friday morning secrets.

i have some things to admit. some pretty shameful things, actually. i'm going to start out by saying that since, oh, the age of seventeen (which was a whopping >7 years ago) i haven't been a scenester.

it's just not a comfortable place for me to be. i like music, i go to shows. i can't, however, get down with unwritten hair and dress codes, coolness quotients that fly straight over my head. see, i'm lindsay. i do what i do. and i'm fucking badass.

that's how that works.

keeping that in mind, i will say that in this new city of mine, the 'scene' is the most comfortable place towards which i can gravitate. i should probably be sticking closer to my cohort (that's the cool grad school term for "people in my incoming class"). but they're all...in their 30s. and married. with kids. and years ahead of me, educationally.

and honestly? anthropology is what i do, but anthropology is not what i am. school is great, and i'm doing well, but i can't be school all the time. part of the reason that uk and chapel hill were contenders 1 and 2 in my grad school hunt were that they were great schools in towns with great music. and i like the scene here. the kids are more... rock and roll, i guess, than you see in my previous habitats. so my desire to make friends, feel at home and do more than read has me being exposed to things i've managed to avoid other than by mocking.

like skinny jeans. this is my confession: skinny jeans, i kind of like them. they look kind of cool. and this is worse: i kind of wish i could wear them.

don't worry; i'm still living in bootleg central. at 25, i understand that actual women have actual curves that look actually really bad in tapered pants. and i am an actual woman. more to the point, i can't afford to buy clothes.

seriously though. if someone were to walk up to me tomorrow, hand me some flat abs and thirty bucks, i'd leave a cloud of dust and a scrambly cartoon sound in my haste to get to the mall.

i just thought you needed to know.