I KNOW.
I'm such an enormous tool.

I pull the blog equivalent of a one-night-stand morning-after Walk Of Shame- bolting out the door without so much as a Post-It stuck to the refrigerator- and now here I am begging forgiveness? Well, any women's magazine will tell you that if a man ever does this to you, you must knee him swiftly in the "downstairs department", as my aunt would call it, and move on. But, please, do not kick me away because I'm a bad, negligent blogger! Blog-wise, I'm sitting in the back of the trailer in a wifebeater T-shirt sipping a beer and belching while I watch dog shows on TV; THAT'S how much of a Deadbeat Dad blogger I am.
But now I'm back! From outer space! I just walked in to find you here with that sad look upon your face, I should have changed that stupid lock, I should have...NO. Look, this is not supposed to be about me singing Gloria Gaynor.
I have returned, and although I really can't say my posts will be at all frequent- I'm sorry, I really hate to postpone blogging and I promise I'll try to use downtime to concoct some good old-fashioned crazy just like Momma used to make, but I'm just so busy these days with extracurriculars, work and the like that I think most of my blogs would go along the lines of "FNAAARGH FIFTEEN THINGS TO DO FOR TOMORROW IT'S FOUR A.M. AND NOW I REALLY NEED TO GET DOWN TO BUSINESS OH LOOK THE SUN IS RISING HOW PRETTY I THINK A BIRD JUST FLEW BY...ZZZZZZZZZ". Honestly, my study schedule has basically comprised of drinking three iced coffees per day, staying up all night to do work and ending up out on my fire escape at sunrise with glazed-over eyes cramming candy corn into my mouth and watching The Office on my laptop.
To make up for two months of NO posts, I am going to write The Longest Post That Ever Happened In The History Of The World So Help Me God.
THINGS I AM ABSOLUTELY FREAKING LOVING THAT I REALLY HOPE SOME OF YOU CRAZY COOL CATS OUT THERE ARE LOVING TOO (AND YEAH I DID JUST SAY CRAZY COOL CATS. MY BRAIN ISN'T LIKE THE NORMAL PEOPLES' BRAINS.)
*In no particular order
*Not tested on animals
*Asterisks are kind of fun to look at, aren't they?

1. The Met.

You know, that big building with all the art inside it with all the hipsters smoking on the steps?
I've never been a rabid museum fan- in fact, my family and I do this thing we've invented called Culture On The Run, in which we spend as little time as possible within a museum, absorbing just enough to make us feel cultured and give us good fodder for pretentious chitchat ("Oh, yes, I just caught that marvelous Dan Flavin installation...so brilliantly minimalist, yes?") and then quickly retire to the nearest cafe/gift shop. It's pretty awesome. But I'm starting to discover that actually wandering around inside a museum for an hour or three is amazing as well. I went recently to do research for an art history project and ended up spending the day there, wandering from the Art of the Near East wing to the famous, gargantuan Damien Hirst shark (and, seriously, am I the only one who, upon seeing this piece, immediately sings in their head, "It's my shark in a box!"? Just me? Really? Okay) to Lichtenstein's Stepping Out, an insanely cool piece which I had to sketch as an assignment for my class. I wrote bad poetry and people-watched by the faux river in the Egyptian room, sprawled on the floor of the modern art wing for hours sketching (badly, but still) until my butt went numb, and felt incredibly smug and intelligent writing down observations about the reliefs of the Palace of Ashurnasirpal (and by "writing down observations", I mean "doodling my name surrounded by little flowers in the margins of my art history notebook"). Museums- not only do they allow you to walk around with a sense of entitlement and arrogantly undeserving intelligence for days after you visit them, it turns out they're actually kind of cool. Who knew?

2. Feist.

Drum roll, please. I am about to let you all in on a little secret that ABSOLUTELY NOBODY EVER KNEW UNTIL JUST NOW.
Ahem...
Feist.
Is.
Fantastic.

I KNOW! GROUNDBREAKING OBSERVATION! Nobody's EVER thought of that before right now, right?
Right?
Sea lion woman
She drink coffee
Sea lion woman
She drink tea
And a rooster crows

Don't ask why that song thrills me so much, but it really does.

3. My fantastic hand-me-down vintage D&G plaid shoulder bag.

I am IN MAD PASSIONATE LOVE WITH THIS BAG. Words can't even express it. Suffice it to say that each morning I wake up, look at it sitting pretty on my desk chair, and think "Today, D&G Shoulder Bag, I will go out into the world and try to make you proud." A little odd that I'm answering to a plaid bag? Perhaps. After all, it does say in Harry Potter, the Bible of us nerds (who may or may not have freakishly resembled Harry Potter in third grade, right down to the round glasses), that you shouldn't take orders from anything if you can't see where it keeps its brain. But this inanimate object is telling me to be the best that I can be, and also to wear my purple turtleneck sweater-dress with funky tights and boots and The Bag itself for as long as the weather permits me to. And I am A-OK with those instructions, cap'n. Besides, half the time I can't even see where I keep my brain.
Oh, and The Bag is exponentially cuter in person.
Notice how I'm standing, like "Yeah, I was just chilling casually against this bathroom wall here with my fabulous bag next to some towels and light fixtures...OH MY GOODNESS GRACIOUS IS THAT A CAMERA?"

4. Tuco and Blondie jewelry.
I believe we have already discussed my profound affinity for tacky jewelry, yes? So is it any surprise that I favor necklaces with tiny moon boots, old people, gums and toothpaste tubes hanging off of them? And oh, the earrings! PHWOARRR. I need to own all of these, STAT.

5. Cadbury Creme Eggs.

I'm pretty sure the baby Jesus made these to lead me into temptation. They are the Delilah to my Samson, the snake to my Eve, the...delicious creme-filled chocolate egg to my chocolate-egg loving taste buds.
So I ran out of steam there on the metaphors.
My POINT is, on my trip to the beautiful London a couple of years ago, I lived on these shits. They made my trip. No, really, they did. I remember furtively packing a Buick-sized carton of delicious creme treats away in my bag, looking over both shoulders as if the Fatty Police was going to come and cuff me right then and there for Crimes against Cellulite. They're just...so good. Too sweet for some, but perfect for moi.
Anyway, I got back to NYC, quaffed my carton of eggs, and then...a long, tedious egg-free dry spell happened. Just recently, however, my mother paid a visit to la belle Londres and promised to bring me back some. However, she came bearing gifts (hello, fabulous Topshop blouse! How I needed you...) and bad news...apparently the eggs have been DISCONTINUED? I am still not sure if this is true (i.e. I am in denial). I'm hoping maybe some Cadbury eggs will make an appearance here in the U.S. of A. this Easter, but until then, any lovely British friends who may be reading this, have the good grace and decency not to tell me if my beloved eggs are no more.
Here we have the brilliant BJ Novak, a man after my own heart, debating a worrisome shrink in the size of Cadbury eggs...which brings us to...
6. The Office

I've always loved The Office in a sort of noncommittal way- I'd watch an episode here and there, you know, nothing major. But lately I've signed over at least a couple of my heart's chambers to the brilliance that is The Office. I know this season's been kind of a letdown so far (even at its worst, though, The Office is still better than 90% of everything else on TV in my opinion), but I hope the return of the half-hour episode will help. That said, this show is absolutely genius. There's really nothing else I can say, because there's TOO MUCH GOOD. Okay, I'll just say this. Fashion show! Fashion show! Fashion show at lunch!

There ain't no party like a Scranton party, 'cause a Scranton party don't stop.
Oh, and much like my esteemed colleague Maddy, I LOVE John Krasinski. Watch this show and see why. By the way, can we all be in agreement that a certain movie we'll call...Schmisence to Schmed with a certain young actress we'll call...Candy Floor, never happened? Great. Thanks.

7. This pretty, pretty underwear set.
I believe it was the ancient Latin philosophers who said "Wear-us every day a set-us of expensiv-us underwear-us and thee shall conquer the minotaurs and defeat the three-pronged beasties of the sea".
Was it not?
Seriously, though, I think if every woman in the world was allowed to own this extremely funky neon blue boy-shorts-and-bra set, there would be so many less cases of seething ex-wives running their ex-husbands' mistresses down in their pickup trucks and stuff. Women would probably just exchange friendly handshakes and be like, "Hey, win some, lose some. Put 'er there, pardner. Now let's go cure cancer."
Well, maybe the underwear isn't quite that healing. But still.
By the way, the boy shorts are actually called "lady pants," which for some reason has made me laugh madly for the past five minutes. God, I am four years old.
But...lady pants! Hee!
8. Vynl.
If you live on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, or even just frequent it for Sunday brunch, you know that from approximately eleven to two on weekends all the chic little cafes and family-style diners around the tree-lined 70s become screaming masses of writhing children and beleaguered parents, punctured by bumper-to-bumper stroller traffic. Not exactly a peaceful environment. Last weekend, after walking from restaurant to restaurant in futile pursuit of a calm environment, my friends and I finally stumbled across Vynl. We had our doubts, at first, but it turned out to be the coolest place. Everything is sparkly and lava-lampified, my menu had Duran Duran on it and our waiter looked like Mick Jagger. In short; eat here. Now. Do it now. Now. Now. You won't be sorry. Oh, and get the milkshake. It's otherworldly.
9. My sparkly shoes!
These don't look that fabulous in the picture (perhaps it's the proximity to the towel?) but I assure you, they are quite mesmerizing. They're so beautifully sparkly that I can't stop staring at them- yesterday I wore them to school and became so entranced by the glittering of my own feet that I almost plowed down a tour group of prospective students. Oops. If you don't own a pair of glittery shoes, you should really invest in them tout suite.
10. HEE!!! I found this little picture when I Googled "raspberry beret." I don't really think any more needs to be said. Sometimes, God bless it, the funny just takes care of itself.
11. Arrested Development.
It's as Ann as the nose on Plain's face...this show is pure, unadulterated genius. I still fly into sporadic rages over the fact that it never got the acclaims it deserved. Honestly, much like "Little Miss Sunshine," this show hits a little close to home re. my insane family. It's PERFECT. I'm even in a Facebook group called "Addicted to Quoting Lines from Arrested Development." Then again, I am also in a Facebook group called "Steak is KICK ASS." But, come on...steak is pretty kick ass. And I bet you never even stopped to think about it, did you?
12. Regina Spektor.
Is it getting predictable and weird yet that I mention her in every post? Probably, huh? I DON'T CARE. She played at the Hammerstein Ballroom this month. AND I MISSED IT. Anger. Much anger.
I've taken to doodling the lyrics to her songs when I'm bored in class, and you know what? The lady is a real poet.

SIGHTINGS- This girl at my school who always turns up in fantastic outfits was wearing a funky silky blue dress, brown leather Frye cowboy boots and blue knee socks today. It sounds ugly, but it was startlingly cool. Needless to say, I will now be hero-worshipping said girl for the rest of the year. Also, I've been seeing a lot more fabulosity and atrocity since I started taking the subway more. Good- girl in a knit bright yellow minidress with mustard-colored tights and fawn-colored suede boots. Okay, that sounds bad too- maybe because in no conceivable way, shape or form can the word "mustard" carry positive connotations- but it was stunningly cool. Bad- girl of ten or so in a rhinestone-encrusted miniskirt with a "Little Princess" tee and black leggings with sneakers. Any parents reading this; the fight against leggings starts at home. I realize that when you are a kid you can wear what you want and be footloose and fancy-free and frolic in the meadows wearing footless tights and such, but lines have to be drawn somewhere. OH, and speaking of Footloose...which we were, kind of...I TOTALLY SAW KEVIN BACON AND KYRA SEDGWICK ON THE STREET.
'Twas awesome. I was too afraid of annoying them to go up to them (God forbid), but it was still cool.

CURRENT ATTIRE- Simply enormous sweatpants. SO COMFORTABLE. Can't even imagine changing back into real pants anytime in the near future. They're so large that they actually act as slippers; they blanket my feet. Red Old Navy tank top. High ponytail. Tired. So tired.

XOXOXO,
Emma (notice how I didn't say Gossip Girl, because that would be toolish? But I wanted to. God, that show is like some mystifying television version of Peruvian cocaine that's been smuggled into the country and intermittently foisted upon us sweet unsuspecting viewers. It is ABSOLUTELY ADDICTIVE. And it's on in, like, two hours). Adieu pour le moment, sweet readers!

I went to Barneys Co-Op today.
Perhaps that sentence evokes images of a perfect, waif-like Park Avenue princess striding regally through the store, tossing buttery-soft silk and cashmere and leather into her obedient whipping-boy Franz's arms whilst the sales staff groveled at the very sight of her and fought each other to be the one who got to bring her an ice cold bottle of Evian and a bag of mixed nuts.
Heh, mixed nuts.

Anyway, you could not be farther off.
I slink in wearing my extremely conspicuous bright yellow thrift-shop trench coat (but I was also wearing my one nice pair of Wolford tights, and I wanted to scream "LOOK! I'M WEARING EXPENSIVE TIGHTS! BE NICE TO ME!" at the employees so they would stop evil-eyeing me) and try to avoid the suspicious eagle eyes of the fabulous salespeople (why are all Barneys employees cool? How do you become cool enough to work at Barneys? Is there a tutorial class? Can I enroll?) whilst covertly fondling expensive fabrics and imagining my alter ego, Amme (It's Emma backwards. But surely you got that) swathed in the stunning gowns and absurdly cute minidresses and shiny patent stilettos, being adored by pasty yet intimidatingly cool male Gucci models. Like him.
I spend a few minutes stroking sumptuous, stunning stuff (do I win the alliteration prize? And can the prize be one of these things?) like this Marc Jacobs lace dress which should totally have a passionate, raunchy affair with these vintage Frye boots (not from Barneys... they hail from Mirror Mirror vintage), and it would be a total Baby-and-Johnny,
upper-class-Marc-Jacobs-minidress-and-vintage-tough-bad-ass-Frye-Boots-from-the-
other-side-of-the-tracks secret-lovers kind of romance, and the dress's father (or in this case, Marc Jacobs, the dress's designer) could disapprove and the boots would get fired but would show up at the end-of-year dance and say to Marc Jacobs, "Nobody puts Dress in a corner" and then they would dance together to "(I've Had) The Time Of My Life" and it would be really hot and amazing and...I may not be mentally stable. If any psych majors are reading this, tell me- is it psychologically questionable to personify a dress and boots into the main characters from Dirty Dancing? It may be that the dress and boots together would be less adorable and more insufferable, pretentious Mischa-Barton-esque hipster, but...LET ME BELIEVE IN LOVE. I HAVE TO BELIEVE IN LOVE. ThisDVF pencil skirt frankly makes me want to grovel and suck up to the wearer (or in this case, the mannequin) like a Gretchen Weiners. "You know a year ago she told me I couldn't wear DVF pencil skirts anymore? She said DVF pencil skirts were HER thing? So, for Hannukah, my parents got me this really expensive DVF pencil skirt, and I had to pretend like I didn't even LIKE it, and...it was so sad!"
However, on a more painful note, this 3.1 Phillip Lim double-breasted coat goes for a hefty $645. This is completely and totally reasonable. After all, it's not like this exact flannel shirt (perhaps minus the kicky little belt-bow thing) has been hanging in my grandfather's closet since 1972.If there is one thing my long and painful bout with the Lanz nightgowns I used to favor as a young girl during my "I am Anne of Green Gables" delusion taught me, it is that you can't sex up flannel. And correct me if I am right, but haven't these Marc Jacobs jelly flats happened every year for about four years? Isn't it time for them to QUIETLY SLINK AWAY TO THE ISLAND OF LOST FLATS THAT WOULD HARDLY FLATTER ANYONE WHOSE LEGS DID NOT APPROXIMATE THE WIDTH OF COCKTAIL STIRRERS, BECAUSE, COME ON, THEY'RE WEE LITTLE SEE-THROUGH SHOES AND THE WHOLE WEE-LITTLE-SEE-THROUGH-ANYTHING THING SHOULD REALLY BE COMING TO AN ABRUPT HALT BY NOW?
So, after I'd viewed all that Barneys had to offer and become increasingly more and more depressed about the barren state of both my closet and my wallet, I slunk out of the store and drowned my sorrows in a) gelato and b) online shopping.
Although my alter ego, Amme, was still happily swaddling herself in $500-a-yard fabrics and feasting on Russian caviar (while retaining her perfect figure), I decided to say "Screw you, Amme!" by showing you all these little gems which are both fairly affordable and will make you look cool enough to earn an approving smile from the demons at the Jeans Bar at Barneys (no offense to any Barneys workers reading this. It's not you, it's me- I'm a jealous shrew who envies your perfection and employee discount. Can we be friends? No, really, can we?)
First, from the fabulous Suzabelle...
Good googa mooga, that is a hot little sweater. The crotchety, cat-having, eyeglasses-wearing, young-whippersnapper-hating English teacher inside me loves a good cardigan.
I love it. I don't own it. As Liz Lemon would say, "Blergh." Blergh indeed, Liz. Blergh indeed. P.S. Still searching for ONE BLOGGER WHO WATCHES 30 Rock. Come on, out with it. SOMEBODY? ANYBODY?
Do you even KNOW how good this georgette top would look with that DVF pencil skirt? Or slim black pants? Or scrub pants, for God's sake? Okay, so it's not quite that versatile. But if I had this shirt, my reputation as "that girl who has bits of food on her shirt and falls asleep in public places" would be instantly replaced with "that incredibly classy, gorgeous girl with the perfect hair who is always alert and awake in public and never drops her obscenely messy tote and screams expletives whilst scrambling around on all fours trying to get all her stuff off the street on Madison Avenue".
I got the pleasure of seeing this dress in the flesh at Le Frock in Seattle, and was going to buy it (it is, to date, the only satin/silk garment that hasn't given me an extra phantom ass) until I realized I wouldn't wear it as much as the tunic top I DID end up buying. Still, whenever I look at the picture I kick myself in the shin. Which is painful. Maybe someone will leave it on my doorstep in a wicker basket with an adorable little baby blanket and a note saying "Take Care of Me". You know, like in the BSC book where the baby turns up on Abby's doorstep and it turns out it's, like, her long-lost cousin. Not that I remember anything about the Babysitters' Club books. I'll just say this- Claudia Kishi is my cult goddess. Did anybody out there NOT want to be her?
I lust after this dress like every heterosexual male in the world apparently lusts after the girl from Fantastic Four. Even though her head is disproportionate to her body. But whatever. Hey, dress? Call me sometime. Maybe, you know, if you're not busy, we can get a beer. Or something (wiggles eyebrows suggestively).
God, waist-belts are flattering. Not the huge tacky shiny Pussycat Doll ones from Mandee's (I've christened them "the anti-chastity belt), but cute ones which emphasize your cleav, downplay your stomach and make your legs look thinner in proportion. I feel like the belt on this stunning swing dress would serve all 3 of those purposes. Plus, me likey the color. Midnight blue. Rawrrr. You know what shoes would look hot with this dress? These Miu Mius. I feel like a footwear pimp.
Now, this could go either way. It could be either your diabetic Aunt Edna who thinks men and women should ride on separate city buses and gives you the evil eye when you turn up at her house in- horror of horrors!- a TANK TOP, or it could be a painfully cool and stunning Parisian outfit that you wear on a rainy Sunday to visit art galleries solo, because you're that cool and aloof, while men throughout the city fall in love with you. Let's all hope for the latter.
Meanwhile, over at Popgloss...
When I find a gray vintage "scooter dress" online for $13, I do a little dance of joy in my computer chair. Especially since the model actually looks happy, and not like she's having sewing needles jammed into her cornea.
Can you think of any occasion in which these shoes would be declasse or inappropriate? Okay, maybe. But my God, I want them anyway. I would wear them with my vintage black BCBG dress and the dark purple belt I got at a thrift store for $2.
This is supposedly called a pill bottle dress, which I find perplexing, but not enough so that I stop imagining myself wearing it with various stunning shoes. It is entirely possible that it could make the wearer resemble a poorly upholstered sofa, or, indeed, a duvet cover (because who hasn't had the horrible experience of being stuck with that ugly couch/duvet cover/armchair that is utterly without charm and makes the entire room it inhabits look like a holding cell, yet is shamefully comfortable/a valued family heirloom and therefore Not To Be Removed/too cumbersome to drag out the door? And so it lives on and on in your house, slowly sucking out the appeal of every piece of furniture you subsequently buy). But I like to look at it anyway.
God, I love cute tote bags. They cost nothing, they hold everything, and when you own one you can legitimately excuse carrying around four different hardcover books, three dog-eared copies of Elle, an instruction manual for an espresso maker you don't own, assorted beads, sparkly things, dots of glitter and shards of glass (ow), multiple pairs of "just-in-case" socks, a random green flip-flop, the receipt for everything you've ever bought, enough business cards to build a new Space Needle out of paper, random Chinese food takeout menus, wind-up toys, assorted Jelly Belly beans, a burned CD of "Begin To Hope" in case you are in a place where you need to hear Regina Spektor and there happens to be a CD player lying around, and the odd spoon or two, because hey, you've got the room.
A bag shaped like a telephone! A RED telephone! This excites me in a way that only a girl who has 9384923843 bottles of red nail polish, more red lipsticks than any woman should ever own, red socks, red miniskirts, red hair pins, red chopsticks, red coffee mugs and, as a child, watched The Red Balloon over and over in a trance could ever be excited.

Popgloss.com is pretty much the niftiest little website ever. And when I use the word "nifty", you know I mean it. You can find anything from Christian Louboutin pumps to hats made of Lego. Visit it RIGHT NOW. I found this little Chloe dress on the site, and the part of me that's longing to wear my hair in braids and listen to Joni Mitchell is saying, "Save up for it! You know you want to!" as well as this Vivienne Westwood sweater- very the '80s meets Sonia Rykiel in Paris. What a pretentious sentence. But it's true.
But the number-one expensive item I would sell my internal organs for are these Miu Miu patent pumps. I saw a pair in a much more attractive dark swirly black-red shade and literally spent a full half hour looking at them. Then I searched for the shoes in that exact shade for TWO full hours online, but alas, it was in vain. I really, truly think I would be a better person with these shoes on my feet. And I'm not just saying that. So if some wealthy millionaire is reading this with his bifocal, stroking his Monopoly-guy mustache and saying "Hmmm, I need to get rid of $415", well, you know who to make the check out to. I promise I'll start doing charity work. Or something. "Hmm," he thinks, "I must reward Emma for her mediocre behavior with a fantastically expensive pair of shoes. And perhaps a Jacuzzi filled with hundred-dollar-bills and Crunchie bars. And a diamond pony. And Paul Rudd with a gift ribbon tied around his head."
Have you ever had an item in a shop that you fell swiftly in love with and started visiting in the store, murmuring sweet nothings until your friends start to worry that you have actually lost your last tiny shred of sanity because you are making a hajj to a pair of shoes/bag/coat/whatever? Tell Mama all about it. What was the item? Did you ever buy it?

THE MUSIC, TV, & MOVIE CORNER- I went to see Superbad. And I walked out. No, ne me quitte pas...wait. I have no problem with bawdy humor (in fact, I love it- not for nothing am I the only girl I know who watches Reno 911), but it should be just that...humorous. I just got tired of the constant penis jokes, you know? It was like paying twelve dollars to hang out at a frat house. Maybe I'm getting wiser in my old age, I don't know. [REDACTED- SUPERBAD IS THE BEST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED]. Anyway, the only other movie I could sneak into was Stardust, which is so not my thing, but I liked it. Sort of. Jeez, I want to look like Michelle Pfeiffer when I am Of A Certain Age, even though she does spend most of the movie looking decomposed. Am I the only one who was rooting for her to get her youth back throughout the movie? Screw Claire Danes. Why do I like her again? Oh, right, My So-Called Life. Shut up, you watched it too. Some of my fondest memories are renting every episode of this show from Blockbuster when I was nine and feasting on the only good ABC show ever made.
"So how would you describe Anne Frank? " "Lucky." "Is that supposed to be funny, Angela? How on earth could you make a statement like that? Hmm? Anne Frank perished in a concentration camp. Anne Frank is a tragic figure. How could Anne Frank be lucky?" "I don't know. Because she was trapped in an attic for three years with this guy she really liked?" - Angela ( in a bad mood ) & teacher
Wrong. And awesome. Oh yes, they went there.
I just discovered Kate Nash. She's kind of Lily Allen 2.0. Well, I don't really want to decide which one's better. But I like Kate a lot. This is one of her few songs that I actually love, but the video is lovely.

Tila Tequila should be killed. I mean, if she ever is, I didn't do it. But God, she makes the skin under my fingernails itch.

SIGHTINGS- Conan O'Brien's taffeta boxer shorts, is it hot in NYC right now. Accordingly, the people are dressing somewhat skimpily, which sometimes works (girl in Sheep Meadow wearing airy little blue cotton minidress, assorted vintage-looking bracelets, and white espadrilles which I coveted) and sometimes, well, doesn't (woman at Island Burgers and Shakes in tiny gold tank top and white vinyl micromini with clunky black gladiator shoes, I'm talkin' to you). I, myself, need some good suggestions for places to buy really cheap and cute tights. I will be switching to a new and uniform-free school this upcoming school year, and I plan to debut the Tights-And-Dresses-And-Boots thing to celebrate my freedom from itchy wool kilts.

CURRENT ATTIRE- Purple cap-sleeved top from Buffalo Exchange in Seattle, darker-purple belt cinching it at the waist, short black vintage BCBG skirt, violet tights (actually...they're LEGGINGS. I was so pissed when I bought them at Urban Outfitters and despite the fact that they said "Low Rise TIGHTS" on the front, they had no feet, meaning that I can only wear them with boots from now on. Hence, my need for a new tights shop) and black suede boots. It's actually cool enough outside to wear this outfit. And I love it.

Auf Wiedersehen
<3

P.S. Do we likey the new header?
P.P.S. Where the hell did Touche19 go?