Dress has always been my strongest suit

Recently, while thinking about the impending Steam Expo, I was struck by a bolt of clothing related terror. All my outfits seemed shabby, most certainly unfit for an aristocrat intending to make her obligatory splash at a big Steampunk con. I frantically began searching the internet for some new outfits but - Quelle horreur! - all were so expensive and I needed that cash to purchase a mask for the masked ball! I was in a state of full blown hysterics when I actually bothered to start digging through my closet. That's when I realized that there was nothing wrong with my wardrobe - only with my perception of it. I had plenty of outfits, but lack of reason to get dressy had stunted my memory. So I began a delighted reunion with my varied bustles, corsets, and bloomers, and came to an understanding. Simply put: A wardrobe renovation need not require breaking the bank.

Step 1: If you feel your clothing habits have stagnated, it's best to ask yourself why. In my case, being shut up in Misktonic without any real reason to get dressed up had driven a couple nails into the coffin of my struggling fashion sense, aided by the fact that the bitterly cold winter precluded anything less than the sturdiest outfits. Jeans were the only reasonable leg-wear, coats were mandatory, and the threat of frostbite was certainly enough to keep me out of my silks and lace in favor of down and canvas (the winter did, however, provide a good reason to wear fur).

Step 2: Begin any potential renovating by getting reacquainted with your various clothes. Go through drawers. Dig through closets. As soon as I began to do this I discovered I had plenty of perfectly wonderful outfits just waiting to happen. Remember that both closets and drawers (as well as hat boxes, bureaus, chifforobes, laundry bags, wardrobes, attics, and what have you) are sneaky bastards who tend to skew your opinion of the state of your clothing affairs. Act accordingly.

Step 3: If you feel the need, remove any worn out clothes/clothes you just have absolutely no use for whatsoever. It may occur that your drawers are packed full of perfectly awesome day and night wear, but all that has been buried under ugly but well intentioned sweaters from Aunt Millie or t-shirts your co-workers/fellow students/WHOEVER keep giving you. Get rid of these. Give them away, re-gift them, turn them into quilts, use them as cat beds, stuff them under the door to prevent drafts, just get them the hell out of your wardrobe.

Step 4: Assess what is left behind. Is your selection of clothing satisfying? Do you feel you have too much of one thing and too little of another? Here is where you begin planning - if you find the need - to go shopping for fresh clothes. Be strategic. Don't just go out any buy a whole bunch of stuff because 'you need something new'. Instead, decide that, for example, you could use more leg wear and carefully select three pairs of new trousers that you can match to almost anything. Hell, if you can afford it go out and get three pairs of all purpose trousers tailor made for you. Using forethought in wardrobe renovation means you should have fewer things to buy and, as consequence, allows you to spend more money on them to make sure they last.

In which I am deported back to Miskatonic

Well, after yet another long absence, I'm back. Back to writing (hopefully), back to studying (reluctantly), and back to school (unwillingly). After four weeks of rest and recuperation with my family, being dropped back at Miskatonic is like being dragged out of the Ritz Carlton and thrown in a dumpster more generally used by a hospital, a lab for the study of nuclear isotopes, and a Chinese restaurant. The temperature is miserable out here, as is to be expected, and I am in so many ways not enjoying my sans-boxsprings bed, which makes my lower spine want to pack its bags and leave me for a more caring human being. Feelings on the subject: Annoyed
The social scene is also far from enthralling at this juncture. There was a point for me where partying seemed like the be-all and end-all of social life at Miskatonic, but after attending a Ke$ha themed party at a friend's house yesterday I was left thoroughly disenchanted with the whole process. The only way to enjoy oneself was to get falling-down drunk, something that has ceased to appeal to me in the slightest. After watching the mess of people in the living room attempt to dance (those who were still sober or only slightly buzzed wobbling back and forth uncertainly, while the thoroughly smashed specimens often just gave up their hold on being vertical and let gravity do the work), I opted to head outside to converse with the would-be intellectuals standing on the stoop smoking their pipes and cigarettes and arguing about Nietzsche. This, however, proved detrimental on two fronts: For one, it became abundantly clear that all anyone wanted to do was impress each other rather than discuss anything (and my being one of the few if not the only female there at any given time, this meant that all the straight men just HAD to do their damnedest to impress me above all else. Victoria was decidely less than awed by their supposed epiphanies and infallible arguments.) For two, the smoke got in my eyes and mouth and just generally made me feel gross. So it was back inside, where I got cornered by an old aquaintance who attempted to give me profound life advice that might have been relevant to him but when applied to me was like trying to convince a shark to become a vegetarian for the good of its soul. At this point I vacated the party as fast as I could and walked home. Or attempted to walk. While I had been trying to enjoy myself while wearing too much eye makeup, the heavens had opened and unleashed freezing rain, which coated everything and led me to slip and slide most of the way home. Feelings on the subject: Disgusted

So now I'm sitting in my dorm room, suffering withdrawal from functional civilization. I'm also a tad depressed on account of the fact that the awesome book I was reading - Snow Crash - finally came to an end, and though I absolutely adored it start to finish I now cannot find anything else that I want to read. I JUST WANT MORE SNOW CRASH, DAMMIT. Feelings on the subject: Morose

And I have to do my laundry. Feelings on the subject: !@#QR(*U*(#T&*(QA#RPU ARGH

Today's forecast: Fair travel, foul weather, crops-blightingly-bad temper

Well I'm back from a lovely trip to Chicago to see the opera Macbeth at the Lyric Opera. Said trip began with me boarding a train and spending upwards of five hours on the thing, contemplating my life and going on a sort of vision quest to regain some of my lost vim and vigor. After a multitude of stops, starts, slow patches, and rattling rails, I was disgorged in the belly of Union station where I met up with my aunt and uncle, whose home I occupied during my stay. The next day we attended the opera (I wore full kimono because I bloody well could and because kimonos are easily packable, as opposed to full bustled Victorian gowns. One must
make allotment for small luggage), which proved to be decent but unremarkable, leading me to doze off as Lady Macbeth ranted about her unclean hands and I mentally suggested she just buy some damn Oxiclean already. Then it was off to dinner at an absolutely SPECTACULAR restaurant where I enjoyed the best meal I've had in months, all the while gazing on the Chicago water tower. Said tower is a portion of the cityscape that has been engrained in my mind ever since, while on vacation with my family at a young age, I turned a corner and was greeted with the sight of that gorgeous, gothic structure jutting defiantly out of the modern surroundings. My father then told me the story of the Chicago fire, relating how the town of my birth had been burnt to the ground, which lodged firmly in my imagination and has never left.

The next day, however, I was once again on the train and jouncing and vibrating my way back to Miskatonic. I was reluctant to leave, as you might imagine, but I took it all with good grace, unpacking cheerfully and savoring my memories of my time. These overall good spirits lasted till the next morning when a tornado alert led to my being yanked out of bed at an ungodly hour and having to throw on a robe over the gigantic t-shirt that serves as my nightwear. My compatriots and I were then bundled into the basement lounge where we spent an hour and half, doing absolutely nothing, all the while waiting for a tornado that never came. The most exciting thing that occurred during the time was when we were informed via walky talky that a group of students, deciding that up with this they would not put, escaped the confines of whatever bunker they'd been herded into and were triumphantly marching across campus.

And now, bringing us up to date, I am in a foul mood. After taking an art history exam that I'd studied hard for I treated myself to a meal at the school cafe. There was a bit of a line, so I queued up dutifully and waited, trying to ignore the stifling heat of the student union, which made me itch and perspire in my ornate clothing. Finally I was next to be served, a fact for which I was rewarded when the bimbo at the head of the queue slammed me with her enormous blue-patent-leather-hobo-bag-monstrosity that probably cost more than the whole of my outfit (and allow me to say that the money could have been put to better use buying her some clothes that weren't made out of sweatshirt material). She also did not bother to apologize or even acknowledge that it had happened, adding insult to injury while I suffered silently after having what felt like a text book or laptop slammed into my sternum. So, dear readers, I'm in a snarlingly bad mood, the sort that leads me to want to run home, turn out all the lights, curse humanity up one side and down the other, and then throw myself melodramatically on my bed with a hot compress over my eyes.