In my lifetime I've discovered a few different types of gypsies. There's the ones that try to force you to pity them on the streets of Paris by pretending they're deaf and dragging around eight small children and an infant, begging for money. Then there's people like Nirrimi Hakanson and her boyfriend/lover (not quite sure what the nature of their relationship is...they have a child, so yeah) Matt, who literally travel the world without a home. Then there's the ones that look like pirates and steal things and party all night in little clans--these types probably existed at one point but I'm still a little skeptical. Don't think that any of this carries any real weight; I honestly know nothing about gypsies. Based off my very minimal knowledge of them, I decided that yesterday I felt a bit like one in the pants I wore. They were loose and made of linen, so therefore I was emulating a wandering traveler (?). I mean, I'm also claiming that I wore stilts when in fact on my feet were merely three inch (tops, maybe even two and a half inches) platform shoes. Maybe I blew things a little out of proportion. <--That's funny because I should be studying for a math exam (math, proportions...geddit?) that I have to take tomorrow and instead I'm writing this post. Oops.
Since I do have finals that kind of determine a good portion of my grades for this year, I will keep it short, sweet, and to the point.
That was the point.
In other news, I saw Isabella Rossellini on the street last week and I almost died. We made eye contact for a split second: I looked utterly terrified for a moment, and then it was over. My mom and I locked eyes and simultaneously freaked out. I frantically called all of my friends and of course, no one had any idea who she is. COME ON, GUYS. Remember this article I wrote a few weeks ago? ...No? Solid.
Before I go entirely off-topic, let me show you some pictures I took of my outfit from yesterday. I changed locations! As in I went to a different part of my hallway.
Photos by me.
Tank top: Naf Naf Paris (c'est français!)
Linen pants: Cut Loose via my grandma
Cardigan: By Design via my mom
Platforms: Dansko via my grandma
My grandma gave me these pants a while ago and I never knew how to wear them. Then when she told me I could have these beautiful and ridicky comfortable clogs...I still had no idea what to do with the pants. Then it sort of hit me on Sunday night. Pants + wooden platforms = happiness. Can't I just be tested on math like that instead of the equation of a circle and what the cosine of the elevation of the sun is?
I'll just copy and paste that last sentence into an angry letter that I'll write to the Department of Education.
What have I got behind my back? A baby kitten? A squirrel? Cake?
I'll never tell.
I've got a cold. I got tired. I sat down. I look hella pissed. Come at me.
Jaykay jaykay. We be best friendz.
Step one of the foot-macarena. One maca-two maca-three--
Macarena!
So this is embarrassing. I just looked up the lyrics to "Macarena" and it turns out that "one maca-two maca-three macarena" is not part of the song. It's just Spanish words that I just kind of assumed were dance instructions.
HEYYY MACARENA! (AHAI)
(Now come on, what was I supposed to do? He was out of town and his two friends were soooo fine...)
C'est tout! I'm done! Peace out! I'm mega sorry for the long gaps between posts but you know how this test taking business is. It really drains all the juice out o' ya. This juice box is 26% full.
How is it only Tuesday. That's not a question, it is a complaint.
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