In my quest to achieve style purgatory, somewhere in between the runway and the gutter, I found myself sitting in the gutter with mud on my face.
It's Friday, its cold, its rainy and I'm lazy. So here I sit in Central Market, having someone else cook my food so that I may eat it in style jail: my living room. Joining me in jail will be serial killers, drug dealers and the sun of Miami. Oh, I forgot to mention I'll be watching Dexter until I drop tonight.
Why style jail? Because I somehow rationalized that unwashed gray sweatpants, Ugg style boots left over from my freezing West Texas days, an old work tshirt and my school fleece jacket would be acceptable because the weather sucks.
It's Friday, its cold, its rainy and I'm lazy. So here I sit in Central Market, having someone else cook my food so that I may eat it in style jail: my living room. Joining me in jail will be serial killers, drug dealers and the sun of Miami. Oh, I forgot to mention I'll be watching Dexter until I drop tonight.
Why style jail? Because I somehow rationalized that unwashed gray sweatpants, Ugg style boots left over from my freezing West Texas days, an old work tshirt and my school fleece jacket would be acceptable because the weather sucks.
