This is moving-in day. August 1994. I'm on the right, and my best pal Jenny is on the left. We've been friends since first grade, and decided to room together our freshman year. That didn't turn out to be such a good idea, and this photo was the last known time we were within two feet of each other. Kidding! We're still pals, but the story of our inability to live in the same room together (I am HARD to live with, people) is a tale for another post.
Oh, and this is also the last mental image my mother had of her daughter as she merrily drove back home at the end of the day. No worries, right?
And this is me a few months later, during the red hair stage. I also have the eyebrow ring in this picture, although it's barely visible. Note the tights I'm wearing. Oh dear.
Here's me home for the weekend, this time sporting black hair. This photo also represents the first time my grandparents saw my eyebrow ring. I can't decide if my grandma is wagging her finger at the ring, or at the wee little brain inside her granddaughter's head that made her decide to pierce her face.
Now I'm on my way to a Cure concert in Pittsburgh. I'm shown here with my friend Kelly (Karrie and another friend from college also made the trip). We taped that lovely sign to the back of my 1989 maroon Chrysler LeBaron before we began the four-hour drive. Ah, youth.
And finally, the most awesome pair of shoes I've ever owned: silver hologram Doc Marten boots, purchased from the three-floor Doc Marten Department Store in London, where I spent three weeks taking a course my last year in college. As you can see, I wore these boots under my gown the day I graduated from college. Words cannot describe how much I love these boots. I still have them. Unfortunately, they don't quite fit under the restrictive canopy of "business casual." I know you're envious. If I didn't have my very own pair, I would be too!
And if you're interested, I recorded my mom's "Don't you want to be pretty???" outcry and added it here. Karrie thought you should hear my interpretation of the pain and agony in her voice. Poor mommy.