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Hipstercrite Life

The Great White North

My favorite time of year is here! The time of year where I no longer have to worry if my ass cheeks are hanging out of the bottom of my shorts. The time of year my frame is no longer a terrain of small bodies of sweat and dried kneetop and elbowtops. A time where I can resort back to dressing like Truman Capote. A time of cardigans and scarves and stockings and pants and soon enough I’ll be bitching about how cold it is even thought it’s only 65.

In two weeks I will be heading up to the Vermont Film Festival with my honey sweetie child (the longer you date and become more comfortable with someone, the more obnoxious nouns you add to their name) for a screening of his first film, Mars. At that time, my mother will take a carload of people including my auditorily-challenged grandmother, the cognitively-challenged Lionel, and the hyper-activelly challenged Jack Russell Terrier named Lucy and meeting us in Burlington.

This will be the first time my mother meets my boyfriend, something (more…)