Bringin' all the boys to her yard(?)

Tonight was the "RYCE Cooker." RYCE being the Retreat for Young Chinese Evangelicals, "Cooker": a) is just a word that sounds clever in conjunction with the acronym "RYCE"; and b) has no real meaning, except that the event is meant as a social to "cook up" friendships among the youth of the participating churches. So, as a volunteer in my church youth group, I decided to be a chaperon/chauffeur for the evening. My first stop was at the Ralphs in Anaheim, on Anaheim Blvd. between Lincoln and Broadway for some snacks for the evening.

As I queued up to purchase the munchables, I couldn't help but notice the word "PINK" sewn in pink block lettering onto the ass of the women in front of me. (See photo, right.)

First, let's get one thing clear: I have nothing against comfortable apparel in general, especially not sweats. I am typing this in fact, in my comfy GAP track pants and grey UCLA hoodie.

But see, I am typing in my sweatpants at home. When I leave the house later today, I will be sure to change into something that does not resemble what normal people would consider pajamas.

Allow me to make another point that will hopefully deflect some criticism: I wouldn't normally fault someone for going to the market in her pajamas, especially not in publication on my blog. The woman in front of me, however, is an exception to his rule because: a) the rest of her was made-up to look fashionable or hip; and b) she had visible writing on her tuckus (trashy, just like the tabloids to her left).

First of all, let sweatpants be sweatpants, i.e. things you wear either to the gym, or to bed. You don't put on a face-full of makeup (as my Sunny Delight-wielding friend had), throw on your Victoria's Secret pajamas, then head out to the grocery store. If you want to look nice/sexy/sophisticated/like a hooker, that's cool (and in the last case, cosmetics may help you lure in a few more customers); in those instances, yes, makeup is totally appropriate and acceptable. But please, please, PLEASE do not confuse a sweatsuit with formal apparel. Look frumpy in sweats = fine; look fancy in makeup = fine, too. But this is not a mix-and-match situation. Drinking and driving don't mix, and neither do sweats and make up! Maybe we should include this as part of the DARE campaign for primary school students. (To make it really clear, they're called "sweats" because they're clothes in which one is intended to perspire, and perspiration is not a friend to mascara.) (Incidentally, I blame a lot of this confusion on the recent Britney/Paris & Nickie/Nicole Richie/Lindsay fashion movement. Friends, please choose your role models carefully, especially when it comes to fashion: you don't want to end up looking like this women!)

Second, I know that the velour sweatsuit movement gained alot of momentum a couple years ago, and I salute the customer in front of me for avoiding that tragic fabric; nevertheless, why does she need to have anything in large, capital letters on her butt? Why? Yes, her posterior does look rather shapely, so maybe she's proud and wants to show it off (again, nothing wrong there). But the way to do that is with clothing that accentuates her best assets (no pun intended) by their cut and fit, not by drawing people's attention by inviting them to stop and read whatever she's emblazoned across herself. So we're clear right? Sweats are fine at home, fine at the gym, and fine for running a few errands. They're not okay as a substitute for professional dress, and not okay when you start writing things on the crotch/butt/breast areas to attract attention.

After having purchased my goods (and trying as hard as possible to inconspicuously take the photo above), I drove over to church to pick up my riders to RYCE Cooker. It turns out that only three girls were in need of rides. I'm going to warn you right now that although most people reading this may not consider what follows as "graphic" or untoward, some people might. I was quasi-horrified at the time of hearing it. You've been warned.

So the three young ladies all decided to sit in the back of the Prius. After being asked whether any of them wanted to sit in the front, they all declined; I didn't press the matter because I thought: a) they just might be shy to sit in the front with someone they hardly knew; b) they might mistake me for some kind of sick pervert who wanted to sit with teenage girls; c) they wanted to sit in the back so they could have some time for girl-talk. After our the round trip ride, I cannot speak to item (b), but I am certain that (a) is absolutely wrong; and (c) is absolutely right. There was no shyness among those girls.

Girl 1: "Oh, her boobs are bigger than mine—I'm so jealous!"

Girl 2: "Yeah, but you're prettier than she is. Plus, she kinda has fat legs."

Girl 3: "Oh, that's true, but she has a great tan."

1: "And such great boobs!"

(For the record, I have nothing against breasts in general, but I do not need to hear detailed discussion on size or color when the context is high schoolers.) Um...HELLO! How were they not aware of my presence!?! I was sitting not three feet in front of them. Either they had forgotten I was in the car (but then who did they think was driving?), or they didn't care that I could hear everything they were saying, (I suppose a third option is that they had thought I was deaf). In any event, shyness was definitely not the reason no one wanted to sit in the front. And it got worse (or better, in terms of content for the blog.)

1: "I walked in on X and Y the other day in Y's living room."

3: "Whaah?!?"

1: "Yeah, but actually, it's not like they were doing too much."

2: "Which is sort of a surprise, since they're usually swallowing each other's tongues..."

1: "Which reminds me, my friend had a pregnancy scare at school the other day. She felt really nauseous [sic.] and looked super pale. She totally thought it was morning sickness, but it turned out to be nothing."

What have I gotten myself into? I began to wonder. OMG, now that I'm counseling the high school group, am I going to have to deal with pregnancy scares? Well, I guess I'm dealing mostly with the guys, so that shouldn't be a problem...What if one of them comes to me and says he got his girlfriend pregnant?!? Maybe I'm not ready for this. Maybe I need to tell Eugene I'm just not ready. And our drive continued.

2: "I am getting a D in math. My mom is going to flip out."

1: "A 'D'? Good job—that's way better than me! I am totally failing math! My mom is going to kill me too if she finds out!"

"If" she finds out? Don't these kids show their parents their test scores? Well, I guess not, if they're all Ds and Fs. But shouldn't the parents at least ask to see an occasional report card? And "Good job!" to a D?!?! Aren't these kids Asians? They're supposed to be good at math! What have I gotten myself into? Wait...this must be like a candid camera show or something. Where did they hide the camera? And I kid you not, as I wondered that, I looked around my car to see if I could locate that hidden camera. I didn't find it, which is sort of too bad, because I'm sure I was making the most interesting expressions as I listened.

Moral of the story: parents, if it weren't for such savvy, vigilant chaperons such as myself, it wouldn't even be safe to send your kids to church socials any more. Even then, keep a close eye on your girls, or they'll end up to be the kind of women who wear clothing with writing splayed across their erogenous zones, like our friend in the 'pink' costume above.