It’s a whole new year, ladies and gentlemen. This means resolutions, trying new things, being better people, etc, etc. I ended 2014 in great fashion.
Now, when I say great fashion, I do mean great fashion.
But the biggest fashion statement I made was not worn most of the evening. This was a hooded furry bear which once upon my person was somehow called: a coat.
Faux fur is very in right now, which means that there is a very specific list of people wearing fur: people that brought about the faux fur rage, people that always wore faux fur, or people that are jumping on the faux fur train.
I personally bought my fur coat from Forever 21 for 12.90 on clearance, because I planned on using it for a halloween costume that never came to fruition. Which means that I really don’t fall in any of those categories. Thus, I present to you:
The Stages of L.A. on New Year’s in her faux fur coat
1. The self conscious L.A.
I put the fur coat on after staring at all my coats, deciding I couldn’t wear a North Face out on NYE, and remembering we had plans to walk to our destination. Then GoldDust sent me the following:
So, knowing that I wouldn’t be the only one in fur, I put the furry on, hoping I could pull it off.
2. The grateful L.A.
The walk in the cold and windy and snowy weather suddenly made me thrilled that I had put on the fur. Michigan is really cold, guys. Like freezing.
3. The fashionable L.A.
The point at which I felt confident, tipsy, and like I could rule the world in my fur coat. You guys. I looked good.
4. The Nesting L.A.
In which all I know is how soft the furry is and how warm the furry is and YOU GUYS, feel my arm.
And finally, stage 5.
Guys, I’m a polar bear.
You know there’s those people who put I’m a people person on their resume, which really means that they have so little work experience that they need to put that they can hold some semblance of a conversation in order to try and gain employment?
I’m totally a people person.
Granted, it’s not on my resume anymore because retail is luckily and thankfully in my past, not that I didn’t get some great stories from the years and years I put it at Macy’s and Forever 21 and oh good fucking lord i always forget I used to work at Meijer.
But I’m still a people person.
Last week marked my two year anniversary at my current job. Two years of lots and lots of people person skills.
Today, an older couple came in together, as they always do. We started talking as they were preparing to leave, and it turned out that it’s their anniversary.
Him: 46th Anniversary.
Him: You’re wrong.
Her: You don’t remember to take your pills in the morning.
Him: I did this morning.
Her: Because I left them on your table like I always do.
Her (conspiratorially to me): It’s our 47th. He was a terrible husband the first year.
Him: I can hear you.
Her: I SAID IT LOUD.
I, of course, congratulated them on their love and marriage. They know I’m single [and once tried to set me up with their grandson. He’s 20.] and told me that if they could make it work, anyone can.
Insert collective aw here.
So, of course, I asked them. What makes them work? How are they still so in love after this many years?
There’s a long silence.
Him: Here is the thing you have to remember. Here is the important part of life that no one realizes anymore.
Me: It’s my smartphone’s fault, isn’t it?
Him: Shut up. And yes.
Long silence again.
Him: It’s not where you are, or what you’re doing, but who you’re with that makes a life.
We all stop a second to take this in.
Her: I really wish you’d fart less.
Him: And I love you.
As always, follow me on twitter for the abbreviated versions of these sagas.
I’m not that girly. I’m not going to lie. GoldDust tried once to put liquid eyeliner on me, and I cried before she even got one eye done. I’m just not a high maintenance female. I roll out of bed in the morning, brush my hair and teeth, and head out the door.
I forgot pants once because I was in such a daze.
This means, that when I go to the effort of getting dolled up, it’s a big effort. On Tuesdays and Thursday mornings, however, sometimes I’ll make the extra effort because I know I’ll be seeing my BFF Poof, who runs a fashion blog. It’s nice when our photos don’t feature her being adorable and me in a t-shirt. But that’s happened before.
One Tuesday and/or Thursday (I’m not sure which it was), I happened to be dolled up after playing photographer with Poof, and good things happened to happen. I got tickets to the most epic of epic things in the hockey world: tickets to the Winter Classic.
So, in a flurry of excitement and high energy, I headed to the most ideal place: Starbucks.
“Coffbanger,” I tell my barista. “GUESS WHAT I HAVE?!”
Coffbanger happens to have been my barista for a long time standing, and thus, he knows of my hockey love. He guessed within three tries that it was hockey tickets, and laughed at my outwardly excessive amount of glee.
His co-worker was not such a good sport.
“Wait,” the coworker tells me, interrupting Coffbanger’s and my conversation. “You can’t be a hockey fan.”
Eyebrow raise here. The awkward silence says that he should stop talking.
The coworker continues, however. “You can’t be a hockey fan. You’re in a dress.”
Cue the jaw drop. Of course, I would never take this lying down.
I’m so irritated. I’m tired of having to define icing to prove that I actually like hockey, as opposed to just wanting to hump Darren Helm*.
“Well,” I tell him. I manage to keep smiling. No amount of anger can wipe my “I’m going to the Winter Classic” smile off my face. And then this spills out faster than they’re making my coffee.
“You can’t be a man, you’re in skinny jeans.”
Coffbanger, the coworker, and I are all silent for a moment before Coffbanger lets out a snort of laughter.
Seriously though. Can’t a girl like her hockey in a dress?
Seriously. I looked fecking adorable.
Sound off, female hockey fans.
Can’t a girl wear a dress and be a hockey fan? Or a sports fan?
I know I’m not the only one with sports colored knee socks for playoff games.
*the writer acknowledges that yes, she would also like to hump Darren Helm.