|hat, Goorin Bros / necklace, Clyde's Rebirth / sweater, Dear Golden / jumpsuit, boutique in Bloomington ages ago / boots, Clark's|
I couldn't do it. Despite my
photographer husband's insistence that the snow would make for pretty outfit photos, there was no way in hell I was going outside unless it involved getting immediately into a cab, then into the corner booth of a restaurant with a good drink menu. I've had efuckingnough. Since my birthday is this weekend, I got my way about the cab and nice restaurant and spent my afternoon shoving margaritas and flan down my gullet. I used to let the hassle that is using a public restroom while donning an adult onesie deter me from wearing them, but hell, this is the last year of my twenties, so if someone is going to open the door on me while I'm peeing and see me topless, this should be year.
Today a pal asked what plans I had in store for my 29th year, and while world domination sounded fun, I've decided I'm going to focus most of my energy on wearing jumpsuits. I've loved them before, but this year I'm going to take my love to a whole new level. Like, a memorizing-my-jumpsuit's-schedule-and-surprising-it-with-its-favorite-coffee-drink-and-a-mix-tape level (that's love, right?). I think I'd like to have a Carhartt jumpsuit, to get me through Polar Vortex XVI, and then I'll graduate to a Kill Bill inspired suit for spring. By the summer I hope to find a jumpsuit that's both patriotic and polyester, so I learn who my real friends are. Come fall I'll just wear the grey one above until my 30th birthday rolls around on February 9th, 2015, when I'll don the greatest jumpsuit of all, complete with proton pack and laser gun...
Jumpsuits lead to greatness, whether it be killing your old assassin friends or saving your city from a giant marshmallow. This year, my 29th, I officially declare The Year of the Jumpsuit. Look out, world. I'm kicking ass and taking names. Just as soon as I learn how to zip this damn thing up by myself.