Well, I have a bunch of posts in the works, including the long-overdue details on my First Runway Show Ever. (yes. it's true. The Front Row was my first. and left me wanting my beach gear. but there just wasn't enough time for me to hit up the Bethesda Row stores before we jetted - ok drove slowly, with lots of stops - up 95 to the Jersey Shore.) If you're jonesing a recap, check out my date, Elizabeth's, post, here. She got some great shots of both the runway and the atmosphere. You just can't beat an outdoor fashion show, methinks (says the runway virgin).
While I am taking some vacation time here down tha shore - during which I'm more likely to actually put blogging fingers to keyboard - I'm also working remotely, which has it's own challenges. And, given that I have a large, strategic proposal I'm working, well, I kinda have to focus on that.
But I do promise posts in the near future, and in the meantime a few tweets here and there. Anyone catch my #jerseylicious toes?
Badass doesn't have an expiration date. But bad fashion and Go-Gurts do.
Showing posts with label runway show. Show all posts
Showing posts with label runway show. Show all posts
22 January 2010
Dreamland
Pregnancy does strange and wonderful things to your dreams. My old therapist told me once that a colleague of hers claimed she would pay extra for the therapy available during pregnancy - because your subconcious brings such delicious things to the surface that stay hidden at other times. I can absolutely attest to that.
Though I can't say that last night's episode of DC Celine's Dreams brings anything interesting to light, but it certainly was an amusing combination of my obsession with reality shows (style ones, in particular), tweeting, and probably some things H really doesn't want to hear about.
While I can't remember the "storyline," here's what I do remember, 6 hours afterwards...
A runway show for an up-and-coming Asian-faced designer. The line was somewhat reminiscent of Patrick McDonald and Roberto's line from "Launch My Line" (yes, I watch that crap - the self-destruct mechanisms on it are effin' brilliant): trashy red and black lingerie-"inspired" pieces with much see-throughness going on.
I was trying to tweet the show, but all I remember is that somehow I got "stuck" tweeting, and started texting the message on my (gasp! I'm horribly '00 about my personal technology) cell, but never managed to send a single tweet. Something about the gorgeous man sitting next to me and with whom I think I was canoodling. (Honestly, H won't care in the least about that. I'm a lucky girl.) He was tall, lithe, and muscular, with a very closely cropped (not quite shaved) head of hair - a fashioned-up version of a Marine, perhaps (there go those CIA/renegade patriot novels I keep reading. Or maybe a long-harbored memory about the 16-year-old Georg with whom I swam - raced, mind you - on my exchange year in Austria). The designer was, like I said, an Asian-faced woman (can't remember enough to even remotely attempt a guess at actual nationality), thin, raggedy bob-like 'do...hmmm...not unlike Erwin's new coif (which, btw, suits him much better, IMHO, than his previous long, shaggy cut). I think she was rather mean, but that could be something my psyche attached after I woke up.
After the "oh no, must tweet! It's my fashion responsibility as a blogger!" crisis, I don't remember much else. I think there was more to the dream, maybe a hostel with other young (hee hee, as if I still qualify for that adjective) people.
Anywho...speculate away at the state of my psyche. It's one week before the absolute definitive day of arrival for Bean #2 (long story short, it could decide to arrive on it's own before then, but...). Who knows where my brain, concious or otherwise, will be in a week. I promise a quick update post-arrival.
Though I can't say that last night's episode of DC Celine's Dreams brings anything interesting to light, but it certainly was an amusing combination of my obsession with reality shows (style ones, in particular), tweeting, and probably some things H really doesn't want to hear about.
While I can't remember the "storyline," here's what I do remember, 6 hours afterwards...
A runway show for an up-and-coming Asian-faced designer. The line was somewhat reminiscent of Patrick McDonald and Roberto's line from "Launch My Line" (yes, I watch that crap - the self-destruct mechanisms on it are effin' brilliant): trashy red and black lingerie-"inspired" pieces with much see-throughness going on.
I was trying to tweet the show, but all I remember is that somehow I got "stuck" tweeting, and started texting the message on my (gasp! I'm horribly '00 about my personal technology) cell, but never managed to send a single tweet. Something about the gorgeous man sitting next to me and with whom I think I was canoodling. (Honestly, H won't care in the least about that. I'm a lucky girl.) He was tall, lithe, and muscular, with a very closely cropped (not quite shaved) head of hair - a fashioned-up version of a Marine, perhaps (there go those CIA/renegade patriot novels I keep reading. Or maybe a long-harbored memory about the 16-year-old Georg with whom I swam - raced, mind you - on my exchange year in Austria). The designer was, like I said, an Asian-faced woman (can't remember enough to even remotely attempt a guess at actual nationality), thin, raggedy bob-like 'do...hmmm...not unlike Erwin's new coif (which, btw, suits him much better, IMHO, than his previous long, shaggy cut). I think she was rather mean, but that could be something my psyche attached after I woke up.
After the "oh no, must tweet! It's my fashion responsibility as a blogger!" crisis, I don't remember much else. I think there was more to the dream, maybe a hostel with other young (hee hee, as if I still qualify for that adjective) people.
Anywho...speculate away at the state of my psyche. It's one week before the absolute definitive day of arrival for Bean #2 (long story short, it could decide to arrive on it's own before then, but...). Who knows where my brain, concious or otherwise, will be in a week. I promise a quick update post-arrival.
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