angelidemorte replied to your post “OK, lovely nerds of every variety; What are the smallest clothes I can...”
Try browsing Amazon's selection of chiffon batwing tops. They're somewhat sheer but you can wear a tanktop or a dress underneath, and they're touted as one-size-fits-all. The material is wrinkle-resistant and folded they take up about a fist's-worth of space. They're my go-to when packing for trips.
Oh gosh, this is a GREAT tip!! Â Thank you! Â This + leggings + tank top or this + uberlight dress would look rad.
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angelidemorte said: I need descriptions so I can hunt them down and flay them alive for you.
unfortunately, my love, they were a bit blase. both girls were a little shorter than me, thin brown hair, one dyed a dark brown, one her natural neutral brown color, one with a bunch of freckles. t-shirts and sweats. traveling with a guy younger than them because they bought alcohol and he had to go to a different line so they didn't get caught. the best Newark has to offer, I'm sure.
The cat-in-a-bag phrase actually originated back when farmers would still bring animals to market. For easy portability, they'd truss pigs in grain sacks, but cheats sometimes substituted a large barn cat. People caught on and started checking the animal before purchasing- hence letting the cat out of the bag. It's a premature revelation of information one of the parties didn't want known.
Ah excellent, I’ll publish this for anyone else who was wondering too!
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ok, so we like, live at a particular Denny's because we like to stalk/harass a particular waiter whom we know to work from the hours of 8 to 3 pretty much every day and after I'm pretty sure he's okay with us.
maybe. we don't know. he's hard to read. we could be really annoying, but maybe he deals with us because we tip ridiculously well. some day, I'll ask.
it's not even that the waiter is too terribly attractive or anything, he's just awesome.
but I digress, because this post isn't about the waiter.
anywho, we're chillin', drinking coffee, I'm nommin' on some seasoned fries and my fried cheese melt (like omg they made that sandwich a grilled cheeses with mozzarella sticks HOW DID THEY KNOW) when these two kids sit down across from each other at the booth behind us.
I am struck. dumb. you guys. I literally stop in the middle of my sentence and go very slightly slackjawed because this kid, not even really that attractive, but his eyes. I can't even- so pretty. so so very pretty. like. I'm an insect and his eyes are a fucking bug zapper, I'm just so entranced.
so I text angelidemorte even though she's sitting right across from me and say 'Oh my god the peepers on the kid in the grey hat. Oh. My. God. Ohmygod.'
she checks the message and surreptitiously slings her arm across the back of the seat and casually looks out the window, sipping her coffee and catching a peripheral glance at Mr. Amazing Eyes. she turns back to me and we make the universal sign of 'oh my god, you're so right!' and laugh. the kid with us is confused as hell, but we explain. eventually. (eyes and backs on men are my turn ons. like. mmm. yummy.)Â
so we're just chillin', I'm trying to avoid Mr. Dreamy Eyes McGee by using our friend's head as a view-blocker, and this kid just starts making eyes at me. he will not. stop. looking at me. and I'm not very attractive, so it's gotta be my hair, because my hair is various shades of pink, blue and orange with ridiculously dark roots. so I text angelidemorte again, 'This kid. We have to leave. Before he owns my soul.'
so we pack up and get up to pay and I've paid, so I'm waiting at the counter for angelidemorte to pay when who the fuck walks up RIGHT. AFTER. US to fucking pay other than Mr. Eye'm So Fine and his buddy. she looks at me in disbelief (because they had just gotten their food when we left) and I throw my hands up in the air and say, 'I can't take this! I'm waiting by the car!' and I run outside to the car and wait.Â
so now, apparently, I have to work on composing myself around guys I find attractive, although my solution is totally to just become a hermit in a first floor apartment where my only form of exercise will be Dance Dance Revolution.Â
