Lying: Okay, when the outcome is humorous.

[Really weird, prevalent etsy poncho + Nightcap leggings + Sam Edelman booties + Luxury Divas hat + Trunk LTD tshirt]

Everyone’s all over the spring action—bold colors, new hemlines, flatforms (cannot.)—but it’s still cold and miserable up here, so a trendless post, heavy on the anecdotes, is what you get. I don’t think this what O.D.B. had in mind when he said he “liked it raw”—this kind of raw makes you sit so close to the fire your arm hairs curl up.

I was just asking Rob if he thought my associating this poncho with a certain Southerly lying nation could be construed as offensive, and he said, “Not if you play real heavy on the cardinals.”

I love how I bought this from a blurry shot on etsy and it said “vintage 70s”—because a few months later, I saw the same one up there again, this time in 3 color options! Someone is sweatshopping these out to the suckers masses, myself included. At least it didn’t smell vintage in its false identity.

Speaking of false identities, I’m Costa Rican! No, no I’m not. But we saw an episode of MTV’s True Life recently that depicted a young lady who was living la vida costa. Kind of sad, when you consider why she feels the need to lie about it, but watching her squirm under the curious questioning of an actual Costa Rican woman made me roar.

“You must be from Limon?”

“Yes, I’m from Limon!”

“Ah, nice! What part?”

“You know… the city part.”

The stuff of Quentin Tarantino genius! White lies are the pits, though, if we can all agree on this. Once I met a boy back in Jacksonville who was very cute, very Southern, and very into hunting. My little brain worked quickly as we ran out of things to talk about: Hunting. Camo. Guns. What do I know about guns? Oh, yes—

Grant Stayton III from Overboard had guns, lots of them, and they were very expensive…

Me: I am so into hunting. I have a Wetherby; it’s such an amazing gun.

Boy: You have a what?

Me: A Wetherby? Shoots like a dream…

Boy: Sure it does.

It was really the waking up the next day and letting my lie stretch in the morning sun that drove me to beat my fists into my head. I burned with embarrassment verging on insanity, finally confronting my mom, who was watering plants in the side yard, to get the atrocity off my chest. I think she laughed and said, “So?”

Hey, I made up a tagline: White lies: because you’re a writer and you need to practice.

“Vintage” poncho “from the 70s” (someone fell upon a vault filled with them, I presume) on etsy here, here and here.

-Carey

p.s. Grant is also on Twitter.