It's clear to see I'm a style icon; remember, you can't spell icon without "con."
I love clothes, accessories, and makeup as much as the next lady, man, French bulldog in a sweater, or child whose parents dressed her in a couture Halloween costume...
I don't even know where to begin. So much has happened. I've officially been at the MOA for one whole day and it's been straight-up bonkers. It's taking a lot more getting used to than I thought it would. And trust me, I've been bursting at the seams to tell you all about it, but I've just been too tied up. Sorry, Diary, I'm reusing puns already, I'M ALL OVER THE PLACE.
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So, my big day had come: I was about to head to the MOA. I sat in the kitchen next to the window with my duffel bags packed, checking through the curtains every three seconds thinking I heard my ride. My SweatMom and SweatDad shuffled over to say good-bye. They began to get a little choked up, but then a new episode of Judge Judy started playing on the TV, so they quickly said their sloppy good-byes and sank back into their beanbag chairs. Suddenly I heard a horn from outside and the knots in my stomach jumped. I looked out the window and saw a shiny white truck with the word "FedEx" beautifully written on the sides. It was just like the commercial.
Just then my G-Wind wandered out from the back room holding a shoe box. She handed it to me, and when I asked her what was inside, she said, "I can't tell you just yet. But you'll know the right time to open it." I looked at her confused and she said, "Okay, yes, I got stoned and watched a lot of Harry Potter last night. Regardless, this box is very special to me, so take good care of it. Try not to open it until you get there."
I shoved the box as carefully as possible into one of my bags and headed for the truck.
A man lifted open the back door and in front of me was an amazing, tarnished, silverlined interior with beautifully shabby shelves and scraps of aged, stained cardboard strewn around. It was magical. There were already a bunch of other clothes on the shelves talking and laughing and throwing old mailing labels at each other. I hopped in and tried to sit in an open seat next to a pair of Nike running shoes, but she looked me up and down and told me the seat was saved for yoga pants. So instead, I found a spot next to a pair of Birkenstocks. "Ugh, don't even waste your time with the athletic wear," Birkenstock said. "But I'm athletic wear, too, I just thought—" Before I could finish the sentence, Nike running shoes cut me off and said "Correction, you're pathetic wear." All the other clothes started laughing until Birkenstock chimed in and said, "No, what's actually pathetic is how cheap it is to make you and how expensive your price point is." A bunch of "ooohs" swept the shelves and the Nike tightened her laces and turned around to continue talking to neon-pink Lululemon yoga pants.
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