VARNISHED JEANS

SO NOW that "I'm back", RESURRECTED from the NYC dead. Yes, NEW YORK CITY can devour your tiny Midwestern soul, digest you, and simultaneously spit you back out with a self esteem the size of a peanut. Maybe a BIG PEANUT, but nonetheless, a peanut.

BUT THAT'S OKAY. You've got to toughen up. That being said, I'm hoping to change a bit about this blog. Make it a little more blog-ie. BLOGGIE. More writing, since I do enjoy it. And obviously more fashion photos and the whole bit. Probably more Cinemagramms. I think those are cool. Something I don't see anyone really doing on fashion blogs. Sure people are doing .gifs, but these are mini movies, really.

So let me tell you a little bit about the things that have been going on with me. I have been working A LOT. I've been trying to find better, more interesting and focused work that really has to do with what I want. Something that won't prevent me from being creative as well. I officially moved to BROOKLYN; went back to MICHIGAN, packed all my stuff, and rode the OHIO TURNPIKE, 'round the mountains of PENNSYLVANIA and through two tunnels in a massive truck back to BROOKLYN. With my DOG of course!

I went to FASHION'S NIGHT OUT in SOHO which was an absolute disaster and I'm almost positive I may never do it again. Let's just say it was WALL to WALL people, and barely enjoyable except for THIS: My friends and I stumbled down a side street to a small MARC JACOBS store that were giving out free samples of JACOBS' new perfume DOT, the street littered with several VW 'BUGS' all imprinted in RED and BLACK DOTS to celebrate. Whilst grabbing a sample (I should have grabbed more because really there were almost no people around), I made my way into the showroom, barely able to hold my jaw to my face, my drool in my mouth. THE CLOTHES. THE COLLECTION. I DIED.

I mean, I quite literally started tearing up as I ran my fingers across the baroque patterned skirts, the fuzzy hats that I "famously" called PIMP HATS. If this is what living in NEW YORK can bring, then it's worth the smell of feces that forcea its way up your nostrils with every step you take.

I think I was floating through the store, it certainly felt like it. I floated all the way to the shoe section and lifted into the air as if I were lifting Cinderella's glass slipper, the jeweled pilgrim heel. I DIED, AGAIN, and while I was dying I heard the peep of a small gay guy say "You would look great in those shoes, they are so you. You should get them." OH, IF ONLY. Although I'm not sure if the jeweled buckle is all my style, but who cares! After that nothing of much interest happened, except we found a small boutique that still had free alcohol and food and we spent the rest of the night there amongst NEW YORK'S FINEST OLDIES BUT GOODIES, who mistook me for a professor. Awesome.

During NYFW I was also invited to a rooftop party at the EMPIRE HOTEL, most notable for it's reoccurring roll on GOSSIP GIRL as CHUCK BASS' only business venture. This party was slated to happen last Wednesday night to celebrate a new brand of vodka. I got all dolled up in my best BLOG WEAR and tried to defy typical TRAIN delays, but naturally every train was either A. leaving when I got there, or B. running slower than one can possible imagine, ALMOST like they were moving backwards. Of course this made me perspire to ungodly degrees, and pushed my patience to the limit of basically screaming at everyone. Once I finally made it to the EMPIRE, I was met with a 'THE PRIVATE EVENT IS CLOSED, EVEN IF YOU WERE ON THE LIST'. I decided to ride the elevator to the roof with my date anyway. I snapped this picture while trying to reel in my emotions about being denied to a party that I was INVITED TO:

SEE THAT? EMPIRE HOTEL SIGN IN THE BACKGROUND.

I sulked all the way back to the street despite a nice gentleman telling me at the elevators, "There will be other parties." Thank you nice gentleman, but really? Will there be other parties for me? Really?

I walked to the nearest park bench and experience my first 'cry' in public. I guess everyone goes through their "Oh god, I'm crying in public moment. What am I doing? Ah, fuck who cares. Yep, LOOK AT ME, I'M CRYING IN PUBLIC." I quickly realized how ridiculous I was being, hobbled back to the subway, and never spoke on the subject again until now.

To conclude this tiny recollection of my past interesting run in's in NYC, I hope there will be other parties. And if there are, I will blog about them.

-

R

LAST WEEKEND, ON THE R TRAIN. SEEMS APT THAT I SHOULD RIDE ON THE R.

IT WAS FALL-LIKE WEATHER LAST WEEK HERE IN NEW YORK. MADE FOR SWEATERS. I LOVE SWEATERS.

SEE MY GORGEOUS LOAFERS? $10 AT A THRIFT STORE. MAKES ME FEEL REMINISCENT OF THESE:

I SHOULD TOTALLY GET SOME EMBELLISHED BELT BUCKLES AND ATTACH THEM TO MY HEELED LOAFERS. MY RED HEELED LOAFERS.

DID I MENTION THAT MY FAVORITE COLOR RIGHT NOW IS RED?

DID I MENTION THAT MY JOB IS SWALLOWING ME WHOLE, WITH NO WAY OF LIGHTING A FIRE AND SNEEZING TO LET ME PADDLE OUT IT'S MOUTH?

SO HERE I AM.

I DON'T WANT TO GIVE UP ON WHAT I LOVE BECAUSE I WORK 10 HOUR DAYS AND I'M EXHAUSTED WHEN I COME HOME AND JUST WANT TO THROW MY NOSE IN A BOOK, SLEEP, OR HAVE A CONVERSATION WITH THE ONLY FRIEND I HAVE HERE.

I'M GOING TO MAKE A MORE CONCERTED EFFORT TO KEEP THIS GOING. OR I MIGHT JUST EXPLODE.