Fashionable memories

It's starting to get a bit cooler and I love it. I wish I had some profound reason for loving the cold weather, but it is actually all about clothes. The rich chocolate browns, the fake fur, the leather boots and the tights of cooler weather are the ultimate in fantastic. I don't mind summer clothes. They're fine and in Taipei, the less you wear the better. I just prefer fall and winter fashions. I'm not some fashionista or anything of the sort. Basically I'm a former fat girl with a passion for fashion. When I was a kid, I remember waiting to buy the Back-to-School issue of Seventeen magazine. I would look at each page and imagine myself in the corduroy pants or the tweed jackets. I would be so hot in the fashions that defined the 80s. The only problem, well at least one of them was that I was 250 pounds. Back then before fat chic, there wasn't much for the fashionably conscious pudgy set. It was Lane Bryant or bust. I wasn't unfashionable. I had my own style and even if it were larger than average, I think I sort of carried it off a wee bit. I don't know if I did or not, but I was a princess of delusion, so I'll never know. I went through this punk stage when I was in high school. I had one side of my hair above my ear shaved, bleached blond and then dyed hot pink. I wore this oversized biker jacket and I thought I was the shit. My dad freaked a bit, especially when his brother died and we had to go down to Alabama for his funeral. I ended up using some temporary mousse that covered the pink, but dripped on my clothes under the drizzling rain during the funeral. I miss my dad a lot these days. There are things that I want to share with him, but I have to keep to myself. There's a part of me that keeps thinking that it is all a bad dream and that I'm going to wake up, call my dad and discover that he's fine. I just want him to know that I'm fine. I want him to know that I'm not going to fuck up my life like I was doing before he got sick. I guess if I could have anything right now, I'd like a chance to speak with him and have him back to normal for a while. My dad wasn't perfect, but he was mine. I always tell Gordon the I hope Catherine feels the same way about him as I feel about my dad. I want to go home sometimes, but I'm afraid of how I'll react. I like to think that I'll be mature and not breakdown like a blubbering idiot, but knowing myself, I don't think this will happen. It's almost time for me to get off the train. I'm writing this on the way home because this is my only time to do what I love. Now it's off to get Catherine, make a semi-nutritious dinner (Is chicken broccoli rice bad for a kid three days in a row?), do a bit of bonding, get here to bed and then do some homework. I have a progress report to do for an assignment and my progress sucks. I could have worked on it more, but trying to be Holly Homemaker and making Catherine's costume took more time than I anticipated. Here's a few pictures of her as a "rainbow fairy." Gordon thought she looked like a car wash. I don't care. She's my car wash and I love her.