WGT: Accidental Exposure

As a white girl on vacation from school, it is your duty to pamper yourself. Sometimes, a girl just has to devote an entire day to sitting on the couch with her feet in a bucket of warm water, particularly when there is a marathon of Law & Order: SVU on t.v. It is practically white girl law (or, more accurately, the law of all girls everywhere) to pick several items from a menu of beauty treatments: some time when with your hot rollers, a deep conditioning, a homespun mani-pedi combo, vigorous work with your new pumice stone, etc. If it is an extra special day of vacation and you have the whole house to yourself, you can even spend some time laughing at the poor slobs who are in school or at work while you are at home in your underwear with Ice-T and your nail polish remover. (Only acetone-free for your sensitive cuticles, of course!)

On this particular day, however, the gods of self-indulgence have more in store than a flawless new manicure. As you saunter downstairs,

clad only in a grungy t-shirt and the abovementioned underwear, you are fated to come face to face with your young new mailman as he is struggling to shove a handful of catalogs through the mailslot.

The sight of this gentleman on the porch while you are inside with your hair full of hot rollers is almost enough to shock the pore-cleansing strip right off your nose! Alas, you have been spotted by the mailman (a curse upon Urban Outfitters for making such a thick spring catalog!) and you have no choice but to toss him an ever-dignified smile and a wave before taking cover behind a nearby bookshelf. Gone are the days of running gleefully downstairs to meet the postman when you are expecting the newest issue of Vogue! No one was supposed to see you on this day of all days, this day of embarrassing pampering and pore cleansing! You have been shamed into hiding upstairs with only your OPI nailcolor and your cat for company, because now the mailman knows you have blackheads and has seen you in your underwear. White Girl Tragedy.

WGT: Travel

Howdy white girls, sorry I've been so m.i.a. (no I'm not a female hip-hoptronica artist with fab style and a new baby, but a girl can dream), I've been to that white girl paradise (and my native land) Switzerland skiing the Alps and shoveling chocolate and cheese in my mouth for the past week. While I enjoyed my time in the old country (what's not to love about neutrality and pocket knives), in the process I also endured the white girl tragedy known as travel in the modern world.

Once upon a time travel was chic. Airlines were exclusive clubs in the sky where the drinks flowed and one could sit back and enjoy a shitty movie without judgement.

Alas those days (and those cute flight attendant outfits) are long gone. Replacing them: long lines, cramped cabins, and full body pat downs from husky gender ambiguous TSA officials.

Case in point, my return flight to JFK. After an unholy wait at to check in I had a mere 15 minutes to shop duty free with my remaining Francs, which was barely enough time to discern whether YSL's Touche Eclat was really worth buying (coincidentally it is, and had I more time to shop I would be sporting it right now). Then came time to board, but before I could do so I had to endure a full body pat down and glares of judgement when my purse was searched revealing a hefty stash of birth control and Ambien (to aid in my jet leg recovery). Now I'm no expert, but I sincerely doubt that anyone on the flight was planning a terrorist attack, and moreover I think that any plotter worth his salt could easily evade such measures. Then came the flight, where I was mercilessly pushed into a tiny seat next to a washed up actor who wanted to vent about the trials of long distance relationships. When subtle disinterestedness didn't dissuade his diatribes I tried to fake falling asleep, but being the good citizen he was Law & Order extra "woke me up" and treated me to another four hours of middle-aged, pasty drama.

The bottom line: this white girl is done with the hostile skies for now and encourages others to do the same. Now I need to drag my ever-expanding white girl ass to the gym and try to burn off some of that fondue and start the new year off right this time.

WGT: DVD Dysfunction

Imagine the scene: You arrive home after a harrowing experience at Blockbuster* where the clerks were distracted and a giant bucket of yet-to-be-popped popcorn fell onto your foot from its very sturdy perch on the wire shelves lining the cash registers. You are feeling slightly harassed after all of these inconveniences, and you're ready to settle in to catch up on your very favorite, pseudo-intellectual television drama: Mad Men (please see: http://stuffwhitepeoplelike.com/2009/03/11/123-mad-men/).

You pop in the DVD, snuggle up on the couch under your new cashmere throw (Thanks, Santa, for spoiling yet another white girl this holiday season), and hit play. Ahh, bliss. Pure, mindless (but still intellectually stimulating!) fun.

But wait...why is Don Draper's mouth moving slower than his words? And why are Peggy's awkward bangs frozen on the screen? What the...??

OH NO. Either the DVD is broken or your DVD player is broken, but something is wrong and there are jagged lines and frozen beehive hairdos all over your t.v. screen. And because you are a white girl about to graduate from four years at an overpriced small liberal arts school and thus have no marketable OR practical skills, you do not know what to do in the case of technological malfunction. And now you'll have to resort to watching Season 2 on your new Macbook Pro. White Girl Tragedy.

*Who even goes to Blockbuster anymore, right? I know. Just use your imagination.

WGT: NYC

Dear Friends,

I apologize for the lack of postage, but alas I am in NYC, trying to create something out of my white girl tragedy. Wish me luck...

This is what I look like when I am in NYC

Love,

WGT

WGT: Send us your stories

Dear Fellow Protaganists,

If you have a gut-wrenching story of white girl plight. SEND that shit in.

Email tragicwhitegirl@gmail.com

WGT: The Recession

White girls are just not spending as much on clothing to the horror of Hollister... white girl tragedy.

Check out the article and cry white girl tears.
NYT

WGTriumph: A variation on the theme, a respite from tragedy.

Like Paul, I also attempted to partake in some post-xmas shopping yesterday, though I was headed not for JCrew, but for my all-time favorite shopping destination: The Salvation Army.

The trip started out without incident; I feverishly browsed the overstuffed racks, coated my hands in decades of gray dirt from the hangers (one of which snapped into two pieces as I tried in vain to detach it from the rack of clothes--a day in the hazardous life of a thrift-store shopper, I tell you), and eventually made my way to the counter to purchase my armload of goodies. I even got my favorite cashier--a young girl who doesn't speak much English and absolutely always charges me less than I expected to pay. (Why? I have no idea, but I don't ask questions...and I couldn't, anyway, because I am not conversational in Vietnamese.)

Yesterday was a day like every other; two dresses, two sweaters, and two skirts rang up for a grand total of $16.32. Pleased as punch, I left the store with my haul.

When I arrived home, however, I found that one of the dresses I had just purchased--my favorite one, a little blue silky dress with a sweet, Little Women-meets-Little House on the Prairie round collar, was missing from my bag! I looked everywhere,
but it was nowhere to be found--not in my bag, not in my sister's bag, not in my car--HORRORS! So, naturally, I drove back to the store to find it and, naturally (because it is a Salvation Army), the people working there had no idea what I was talking about or where the dress may have gone. They did offer me another discarded dress, however, that was also blue but happened to be approximately size 400 and covered with racing stripes. Luckily, I raced to the dress rack just in time to see an aged hipster picking it up and walking away with it. I cornered her by the children's t-shirts and very nicely explained the situation to her and, perhaps in a fit of holiday spirit or simple kindness, she gave it to me! SUCCESS! TRIUMPHANT WHITE GIRL SUCCESS!