Sorry for just creeping up on you like this. I didn't even give you any warning that FIT was starting, nor did I (probably) tell you that I was attending classes there this summer. Welp, I am! Ta da! I'm taking a course on how to make pants and shorts that fit perfectly. As of this very moment, my goal is to make a pair of khaki chinos made out of a denim-like cotton. They will be, as you say, the bomb. But for right now, I still have to learn how I will accomplish such a fantastic feat. I assure you they shall be purrrfect.
Keeping with tradition, it was the first day of FIT and I was late. Classiq me. You know how I do, y'all! I guess I'm unconsciously channeling my inner Raven Symone. We've all got one, don't deny it. I digress. I'm not really feeling the whole let-me-tell-you-about-every-single-second-of-my-class-and-remain-oblivious-to-the-fact-that-you-are-dead-because-my-boring-words-slew-you thing tonight, so I will summarize. And we all know how well that turned out last year.
As I previously stated, I was delayed because of train traffic ahead of us, please be patient, we apologize for any inconvenience, thank you. I finally entered a room with around twenty girls and a professor slightly reminiscent of my freshman English teacher, in the best of all possible ways, for those of you who just had a small heart attack. Basically, she talked. A lot. And we took notes. Sound familiar, fellow 4th period English buddiez? Luckily she spoke of things of the wonderful variety, so my brain was swelling with the happy kind of knowledge. The little boy inside my head was just shoveling the proverbial spaghetti-here-functioning-as-information into his mouth. I learned about the importance of the grain being parallel to the selvage, and observed a remarkably good chalk drawing demonstration of weaving. The last forty-five minutes of class were spent going around the room discussing our dreams and aspirations...and where we go to high school and our age and our name. All of the unimportant facts that strangers have some fascination with. I kid. Just joshin' ya. Funny story, I had a pre-K teacher named Joshua and I always thought when someone said that they were joshing me, Josh was going to come out of no where and say "trick or treat" and pull my leg. It was a package deal, you see.
Before you call an insane asylum hotline and try to get me locked up, I'll just show you the pictures, okay? IF YOU SEND ME TO THE LOONY BIN THE WALLS WILL TURN INTO SPONGEBOB AND START LAUGHING AT ME. WE CAN'T LET THIS HAPPEN.
Photos by me, myself, and I. Quick note: my tripod is now named 'myself' and my remote is hereby named 'I.' This will make things much more fun.
Dress: divya, thrifted then promptly discarded by my sister and given to me
Clogs: Dansko via da granmuddah
The perfect dress. Printed, long, unflattering, comfortable, pointy-breasted. Just how I like 'em. Oh yeah, I got a hurrcut. Snippity boppity boo, the back of my head is buzzed, too.
I wanted to give you a little sneak peek of my funky as hayl sunburn on my back from lying on da beaches of Coronado during midday. The sun and I have this symbiotic relationship where she burns the shiznits out of my skin and then it fades into a tan. Frankly, I'd rather stay pale to the point where I turn green in the winter; I couldn't sleep on my back for a week. Correction: I slept on my back for a week anyway and had dreams about fire and sandpaper and evil small children. It all makes sense now.
And then I got antsy so I started dancing.
Rings (left to right): Venice Beach, grandma, grandma (this is becoming dangerously close to version of duck-duck-goose)
Peep the intense bags forming under my eyes. When you set your air conditioner to "energy saver," just know that this translates to "the setting where the machine turns off for approximately four hours, comes on for thirty seconds to wake you up and let you know it's not doing its job, rinse, repeat."
What would you do without my angry face staring you down while you sit at your computer and eat ice cream?
I went to a yoga class today, and I needed to do some tree pose.
Fortunately for me, the heels on these shoes dug right into my leg.
I'd like to take this time to give a shout-out to my reader Sally, whom I met today at Green Tomato while purchasing my lunch. It was great: I was about to step on line when this girl standing near me goes, "Hey, this might be creepy, but are you Odelia Kaly?" and I was like, "Yeah, that's me," and she was all, "I read your blog all the time and I love it," and I was like, "That's so not creepy! I love creepy!" which was simply not the right thing to say. I believe my intentions were understood. My readers and I are on the same brain wavelength. I see you, Sally. Hollah atchu! (Bless you! ...#sneezingjokes)
This one's for good measure. I was caught a bit off guard but I thought it was too much of a gem not to add in fo' yo' entertainment.
Tomorrow I'm off to the Met after class with ma homeboy gurl Octavia, aka 'Tavia when my mouth gets lazy, to see the Prada-Schiaparelli exhibit at the Costume Institute. It's gonna be dope with a capital D-O-P. DOPe.
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