Friday, September 30, 2011
I know what you're thinking, and no, this is not a mirage. This is in fact a (kind of) outfit post. I wore this to take a midterm. I know this isn't really a traditional lets-go-write-two-essays kind of outfit, but I went with it anyway. I was actually really nervous to take this exam. I'd spent the majority of two days typing up notes (that may or may not have suppose to be done over the course of a couple weeks.) but even doing terms and review questions I didn't feel very prepared. It was probably because it wasn't just a here's-50-multiple-choice-questions-make-an-educated-guess midterm. It was like a go-buy-a-blue-book-from-the-bookstore-cause-you're-going-to-spend-an-hour-writing-and-hating-your-life-and-probably-thinking-about-other-things.
So why wouldn't I wear a mini skirt and cowboy boots? Look good, feel good, right? And if nothing else, I wanted to at least look cute during my panic attack. I mean, what if it got so bad paramedics had to be called in? C'mon, I can't be around paramedics not lookin' my best.
So I got to class, and I sat down and I read the questions and immediately was like...
My mind went blank. Every lecture I had sat in, every note I had taken, every review question I had answered... went right out of my little ombre'd head. I sat there for a minute, and slowly pieces started to form in my brain like Mike TV on WonkaVision. Then it happened, I started to word vomit out of my pen, and within 45 minutes I had two essays under my belt. I only had to wipe my clamy hands on my skirt about 57 times. But as soon as I turned in my test I couldn't get out of class fast enough. You know when you have a weight lifted off of you and suddenly you have this sense of relief that makes you feel like you could do anything? That's what I felt like walking out. Walking to my car, a couple of pre-teen boys skating in the quad asked me how my day was. I said, "Great! How's yours?" because I work in retail and I know how to answer that question. Then I continued to walk to my car feeling like a million bucks, thinking to myself, "I probably should have asked where those kids' parents were..."
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
(Gussy, Melissa, Me, Maegan)
On Sunday, my sister and I attended Blog Sugar, a faith-based blogging conference. My sister had talked me into going months ago, even though I was a little hesitant. I'm really glad I went though. I got to hear really amazing speakers like Laura, Heather, and Julie and Jeannette. It really opened my eyes to a lot of things. This conference wasn't about how to increase your readership, or gain sponsors or monetize your blog. It was about how to give your blog it's full potential, and using it for good. One thing I kept hearing a lot during the course of the conference was "your story." How to write "your story" and how to share "your story." My sister and I were talking on the way home and I told her, "You know, I kept hearing people talking about writing 'your story' on your blog, but I feel like I've already done that. I've already written about my anxiety and I've written about my skin cancer. I don't know what else I'd have to share." and then my sister said, "but that's still your story. You're still living with that." and it made me think-- because she's right.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Saturday was the live style off round for the Project Style contest I was in. It was held at my local mall and hosted by Nick Verreos. How our mall managed that, I will never know. It was such a fun event. They first brought the 3 other contestants and me on stage and chatted a little about our style and whatnot.
I had no idea what to say. I hate having to describe what my style is, since I'm not even really sure myself. I should have said "bi-polar" because it's always changing and I love so many different types of styles that I can't settle on just one.
After that, they let us loose in the mall with $200 gift cards to pick out a complete outfit within an hour. Talk about stress. I had gone to the mall a couple days before hand to try to scout out my plan of attack like a war general, but I ended up leaving even more unsure with what kind of look I wanted to go for. It's sort of like when someone asks you, "What's your favorite movie?" and your mind goes completely blank and you can't think of any movie you watched in the past ever. That was how this was for me. It was like my mind turned into an lolcat saying, "clothez, wut iz they?" and completely forgot how to dress myself. I told myself, "do not go into Forever 21. Do NOT go into Forever 21." as I headed straight into Forever 21.
It's not that I don't like Forever 21, because I do. I have plenty of clothes from there, but I felt like it was just the obvious choice. But I panicked and just started grabbing stuff. For some reason I really wanted to wear a chunky scarf because I thought it was totally fall-ish, and I wanted to wear ankle boots. Then I blacked out and woke up on stage wearing this outfit.
Just kidding, I didn't black out, but this is what I ended up picking out. As I got back to the stage and saw the look of sheer disappointment on my family's faces when they saw what I picked out, I knew I dun goofed. Don't get me wrong, I love this outfit. It's me and it's completely what I would wear, but in hindsight, it's probably not an outfit that's going to win a "trendsetting" contest, yaknowwhaddimean? Let's watch as I try to explain my ensemble:
Yeah. If you want to win a contest solely on an outfit, you probably shouldn't describe it as "basic" or "casual" or "not too over-the-top" which I said three times. I described my outfit as plain and boring three. different. times. Here, watch it again at a different angle:
I could have just spent my gift card on a wet blanket and it would have matched the description I gave my outfit. Of course, hindsight is always 20/20 and you can spend hours thinking of things you should have said or should have picked out instead (which I have. for hours.) But this is still an outfit I'd wear, so I ain't even trippin'. I think if anything, this made me realize how simple my style actually is.
Let me stop here to tell you how much this contest made me feel like a secret agent. First, I was on a mission, and that mission was timed. It was me against the clock. and second, we had to come back wearing our new outfit. They let us loose and let us fend for ourselves to find somewhere to change. So where did I change? I changed in a Macy's dressing room. I didn't even buy anything from Macy's, how did I even end up there? and it was the dressing room on the second floor. I went to the most out of the way place to change. I went full retard. And then, if that wasn't bad enough, I started thinking how suspicious it would look if I just walked into a fitting room with bags of clothes. So naturally I picked something off a random rack and slyly slipped into the dressing room. It wasn't even a dressing room with an attendant that passes out numbers or unlocks a room for you. It was a self-service dressing room that I brought a pair of pants into, that probably weren't even my size, that I had no intentions of trying on.
So I start to walk into the handicap room because it's the biggest, but then I thought that would be bad karma in case someone who really was handicapped came in and couldn't use it because I was Clark Kenting it up in there. So I start going through my bags, which are the loudest bags ever, by the way. They might as well have bagged my stuff in a biodegradable Sun Chips bag so I could have drawn even more attention to the fact I was suspiciously rummaging through bags in a dressing room. So I start ripping off tags and realized my boots were joined together by an elastic band. And I had no sharp objects. You know how they say with enough adrenaline you could lift a car? Well, apparently with enough adrenaline you can rip apart an elastic band with your own bare hands.
So I get changed and I walk out (making sure to ditch the pants on the "they didn't work out" rack) and it's kind of the most badass feeling walking out in a completely different outfit than what you went in wearing. I felt like I was 007 in a pullover sweater. Then I made my way back to the contest, where I lost. Hard. Like, bottom 2 hard.
But honestly, I wasn't even bummed. It was a lot of fun, and I was so excited to have just made it that far. I mean, c'mon I got to walk a runway and hang out with Nick Verreos? I think I'm the one that made out in this deal. So thank you all who voted for me in the semi-finals to get me that far. This opportunity was everything. And just as a thank you, I will treat you with Nick Verreos' uh-mazing runway walk.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Okay, so it's not too different, but I did get bangs! I kind of love having it a bit darker (ahem, my natural color). And I have to admit I'm a little excited to be able to hide my unkempt eyebrows when I don't feel like waxing them. The little things, right?
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Saturday, September 3, 2011
"Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.
Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.
She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.
Buy her another cup of coffee.
Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.
It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.
She has to give it a shot somehow.
Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.
Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.
Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilightseries.
If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.
You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.
You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.
Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.
Or better yet, date a girl who writes.”
— Rosemarie Urquico