(no subject)
Ugh. What a weekend. Whoever told me that Boston was a wonderful town was full of crap. Maybe it was the intensity of the cold, or the lackluster holiday being celebrated, but I really couldn't find anything to do there.
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On a positive note, thank you all for your interesting comments on my previous post. What can I say? Now that I have a job again, I'm poking about in Maslow's 2nd floor, again, which always makes me feel really uninteresting and worthless.
Maybe I can keep this job long enough to gain some semblance of self-confidence.
--
Amanda, Amanda. I can't wait until you arrive.
--
And I wasn't seeking any particular answer. I didn't even really want any sort of assurance. I was mostly just curious.
--
New job start tomorrow. We'll see where this goes.
With the start of a new job comes the start of a few things. I went out and bought a bunch of new clothes today (I was bothered by the fact that all of my white dress shirts either had stains or were just, not very white). I went through about 6 bloody stores, all in Atlantic Center. I spent too much, but I'm happy with what I found.
--
I was reminded of the reason why I probably won't, nor ever will, be fashionable. I never, as long as I can remember, have enjoyed shopping for clothes. Even though now I do get a mild sense of happiness when I find a pair of pants that fits well, or a shirt that looks nice, I'm mostly bored and just want to get out of there. I wish they had sections of the stores designated to sizes of people so I didn't have to dig through clothes that aren't even close to fitting me (ie. 95% of most stores). Damn my skinny waist (or, perhaps not).
I also hate being short.
I do remember spending hours and hours (or what seemed like it) in Marshall's with my mother finding clothes for school. And I hated it. Totally and completely hated it. I didn't give a flying shit as to what I was wearing. At all. I'm guessing it's because my dad was never there, and I never really had any sort of role model for fashion. I never cared. And I would always be the nerd, the dork, and the person ridiculed. Why bother dolling up a freakshow.
--
Yet again, it all comes down to self-perception.
--
It also wouldn't hurt if my fashionable friends tried to help, rather than mock me. It's all done in jest, but really, I could probably use some help.
--
On a positive note, thank you all for your interesting comments on my previous post. What can I say? Now that I have a job again, I'm poking about in Maslow's 2nd floor, again, which always makes me feel really uninteresting and worthless.
Maybe I can keep this job long enough to gain some semblance of self-confidence.
--
Amanda, Amanda. I can't wait until you arrive.
--
And I wasn't seeking any particular answer. I didn't even really want any sort of assurance. I was mostly just curious.
--
New job start tomorrow. We'll see where this goes.
With the start of a new job comes the start of a few things. I went out and bought a bunch of new clothes today (I was bothered by the fact that all of my white dress shirts either had stains or were just, not very white). I went through about 6 bloody stores, all in Atlantic Center. I spent too much, but I'm happy with what I found.
--
I was reminded of the reason why I probably won't, nor ever will, be fashionable. I never, as long as I can remember, have enjoyed shopping for clothes. Even though now I do get a mild sense of happiness when I find a pair of pants that fits well, or a shirt that looks nice, I'm mostly bored and just want to get out of there. I wish they had sections of the stores designated to sizes of people so I didn't have to dig through clothes that aren't even close to fitting me (ie. 95% of most stores). Damn my skinny waist (or, perhaps not).
I also hate being short.
I do remember spending hours and hours (or what seemed like it) in Marshall's with my mother finding clothes for school. And I hated it. Totally and completely hated it. I didn't give a flying shit as to what I was wearing. At all. I'm guessing it's because my dad was never there, and I never really had any sort of role model for fashion. I never cared. And I would always be the nerd, the dork, and the person ridiculed. Why bother dolling up a freakshow.
--
Yet again, it all comes down to self-perception.
--
It also wouldn't hurt if my fashionable friends tried to help, rather than mock me. It's all done in jest, but really, I could probably use some help.