....Let me start off by saying that all those things I told you to worry about might not necessarily have been a problem when I went away last weekend - but hey, how could I have known?
Well, lovelies, I had a pretty good time. So good that I was sincerely sad when we had to leave. Not that I expected not to be sad (I don't think I've ever been anywhere I was glad to leave from, so either my standards are really low or my vacations really good), but again, am I a future teller? As much as I didn't know about that, I didn't know that the city we've been to is an island (it feels so much cooler to go to an island, more exotic, than - not to go to an island, I guess), or that we'd live in a street where all houses were made out of bricks and full of small boutiques, one of them being in our building (could there be anything more suiting for me), or that there would be a big farmer's market in the central square every day (small town people have so much celebration stamina it's amazing), or that we'd go out to eat in this fancy historical restaurant with chairs in the powder room and then walk home in the freezing cold and write stupid things on sidewalks with chalk (don't even ask, I feel juveline already). However, those things turned out to be some of the best parts - there's a reason I like to be surprised.
A surprise of the bad kind, though, was the fact that I had to sprint through a museum they had mischievously constructed like a labyrinth so you may never find your way to the restroom twice and later run past the lovely powder room chairs repeatedly during the meal, irritating the staff and probably my company, although both parties were too polite to bring it up. Just marvelous. You might think there's no stigma around the topic of UTIs, but I have personally created one just for myself so I feel as bad as I would were I to have chlamydia WHICH I DON'T. Do I sound overreacting? I MIGHT AS WELL BE.
Let's change the topic to make me feel better about myself. Right now I'm unpacking my suitcase (only a week after I packed it, good score for me) and it takes SO much longer than randomly throwing in stuff, it's already annoying me. And I only took out two pieces.
Anyways, I proudly present to you Hoodies From Hell, the newest installment in our daily fashion school dramedy soap. Let's not be too dramatizing here (seriously, who am I trying to kid). However, I need to explain my general problem with hoodies to you. I bought the first black hoodie of my life when my English Lit class went on a field trip to Scotland and we all traveled in uniform. Our printed-on motto was "You can't repeat the past, old sport", which I actually found pretty witty ('cause Gatsby), and my friends and I sewed little Edinburgh themed patches on them. Still, as much as I - well, loved would be a strong expression, but let's say I'm fond of that sweater, and I've never worn it again. The second hoodie I bought was to match my whole grad class and it has our graduation motto (which was so bad I'm not telling you) as well as every single name of every single person I ever went to school with on it and that, my friends, is not something you want. Not at all. The best part about it was that on the day we were supposed to stand on our school's rooftop together and tearfully (and for the mostpart, hungover) wave our goodbyes, I wasn't even there. In fact, I was in the city applying to fashion college instead of wearing a stupid black sweater along with a ton of people I don't like who were doing the same. Looking at it from that angle, I might have even made the right decision that day! Oh well. Worth a try.
See, apart from the obvious - the fact that a black hoodie is in no way conform to my idea of a good look (or any look at all) and I do not care to spend money on clothing that I already know I'll never, ever in my life wear again, especially not if the word "hell" is printed on it, ruining it forever just like my former classmates' names -, those things are warm. Way too warm to be worn on the inside. I actually get a bit claustrophobic in them, somewhat menopausal. Why would I want to test that phase of my life I already dread right now, voluntarily?
The answer is, I wouldn't want that. So, when some of my current school peers suggested that we all buy a black hoodie and print our magazine's title "hell", on it in a gothic font and wear it for the editorial shoot, I flinched. I exchanged glances with another girl who didn't look quite ready to run out to the Dollar Store and get one, too. We said "Let's discuss it with the whole group", hoping that the absent ones are totally against that plan and help us outvote it. "It might be too expensive for some", we said, perfectly aware that there might be really, really cheap black hoodies out there. We're grabbing straws here, lovelies. Uniting forces. "But we're also wearing them at the magazine launch", said one of the hoodie supporters. "We are?", I gasped. WE ARE?
I guess I won't be making an effort to bond these days, either. Cause I'm definitely not wearing something I get hot, eg frizzy haired in, to a magazine launch. That's the final drawstring.
Love,
Rosy Smith
Well, lovelies, I had a pretty good time. So good that I was sincerely sad when we had to leave. Not that I expected not to be sad (I don't think I've ever been anywhere I was glad to leave from, so either my standards are really low or my vacations really good), but again, am I a future teller? As much as I didn't know about that, I didn't know that the city we've been to is an island (it feels so much cooler to go to an island, more exotic, than - not to go to an island, I guess), or that we'd live in a street where all houses were made out of bricks and full of small boutiques, one of them being in our building (could there be anything more suiting for me), or that there would be a big farmer's market in the central square every day (small town people have so much celebration stamina it's amazing), or that we'd go out to eat in this fancy historical restaurant with chairs in the powder room and then walk home in the freezing cold and write stupid things on sidewalks with chalk (don't even ask, I feel juveline already). However, those things turned out to be some of the best parts - there's a reason I like to be surprised.
A surprise of the bad kind, though, was the fact that I had to sprint through a museum they had mischievously constructed like a labyrinth so you may never find your way to the restroom twice and later run past the lovely powder room chairs repeatedly during the meal, irritating the staff and probably my company, although both parties were too polite to bring it up. Just marvelous. You might think there's no stigma around the topic of UTIs, but I have personally created one just for myself so I feel as bad as I would were I to have chlamydia WHICH I DON'T. Do I sound overreacting? I MIGHT AS WELL BE.
Let's change the topic to make me feel better about myself. Right now I'm unpacking my suitcase (only a week after I packed it, good score for me) and it takes SO much longer than randomly throwing in stuff, it's already annoying me. And I only took out two pieces.
Anyways, I proudly present to you Hoodies From Hell, the newest installment in our daily fashion school dramedy soap. Let's not be too dramatizing here (seriously, who am I trying to kid). However, I need to explain my general problem with hoodies to you. I bought the first black hoodie of my life when my English Lit class went on a field trip to Scotland and we all traveled in uniform. Our printed-on motto was "You can't repeat the past, old sport", which I actually found pretty witty ('cause Gatsby), and my friends and I sewed little Edinburgh themed patches on them. Still, as much as I - well, loved would be a strong expression, but let's say I'm fond of that sweater, and I've never worn it again. The second hoodie I bought was to match my whole grad class and it has our graduation motto (which was so bad I'm not telling you) as well as every single name of every single person I ever went to school with on it and that, my friends, is not something you want. Not at all. The best part about it was that on the day we were supposed to stand on our school's rooftop together and tearfully (and for the mostpart, hungover) wave our goodbyes, I wasn't even there. In fact, I was in the city applying to fashion college instead of wearing a stupid black sweater along with a ton of people I don't like who were doing the same. Looking at it from that angle, I might have even made the right decision that day! Oh well. Worth a try.
See, apart from the obvious - the fact that a black hoodie is in no way conform to my idea of a good look (or any look at all) and I do not care to spend money on clothing that I already know I'll never, ever in my life wear again, especially not if the word "hell" is printed on it, ruining it forever just like my former classmates' names -, those things are warm. Way too warm to be worn on the inside. I actually get a bit claustrophobic in them, somewhat menopausal. Why would I want to test that phase of my life I already dread right now, voluntarily?
The answer is, I wouldn't want that. So, when some of my current school peers suggested that we all buy a black hoodie and print our magazine's title "hell", on it in a gothic font and wear it for the editorial shoot, I flinched. I exchanged glances with another girl who didn't look quite ready to run out to the Dollar Store and get one, too. We said "Let's discuss it with the whole group", hoping that the absent ones are totally against that plan and help us outvote it. "It might be too expensive for some", we said, perfectly aware that there might be really, really cheap black hoodies out there. We're grabbing straws here, lovelies. Uniting forces. "But we're also wearing them at the magazine launch", said one of the hoodie supporters. "We are?", I gasped. WE ARE?
I guess I won't be making an effort to bond these days, either. Cause I'm definitely not wearing something I get hot, eg frizzy haired in, to a magazine launch. That's the final drawstring.
Love,
Rosy Smith
