Sep. 12th, 2008

ext_3319: Goth girl outfit (projekt rev concert survival)
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...but this was one of the bright spots in a fairly taxing day on Wednesday.

I drove up to Boston to visit a friend in the hospital. As it was a perfect sunny fall day, I dressed for comfort and my own pleasure, neither sloppy nor over-primped. In my case, that was dark red patent Doc Martens, black skinny leg low-ish rise jeans with a three row pyramid stud belt, and the Cure shirt that I paid too much money for at Madison Square Garden in May.

I thought a shirt that said "Cure" was probably better for a hospital than one with the skull and batwinged heart that's Voltaire's logo, even if my friend loves Voltaire.

My hair was in its usual shoulder length ringlets, currently black with fairly subtle purple streaks (Color Shock Violet Shock, over faded Special Effects Nuclear Red from June, over bleach). I wanted them subtle -- I've got to be job hunting, and I was hoping I wouldn't have to overdye the bleach with black.

And, it being a perfect sunny day, I also had on my cheapie knock-off Ray-Bans. (I will not wear other shapes of sunglasses. Personal thing.)

I had some errands to do in Harvard Square. (Ah, cops with Boston accents and the wafting smell of clove smoke outside the T stop, I am HOME...)

So as I was walking to the T, a college age or maybe early twenties guy, cute, looks at me and smiles and says "Nice shirt!" I smiled back at him, but I was walking. (Also, had a date planned for that night, so not desperate.) Still, nice to be noticed!

And then once I was waiting for my train, an older guy looks at me and says "That's an old shirt, isn't it?" I say, "no, I got it in June, at the concert at Madison Square Garden, it's a current design," and we get to talking. I did a pretty good job keeping it to "cordial" rather than "flirtatious," I think, but anyway... here is the bragging part.

In the course of conversation, I mentioned bringing my daughter to the concert. He asked how old she was, and I said, stretching the point by five days, "Thirteen." (Her birthday's Monday.)

He did a double-take. And said he thought I was college age. I said thank you, and something about college being twenty years ago. I'm 38.

What I did not say, although I thought it, was "You only think I'm younger because I am not dressed in any way like a grown-up."

Sometimes I like being an aging punk. (Goth. Freak. Whatever. Back when I WAS that young, I was a freakin' hippie!)


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For The Goth Punk Hippie of a Certain Age

May 2012


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