It's clear to see I'm a style icon; remember, you can't spell icon without "con."
I love clothes, accessories, and makeup as much as the next lady, man, French bulldog in a sweater, or child whose parents dressed her in a couture Halloween costume...
Tomorrow is the day. It's my first day of ninth grade and my first day in a REAL SCHOOL ever! I'm sooooo nervous; it's really making me sweat! Sorry, Diary, you know one of my symptoms of stress is accidental pun-age. And I know you know this already, Diary, but if anyone else were to accidentally find this diary in the future and need some story context to be able to completely enjoy the variety of antics that surround my life, here ya go, stranger:
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Until now, I've only ever been homeschooled because my SweatMom and SweatDad couldn't be bothered to get off their stupid beanbags to take me to a REAL school. It's all I've ever wanted. Growing up, I'd watch Gap and Old Navy commercials and just imagine myself in a class like that, with all the colors and conformity. Sigh, what a dream. You see, a lot of sweatpants like me never get a chance to go to school, and if we do, it usually ends up being a trade school like Sports Authority or Champs or, even worse, a DICK's Sporting Goods. Ugh! It makes me want to rip out my elastic waistband just thinking about it. But this year, I got lucky! For my fourteenth birthday, my grandma Windbreaker gave me the greatest gift EVER, an acceptance letter to THE MALL OF AMERICA. I nearly ripped a hole in my crotch opening the envelope, I was so excited! The Mall of America is one of the largest and most prestigious schools for wardrobe wannabes in the country! It's the capital of clothing, the UN of undergarments, the Ivy League of investing in a future that's sure to fit. Sorry, Diary! It's from the commercial!
I couldn't believe Grandma Windbreaker got me in! I asked her how in the world she did it and she pulled me aside and said she found the hidden stash of tests and writing samples I kept in my off-brand duffel bag under my generic wood-framed twin bed with Dallas Cowboys bedding. (I wanted a vintage cream quilt like the one I saw on Pinterest, but my SweatDad wouldn't let me get it, he thought it was "too splashy." Let it be known, if it isn't a hot dog or ankle weights, it's probably too splashy for my SweatDad.)
Anyways, I was so embarrassed that G-Wind found my private papers! You see, I've been secretly taking some classes online at eBay.com and doing some practice essays I found in a forum on Overstock.com in the hopes that I might be able to convince my pant-rents to let me enroll in a school, ANY SCHOOL, by eleventh or twelfth grade so I'd at least have a year or two of store-study. But I had no idea it could happen this quickly!
G-Wind also got really serious and began to tell me a story I had never heard before. Appar(el)ently (sorry, D!) her SweatMom "Eliza Doolittle'd" (whatever that means) a business suit with money into marrying her and together they gave birth to my G-Wind. Evidently, BusinessDad was disappointed with her the second she was born. Because she was born a Windbreaker and not a suit like him and the rest of his dry-clean-only family. Tensions ran up like a hole in a pair of stockings and her SweatMom and BusinessDad eventually split at the seams.
