I hung out with Jorde tonight. I keep a set of Miami-transplant friends in Minneapolis because they remind me that I am not, in fact, crazy. Call us snotty, but we don’t wear tennis shoes with dress pants, or eat at nightclubs.
The adjustment to Minneapolis was easier for me than it was for my Miami friends up here, mostly because I spent 12 years in Wichita. Although I do occasionally rock some Calle Ocho/Lincoln road tacky, like bright pink shirts.
And yes, there’s a blurry blackberry picture of that:
Bam!
My Miami friends also remind me about what I didn’t like about Miami and habits that I try not to exhibit myself: chronic tardiness, over perfuming, and obnoxious reggaeton blasting… although I have been very guilty about the last item lately.
Maybe I’ll rock the neon pink shirt to the first day of school this fall? I also have some micro-floral that I have yet to unleash. Hm.
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