30 Day Lolita Challenge: Day Eleven

I was going strong, until I hit this one.

Day 11: One day in your lolita life in pictures.

I've been working a lot lately, so I haven't worn lolita often. I didn't know that this topic was coming up or I would have taken more photos the last time I wore lolita.

I offer to you, instead, photos from when I went to a concert with my boyfriend last fall (he'll probably kill me for this one later). I didn't wear lolita, but I was pretty frilly all the same. He gave me shit for it all day and kept calling me "Strawberry Shortcake", which bit him in the ass, later.

I promise to take photos of a "normal" day and repost this part of the meme the next time I get to dress up!


This was actually an unusual day all around. I went out with my (then LDR) boyfriend for the day, to get my first tattoo (which didn't happen and sucked) and see his favorite band in concert (which did happen and rocked). So! A photo log of a day in my life: a.k.a. what happens when I give my boyfriend the camera, a.k.a. a slew of really unflattering photos of me doing stupid and/or mundane things.

We got up and rolled our lazy butts out of bed for breakfast, showers and the usual mid-morning preparations. We were supposed to get up to the tattoo place around eleven, so I didn't bother to do my hair and we booked it for the studio. I figured we'd have time to come back and get "ready" before the show (which didn't happen and which he gave me grief about all day).

Ready to head out, I handed over the camera and we hit the road. About an hour later, we made it to the tattoo parlor where I parked (badly) and the world got a good look at me.

Remember what I said about my hair?
Yeah. Reeeeal attractive, that.

After I fixed my botched parking job (during which, he mocked me for driving like the Asian-descended one in the relationship), we headed inside the shop to sign paperwork and get my inking done.

Well I think I fit right in. Red. White. Black. Definitely fit.

My artist wasn't there, so the boyfriend figure and I decided to explore the shop and look around. We talked to Jesse and Mark (two of the artists on hand) and were generally lazy lumps on the couch. Mike, the guy I had contracted for the tattoo, never showed.

The torture implements in Johnny's personal room.

The guy doing my tattoo mixed up dates and thought he'd canceled my appointment. We called his cell phone repeatedly and finally, we set up a new appointment for the next day. He promised to be there, absolutely, no problems (he didn't and we headed to Chinatown instead; it too a third go with Jesse at behind the ink to get the damn thing finished), so we headed out to our next stop, the Carriage House Cafe.

On the way there ....

W made fun of the giant crack in my windshield. Repeatedly. Loudly. And took photos of it.

Finally, we made it to our destination!

Yay! Lunchtime!

There were horses!

I like horses a lot.

Nosey bastard. That's Joshua.

It took a LOT of convincing to get him to do this.
His only experience with horses are his family's racehorses.
And they're just fucking nuts.

"aw, they're so cute."
"they're mean fuckers."

Guess who said which?

Cool carriage! Not so cool me.

After exploring a while, we headed inside to eat! The Carriage House Cafe has a lot of old-timey antiques, photos, tack, saddles and other "western" paraphernalia that didn't photograph so well, I'm afraid.

Why're you taking this photo?
No. Seriously. Why?

While we were eating (we hid upstairs away from the other diners), W continued to give me shit for wearing ruffles and red and fluff. He kept on saying how unmetal it was. Then, our waitress showed up and complimented my outfit. Repeatedly. And W got all shame-faced for a bit.

The balcony where we ate.

Kitsch. They had western TV and movie themes playing.

After we ate, we made plans to kill some time, then meet our friend for an early dinner before the concert got into swing. We had to use W's GPS to find our way, because I'm a useless navigator in Houston.

Absolutely. Fucking. Useless.

Textinnnnng.

My gearstick (and W taking photos as an excuse to ogle).

After we left the cafe, we went for a walk. In W's words:

...we went for a stroll around a pond and got attacked by geese and caught a couple going at it just over a small hill.

...I know. It has NOTHING to do with this photo. We were too busy running from the geese and trying not to seem like we'd noticed the couple, okay?

...THIS is at the Bar and Grill on Sixth, which is right across the road from the gig venue, where we met before the show.

Eventful walk around that pond, man. The post-coitus couple cracked me up, I have to admit. And here's where the gig itself was:

When we later approached the building,
W said "I wonder what the buses are here for."
He still hasn't lived it down.

Smiiiiiile.

I said smiiiiiile, dammit!

 As it started to get darker, we lined up for the gig. There were two going. One all ages downstairs, one 18+ upstairs (where we were headed). We got our wrist bands for drinks, our other wrist bands for entry and had some nice chit-chattery with the other folks in line.

W was still giving me shit for my choice of attire.

The other photos we took that night really didn't come out so clear. Loud, dark rooms are not the best for taking photos, after all. We had an awesome time, however, and I was complimented twice more on my outfit (at which point, W gave up and admitted that I was right, metalheads really don't care how you dress to come to a gig).

We went home that night and I crashed out hard, thanks to a combination of a long day, lots of metal, a warm bed and a snuggly body in it.

P.S. The tattoo did happen, after another false start. Jesse was kind enough to work me into his schedule and give Mike the shaft.

Inkdrasil, freshly finished.