Chapter Forty-Three
What Jo Wore
Post #1270: Welcome!
Comments: 1,340 Likes: 23,009
Hello to all my new followers! Many of you found me from the Marc Jacobs show, but I’d like to invite you to relax and stay a while. I hope you’ll find that my blog is full of great advice for the beauty obsessed on a budget. You can check out my past beauty guides, fashion posts, and hair style guides in the archives section of the site.
Once you’re done with that, I just posted a new video on YouTube highlighting a few of my favorite homemade lip stains. I’m a MAJOR fan of lip stains! They have the same dramatic effect of lipstick without the mess. Not to mention, I’ve learned from experience that they withstand even the hottest make-out sessions. More on that later though ;)
For now, check out my video below.
Until tomorrow,
XOJO
…
Josephine
I told myself I couldn’t miss Julian while I was in Texas because we weren’t really dating, but my brain wouldn’t listen. We’d had sex eleven times. (Twelve if I counted the time he went down on me on my couch. That had been an out of body experience. Mouth-finger coordination was one of his fortes.) On top of that, he’d taken me out for exactly three frozen yogurts and five pre-coitus meals. What the hell were we doing if it wasn’t dating? I refused to think of it as friends with benefits—I have a vibrator for that. His name is Larry and he’s much lower maintenance than Julian.
I was nervous about my trip to Texas, not only because I was leaving things with Julian a tad up in the air, but also because in the last few months, there’d only been a handful of days that we hadn’t seen each other. A week straight would be a new test—one I knew I wouldn’t easily pass.
I stared out at the bus terminal through my tiny window and wished I could fast-forward seven days ahead. I wished that instead of sitting on the bus, waiting to start my journey to Texas, I was already back and about to meet up with Julian for some steamy reunion sex. (Because, duh, that’s gonna be awesome.)
“Lady, is this seat taken?”
I glanced over my shoulder to find an older woman wearing a yellow muumuu and clutching a giant fabric bag that reminded me of my grandmother’s old curtains. She reeked of cigarette smoke and what I could only assume was the faint stench of cat pee.
Oh no. Nononono. This isn’t happening.
I glanced around the bus to see if there were still vacant seats. There were plenty, at least ten or twelve near the back, yet she wanted to sit right beside me.
What was I going to do? Lie? I had two days of traveling on the bus with her. She’d clearly find out if I lied and then I’d have to suffer her death stares for the rest of the ride. No thanks. I didn’t want to be found dead on the side of some highway.
I nodded and smiled timidly, ensuring that my carryon bag was tucked between my legs so she’d have plenty of room. She took the seat beside me and I held my breath, wondering just how long I could get away with breathing through my mouth.
“I brought a tuna sandwich for lunch,” she said. “They never stop enough and my doctor says I have to watch my blood sugar like a hawk.”
I swear my eye twitched as I tried to keep from saying something obviously rude in reply. She didn’t notice my silence and kept right on talking. There were fifteen minutes of people filing onto the bus and her sentences just kept on coming.
“I have disc issues in my neck, so I like to rest my head on my neighbor so that I can get some good shuteye. Don’t worry though, you can do the same to me, I don’t mind.”
Awesome.
“If I pass gas while I’m asleep just nudge me awake. I think I let this sandwich sit out a little too long this morning.”
Perfect.
“You don’t mind if I take the middle armrest, right? My elbow is arthritic.”
Great. I’ll just wedge myself against the glass and pray for death.
With each passing word, I slid down lower and lower in my chair. I’d walked the runway of NYFW a week earlier and yet I couldn’t afford a plane ticket home. Instead I had to spend 46 hours next to this bag of bones as she farted on my face?
How is this my life!?
I didn’t give myself another second to sit in self-pity. I pulled out my laptop, logged on to the Greyhound’s wifi (thank god for that), and pulled up the email from Vogue—the email I’d been avoiding for the past week. I knew Elizabeth was waiting for my reply, and I’d drafted one right away. I’d actually drafted fifteen, I just didn’t think any of them were good enough to send yet.
I reread the first part of the email and then checked through the items she’d requested I send: cover letter, resume, and a portfolio filled with my best blog posts, Instagram photos, and Twitter posts. They wanted proof that I could create new, interesting content for their readers, so I also had to include a short presentation of what I could offer the Vogue team that would differ from the other applicants.
All in all, it didn’t seem so bad. I jotted down a list of things to get done during the bus ride, praying my laptop would stay charged long enough for me to finish. Then, I scanned back down the email and froze as I caught sight of two words:
Signing. Bonus.
My stomach dropped.
Ms. Keller, I’d also like to inform you that you would receive a one-time signing bonus. This isn’t standard protocol, but our social media team really has their eye set on you and we’ve come up with a number that we hope adequately reflects our interest.
I stared at the sum listed at the bottom of the email, counting the zeros three or four times before I decided that they were actually there. The signing bonus she’d listed was more money than I’d ever had in my bank account at one time. It was more money than I hoped to save in the next five years. It would cover the rest of my student loan debt and then leave me with a few thousand left over. Most importantly, it was far too much money to ignore.
As the Greyhound bus pulled away from the terminal, I started typing away on the items Elizabeth had requested. By the time I’d nailed down my cover letter, the city skyline was long gone and we were well on our way to Texas.
Heehaw.