Dressed to Kill

I love vamping it up like a femme fatale, and would love nothing more than to do so every single day of my life, except that it's so tiring and involved sometimes. You have to have the perfect clothes, the perfect hair, the perfect makeup, and most of all, the perfect fuck off attitude. While I generally dress pretty well, if a bit conservatively and traditionally, there are always those days when I just don't have the energy to put into picking out the perfect clothes, doing the perfect hair and makeup, and I certainly don't have the mindset for the perfect fuck off attitude.

But today is not one of those days. Today I have it all together, the long pencil skirt, the fitted black turtleneck, the kick ass new H-O-T HOT boots, the hair pulled up and clipped just so, the perfect smoky eyes and dark red vamp lips. Hell, my teeth are even getting whiter thanks to the miracle of modern chemistry. It is one of those days when I can't do anything else but strut, which we all know looks fan-fucking-tastic in a perfect pencil skirt and kitten heel suede boots.

Which is all kind of funny because I was lamenting to myself earlier that I had no good reason for such vamping and strutting today. No plans to go for drinks, no plans for dinner, no plans beyond hitting the grocery store on the way home, doing some dishes, cleaning a little and going to bed early. You might say, as I certainly do, that it was almost a wasted effort to be so fucking glamorous.

But I knew there had to be a reason, and it came when Chepe called to see if I had time for some coffee before he went to work at the restaurant tonight. YAY! Perfect timing. So sophisticated I am, taking time in the afternoon to go have a coffee with my lover, yes? So very femme fatale. One might say I have that perfect je ne sais quoi about me, even.

Of course the plethora of runs in my hose might tend to ruin the effect just a wee bit if you know they're there, as I do.

I swear one day I'll get this whole femme fatale thing right.

Where the hell did THAT come from?

I've kind of been drifting along the last month or so, generally on a pretty even keel, even when I've been sorting through some things in my mind. Not in a bad mood, not in a great mood, but definitely in a significantly improved mood. The mornings are good, the workday is okay, evenings are nice and a chance to wind down with perhaps a glass of wine and relax before going to bed and repeating the cycle.

And then I hit a day like today when, all of a sudden, I'm so fucking irritable for no apparent reason. Seriously, just the fact that someone is breathing is enough to set me off today. And the woman who sat across from me on the bus this morning and kept moving her legs? I could have screamed!

And I'm argumentative, which isn't really me. I mean, sure, if you know me you know that I'll pick up on any slight inaccuracy or mistatement and I'll start belaboring that point, but this is different. This is me actually almost looking for arguments, picking arguments. And I'm one of the most non-confrontational people I know. (No, really, I am. Really. Fine, don't believe me, but I am.)

I have no idea where this comes from. I'm not PMSing, if that's what you think. Not the right time for that. Everything is going great, bills are paid (for a change), social plans have been made/are in the making (for a change), I've got pretty new clothes and books and things (for a change), I have my house back all to myself, I have trips to New York and London planned, I've started a self-improvement kick.

So I'm left asking myself, Where the hell did THAT come from? Does this happen to anyone else, or am I the only irrational neurotic freak like this?

Well, that's me screwed, then

So yesterday at the restaurant, I found a fortune-telling birthday book in the host stand. Being the naturally curious sort, of course I had a look at what it said for my birthday (which is hereby officially announced as October 27, just so you all know to send me big expensive presents!). Most of it was pretty close, except for the bit about me being the type of person who likes to be busy all the time. As if! I'm the one who's perfectly happy to lay around the apartment all weekend watching crap tv and playing on the internet! And then the last line also was clearly crap. It said,

You should marry young.

Bit late now, I guess. *sigh*

And for the weekend roundup:

• Got the cat litter cleaned and most of the house satisfactory by the time Chepe got there Fri night, but due to getting bored with it and going outside with some red wine and cigs, the dishes didn't get done. Oh, well, shit happens. I'll do them tonight.
• Locked myself out of my apartment Saturday. Had to wait hours for the landlord, so took myself down to my new fave "local" pub. Only 20 or so blocks away.
• I'm in love with my mailman now. I just happened to be there Saturday when he delivered the mail in the late afternoon because the restaurant had been slow and I got out early. He left his route in the middle and went back to the post office to bring me my beautiful new boots. They are HOT. I can't wait to wear them.
• I waited on Chelsea Clinton Saturday at the restaurant. She's a lot prettier in real life, taller and thinner than I thought, and her hair is lighter now. Nice girl, not too demanding for a vegetarian who doesn't eat egg yolks. I'm impressed. It's nice to see someone grow up under all that scrutiny, with all the advantages and perks, and still turn out treating the wait staff well. Her boyfriend is a cutie, too. And so is his friend. So Chels, if you find this, tell your bf's friend (I remember his name from the credit card, but I'm not rude enough to post such a thing online, you know which one I mean) he's welcome to come back to the restaurant and hit on me anytime. We could all go for drinks. Yeehaw! (BTW, I do have a normal office job, too, I'm not just some crazy waitress. I'm a crazy paralegal. That's much better, right?)
• Somehow I agreed to be in a political puppet show about how the public housing in DC is being sold off to private developers. WTF was I thinking? Yeah, that's my destiny in life, to be a political activist/puppeteer. It might work if I'm allowed to be obscene and abusive, too. Maybe on The Daily Show? But the best part is, I get to play a kazoo, too.
• I really must cut myself off from the thrift store. I swear, I only went in for a few books. But I came out with a lovely lavender tweed wool skirt, 3 thin knit tops, a tie front cardigan, a brown sweater jacket with faux fur collar, a red glass container that's perfect for a salt cellar, and 4 books, including We Need to Talk About Kevin (for .99). And they weren't even crap books, they're good ones by good authors. All for $35.

I think that's it. Isn't that enough?

When Will I Learn?

Hot date (?) tonight with Chepe. Sink full of dirty dishes. Cat box in desperate need of cleaning. Spare room still a minor mess. Clothes drying still hanging in bathroom.

Why do I do this to myself? I've been so proud of actually keeping my apartment rather clean for the past week or two, and trust me, this is a major accomplishment. Dishes have been done before they take over the counters, nothing is growing in the refrigerator, bed made every day. Well, sheets and comforter pulled up anyway.

So I was bragging to him this afternoon how clean the place has been. I couldn't very well then beg off having him in the apartment, could I? And the days are long past when I could just whisk a man through into my bedroom and throw him on the bed. Or are they? There's an idea.

*sigh*

Another quick clean in the offing. One of these days I'll learn, I'm sure. Whenever I get around to being a grownup.

I'm not leaving and you can't make me!

My bed, that is. At least, once I'm in it, I don't want to leave.

See, I have this love of lounging in bed. Reading in bed. Watching tv in bed. Eating in bed. Blogging in bed. (No, you bunch of pervs, that is NOT where I am right now, check the time stamp! But I wish I was.) And, you know, generally hanging out in bed. And doing bed things. In bed.

I am aided and abetted in my love of bed time by the addition of not one, but two featherbeds on top of my mattress. I love my featherbeds. They envelope me as I slide into bed and make me feel like I'm sleeping on a cloud. They keep it warmer in the cold winters. I must mention here that I am deeply indebted to my best friend, K, for introducing me to the wonders of featherbeds.

I am also sucked into bed by the addition of cotton jersey sheets. For a few years now, they are the only sheets I've used, in spite of the fact that Oprah loves them, too. (Kind of like reading a book in spite of the fact that it's part of the Oprah Book Club. Man, I hate buying those books with that little insignia on them. I try to hide it, like every other non-sheep-like person I know.) They really are the softest sheets known to man. One of the best feelings in the world is slipping into the freshly plumped and made bed when the sheets have just come out of the dryer (which is supposed to be getting fixed next week, by the way).

Well, it's gotten even worse. Last week, friends were coming to town and the Roommate had not as yet vacated the spare room, so I was going to put them in my room and sleep on the couch. What with the dryer still broken, this necessitated the buying of new sheets. Okay, I didn't really have to buy new sheets, I could have taken mine over to the laundromat and washed and dried them (because really, you didn't think I was going to let my guests sleep on crunch, hang-dried sheets, did you? Eeeuuuwwwwww.). But again, you don't really think I'm going to haul my lazy ass and a whole bunch of stuff 2 blocks to a laundromat, did you? Ha!

Ummm. . . where was I? Oh, right, sheets. So like any good shopper, I stopped by Bed, Bath and Beyond on my way home last week and got these lovelies. Go ahead, click on it. These sheets are green! Not the color, I got camel, no, not a camel, but they're made out of beech tree fiber. Look at me, being all green and shit. Go, me! But even better? They were on sale. They are absolutely fucking amazing. That description is not exaggerating one iota. They feel so soft and silky, I don't ever want another type of sheets. These babies caress me when I get into bed.

But, of course, I couldn't stop there, so I got a new deep red comforter set (sale), an uncle for sitting up and reading (sale), and 2 cushy new pillows (sale, and absolutely needed because mine were pathetic).

The really scary thing is that when I get my new faux-wrought iron birthday bed (which Blogger for whatever reason will not let me put the pic up for you all to fantasize about), I'm really never going to leave my room. I wonder if there's a man delivery service around here?

Stating the Obvious

You Belong in Paris

Stylish and a little sassy, you were meant for Paris. The art, the fashion, the wine, the men! Whether you're enjoying the cafe life or a beautiful park... You'll love living in the most chic place on earth.

What City Do You Belong In?

courtesy of Karen

Turn the Page - Can You Smell That?

*sniff sniff*

Can you smell that? Or is it just me that smells it? It's change. I don’t know when or quite how, but it’s there.

It’s the scent of another chapter in my life coming to a close and a new one fermenting, about to begin. Only it smells better than fermentation tanks. Yuck.

I don’t know really how to explain it any other way. It’s just a feeling, an intuition. I don’t know yet if it’s something that is happening on its own, organically, or if it’s something that I’m meant to be taking control of myself. Maybe it’s a bit of both.

Of course, it could just be the smell of autumn rain.

Edited: I keep giggling now, thinking about my life as a scratch and sniff book.

Role Model

So school has started again and the onslaught of kids is back. Each morning as I walk to the bus stop, I pass dozens of uniformed kids going the opposite direction to the school across the street from my house.

Last year, it felt like I was running the gauntlet each morning. It was as if I had regressed back to that timid, shy, geeky, gawky girl carrying too many books and wearing too thick glasses and too out of style clothes with too straight hair. It felt like they were judging me. It was pathetic, and I knew it even then. I mean, these are 10-14 year olds, for fuck's sake. I'm 35. That was how beaten down I was then, how far my self-esteem and confidence had plummeted.

This year, well, this year it's all different. There's a spring in my step that I haven't had in a long time. Except I do feel bad about one thing: my last cigarette of the morning which I always smoke on the way to the bus. I thought about it earlier this week, and wondered if perhaps I was not being a good role model, strolling down the street waving my cancer stick around. Then I saw that at least 2/3 of them are carrying McDonald's bags to school and/or eating McD's on the way and I said to myself, Fuck it, they've already got bad role models, I'm going to enjoy my leisurely death.

I never wanted to be a role model anyway.

Sweet Serenade

I was serenaded on the bus this morning by a gentleman singing that old romantic classic, Da Butt. You know it, I'm sure, we all danced around shakin' our booties to it in the late 80s or early 90s - it's been so long I've forgotten. It's just one of those songs that you don't hear for 5 years or more, but when you do, you remember every single word. And so did this guy on the bus.

I was too scared to turn around and see if he was actually Doin' da Butt.

Seriously, folks, I couldn't make this kind of shit up. It's some kind of surreal alternate world I live in.

What I didn't want

I didn't want you to go, even though I said I did. I came back downstairs but you were already gone.

I didn't want to look forward to seeing you, but I do.

I didn't want to spend more time with you, but I realized I did want to.

I didn't want a spare hour or two here or there, but that's all you have to offer.

I didn't want someone who has to leave so soon, but that's what I got.

I didn't want this, but I do. And now I don't know what to do.

I didn't want to compromise what I want.