Back to School
Strolling through the aisle of big box retailers and the virtual aisles of e-tailers hawking their back to school wares I cannot help but feel a smidge envious of folks beginning their academic journeys and whatnot. To clear, I do not envy their inevitable roommate dramas, claustrophobic, design deficit dorm rooms, lumpy stained mattresses or numerous trips schlepping stuff up unforgiving staircases.
In college I was considered a “mature” student, despite my Hello Kitty decor and posters of mediocre films liberated from dumpsters. I had tried college when I was more “college age” but found it interfered w/ my LA goth biscuit club life. This isn’t to suggest I got lousy grades, but rather to acknowledge what held my attention. The early 90s were a great time to be goth in LA. All the the Mike & Bruce clubs (LIKE EVERY DAMN NIGHT) meant school wasn’t exactly a priority. I was practically elderly when I eventually went back to college. By elderly I mean: 27! My gap year turned into a gap decade and suddenly I decided I ought to go back to college. Well, my mom’s gentle pressure to TAKE MY SAD BASTARDY NO DEGREE HAVING 27 SELF AND GET THE HELL UP OUT OF HER HOUSE might have slightly instrumental.
Anyway thus began my seven year academic tour of hippie college up the eastern seaboard. The first college shopping outing w/ my mom I bought several pairs of cha cha heels, some make up, a sequin skirt and a damn Gold N Hot hooded dryer. I was like NAILING this, “Move to Asheville for hippie college” thing, amirite. I blame Thornton Melon who was my non-traditional student role model. Subsequent shopping trips involved my mom trying to steer me towards college appropriate things while I deliberated over which color Gap shiny satin “party pants” would be the most versatile. Chile, I had to BORROW a pen during orientation because I hadn’t bothered to get any before hand.
Me prepping for college was not like the me that loves organization and is clutter-adverse. I was all about useless clutch purses, faux fur chubbies, wearing Adidas shower slides w/ knee socks out in public and pink rubble kitten heel mules in the shower. Eventually, I found a middle ground of sparkly awesomeness and practicality. Of course, I was still hopelessly high maintenance in my personal style. At least I never had to run out in the middle of the night to a gas station (in the middle of nowhere) and spend $8 on a thimbleful of mouthwash and a 12 pack of tampons.