When I first moved to New York (Well, I was actually moving to Scep and Katie’s study, but now that you know that all my exciting LA adventures involve me staying in the murder hotel, I guess “moving to my friends’ couch” probably isn’t that surprising.), I cut and dyed my hair because I am a chick lit novel cliche.
Once I was actually doing something with my hair, instead of a quick shampoo and a damp ponytail (or a Mountie Bun) every single day, I had to get a hair spray.
This hairspray smells like promise and excitement. It smells like fixing my hair in an airplane bathroom because Figment is picking me up at LAX! It smells like saying I’m a games journalist at the VGAs, SxSW, E3, and GDC, over and over, until it starts to sound true. It smells like climbing out of the window with the guys at Neverdie Studios to take a balcony break. Like getting my morning caramel coffee at the Starbucks downstairs from the first Next Island office. Like going to grab some dinner with Harold, and realizing we were the only ones left, and the waitstaff is trying to put the chairs up and close. Again. Like wearing sundresses in the fountains in Bed-Stuy, like catching up with the successful adult versions of my high school friends. It smells freaking awesome, is what I’m saying.
Today, while I was packing, I managed to crack the bottle. I don’t know how this happened, since I was carefully packing in an organized way, and definitely not shoving things haphazardly in a box. I cleared up the spill, but now all my boxes for Chapel Hill smell like promise and excitement.
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