the group was wearing his uber-baggy useless-patch-having pants around his knees. The shortest -- the other, sofa-humping-dog male, was wearing this red shirt that could've doubled as a dress. Perhaps Fashion Critics' sweats belonged to him...except they wouldn't have been quite so tight, then.

The fourth member was one of those twiggy females that bloats the instant they meet puberty [leading me to think that the entire group was under 13], dressed in one of those tie-front-halters-over-a-white-TShirt abominations I've seen at Kohls, with what might've been beige 'trousers', or whatever the fuck they're called when they're not jeans and not 'cords'.

This cluster of future-adult wastes of human flesh walks by, and, while the sofa-humping is going on, the thing that's being barely contained in the stained sweats does this grand arm-waving thing and...renounces ever being interested in Gremlin? What the fuck?

I guess my lack of fashion sense ruins everyone's prospects, or something....

I don't know what the fuck was wrong with them.

The rest of the evening was roughly without incident. The three of us wandered all the way over to King Stoopid and bought a collar for Zombi, and, right when I was feeling incredibly lame for meeting up with someone from chat and...going to the grocery store with them...I noticed a group of kids sitting on top of what was undoubtedly 'daddy's car'...in the bank parking lot. So, me? Not so lame after all.

Also, we noticed that Halloween candy came out earlier this year than it did last year, or something.

I got pictures of both of those things, but I don't feel like getting my camera out right now.

Maybe I'll do it later. Maybe I'll come up with a new hobby that involves lurking around grocery stores and taking pictures of the other sorts of people who lurk around grocery stores.

So, um, let this be a lesson to you all. Always wear stained sweats many sizes too small, and never meet people from chat. If they don't kill you, they might take you grocery shopping.

EDIT: Here's the pictures.

Little Mermaid Halloween Candy. It's scary 'coz it's so old, I think....

Halloween KitKat and Reeses. And it's only August 15th....

This would be a really bad, can't-see-anything picture of the parking lot of the bank where three kids were camping out on top of daddy's car. It's the best of the five or six that I tried to get, though.

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