Being a female bummer #679: short season.
Why less denim, and no hem would cost more then a finished pair of pants, will NEVER be ok with me.
Thus making your own shorts, makes more sense. Sometimes it works out. Sometimes it doesn’t.
Today it did.
White oversized pants. Scissors. Rubber bands. And silly little dye kit from Michael’s, a well spent $8.99. (you will be overwhelmed by the tie dye aisle CHOICESGALORE). I chose the neon color set that came in squirt bottles, made by s.e.i. According to the box, it had one direction, squirt dye on clothing. SOLD!
I wet the shorts first and decided to rubber band off sections of my shorts to get concentrated color on certain spots, but that was my personal tie dye preference. You, of course, may or may not have differing tie dye preference.
Cause Lord knows, we all just sit around and think what type of tie dying we prefer.
I let it dry for at least a day in the rubber bands. Then cut them off, and let the shorts dry flat for another 24 hours. Popped them in the dryer for 30 minutes, and presto. PARTY TIME.
And now you have a very good excuse to go to the craft store and cruise the tie dye and puff paint aisle. I know you were looking for one…
The TV is tired of watching you.
sweatshirt: Adam Arnold
tank: Brady Lange
shoes: Alexander McQueen for Puma
house coat: Free People
socks: uhhh, Target?
From one home to another home.
Here is some photo sharing (AKA…bragging) from my SPRING BREAK.
(Yes, I am 27 years old and not currently attending school, and will continue to celebrate spring break as if I was 18 on my way to Maimi, I would like to think I am contributing to the economy.)
PDX to SFO, SFO to the BART train, and BART train to coffee.
Show up to little brothers apartment, furnished with a lone sofa, and 7 or so bikes, makes sense…
and WHADDA YA KNOW, we have the same impeccable taste!
And by impeccable, I mean grime time.
(did I mention, my brother is a mind blowing artist)
48 hours later, mama is calling me to come home, so under that stained Market sidewalk, down an escalator, one train ride later, I am whisked off into the East Bay. A scenery in which I took so much for granted my first 17 years. All the orchards, the windmills, the hills, and sycamore was something I looked past, and dreamed of the big buildings, the bustling sidewalks, and cultural diversity.
Spoiled beyond belief, my eyes had a feast of spring. And then as if my heart couldn’t contain one more gushy, lovey, (I think the world is happy) moment, my mom decided to take me and baby sis out wine tasting.
Wente Vineyards is where we found ourselves. Incredible views, outstanding menu, perfect wine, outlandish prices, and gawking galore. Hey now, I did my very best mother dearest, covered my tattoos, minimized excess jewelry tendencies, and left the platforms at home, though I would most certainly not for-go the silver booties…now that is asking WAY too much.
And all of sudden, it is time for the goodbye’s. I leave home with a exploding heart of gratitude and an empty wallet. It never is enough time to see everyone you want to see. But there will be a next time.