My senior year I was for some weird reason a bit of a dandy. Part of it is that I'd always dressed like a total slob (ratty T-shirts, shredded jeans I'd owned since I was fourteen, horrible crappy sneakers) -- didn't even own a proper suit of clothes. Then all of a sudden that summer I got really self-conscious and did a bunch of shopping at Goodwill, and tried to wear the two or three suits I bought there as often as I could. So I showed up for the clubs fair that September dressed to the nines, and looked like a damn fool, because I was there in my capacity as president of college Dems, and looked like the asshole who was in charge of the college GOP, whose booth was right next to mine. I got a bunch of people to show up, but I think they thought I was a weirdo (I mean, a whole different kind of weirdo than I actually am -- and not a good one).
What do you do after this? You spend the next five or six years or so trying desperately to return to the womb that is college. You figure some more things out on your own. You drink beer and stare into space. Then you figure things out. (Puberty, unfortunately, doesn't end until you're thirty or so, with all its raging hormones and uncertainties.)
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Date: 2008-08-28 11:18 pm (UTC)My senior year I was for some weird reason a bit of a dandy. Part of it is that I'd always dressed like a total slob (ratty T-shirts, shredded jeans I'd owned since I was fourteen, horrible crappy sneakers) -- didn't even own a proper suit of clothes. Then all of a sudden that summer I got really self-conscious and did a bunch of shopping at Goodwill, and tried to wear the two or three suits I bought there as often as I could. So I showed up for the clubs fair that September dressed to the nines, and looked like a damn fool, because I was there in my capacity as president of college Dems, and looked like the asshole who was in charge of the college GOP, whose booth was right next to mine. I got a bunch of people to show up, but I think they thought I was a weirdo (I mean, a whole different kind of weirdo than I actually am -- and not a good one).
What do you do after this? You spend the next five or six years or so trying desperately to return to the womb that is college. You figure some more things out on your own. You drink beer and stare into space. Then you figure things out. (Puberty, unfortunately, doesn't end until you're thirty or so, with all its raging hormones and uncertainties.)