rock star

When I got to my computer tonight, I realized I had made a huge mistake. I accidentally ordered thousands of dollars worth of clothing from various internet companies but all in the wrong size. Just kidding, I accidentally deleted all of my outfit photos from yesterday. To be honest, I think it was an act of God. The outfit was nothing to write home about -- or well write about in general. That just means my darlings that I am now 2 days behind on my outfits. Now who does that surprise? I'm just happy that I can get up in the morning and find clean underwear so being only two days behind for me is an accomplishment.
Why is it that whenever you put a little bit of leather on you feel like a total bad-ass? My belt here is probably not even made of real leather but I put it on and feel like a rock star. And by rock star I mean someone who has played a few gigs in their hometown on the weekends and still lives at home in their parents basement. Check out my moves:

A rock star by any other constipated face is still a rock star, right?
Speaking of fake leather, in 9th grade I bought a pair of snake skin pleather (plastic+leather) pants to wear to homecoming. So picture me with large teeth hidden under layers of orthodontia, untamed hair and stick legs walking up to a football game in September in Texas (read -- it's still 90 degrees) in snake skin pants. Needless to say, I was not wearing a mum on my shoulder nor a boy on my arm. A great lesson was learned that evening -- Plastic does not give and legs, when forced into unnatural fabrics, will relentlessly sweat. Also, the said sweat had nowhere to go but down and therefore my size 11 Doc Martens soon became a pool for two very sweaty legs.
I thank God everyday that I am no longer 14. And that I finally traded in those snakeskin pants and doc martens for a nice pleather belt and some gladiator wedges.