Shit. So I finally succumbed to all those pretty ads in the back of the Voice and Onion and went into American Apparel. The one off of Court Street. Yeah, *that* one, where kids are nonchalantly buying gold lame booty shorts for their date next week at Galapagos. Oh to be part of that world!
Actually the guys working there were the funniest part: i felt like they were cast, not hired. Like the disenchanted, cynical guy with the poofy jew fro and the ironic headband that kept asking me if I had any breathe mints and related a story about how he used to be homeless and would come in to work solely to use his employee discount to buy underwear. And then the dopey-puppy "pretty boy" who kept dropping hints about how his ad was on a billboard in Times Square right now. He also told some completely non-coherent story about how his dad used to beat him on Christmas "until the presents came down the chimney!"
So now I officially know the cause of hipster effeminate douchiness and its just as I imagined. They were all beaten severely as children and developed brain damage and a predilection towards shiny, one-toned clothing.
Yea okay, so I guess Im not totally immune. I DID end up spending like, 120 dollars on one outfit (but the seperate pieces work with everything!)
First up was the 34 dollar t-shirt
And it looks REALLY cute under this cranberry jumper!
Followed by the AA (haha, it has the same acronym as alcoholic anonymous) staple: shiny leggings!
But the real piece de resistance was my evergreen sleeveless hoodie!
Does it serve a purpose? NO! But it looks kickass, and all together I think I manage to pull off looking rather neat without resembling a box of crayons or a Canadian porn ad.
Okay, so after ALL this, Im with my friend Chris Harris and we are going to this Voice opening party for Ladies of Ubiquita which promised free sushi and well vodka but delivered neither. So we went to this gay bar Eastern Bloc, and had two-4-one beer and well drinks. I ended up drinking more than expected and by the time we made it to Chris' place in Queens where his upstairs neighbors were having a mosh party, I was sloshed enough to be simultaneously debating politics and trying to find a good place to vomit.
Apparently, the place I found was my leggings. Which honestly, I think I should be payed for doing- doesn't that seem like a really great direction for those semi-porn ads to go for? Like "Aldonza is OD'ing on smack in our Lame Halter Bodysuit and Unisex Solid Knee High Tube Socks."
I woke around three am and watched Oldboy with Chris, then passed out again and dreamed of ants.
I must be lonely.