finalement, la mode

I finally found a good place to take outfit pictures. I'd been doing them in the hallway by the bathroom door - decidedly less than picturesque. Of course, now that I've discovered said wonderful picture-taking spot, there are dudes working directly outside my window and I feel very odd running back and forth from the spot to my camera, setting the timer and then scurrying back to pose. Ah, well.

This is what I wore on Friday the 13th to get supplies for Valentine's dinner. Actually, I just ended up buying booze (ingredients for kir royale - yum!) and didn't end up following through on the elaborate dinner I was going to make. Instead, we drank kir royale and had a simple creamy pasta.

Abrupt change of subject: I like that I've finally found a place to take outfit photos but I feel like this blog might actually take a turn in a different direction. I'm only working part time at a cafe right now and I really need to find a job but with this recession looming over all our heads, the job market is looking icy and forbidding. I might start documenting my job search (hopefully in a funny/sarcastic way rather than a sad/depressing way). Would that be too boring? Should I do this on a separate blog, or would you like to hear my plaintive cries of, "But I have a degree... why aren't I employed?"?

Let me know what you think!

New Direction

Image courtesy of postsecret.blogspot.com

I'm lost. Or, I have been lost. I've come to the endpoint of seventeen years of schooling and found that I'm still poor, still directionless and still scared - just like I was before I graduated with my degree. Today, a very no-nonsense person in my life told me to snap out of it. Just snap out of it. My first thought was, "Well, it's easier said than done." But that's cowardice. And I've always been brave. Like, weird brave. Example: when I was in high school, I was not cool. I was skinny and knobby but not in the right places and I had crushes on boys who were way out of my league in the social hierarchy of secondary school. But at every dance, without fail, I was able to muster the courage to ask the boy I liked to dance. And they always said yes. I'm not entirely sure why, but I'd like to think it was my confidence. I was fearless. I went for what I wanted. Sure, the next Monday I was just as tongue-tied as ever but I would smile to myself, remembering my bravery.

So it's like that, but bigger now. I've got the boy, now I need to get the life. I'm a writer. I didn't realize it until this morning, when that wonderful, sweet, no-nonsense person told me to get off my fucking ass and make it happen. Her words, not mine. And it's funny, because my friends have been describing me as a writer for years: "Oh yeah, my friend Serena is a writer." Really? I thought, is that really what I am? Yes. Yes. So I'll try and maybe I'll fail but who the fuck cares? I can be a professor or a receptionist or an entrepreneur any old time, but I want to be a writer now.

I guess the point of this self-indulgent little tirade is that this blog may become less about fashion and more about whatever I feel like writing about. I'm going to be self-indulgent, but I'm also going to kick my own ass and stop shying away from my biggest talent and passion just because I'm afraid. Fuck that.

Tirade over.

And for my second act of self-indulgence, I put up this secret from Postsecret. So. True. Ha!