BECAUSE LC IS NOT MARRYING STEPHEN, THAT'S WHY. To be fair, I'm also pissed about Justin Timberlake and Britney Spears ending. As well as Hilary Duff and Aaron Carter. And basically any couple that I liked in the early 00's. Life's a beach and I just can't sandal it. I want life to be a Laguna Beach. Full of Sun-In and petty high school arguments and awkward moments where Lauren says some vapid statement that girls latch onto and immediately put into their AIM profiles. Below you will find my fantasy LC marriage scene. However, let it be known that the following scenario was not shot over an eight month period in the city of Laguna Beach, California. It is from my imagination. Therefore, the people, the locations, and the drama are 100% not real and 100% not funny.
The chairs are set up along the beach in pristine rows, like the red lines on a piece of looseleaf paper or the heavy black eyeliner sitting atop every female attendee's eyelids. The waves crashing against the shore drown out the sound of Christina singing "My Only Hope" while the salty sea air licks the open wounds that only a successful Rent audition could have healed.
Stephen, standing next to Christina's minister father, looks dashing in a Hurley shirt and matching swim trunks. He does not know that at that very moment a young Taylor Swift is singing along to herself in the darkness of her room with only the television illuminating her face. She watches as Kristen dances on a bar in Cabo, shakes her head, and whispers "white whores" to the empty room. Her future song and music video starring Stephen is to be called "White Horse." This is no
coincidence.
Jason (known as Wally to a select few friends) watches from the back row with a blank look on his face. As Jason's perfectly gelled hair blows gently in the breeze, we hear a wistful sigh from Jessica who is sniffing his hair while sitting directly behind him. Alex M. looks on in disgust and sticks her face into a bowl of Cheetos. A mother nearby cradles her crying child closer and scoots down a seat.
Morgan sits nearby, muttering under her breath. She has resolved not to stay in Laguna, yet here she sits wedged between Kristin and Alex H. Kristin's hair is pulled loosely into a tiny ponytail which contrasts with her tight tube top and jean skirt. She is playing snake on her flip phone and her choker shell necklace glints in the sunlight blinding Alex H, who has not showered in a few weeks.
The crowd stands, LC is gracefully walking down the sand in rolled up jean capris and wedged flip flops. The little person from the Blink 182 concert that Trey so valiantly argued with is perched in some nearby crabgrass, biding his time, waiting. For what? He does not know. He will never know.
Suddenly, there is a clap of lightening. Beads of perspiration form on LC's upper lip. There will be no suitable firewood for the beach bonfire immediately following the ceremony. Lo laughs in the background, "It ain't no thing but a chicken wing!" LC scowls, she is still upset that Lo admonished her for failing a class her senior year. You never side with a bff's parents when it comes to grades, it's just, like, the rules of feminism.
The rain drops slowly at first, then quickly builds momentum. Large pellets of water come from every angle, the crowd runs for cover under the nearby shelter. Jessica trips and falls. "Leave her," someone shouts. Through the mayhem, the shrieks, and the orange self-tanner forming a small river along the beach, LC does not budge. The black mascara tears streaming down her face and plopping onto her strapless shirt do not perturb her. "Let the rain fall down and wake my dreams. Let it wash away my sanity," she croaks before swan diving into the ocean and taking up residence with Ariel in the murky depths of the Pacific where she will give Scuttle thingamabobs in exchange for stray french fries from Jack In The Box.
Somewhere, Hilary Duff plays the harp and Heidi Montag's melted face floats out to sea.
Peace, love, and the twisted inner working of my mind regurgitated into blog form,
Awkward Girl
Stephen, standing next to Christina's minister father, looks dashing in a Hurley shirt and matching swim trunks. He does not know that at that very moment a young Taylor Swift is singing along to herself in the darkness of her room with only the television illuminating her face. She watches as Kristen dances on a bar in Cabo, shakes her head, and whispers "white whores" to the empty room. Her future song and music video starring Stephen is to be called "White Horse." This is no
coincidence.
Jason (known as Wally to a select few friends) watches from the back row with a blank look on his face. As Jason's perfectly gelled hair blows gently in the breeze, we hear a wistful sigh from Jessica who is sniffing his hair while sitting directly behind him. Alex M. looks on in disgust and sticks her face into a bowl of Cheetos. A mother nearby cradles her crying child closer and scoots down a seat.
Morgan sits nearby, muttering under her breath. She has resolved not to stay in Laguna, yet here she sits wedged between Kristin and Alex H. Kristin's hair is pulled loosely into a tiny ponytail which contrasts with her tight tube top and jean skirt. She is playing snake on her flip phone and her choker shell necklace glints in the sunlight blinding Alex H, who has not showered in a few weeks.
The crowd stands, LC is gracefully walking down the sand in rolled up jean capris and wedged flip flops. The little person from the Blink 182 concert that Trey so valiantly argued with is perched in some nearby crabgrass, biding his time, waiting. For what? He does not know. He will never know.
Suddenly, there is a clap of lightening. Beads of perspiration form on LC's upper lip. There will be no suitable firewood for the beach bonfire immediately following the ceremony. Lo laughs in the background, "It ain't no thing but a chicken wing!" LC scowls, she is still upset that Lo admonished her for failing a class her senior year. You never side with a bff's parents when it comes to grades, it's just, like, the rules of feminism.
The rain drops slowly at first, then quickly builds momentum. Large pellets of water come from every angle, the crowd runs for cover under the nearby shelter. Jessica trips and falls. "Leave her," someone shouts. Through the mayhem, the shrieks, and the orange self-tanner forming a small river along the beach, LC does not budge. The black mascara tears streaming down her face and plopping onto her strapless shirt do not perturb her. "Let the rain fall down and wake my dreams. Let it wash away my sanity," she croaks before swan diving into the ocean and taking up residence with Ariel in the murky depths of the Pacific where she will give Scuttle thingamabobs in exchange for stray french fries from Jack In The Box.
Somewhere, Hilary Duff plays the harp and Heidi Montag's melted face floats out to sea.
Peace, love, and the twisted inner working of my mind regurgitated into blog form,
Awkward Girl
