Orange is the new...

What's yo flava, tell me what's you flava mmm.

Remember those commercials? I do. Fortunately, this pop culture reference circa 2011 Crystal Lite infomercials is significant to our topic of the day, being (drumroll) What's yo color? Tell me what's yo color mmm.

It's a valid question. Though parallel to my defective mood ring perpetually reigning the color orange (stressed and indignant according to wikianswers) only in coincidence, your color is more reflective of the superficial stressors. Like, how the color complies with your skin tone, whether the sun will reflect or absorb the pigments of said garment in both cumulus and stratus cloud fixtures, how versatile the color is in conjunction with the contents of your current scheme wears, etc., etc.

Ze Scarf

... Not to be confused with just any tartan, wool, silk, jersey, cashmere, or pashmina stretch of fabric cloaking your neck. No, it's ze scarf and it's parisian. We've promptly established that it's quite literally too cool for school outside, sequentially leaving matters of hypothermic safety to a very limited accord of feasible footwear, but I'm not bitter. Nor am I willing to succumb entirely to the resilience of the black hole (i.e. vortex) from which this endless supply of snow and negative Fahrenheits hail.

But, then again, I'm not bitter. And the cold does have its upsides.

Hear me out

Have you ever seen that American Apparel t-shirt claiming "All blogs say the same stuff"? Even if you haven't, in my defense and in accordance to my ongoing strife to beat the statistic, I am not going to express my distaste toward the vengeance of the polar vortex. Nor will I channel my loathing into the coordination of a super cute, snowball-proof outfit.

Nope. Not me. Not gonna do it.

Instead, let's talk about something fun. Like maybe the things that stylize my ears. If you recall, accessorizing of the extremities besides my body's major functional parts ( i.e. two legs, two arms, one torso and a pair of feet) has yet to come so easy. When it comes to rings for the fingers, necklaces for the necks and wristlets for the wrists, a piece of jewelry seems to just get lost in the shuffle of aggressive hand washings, habitual pendant fiddlings and the 35 minutes after the crack of dawn I allot my self in preparation for a day of hell *cough, cough* school.

Superbare

Whoreay! Our snowpocalyptic fate has stilled. And while it's no high time for binge tablet reading or acid wash daisy dukes paired with salt stained uggs– and maybe not even becoming enough for bare unshaven legs–but it's a tadbit late for that dontcha' think.

Me thinks so.

Survival of Sorts

In lieu of the preempted blizzard that is upon us metro-detroiters, there is a buy-as-much-shit-as-you-can-to-comfortably-survive warning in effect leading to the remaining question still hanging in the frigid early-January air, being: exactly what do I NEED to survive?