I think it's what I've always loved, but for some reason was too scared to really express. I don't know if that makes sense. Like, when I was younger, obviously my parents bought my clothes, and I wasn't that great at shopping. I read Lucky, and Teen Vogue, and would cut out stuff I liked and paste it onto printer paper and make 'inspirations sheets' (aka mood-boards, and now, pinterest), but my style has always been sort of eclectic, and a lot of times my interpretation didn't turn out the way I imagined it, and I'd get frustrated and just end up wearing jeans and t-shirts from ropa, and spending the majority of my shopping budget on nice purses and shoes.
In the past few years, though, my justification for not expressing my love for fashion has been more superficial: I've felt like I'm too fat to deserve to wear nice stuff. I know that's kind of ridiculous, but it's true. I justified it all sorts of ways, mostly by claiming it was a tactic to save money (which, if you know about my addiction to Marc Jacobs sunglasses, you would know is not in my character.) Now, of course, I realize that I've had it all backwards; wearing nice things at any size is what gives you confidence, because feeling like you look good really does make a huge difference. Of course I would figure that out after losing weight, and while on a shopping strike. Oh well...I guess the up side to it is that I don't have too many things that I'll be conflicted about having to get rid of, or worry about altering.
What really sucks, though, is that while I feel like I have finally identified my personal style, and come into my own, so to speak, I can't do anything about it at the moment, because I am still losing weight rather consistently, and should continue to do so for the next 8 - 10 months (ideally), so I don't need to spend money on really nice stuff that I won't be able to wear for very long. (Sunglasses don't count. Those will fit forever.)
Well, on a completely different note, do you like how I talked about things being weird, and the next few months being...unpredictable, and then proceeded to post nearly every day and not mention any of that again? Haha! Well, the two Situations are still looming, but the unpleasant one turned out to be a little less unpleasant than we first thought, and the second is still exciting, and still in the works, but...well, there's really nothing we can do about either of them now...other than cut back on our spending. Which we're bad at. Really bad at.
One thing you should never do, apparently, is type 'Marc Jacobs' into the search box on pinterest...because you will, inevitably, buy something. And even if it's on sale, it's still
Sorry, I think my dogs disgusting fart muddled my brain for a minute there.
Since Aaron was here the past few days, him and Josh have been joined at the hip so I've been doing my own thing (when I wasn't cooking food for two humans that can really put it away!), which has mostly consisted of dumping a lot of junk from my childhood, and designating even more stuff to be donated. I did, however, manage to pack away all my winter boots (ironic, since we're under a winter weather/ice accumulation advisory over the next couple of days) and vacuum approximately 2 square feet of my bedroom. It's progress. I did a lot of laundry and a lot of dishes, so don't judge me!
When I was in high school, I would let people write on my pants. It started with one boy (duhh) who drew a skull (♥) and then, in an effort to disguise my insanely obvious favoritism, I had to let other people write/draw too. And then it became my trademark, and everyone had to write on me. (I would like to say it never got weird, but it kind of did, and I kind of liked it.) Well, the point of all this is that I found the one pair of pants that managed to survive, and am conflicted on what to do with them. I'm pretty sure no one out there wants a pair of pants that says 'This leg belongs to Fred" on the back left thigh, or "I CRAP PURPLE!" in purple sharpie...on the butt. And yet I can't bring myself to throw them away...they're so much more valuable to me than the normal stuff like yearbooks or even pictures. I think I'm keeping them. Ugh. Now I just need to figure out how to fold them up tiny enough to fit into my memory box.
Ever since I opened up and talked about my past, I've slept better, and not had any more weird dreams about where I grew up. I'm glad I got it all off my chest; it really was about time, I guess. It's amazing how immediate the reaction was. Two weeks ago thinking about that place would have made me angry, scared, and probably given me an anxiety attack, but today I am indifferent; it's there, I know some people there, but it's just a place; it can't hurt me, it never could, and I am not defined by it.
Wow, it's almost 5 am. That really snuck up on me. I should probably get some sleep.