Nautical Nonsense

It's more than a little amusing how my fashion tastes have changed recently. I remember a couple of years ago, blatantly refusing to wear shorts because of my ugly knees, and so I gadded about in those really baggy shorts that often were seen on skaters.
Incidentally, I was one at that stage, but that's neither here nor there, I try to forget about that.
I also went through the stage of 'Eugh Dresses, Why?' most probably inspired by:

• hanging out with guys in my non-school time. Thank you, Chris, Tim and David.
• my primary school girls uniform. You know the ones. Green and gold plaid into a just-above-the-knee length dress with a matching yellow tie secured by a green button. Phrased that way, it doesn't sound too bad - for primary school kids - but oh, gosh, it was. It took patriotism to all new heights. The coup de grace? Yellow socks. Not even a so-faded-you-could-mistake-it-for-white yellow. This sort of yellow. Of course, being a public school no one cared come year three and we all wore netball skirts, yellow shirts and culottes, with odd socks and 10 necklaces at a time. Fashion does change.
• my high school uniform. Red and blue plaid, to a bit higher above the knee, white socks, tied tightly, black shoes with a heel all spelling slight rebellion. Or something. But when you're trying to get into your locker at the top of C block, standing on tiptoes with both arms full of textbooks and exercise books, there comes a problem. Although going to a school opposite the beach is nice, sudden sea breezes are frequent. Cue flashing, whereby hips are slammed into lower-down lockers and there is a scream to friends to help tame the skirt which now has a life of its own.

And nautical? Well, I thought that was lame, purely because I had the body of Tuscany and stripes don't flatter when they're nautically fashioned and horizontal.

So walking along Queen Street, you'd figure I would be staring, aghast, at the shop windows, as I did for the lace saga which I documented for an assignment that semester, for all the nautical-inspired seafarin' shindigs they channelled. But strangely... they tickled me. I could see myself standing at Eagle Street pier, looking fabulously windswept (but really looking like this, and eventually resembling this), and looking sort of awesome, if I were to be modest.

And ModCloth, my dearest love, came a yodellin'.

Firstly: Jacket. Brisbane weather is generally hot in summer. By that, I mean you die if you contemplate wearing jeans. This is perfect if a breeze comes through, and I am besotted.

Next: Dress. ModCloth also have this in the 'see also' section. I'd like to say I found it first, because I am a good huntress.

Finally: Shoes. I am a fan of ballet flats, as bad as they are for feet; I am also a fan of heels so my poor clodhoppers must hate me a great ton. Rubi shoes do some lovely ones, and I quite like the Bronte flat. Scroll, dear lovelies, scroll! 

Anyway, so my nautical nonsense is that outfit. Summer is going to be awesome, because if I keep working, and if I get in cheap rent next year, I have writing money for clothes, and... well, new wardrobe. Yup.

In other news, my brother is awesome, because he has grasped the latitude of acceptance and rejection very easily and we bid each other adieu as follows:

Me: G'night.

Him: Good night, young one. If you wake me up tomorrow, I will cut you...

Me: To ribbons.

Him: Fool.

Me: Such mediocrity. Let your sword do the talking!

Him: I will! It will be loquacious to a fault!

And then he fled, slamming my door.

Before I finally sleep - Chile's national motto is "By reason or force". It's good to know that these are my cultural roots. And my sarcasm hand actually isn't raised, because I like that they're up front. "We'll try talking. But if you don't listen, we release the hounds."

Day 4 - A Letter to Your Sibling

Dear Kidface,
So I cheated. I wrote a letter to you beforehand. I'd thought to myself, "Well! Aren't I just clever, I'll copy and paste and no one will be aware, except for Kathryn, who is clued in on my plans!"
Well, I didn't consider that I'd have this lovely new addition to the fam, and that I'd have to copy all my documents onto Stanley and then I'd have to hunt through. I mean, I kidnapped the hard drive (yeah, bad me) but I haven't bothered to get technologically consolidated and whatnot.
Be that as it may, a letter.

I've realised as of late that I'm going to seriously miss you next year. This is if our grand plans go ahead and we participate in our fleeing the current unit, one lounge under an arm and a TV under the other, to new places.
I mean, even when you sit next to Stanley and I and continually beg, "Can I use it? Can I use it? Can I use it?" (which, to let you know, Stanley does not like being referred to as an 'it'), it's still vaguely amusing. I particularly enjoy the musings which are aloud but make no sense once outside your head:

So it's like my Jiminy Cricket. I like Jiminy Cricket. But I wasn't a huge fan of the movie. What's it called? Pinocchio. 

How weird would I look with no pinky?

 And then your striding in with an excited plan which to yet has not come into fruition:

Right, Tash, here's what we're going to do.

And your going along with random things I find, via Google.

Really? That's weird. I am a little teapot. Short and stout. Here is my handle, here is my spout.

 The gist and nub of it is, you are a grand brother.
Although it'd be really nice if you got over the delusion that I'm going to a nunnery. As I do not particularly adhere to one denomination of Christianity, but rather the faith as a whole, it's a little difficult to do such a thing. Also, I'm not sure if you knew this, but I'm a fan of the outside world. As much as you don't see me leave the house, I do like knowing that I can, if I so choose.
I think it is your turn to call the real estate, because I really don't want to.
Buy those Whitlams tickets, please, I want to see them play their shenanigans.
And thank you for allowing me to Potterly rant to you. It's odd that you allow my tone of authority that I usually reserve for Shakespearean/poetic knowledge to exist amongst my Potter educating. If only you allowed the Beatles.
Shrankye for having such a... caring attitude towards my death. That I will be tossed in a river is a comfort. It is also a comfort knowing that I am so looked after in regards to my virtue, per se. Your acceptance of lewd comments made towards me (though not really lewd, but still) simply because it was 'a good call' is nothing short of brotherly love, and I am pleased you care.

That last paragraph, yes, my sarcasm hand was raised, but I still love you for it.

Love your youngest and only sister,
yeah, that one who'd be homeless were it not for you.