The Homeless Trixie Look.

Size 11 (i think) Men's Pumas.
No socks.
Sweatpants.
No hat (yellow hood).
Plastic bag (holding all clothes left at boyfriend Doug's place).
Snowstorm.

Add these things up. What do you get? Mish is not happy at 10:3am on a Sunday morning when finally stepping on the CTA 22 Bus at Wellington and Clark, because she was unable to find the luxury Honda owned by the boyfriend to drive herself home...(hey I won't criticize, as Ferris Buller would say "I don't even have a piece of shit so I have to envy yours" in a conversation with Cameron Fry). My shoes (or shall I say Doug's gym shoes that I was sporting as an alternative to the red patent leather pumps that I wore last night) almost slid off as I walked onto the bus. Luckily, as I turned the corner onto Clark, the bus was just pulling up, so I didn't have to wait , but could practically see because the snow was blowing in my face. Looking into the mirror upon my return to Lincoln and Armitage, it was clear that I had a very unique look going on: smeared mascara, wet hair, yellow hood, damp draw-string pants, stamp on right hand from Grand Central, and plastic bag with hoodies pouring out. Sweet. Surprisingly, I didn't run into any previous guys I had hooked up with. What a shock! Those things usually happen to me.