"You may all go to hell, and I will go to Texas."*

   Hey, you crazies.

   Sorry it’s been so long since my last post.

   I live in Texas y'all.

   I am very hot.

   I have an apartment now.

   And go out a lot.

   That was a poem. Did you get it? Didja?

    Can you keep a secret? I can't. That has nothing to do with my next statement: I’m super in love with this town. I’m so hot most days it’s hard to concentrate or remember my name, but when I’m in my car blasting the AC, and I can focus on life, I find every sight I see highly entertaining if not downright inspiring. 

That's the reading inside at 12:30 a.m. Yikes!

   This post isn’t worth much…just a shout-out to the blogosphere to let y’all know I’m alive.

   Top 5 things I like about Austin so far:

1.  Despite driving in what I’m told is heinous traffic, I can’t help feeling Austin is a paradise compared to LA. Nothing takes more than 30 minutes, and it usually takes a lot less.

2.  Every street looks eclectic and original and bizarre. This is not a town of strip malls and Walmarts, praise Jesus!

3.  Some lady very nicely explained from her car in the lane next to mine today that I was in the wrong lane and about to experience a head-on collision. She offered to let me move in front of her. What? Courteous, kind fellow drivers? What planet am I on?

4.  My new apartment has a balcony overlooking a charming creek. Yay, nature! 

How cute is the GE stove from the 70's? And, as Ouisa pointed out,if it works, I'm one step ahead of my last apartment.

5.  Everyone here dresses fashionably: but not LA fashionably. We’re talking personalized, outrageous, adorable, crazy fashion from vintage to full tattoo sleeves to head-to-toe UT gear. In LA everyone dresses to look thin or importantly chic, here people dress to look unique, different, and like they just don't give a shit. And it’s WONDERFUL. I’ve never seen more beautiful people in one place in my entire life (except of course, at family reunions, duh).

   Honorable Mention: to Louise “Moose” Hopp: Gabe’s kitty has been my go-to companion, whether I’m on the front porch or the back picnic table. She sleeps at the end of the bed and only talks when she has something important to say. She searches out the strange rustling under the backyard steps and keeps me from running in the house screaming because I’m afraid of creatures. Thanks Gabe and Dan and Louise for letting me crash here!

Moose working security on the front porch.

I’ll keep you posted.

*That quote is from Davy Crockett.

"She looks like Bigfoot Appalachain, Lil' Abner Barbie."*

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   I’m fully invested in Project Runway Season 10, though I missed the first handful of episodes. It was the first time in years I wasn’t sitting around in my ‘jammies ready to go on day one, because…I don’t have cable anymore. I don’t not have cable because I’m a lofty, brainy type person (though I am), but because I am a poor, working-class type person.** I would love to have cable. The more channels the better. Leaving home wouldn’t even be an option, and I’d be really, truly entertained always. No friends required. And I could finally stop pretending to enjoy reading.

   ANYWAY, I couldn’t figure out how to watch it and people (I’m looking specifically at my new friend Brett) kept making me feel left out by discussing the new designers and Nina Garcia’s insults and eye rolling and Tim Gunn’s sweet, back-handed insults (that’s the thing of where you tell someone something’s wonderful because you don’t have the heart to say it’s awful). I knew nothing about anything this season, and it was killing me. So I bought all the episodes on Amazon, dedicated a full day to watching, and now I’m all caught up on the show, Tim Gunn, drama, fashion, and so on. 

   See, Project Runway is sort of a game: the outfits come down the runway and I pick the ones I like. And then I wait to see if the judges tell me I'm right. Something can be truly amazing and get utterly shit on, because they always have to have high scores and low scores. But when there aren't enough contestants left, they have to talk smack about good designs so the better ones seem even better. Make sense? Without Project Runway, I wouldn't know what to hate.

   And, since whatever I’m watching at the moment seems to inform almost all of my conversation topics and decision-making processes, I’ve been thinking a lot about clothing design. And, further inspired by an episode in which the designers had to make an outfit for a “Woman on the Go,” I drew a design for an outfit, too.

       This garment speaks for itself. (They always say "garment" on Project Runway. Never "outfit" or "ensemble" or "get up.")

Something you should (I play fast and loose with the term “should”) know about me is this: I really like drawing the bottom half of mermaids. I suck at drawing the top half because my people drawings are atrocious at best. But then I realized that maybe it had more to do with drawing perky, little mermaid boobies in shell bras than drawing people. I didn't grow up drawing boobies in my notebooks the way some people do. And I don’t want to contribute to the oversexed depiction of mermaids you see so much in the media these days. Some mermaids surely wear tank tops or t-shirts at least some of the time. And I’m sure some of them have jobs. So I drew an outfit for a business mermaid on the go. I think young girls should see more of that. You’re welcome, Society!

It occurred to me that it would be difficult for anyone other than a mermaid to model this costume, so I also have an idea for a runway that is basically a huge aquarium. The models swim down the runway. I’m sure Tim Gunn would look confused if I said that to him, but I can just picture Michael Kors stealing my idea for the fall collections this coming Spring. He loves swimwear. 

*Michael Kors waxing poetic about an outfit he didn't like on Project Runway. 

**How about that awkward double negative? I’ve stopped trying to impress anyone other than university admissions essay readers.

"All religion, my friend, is simply evolved out of fraud, fear, greed, imagination, and poetry."*

            I started the Fall season wanting a classic, black blazer and having none. I have since purchased 5, returned two, found one and possess four. I think I have a problem with shopping and, extrapolating from that theory, a problem with greed.

            It should be said, first off, that I never intended to own four black blazers, and I don’t really WANT to own four black blazers, but I kept looking for the perfect one and even after I’d found one that would suffice, I found another that was even better and then I found a third that my highly fashionable sister had discarded in the basement. (She’s got really good taste—even a blog about style choices—and I envy her good taste so much that no matter what she has or wears, I think it’s fashionable and I have to have and wear it, too—even if I end up looking like a fat schlub in it. I mean, she could easily trick me by wearing a vacuum cleaner bag as a hat, because I'd surely be wearing one the next day. And did I mention that she’s four inches taller than I am and about twenty pounds lighter? Sigh. See? I have envy in addition to greed.)

            The same greed can be seen if one happens to look at my shoe collection, which consists largely of boots. The boots are not all the same but there are enough similarities that it seems as though I’m just mindlessly buying boots because they’re there. (But I love them all! I do!)

            But the truth is this: I get an intense, physical high from purchasing clothing or accessories. Clothes are my crack when I'm not smoking crack (kidding, Mom!).

            It’s not all bad. During the holiday season (a time largely devoted to materialism) I get equally excited about buying things for other people. I get a similar high finding something amazing to buy for a family member or friend that I know they’re just going to love (never mind the blinding fury that comes when I feel they don’t appreciate the gift as much as they should).

            But there’s a problem with all this generosity towards others and spoiling of myself: I don’t have a very large disposable income. That word “disposable” is sort of a misnomer—all of my income is disposable. I dispose of it every chance I get. But I really shouldn’t, especially if I plan to do things like pay rent, have running electricity, and eat food.

            And I noticed something else, looking in the closet at my four black blazers—pretty maids all in a row: it’s not as much fun to buy something when you already own a crapload of versions of it.

            In case you’ve gotten the wrong idea, this isn’t a post about giving rather than receiving. I think, if you’ve got the dough, you should give and receive gifts as much and as often as you like in equal measure. Or receive way more gifts way more often, if you want. But I can’t. And so, in honor of one day retiring before I’m 105-years-old (haha! Like I’m going to live that long! Not with all the crack I'm smoking. Kidding!), I’m going to make a concerted effort to put the damn wallet away.

The Christmas spirit in full effect.

            Happy shopping!

*Edgar Allan Poe wrote the quote above.