i am el hombre lobo, on the prowl for a restless night
So, at one point today I opened an e mail from my boyfriend titled, "will you go to prom with me?" that contained a description to dragon con's zombie prom, so of course I e mailed him back saying,
"ALWAYS YES."
And so then I went to go try on my unprom dress that I've been carrying around for years.
I did not go to my high school prom. I had many (five? is that many? it seemed like many at the time) offers of dates, but I was too cool and punkrock for prom, or some bullshit. Also, my boyfriend at the time wouldn't take me, so I was like, "FUCK THIS, we're not dating anymore and I'm going to go four hours away to have SEX with that crazy hot writer guy I've been stalking for the past year. By the way, he would totally take me to prom. Fuck you. Also: I tried to break up with you months ago but you kept on insisting we were still dating. Did I mention: fuck you."
Crazy hot writer guy being current boyfriend (/boyfriend of many years now). So, it was an awesome prom weekend that involved lots of oral sex, and no actual prom.
A couple of years later: I have a crazy hot crazy crazy girlfriend, and I stumble onto a post-prom sale of dresses and there is this stunning hot pink monstrosity for $20.
"Babe," I called her up to say, "We're going to have an unprom."
"...yes?"
"Can you pick up, like, a tea set? I'm bringing a unicorn."
And she accepted this, because this is, more or less, what dating me is like, so she was used to it. Anyway, I had some vague idea about fishnets and doc martens and a photo shoot with stuffed animals or whatever at the time, but we never actually managed picnic+prom dresses at the same time, which was my idea. Unrelated, I took her to our school's Queer Prom, but not in the pink dress. Anyway, so. This was years ago, right, so I bought this dress when I was a crazy anorexic goth girl.
These days, I'm...well. Not. But I've gained a lot of muscle since then and most dresses have some give so SOMEHOW IT'LL WORK OUT, RIGHT? RIGHT?
No. Hilariously no.
So, no idea what to wear to prom now.
ANYONE ON MY FRIENDS LIST WANT A FREE PROM DRESS?
I think "I am a lady, I do lady things" is a meme of some kind, but I honestly don't even know. Because I am uncouth and frequently filthy and curse like a sailor, people like saying this to me. This reminds me: I should probably shower after I run.
Damn. BUT THERE'S NO INTERNET IN THE SHOWER.
Honestly, I am such a child. I get bored in the bath. My boyfriend kept me company and read out of a book while I washed my hair and washed my legs the other day, because I asked him to. SHAVING TAKES FOREVER. This is why I skip it for long periods of time. Political statement, as two people in my life have asked me? No, no. Sorry. I wish I had reasons. I'm just a lazy bastard.
Anyway:
This is what the front of the dress looks like, in the nonzipped up state.
These are my platforms I haven't worn out in forever because I no longer know what to wear them with, that I removed from my closet to get to unprom dress:
but they are beat up as HELL, for, verily, I have partied my face off in them.
This is a lacy skull sundress thing that my boyfriend got for me because he decided it embodied half my closet. I was like, NO NOT ANYMORE IT DOESN'T, and then two seconds later I was undressing to try it on because.
Well.
Yeah.
Also, lacey lowtops. I replaced the laces on those recently, so they're super fly now.
Here is my "I am pretending to be an adult, but with more cleavage" outfit.
That is my infamous ONLY BUTTON UP SHIRT THAT FITS. When I wear it with an undershirt that doesn't have lace trim, it looks less, uh. Less like lingerie?
Note tattoo, peeking in right there. Mmm.
And here are my current favorite shoes. You are going to see so much more of these shoes in this post. I love these shoes. Also, my calves. My calves that are starting to not fit into knee high socks I buy. Or boots. OR ROLLERBLADES I TRIED ON THE OTHER DAY.
Jesus, self, Jesus.
Recently I started changing my running gait, because I had a heel spur that kept me from running for two months. I'm trying to toe strike instead of heel strike, because when I heel strike it's just like WHAM WHAM WHAM WHAM WHAM WHERE IS THE RAMPAGING T REX COMING FROM OH GOD SAVE US. And blah blah, you're supposed to roll your ankle or some bullshit, but that makes no sense to me and I've been running for years now and I run three miles, five to six times a week, and that shit still seems totally fucking impossible. When I do what I think people mean when they say it, I can get, like, ten steps into it and then I grimace and stop because my ankles want to torque off.
So, instead, I'm trying to run without my heels touching down at all. In the short term, this is easy, but for me, after I hit, like, a quarter mile, it hurts like a bitch.
Where?
In my calves. In my already huge calves, which are only getting bigger.
Good thing I have made peace with the fact that I am shaped like the female dwarves in Dungeons and Dragons 4E.
BUT THESE SHOES, OKAY:
I put on muscle very easily, and if I had any discipline to speak of, I definitely have the genetics for being hella muscled. But, you know. Discipline, what is it.
Oh, this was on my tumblr, but this is my sole Marvel shirt. The one that says, "I <3 a man in uniform," and is hilarious because the Hulk isn't in uniform? That one.
The shoes again, and what I think of as either my Velma dress, or my XMFC dress because I feels vaguely 60's, which excites me until I remember that the movie is set in 1962 and that's before hemlines that crept up to our crotches.
Seriously, just. These shoes.
And because I feel like all these dresses give the impression that I am some mildly put together feminine creature, here's a repost:
because honestly most days are TOO BIG T SHIRTS POSSIBLY WITH BATMAN (that is a Joker shirt up there) and, these days, in the summer, the shortest rattiest shorts I can get away with.
Oh, and here's my bitching tattoo and my evil cat, Loki:
Eight months later, the tattoo is still awesome. Best birthday present ever.
Anyway, I'm off to desperately sow things. Probably. Goodnight, internet!
"ALWAYS YES."
And so then I went to go try on my unprom dress that I've been carrying around for years.
I did not go to my high school prom. I had many (five? is that many? it seemed like many at the time) offers of dates, but I was too cool and punkrock for prom, or some bullshit. Also, my boyfriend at the time wouldn't take me, so I was like, "FUCK THIS, we're not dating anymore and I'm going to go four hours away to have SEX with that crazy hot writer guy I've been stalking for the past year. By the way, he would totally take me to prom. Fuck you. Also: I tried to break up with you months ago but you kept on insisting we were still dating. Did I mention: fuck you."
Crazy hot writer guy being current boyfriend (/boyfriend of many years now). So, it was an awesome prom weekend that involved lots of oral sex, and no actual prom.
A couple of years later: I have a crazy hot crazy crazy girlfriend, and I stumble onto a post-prom sale of dresses and there is this stunning hot pink monstrosity for $20.
"Babe," I called her up to say, "We're going to have an unprom."
"...yes?"
"Can you pick up, like, a tea set? I'm bringing a unicorn."
And she accepted this, because this is, more or less, what dating me is like, so she was used to it. Anyway, I had some vague idea about fishnets and doc martens and a photo shoot with stuffed animals or whatever at the time, but we never actually managed picnic+prom dresses at the same time, which was my idea. Unrelated, I took her to our school's Queer Prom, but not in the pink dress. Anyway, so. This was years ago, right, so I bought this dress when I was a crazy anorexic goth girl.
These days, I'm...well. Not. But I've gained a lot of muscle since then and most dresses have some give so SOMEHOW IT'LL WORK OUT, RIGHT? RIGHT?
No. Hilariously no.
So, no idea what to wear to prom now.
ANYONE ON MY FRIENDS LIST WANT A FREE PROM DRESS?
I think "I am a lady, I do lady things" is a meme of some kind, but I honestly don't even know. Because I am uncouth and frequently filthy and curse like a sailor, people like saying this to me. This reminds me: I should probably shower after I run.
Damn. BUT THERE'S NO INTERNET IN THE SHOWER.
Honestly, I am such a child. I get bored in the bath. My boyfriend kept me company and read out of a book while I washed my hair and washed my legs the other day, because I asked him to. SHAVING TAKES FOREVER. This is why I skip it for long periods of time. Political statement, as two people in my life have asked me? No, no. Sorry. I wish I had reasons. I'm just a lazy bastard.
Anyway:
This is what the front of the dress looks like, in the nonzipped up state.
These are my platforms I haven't worn out in forever because I no longer know what to wear them with, that I removed from my closet to get to unprom dress:
but they are beat up as HELL, for, verily, I have partied my face off in them.
This is a lacy skull sundress thing that my boyfriend got for me because he decided it embodied half my closet. I was like, NO NOT ANYMORE IT DOESN'T, and then two seconds later I was undressing to try it on because.
Well.
Yeah.
Also, lacey lowtops. I replaced the laces on those recently, so they're super fly now.
Here is my "I am pretending to be an adult, but with more cleavage" outfit.
That is my infamous ONLY BUTTON UP SHIRT THAT FITS. When I wear it with an undershirt that doesn't have lace trim, it looks less, uh. Less like lingerie?
Note tattoo, peeking in right there. Mmm.
And here are my current favorite shoes. You are going to see so much more of these shoes in this post. I love these shoes. Also, my calves. My calves that are starting to not fit into knee high socks I buy. Or boots. OR ROLLERBLADES I TRIED ON THE OTHER DAY.
Jesus, self, Jesus.
Recently I started changing my running gait, because I had a heel spur that kept me from running for two months. I'm trying to toe strike instead of heel strike, because when I heel strike it's just like WHAM WHAM WHAM WHAM WHAM WHERE IS THE RAMPAGING T REX COMING FROM OH GOD SAVE US. And blah blah, you're supposed to roll your ankle or some bullshit, but that makes no sense to me and I've been running for years now and I run three miles, five to six times a week, and that shit still seems totally fucking impossible. When I do what I think people mean when they say it, I can get, like, ten steps into it and then I grimace and stop because my ankles want to torque off.
So, instead, I'm trying to run without my heels touching down at all. In the short term, this is easy, but for me, after I hit, like, a quarter mile, it hurts like a bitch.
Where?
In my calves. In my already huge calves, which are only getting bigger.
Good thing I have made peace with the fact that I am shaped like the female dwarves in Dungeons and Dragons 4E.
BUT THESE SHOES, OKAY:
I put on muscle very easily, and if I had any discipline to speak of, I definitely have the genetics for being hella muscled. But, you know. Discipline, what is it.
Oh, this was on my tumblr, but this is my sole Marvel shirt. The one that says, "I <3 a man in uniform," and is hilarious because the Hulk isn't in uniform? That one.
The shoes again, and what I think of as either my Velma dress, or my XMFC dress because I feels vaguely 60's, which excites me until I remember that the movie is set in 1962 and that's before hemlines that crept up to our crotches.
Seriously, just. These shoes.
And because I feel like all these dresses give the impression that I am some mildly put together feminine creature, here's a repost:
because honestly most days are TOO BIG T SHIRTS POSSIBLY WITH BATMAN (that is a Joker shirt up there) and, these days, in the summer, the shortest rattiest shorts I can get away with.
Oh, and here's my bitching tattoo and my evil cat, Loki:
Eight months later, the tattoo is still awesome. Best birthday present ever.
Anyway, I'm off to desperately sow things. Probably. Goodnight, internet!