A letter to you, sophomore indie-babe boy:
Yes, I know, this junior girl crushing you from afar might be obnoxious, she sent you a candy cane, with her name accidentally on it (i feel so embarassed typing that), stalks you in the halls, etc. etc.
Maybe she's sorry, maybe she's not. Truth is, she hasn't done something this silly for a boy since the 7th grade (we are NOT talking about that.).
So trudge on with you Harold (and Maude) haircut, crazy eyes, skinny frame, and beat-up black adidas sneakers. They are a classic.
I know that I will probably always be battling this affliction, the sophomore-boys-that-I-know-are-no-good-for-me mind trip. But I will survive. I am intrepid. (Not to mention I'm not going to play the let's-mess-with-a-younger-boy's-mind-while-I'm-with-someone-who's-not-any-old-someone-la-la-la game.)
Yes. I am steadfast. Yes. I am strong. Yes. Keep wearing those plastic bag "Thank You" t-shirts, listening to Bob Dylan (or so I hear), and being the indie-creeper of my schoolday dreams.
Not to mention how mad I am about not being able to get someone to take his picture today on a dress down day so I could post it as street style.
Insert depressed sign here.
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