L'arte d'arrangiarsi.

Shirt dress: thrifted, Cardigan: Thrifted, bag: thrifted, weird tribal sandals: equip, eco-conscious FAYESHUNABLE thrift tote: salvos, new skank hair: :(

To fill the gaping hole in your e-heart, filled only by my pretentious thrifting adventures and gratitious self portraits, I'm here to update you all on what's been happening and to explain my e-absence. I've been pretty busy...I got skank hair, I graduated, my HSC is in about 2.5 weeks or 16 days or something fucking ridiculously terrifying like that. This might be the last entry in a while.

And it's a shame because I just hit 1000 (1010 now!) followers, so massive, massive thank you to everyone who follows me (PS I STILL OWE ONE OF YOU A BROOCH FROM THE 666 GIVEAWAY..I AM SO TERRIBLE, I KNOW. I'll do my best to haul ass and send it out to you asap). You are all so lovely, and I will be back. I will be back with all the free time in the world, and a newfound thrifting vigour. I've been neglecting my Tumblr, Formspring, and email too, hopefully I'll dig up some spare time to resurface from the mountain of textbooks I've been hibernating in to reply to you guys. In the meantime, you'll find me complainin' and tweetin' here, here, here.



Graduation:
- My entire grade singing the Graduation Song by Vitamin C, inducing my tear ducts to urinate all over my face.
- Heading to the beach afterwards for Vitamin D-fuelled celebration.
- Stalking the Bondi Vet on his intensely physical sand run (I ran 10m in the sand and actually just collapsed, which speaks volumes about my general state of fitness).
- Stalking hot men in general and taking photos with them.
- Making a giant penis in the sand.
- Staying at the beach at night, eating pizza and listening to my digestive system gurgle.



It's so intense that I will never again have to avoid my deputy principal for being out of uniform, I will never have to line up at lunch for disgusting canteen-food overpriced pasta, I will never track the minute hand of the clock until the bell rings, I will never stare down little bitch juniors again, I will never walk to the station with my friends in sweltering heat or pouring rain, I will never walk the corridors of my high school between classes wishing I was home. I miss high school already.



The week prior to graduation, my grade organised a teddy bear picnic, a flashmob + mass freeze in the quad, and a Harry Potter day (complete with Quiddith match and scars) and I won't go into detail since none of you probably even read the wall of text up there, but it was intensely fun. And I felt so much closer to my grade than I have ever felt. Brooms made out of newspaper and calling your deputy principal "Professor Dimbledore" brings people together.

And lastly, my hair. Don't even ask. I don't even know where to begin, but basically:

1. I fucked up.
2. I fucked up.
3. I have skank hair.
4. I msis my old hair.
5. This is only temporary.
6. There is a possibility, depending on my mental state, that I might go blonde in the near future.
7. Don't judge me.





So, yeah. Summer is approaching, and I'll be here, at this table, for the next 6 weeks, wasting away. Essays and equations will be my friends, and I'll probably come out on the other end horribly disfigured, muttering to myself and covered in a layer of bodily fluids. Wish me luck. Until then, be safe and I'll miss you,

Jess.

To the max.

Faux leather J: Sunnygirl
Maxi skirt: COurtesy of Robot Ninjas.
Bustier that's actually a dress that I bought for my yr 10 formal that was too slutty: Vintage off ebay.
Fake docs: K-mart
Belt and bag: Thrifted.
Blue ribbon in my hair: One and only Tony Bui.



Gallivanting around the city to shop for formal dresses following a night of absolutely no sleep is never a good idea. In fact, gallivanting anywhere with anything less than 8 hours of solid sleep is not a good idea. It makes you want to tear your brain out of your head through your nose and constrict yourself with bandages. It makes you want to mummify yourself.

I used to dismiss people who listed "sleeping" as their hobby idiots, and I prided myself on being a morning person. I don't know what changed but life is now infinitely better asleep. Dreams are better than reality. I don't know about you, but driving a a minotaur car with wings beats commuting to high school anyday. I only dreamt about the minotaur car once, but even mundane things are suddenly 5000x more interesting when it's presented in the form of a sleep induced hallucination. And nothing beats the embrace of warm sheets and bed socks.



I'm probably just salivating all over sleeping because I just came home from work and I'm still dying from Friday night's lack of sleep. So I'm going to catch some z's before this blog post becomes an essay on the legalisation of general anaesthesia and unconsciousness via hitting people over the head with a crowbar, because sleeping is better than being awake.

P.S. lucid dreams. The fuck is that all about? I want it.

Polkadots.

Trench: Birthday gift.
Polkadot bow blouse: Thrifted.
Lace tierd skirt: Some random $10 shop.
Blue stockings: Courtesy of the lovely people at We Love Colors.
Boots: Thrifted.
Bag/Satchel: Thrifted.
frankie.

UNSW open day. No sleep the night before, terrible weather, missed my lectures. Not the best day, but what can you do about it. Instead of hitting up lectures that, you know, might help me out with my uni choices, I ended up at law and commerce, both courses that I have absolute certainty in their irrelevance to my future. Again, a huge hug and thanks to those who bumped into me on the day, it seriously is the loveliest thing to meet readers, even if I am the most awkward person you will ever meet. It's like, wow, people actually read my blog. Off the top of my head, Bernadette at Central station, the lovely girls from Canberra at the COFA market place, the two girls outside the law building and the girl in the red cardigan on the bus back.



Graduation is in two weeks, the thought of high school finishing up forevs and evs makes half my body want to simultaneously throw up and take a dump on the highway, and the other half want to spend 14 hours blowing up brightly coloured balloons and spending the 14 hours after that jumping on them in happiness. Also, I've been watching A LOT of House lately. Hugh Laurie makse me wet my pants. Do I know he's, like, 60? Yes. Do I lie in bed day dreaming about his cleverly concealed British accent? Yes, yes, a thousand times yes.