I have been feeling drapey lately with my outfits. Drapey -- not droopy. Drapey is cool, droopy is gross. Drapey is 25 going on 26 next week, droppy is going on what may be her last birthday ever. Drapey tells you the latest Hollywood gossip, droopy reads the obituaries out loud every time you see her. Drapey, not droopy.
I like to think of this outfit as the professional hippie. As if there were such a job. There's not right? That's what they told me in college and I believed them. If there is, let me know ASAP. I've been dying to change my name to Penny Lane and get a group of girls that I call the Band Aids ever since I saw Almost Famous.
My birthday is next week. I only have one request: for all of you to fly down to Texas and celebrate with me. It'll be a small celebration at the local park. I'll provide the pizza and kool-aid. Everyone is drinking the kool-aid, you will not be getting out of it. But if you can't make it, you can just buy me these boots. Of course, your presence will be missed but not your presents.