The door swung open and Kate walked in. Her jeans and T-shirt were splattered with blood and she was carrying a severed vampire head. The T-shirt has a smiley face on it.
One of the stall doors swings open and a fortyish-year-old woman walks out tucking her shirt into her jeans. Her heavy lined eyes land on Seth. "This is the women's restroom." She points a finger to the door. "Can't you read?" "Can't you see that everyone in this club is about twenty years younger than you?" Seth retorts, turning to the mirror. With his pinkie, he messes with bangs. "Now if you'll excuse us, we're going to have some fun.
Then there was Nico di Angelo. Dang, that kid gave Leo the freaky-deakies. He sat back in his leather aviator jacket, his black T-shirt and jeans, that wicked silver skull ring on his finger, and the Stygian sword at his side. His tufts of black hair struck up in curls like baby bat wings. His eyes were sad and kind of empty, as if he’d stared into the depths of Tartarus—which he had.
I actually don't shop very much. I have a tendency to rotate a few pairs of ripped jeans and an old cashmere sweater.
Looking at her, I thought again how beautiful she was - even in jeans and a T-shirt, no makeup, she was breathtaking. So much so that it was hard to believe she could ever have looked at herself and seen anything else.
Jordan followed, buttoning his jeans and muttering about how there was nothing strange about having a pattern of dancing penguins on your underwear.
I am wearing a gray shirt, blue jeans, black shoes--new clothes, but beneath them, my Dauntless tattoos. It is impossible to erase my choices. Especially these.
Sydney, I'm so happy to see you again. If there's anything I can do for you, please let me know. And you must be Neil." "Your majesty." Neil swept her a bow so low that his forehead touched the ground. Above him, Adrian rolled his eyes. "Easy there, Lancelot," Adrian said. "I don't think bowing is required when she's in jeans and bunny slippers.
Eventually she came. She appeared suddenly, exactly like she'd done that day- she stepped into the sunshine, she jumped, she laughed and threw her head back, so her long ponytail nearly grazed the waistband of her jeans. After that, I couldn't think about anything else. The mole on the inside of her right elbow, like a dark blot of ink. The way she ripped her nails to shreds when she was nervous. Her eyes, deep as a promise. Her stomach, pale and soft and gorgeous, and the tiny dark cavity of her belly button. I nearly went crazy.
You're lookin' so good in what's left of those blue jeans Drip of honey on the money maker gotta be The best buzz I'm ever gonna find Hey, I'm a little drunk on you And high on summertime
I'm never sloppy, and I never wear jeans. I don't work one look in particular, but it's usually retro - I'm a flea-market freak. And detailed - I'm always very done, even at the gym.
High school for me was not all that fun. I think it's a lot more fun after when you realize that high school ends, and everything that's important at that time is sort of not important if people don't like your jeans or whatever. It doesn't matter.
I'm really clumsy, so I trip and fall a lot. And every time I perform in New York my pants split onstage. That's happened four or five times. Every time, I pull on my mom's jeans as fast as I can, so there we are, standing backstage without our pants on. It's like a curse.
You can try to trick the people and come out wearing a fedora and a tuxedo but that's not me. I was born in the late '70s, I wear jeans. I don't hang out in casinos. The lifestyle isn't my thing. I don't drink martinis and I don't smoke cigars.
For the most part, yeah, I'm happy with my body, but there are days when I'm like, 'Ugh! Really? Why is it so hard to fit into my jeans?' That's when I say to myself, 'I look this way because I'm supposed to. If we all looked the same, we'd be boring.
I literally remember when I made my audition tape for 'Buffy'. I went to the Arsenal Mall. I got my outfit at Contempo Casuals in the Arsenal Mall and put some safety pins in my jeans. I remember telling whoever the clerk was that I was making a tape for 'Buffy', and they were so excited.
As a rule, wearing a bigger pair of jeans looks better than squishing yourself into a pair of jeans that used to fit before you gave up smoking.
I'm super, super casual. I like boxer shorts or jeans or tank tops, tennis shoes and flip flops. That's about it for me.
I wish I was one of those cute pregnant girls who wear skinny jeans throughout their pregnancies. But I just gain weight.
I love a great pair of jeans and a nice blouse.
The ocean is 20 minutes away. Nature surrounds me 24/7. I wake up to the sounds of birds chirping. I also love that I can go out to dinner in jeans and flip-flops.
I don't think it's good to constantly talk about your own weight and the fact that you look fat in jeans.
When one is undone—sprawled across the cold tile of a public bathroom in a pool of one’s own vomit, or shivering in the back of a taxi in a pair of urine-soaked skinny jeans with no money for cab fare and a dead cell phone battery—much like a wobbly toddler or an unhinged politician, one immediately looks for someone else to blame. God. Your parents. Ex-girlfriends. Undocumented immigrants. Marvin in Human Resources. China.
If you start giving your kids anxiety about food, it's going to last a lifetime. Moms have to lead by example. Don't say, "Oh, my jeans don't fit," or "Oh, I was bad." No diets. Nothing like that.
I never looked at magazines before I started modeling. I was 13 or 14 and none of my friends were into magazines. We were into the fashion of the day, though. Designer jeans were really popular - Sasson, Gloria Vanderbilt, Calvin Klein, Jordache. Once I started modeling, I began to learn about these things, and magazines helped me to understand who was who.
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