I am a teenage girl who wants a bag for school.
I looooove Vera Bradley, and I want some input of which bag I should get and in what color. The colors in the pictures are the ones on the website, I didn’t choose them!
And if you have any other bag suggestions, I’d love to hear them!
Thanks!
1. Reversible Tote
http://www.verabradley.com/product/Category/Handbags/Reversible-Tote/154998/defaultColor/Paprika/pc/638/p/154998/sc/641/c/0.uts
2.Hipster
http://www.verabradley.com/product/Category/Handbags/Hipster/154815/defaultColor/Sittin%27%20in%20a%20Tree/pc/638/p/154815/sc/641/c/0.uts
3.Morgan
http://www.verabradley.com/product/Category/Handbags/Morgan/154811/defaultColor/Purple%20Punch/pc/638/p/154811/sc/641/c/0.uts
If you don’t like them, then PLEASE suggest something else!

and also its right under the bags under my eyes like right under and how do i get rid of it?? PLease need fast ansers 5-10 minutes

Well,I want to buy a handbag as gift for my friend’s birthday.She is a fashionable girl and love LV very much.
I don’t know which handbag should I buy for her?
http://www.luxury007.com/louis-vuitton/women/handbags/fashion-show-collections/gypsy-gm-m40362.html

the second one

http://www.luxury007.com/louis-vuitton/women/handbags/shoulder-bags-and-totes/saumur-m42256.html

help me to choose one,pls~!~

I found these cute purses at Belk today. I don’t know who they’re by though, so I can look for them on the internet. They come in a bunch of different colors. Like gold, purples, blue, etc. They have little chunky charms coming off of them, like on the zipper. It looked like the hobo style, but I wasn’t sure. They had a metal crown pendant on the front, and it had the name Kathy on it. Anyone know who makes it and what kind it is?

Okay…I have a supposed Gucci mini-handbag…don’t know if it’s true. I mean I received it like 10yrs, it has a metal band on the purse that has Gucci, Made In Italy, and then inside it has a leather flap that is sewed on the top side that has the Gucci sign on it…and it says Italy also. The stitching is done very well, says a friend of mine who stiches alot, and overall the presentation is done well. It is a pastel purple minihandbag, and it has of course the Gucci insignia stitching on the bag also. I mean I still question if it’s real…since it doesn’t have a metal emblem on the zipper…but I looked at vintage wallets of Gucci,and their zippers don’t have a metal emblem either. So now I question if I have a gucci or not. Plus…I wanna know how much I should sell it for. Please help. T^T

Harajuku lovers or Ed Hardy!:)

A heap of fashion magazines on her nightstand and a purple and white dress, strapless and down to her knees, thrown messily on her emaciated, pale, but rather strong-looking frame, Melody Johnston, standing before a large mirror, scrutinising each angle of her body, realised it was not quite right, something was not correct. It’s not enough, she thought to herself, sliding the dress off her body and throwing it on her unmade bed, on top of the numerous other discarded outfits she had tried on. It seemed as though nothing she owned was right, everything had a flaw or two, all her clothes were either too loose or too tight, too colourful or too dark, too revealing or too conservative. What was she going to wear?

She glanced at her closet and realised there was nothing left, for she had tried everything on, and disliked it all; she would need a new outfit. She had never been a social butterfly, one of those girls who, caked in makeup, carrying purses and wearing high-heeled shoes, were worshipped by everyone at school. For the first time in her life, however, she had been invited to a party and, after years and years of rejection, nights of tear-stained cheeks and hugging her pillow, she felt as though it was time to make them all pay; she wanted to arrive at her first party dressed like a Countess, looking elegantly simple, not overdressed, not over-the-not, but not too conservative, either; she would have to find the perfect outfit, the right one.

She ran down a set of wooden stairs and walked into the kitchen, smelling a soft odour of sweet pastry slowly cooking, and seeing her aunt, Cheryl, standing before a flour-covered counter, preparing another pie.
‘‘Cheryl,’’ She said, ‘‘You need to take me to the mall. I need a new outfit for my party. It will be starting in about three hours.’’
‘‘I’m rather busy, Mel,’’ Cheryl replied, a rolling pin in her hand.
‘‘Please, Cheryl,’’ the young girl exclaimed.
No reply came, so she undid a button of her blouse, exposing her red brassiere slightly. She noticed Cheryl’s eyes against her chest, and knew she would bring her to the mall, but her aunt stayed silent, not mouthing a single word. Melody grabbed the right cup of her brassiere with her long fingers, pulled it down a bit, and exposed her breast completely; this time, Cheryl accepted and shortly after, they were at the mall, browsing through the many clothes hanging against the walls.

Melody tried many outfits on, tossing them all after; nothing was perfect. Suddenly, a white ruffled blouse caught her attention. She tried it on. It was perfect! Exactly what she was looking for! She now needed a pair of pants or a skirt, so she kept trying on various bottoms, finding them all mediocre and average, until she found the perfect high-waisted black pants, which looked perfect on her, making her body appear somewhat curvy and round; the way, she thought, a woman should be built. She ran out of the cabin and handed the clothes to Cheryl, asking for her to buy them. Her aunt looked at the price and said:
‘‘You should look for something a bit less expensive.’’
‘‘Aunt Cheryl, they are perfect. I need them. I beg of you.’’
Cheryl had always lacked human consideration, but realised she could get a lot out of Melody’s trouble, so she whispered something in her niece’s ear, something about when she would come back from the party, later that night, something which involved Melody getting in Cheryl’s bed. Melody felt a bit uncomfortable, but accepted, as she truly felt as thought these clothes could change her life, earning her more friends and perhaps even a reputation.

She was standing in front of Cara’s door. She was about to enter the party. Of course, having never been the outgoing type, she waited a few seconds before knocking, pulling a small mirror out of her handbag and staring at herself. She had applied a bit of red lipstick and her eyes, a blend of blue and green, were framed by a small amount of eyeliner. I look perfect, she thought to herself. She knocked. A young woman named Cara opened the door and greeted her, smiling in a way, Melody thought, that was quite inappropriate. As Melody walked into the living room, where most girls were wearing t-shirts and jeans, she felt inadequate and as though she could just die.
‘‘Oh, Cara,’’ A girl shouted. ‘‘Is that your mother? Is the party already over?’’
Everyone laughed. Melody turned around and ran out of the house, crying. She had nothing. She had no friends, she was an object of mockery, she was dressed like a middle-age woman, she would always be mocked after that night… She then thought about Cheryl, all washed and perfumed, laying in her bed, waiting for her. At least one person cares for me, Melody thought, walking home, and I shall make this night magical for her.

help! XP

I Started to write a book and have quite a bit written i’m almost finished with the third chapter. Tell me what you guys think good or bad? Would you read it? What could I change/fix/edit? here it is

Chapter 1

With a crackling boom my room flashed with brilliant purple light again. The storm outside continued to toll uncontrollably never seeming to reach a climax. This storm was supposed to be pretty bad; actually it was supposed to be one of the worst thunderstorms in 20 years. So far this storm was like a never requiting reflection of last night, and I could only imagine when it hit its peak. As much as I wished I could climb out onto the roof to experience the true magnitude of the tempest ravaging the neighborhood, I knew this one was going to be deathly. Ironic because I felt like I was dying and the weather had nothing to do with it. Another boom echoed against my empty walls, but it wasn’t the thunder and lightning. The thudding came from the hollow wood of the door. “Emm open the door”, my sister Cara’s cautious voice demanded from the opposite side. I didn’t answer. My door was locked, and I wasn’t going to open it not tonight, not now. Another thud and I looked back at the door my mom had painted blue during the second trimester of her pregnancy. Everyone expected me to be a boy, and so due to some fluke the doctor had made during my ultrasounds the first mistake of my life was my birth. How reassuring is that? One more banging knock and my sisters impatient yelling pulled me out of thought. “Go away, I’m not in the mood”, I replied icily then the knocking ceased as well as the yelling. Although it was completely quiet again, I knew Cara lingered behind the door waiting for me to open it. I never did. A minute passed before I heard her retreating footsteps against the rough manila carpeting.
I turned my attention back to the maniacal beauty of the outside weather. Through the window I could hear the whirling wind whipping the hail and rain around and around in fury, hail the size of golf balls hit everything with menacing booms and bangs, even the rain seemed to hit windows and roofs with a loud sort of pitter patter, and the thunder practically cackled in delight every time the lightning flashed against the moonless black sky. I gazed at the outside world with admiration uninterrupted, and once the house was completely still let silent, pained tears escape my eyes. The storm and I matched; we were both confused, we were both terribly broken.
When I woke up it was still raining and the sky was dreary with the remaining clouds from last night, but the rain was light an obvious sign of the storms resignation. The window creaked in protest when I tried to open it, but that always happened. I climbed from windowsill to the rough roof panels, sat under the shade of a big tree, and wrapped my favorite blanket around my trembling shoulders. There was a small, warm breeze that comforted me as it blew my almond hair in tangles. Everything combined just right to create a perfect day right at the beginning of monsoon season. No one seemed much to disagree either; the neighborhood was blooming with life, everyone outside enjoying the weather. I was hopeful now, hopeful I could get over the tragic events that seemed to hold my sanity captive, and find pleasure from my pain.
“Emmaline” my mother’s voice shrieked.
“What?”
She hesitated, “please come down from there and eat breakfast.”
“Five minutes?”
“No. Now.”
I sighed quietly, but reluctantly rose to my feet, climbed back through the creaking window, unlocked my door, and walked to the kitchen. I looked at my plate for breakfast, mom’s special toasted English muffins with grape jam, scrambled eggs, a strip of bacon, and half a banana. After pouring a glass of orange juice, I sat down and started poking at my eggs. As routine had it my mom walked in a second later with today’s work clothes and her favorite knock-off Gucci handbag. Grabbing her thermos coffee container she told us to be careful and she loved us, only moments later she was gone. Cara and I were alone now.
“What was with the attitude last night?”
“What attitude?”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
I did, “I didn’t have an attitude I just felt like being alone.”
“Why?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“Whatever,” she muttered barely coherent, but gave up. I took the last gulp of orange juice from my cup and threw my dishes in the sink. It was 7 a.m. , there were black puffy rings setting below my eyes from lack of sleep, but I wasn’t tired I couldn’t sleep like Cara if I tried. After all I’ll sleep when I’m dead won’t I? I pulled my cell from under my bed, turned it back on, and sent Claire a text. She won’t wake till noon but I need to talk to her so I can wait. The nerve wrecking silence was screaming at me so I grudgingly pulled my hands to my ears, which of course didn’t help ‘cause it only reinforces the silence. I glanced back at my phone only to find