The (not!) hipster Newsies AU that nobody wanted. Featuring Jack and Davey & their organic coffee and thrift store sweaters, and Kath with her floral fashion, hand knit scarf, and eye for trends. But they’re totally not hipsters. Just ask.
My favorite part of watching American Gods is that it’ll get into this whole like dark trippy weird place where I start feeling like the angsty boring hipsters are gonna jump all over how ~deep~ it is a la that guy in my English class and then it takes a very Neil/novel turn and people just start going “What the fuck is this, fucking seriously, Jesus, what the hell is this shit?”
Or like Wednesday speaks which is basically the same thing.
And then I breathe a sigh of relief that we’ve stopped the fuckboys for another episode.
Out of my many flaws, there’s one that I will admit is probably the
most ridiculous: I avoid hyped-up, popular things. Whether that be
avoiding Harry Potter for almost a decade, shunning skinny jeans until
they were almost out of style, refusing to say ‘on point’ and then when
finally working ‘on point’ into my vocabulary, refusing to use ‘on
fleek.’ While I don’t think this makes me a hipster, I do feel like I
fall into the ‘too cool for school’ category, and not in a good way.
the psychology of why I decide not to hop on certain bandwagons but
then practically hijack and take over others (hello: Instagram stalking
and hero worship). Maybe it’s a need to be different and stand out from
the pack. Or perhaps it’s simply a case of “I DON’T KNOW WHO I AM AS AN
INDIVIDUAL AND HAVE ZERO PERSONAL IDENTITY!”
have always been notoriously organized. I’m sure if my mother ever
reads this she will throw back her head in mock laughter until she pulls
a muscle as she recalls a period in time - say from when I was 6 until 14 -
when my room was so messy you could’ve easily convinced someone there
wasn’t a floor. But I quickly grew out of this and organized the hell out of my life.
My school locker was meticulous. My college notebooks
were an OCD dream. My handbag always cleaned out every Sunday for the
upcoming work week. My kitchen cabinets were an organized wonder to
Don’t even get me started on what I did to my friend’s closets. Many years ago I went hardcore tough love on @traceydanine
and spent hours upon hours organizing, tidying and throwing away items
in her closet. It was a truly magical evening. I remember holding her
childhood in my hands (her Winnie-the-Pooh doll) and harshly examining
why she needed it? (She kept it in the end, as she should have.)
you’d think, what in the world could I possibly need this book for if I
(not-so-humbly) am proclaiming that I could’ve practically written it?
Well, in a nutshell? I moved to England and promptly became a hoarder.
single item I owned suddenly became a life line back to America. That
beautiful black dress I wore to a wedding in 2012 and would love to wear
again? Brought it with me. That book I’ve been meaning to read because I
loved the TV show? I brought it with me. Those amazing high heels that I
lusted after and wore twice in America? I brought them with me. That
expensive handbag I bought after I landed my first real grown up job
post college? I brought it with me. I’ve now lived in England for over a
year and how many times have I touched/used/read the above? Not once.
not only that, but my collection has grown. From handbags to make up to
shoes to books, I just keep accumulating crap in the hopes that it’ll
bring me some sort of happiness, or rather distract my homesickness and
FOMO. That’s been my first mistake.
mistake and probably the most fatal of personality flaws and the hardest
to admit is this: In addition to FOMO, I suffer from some sort of
serious hero worship/envy. There are certain people out there that you
know/watch on YouTube, read their blogs/are your friends that you think
just have their shit together and life completely figured out. Their
hair always looks effortlessly glossy, their handbags on point (On
fleek? Groan. Stop. Please.) They seem to fall into the camp of those
who wake up early, meditate, eat a healthy breakfast, have cool jobs,
throw together perfect capsule wardrobes effortlessly, have a life
trajectory in mind and slay it, marry the perfect man, pop out a few
adorable children who never have stains on their clothes or act up or
scream for no apparent reason. Those people. Think about for a second.
We ALL have at least one person.
And in comes my fatal flaw,
because I think, “Right. If I can just accumulate that
handbag/watch/hair product/book she has, then surely my life will
resemble theirs, right?”
W R O N G.
So wrong. Not only
does my life not resemble theirs, it now looks like some sort of
schizophrenic mashup that can’t decide who or what they are. It’s a
buffet of life choices. Constant trips filling up my life plate to taste
this career or that location. It ends in serious anxiety. And credit
card debt. (Editors note: the author is happy to report to put a nip in
this monetary bud in 2012 when she paid off her credit card debt. A
ridiculous sum that most people could buy a new car with… and has
since never been in debt. Small victories.)
I’m not sure when
this all got out of hand. I’m sure middle school. Don’t all horrific
things in life happen in middle school? But we can’t blame our short
comings on middle school traumatics forever, right? We have to grow up
One would hope at the ripe ol’ age of 34, I could
finally add “grown up” to my life resume, but I hear most people feel
like they’re faking the grown up thing until they’re practically on
their deathbed. Even having a kid doesn’t make me feel like a grown up.
In fact, there’s nothing that will make you feel more like a child
crying for your mommy than having a child of your own. You can quote me
One book really isn’t going to change my life. It might
be ‘magical’ but it’s going to take a lot more soul searching to
understand the WHY behind the BUY. (Oooooh, catchy. If that slogan ever
catches on, I want at least half the profits.)
But it’s a start. A start that ended with several black bags being donated to the dumpster and local charity shops.
to end this rambling book review: to the four people still out there
who haven’t read this book yet, please do. Go forth and tidy, my friends!
So the show ended at about 9:30pm. My niece and I sit in our seats for a while just relaxing. I am trying to become more coherent and less like a babbling idiot. We then stand up and the entire theater is empty except for about 7 people. WTF? How did this theater empty so fast? Where is everyone? To the left of us is the Meet and Greet entrance. There are (no lie) 4 people waiting to go in. FOUR. And the lady standing next to us made five. FIVE PEOPLE FOR THE MEET AND GREET! Are you kidding me Lancaster? So this lady asks if we are going too and we said no. And I respond “Well, with only five people doing it, they should let me go too for free!” and the lady gives me a dirty look. WTF Lancaster lady?!?! Does no one get my humor?
So, we leave the theater and it’s empty outside. How did all those little old couples move so fast!?!? I mean some actually had oxygen tanks. I think they ran so fast out of the theater they left tire tracks. Seriously, I love old couples and I loved that they were there. Please no angry anons!!!