Wednesday January 30, 2008

Bad idea:
getting so excited about having pigs in a blanket for lunch that you devour two dozen or so cocktail weenies baked in croissant dough.  Never again.


Tuesday January 29, 2008

It's not the most exciting outfit ever, but hey, NOTHING I wore today was black.  Which is notable.
Awesome orange scarf, $4!
Old purple tank under American Apparel v-neck, jeans that aren't actually all that dark on the shins but got caught in tonight's rainstorm/walk home from Econ, shockingly comfortable 4" brown wedge heels.

Tonight I'm working on my internship application to The Kennedy Center, which involves doing some editing of my undergrad opus on Blau and Beckett to fit it down to a three-page excerpt for the required writing sample.  Whenever I get antsy with academia and long for a "normal" career, I need to go back and read essays on Beckett and Barker and Suzan-Lori Parks and remember that wow, the things I want to do with my life kick ass.  And that reading things like "Use your head, can't you, use your head, you're on earth, there's no cure for that!" will always take my breath away a bit.


Monday January 28, 2008

You know what's rather hard for me to do?  Force myself to put together an ensemble involving a color other than black, grey, or navy at 7 am.  And 7 am was, unfortunately, the hour at which I had to get dressed for an early-ass meeting with another faculty candidate. 
Confession:  I was flickr-ing (gaaaaawd, I should really update my Flickr page!) through Wardrobe Remix and ran across a fabulous citrus yellow & grey outfit, which I stored in my head as a Great Idea.  And when I found this mustard yellow sweater for cheap, I had to grab it and immediately put it on with my grey skirt.  Thanks for the inspiration, Amber in Norfolk.

(lighting not so great.  argh.)

Mustard yellow deep-V sweater (from Forever 21:  so cheap in many ways) over old black tank, baby blue Matt & Nat Jorja Fox bag with all my notebooks and such, black lizard MJ cuff watch, asphalt high-waisted American Apparel pencil skirt, black tights, black flat Born boots.


Sunday January 27, 2008

Cocktail attire appreciated, indeed.

Handmade sparkly January birthday tiara courtesy Ms. Niblack, vintage black jacquard wool dress, vintage stretch opera-length gloves. 
(Lack of lipstick blamed on hour of 2:00 a.m.)


Saturday January 26, 2008

(in which I was kitted out in tough-girl biker-esque gear for most of the day)

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yes:  I did purchase that leather motorcycle jacket.
yes:  I have been wearing it pretty much every day for the past three weeks.
yes:  I cropped out my face because the facial expression was awkward and pained and somewhat threatened, which does nothing to show off my pretty, pretty, soft leather jacket.

Wearing today round 2 to come later:  tonight's invite is for a birthday party, "cocktail attire encouraged".  Which seems to be as good an occasion as any to show up in my vintage opera-length gloves and possibly pearls.


Friday January 25, 2008

I haaaaate washing my bras.  I do it by hand because I do not trust the washing machine to not warp or shred ("You don't put a bra in the dryer!  It warps!"), but I am not happy about it.  I hate it so much that I put this chore off until the very last possible day (and I own something like 29 bras, so yeah, I always put it off for a very long time), and then I resign myself to washing them all at once and just getting it done.
This involves cleaning the bathtub so any scummy bits stuck to the tub don't get transferred to my underthings, filling the tub with warm water and baby detergent (far cheaper than Woolite, and just as gentle!), and dumping in armload of bras.  And then this has exhausted me so that I'm in need of a restorative cup of tea, or a cocktail, or a nap.  And I let the bras sit in the soapy water for much longer than necessary, and I sometimes forget about this for a few hours, but I write this off as "extra-clean time" and not as "maybe rusting all my underwires time".

Then, the part I hate the most:  the rinsing and the drying.  There is nowhere comfortable to sit that allows me to fish each bra out of the bathtub and rinse each one individually under cold water until the bra is soap-free and my hands are numb, so I end up perching on the rim of the tub or kneeling on the tile floor, depending on whether or not I want to have an achy back or sore knees.  Generally I'd hang all the bras over the shower rods on a towel, but this impedes the taking of showers, so I've begun removing the cat from her favorite perch on our bench and creating a half-assed drying rack with bathtowels and mounds of sopping dainties.  And they have to sit on this bench for a few days because there's really not that much airflow, which means that A: the cat is angry, because she's denied her perch for longer than she feels is necessary, and B:  we cannot have people over, because the main design feature of our tiny studio apartment has become the giant pile of bras immediately to the left of the door.  It's very classy.

Is there a better way to wash delicate things?  I don't want to maim them in a washing machine, but goddamn, I'm a fragile flower that should not be subjected to the rigors of hand-washing and rinsing several dozen awkwardly-shaped items of underwear.

Also, I want a spray yoga mat cleaner that disinfects and makes good-smelling but does not require me to actually take the time to wipe down the mat.  Does such a thing exist, or should I just suck up the fifteen seconds of my life to use a paper towel on my rubber mat?


Tuesday January 22, 2008

"Yeah, I suppose you could... but then the cat might get all sticky."


Sunday January 20, 2008

1) I cannot poach an egg to save my goddamn life.  Yes, I've tried the myriad methods detailed that all promise to lead to poaching perfection, and no, none of them work for me.  I'll just let Echo poach my eggs for me, thanks.

2) My parallel parking skills still, to describe them flatteringly, suck.  I managed to block Ormond for a good three minutes attempting to fit Small Car into Medium Space yesterday, and just gave up and drove away when the elderly woman in the VW started to make angry eyes and shake her fist at me.

3) I went to get a haircut on Friday, and it ended up looking less like Louise Brooks
than it did Joan of Arc.
I know it's going to grow out soon enough, but for fuck's sake, how much more descriptive than "blunt cut side-parted bob hitting 1" below my ears with thick blunt bangs" can one possibly get?  I mean, it's not like I walked in and said "I'd like to look like Marcel Marceau's kitchen, but with brown hair" or something equally opaque.

4) I got lost for 45 minutes on Friday while trying to find my way from the hair salon to the cobbler, which always makes me edgy and annoyed, which necessitated a stop at Target for an emergency Choxie bar, which might be a contributing factor to the snugness of my small-size jeans.

Sunday January 20, 2008

One more reason that Noah is the best boyfriend in the entire world:
Thursday night sucked.  I had a 2.5 hour lecture capped off by a ridiculously hard finance test that almost made me cry.  After absolutely bombing this three-question test (on which I very much doubt I will get even half of one question correct)*, I waited twenty-five minutes for a bus, stomped up the stairs in a fit, and while putting my key in the door, thought 'BOOZE. NOW.'
I open the door to find Noah standing there, offering me a full glass of cava and a fancy-meat-and-cheese plate he'd put together.  It did nothing to reassure me that I am not going to fail Finance, but it did make the rest of the night pass in a happy, wine-and-prosciutto soft-focus kind of way.

*I am resigned to admitting my brain's defeat in the area of math.  I barely scraped by with a B in Statistics last quarter, and I would very much like not to lose my scholarship by getting C's in all upcoming math/finance classes.  So, I ignored the screaming voice of pride in my head, and spent Saturday looking around for a tutor.  Not only will I have to shell out upwards of $25/hr to be reminded that numbers and my brain do not enjoy each others' company, I will have to hear the cackling laughs of my entire extended family in my brain- finance majors, all.  I am proof that the Financial Genius Gene has the ability to skip over family members randomly.

Also, my sore and scratchy throat on Friday has become more inflamed and uncomfortable over the weekend, despite my regular applications of hot tea and gobs of honey.  I'm going to sit around in my fluffy robe and slippers, sipping endless hot beverages, and POUT, goddamnit.


Friday January 18, 2008

Background:  our downstairs neighbor has a habit of doing opera warm-ups and bits and pieces of arias and such.  I find this totally charming, especially as he's courteous and never goes into his scales late at night.  Neither I nor Noah has ever actually seen this downstairs neighbor, and so while I picture him as very burly and bearish, Noah assumes he looks something like Woody Allen. 

Tonight, in a further effort to prove that we are both adolescent boys, Noah and I had the following conversation:
(me) "What if he's not actually an opera singer at all, but is getting into the lucrative world of opera-themed porn?"
(Noah) "Baritone Butt-Boy!"
(me) "The Three Tenors, Live and In My Ass!"
(Noah) "The Three Tenders!"


Tuesday January 15, 2008

Today's Stop Dressing Like An Undergrad:  It's My 26th Birthday, Start Dressing Like It.

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Black cashmere v-neck, new! grey Citizens, black cap-toe patent Mary Janes that were then switched out for warm boots because there is NO WAY I'm walking the mile up a snowy hill in 20-degree weather in heels, furry vintage Dior cloche.


Monday January 14, 2008

Was the orange & white headscarf today maaaaybe influenced by Blake Lively's orange & white scarf on Gossip Girl this week?  Perhaps.  I will say it's no coincidence that I happend to watch that video yesterday, and wear this today. 
However, I will also say that when your hard drive is full and you're frantically transferring files to random flash drives as a stopgap before the new external hard drive arrives from Apple (thanks, FedEx guy!) and suddenly you realize that your entire 2008 budget spreadsheet is gone and un-retrievable, and that your 14 days worth of detail-heavy spreadsheet maintenance are forever lost, YOU might want to wear a kicky orange scarf, too.

(Orange & white vintage headscarf, grey Old Navy longsleeved t-shirt, black cashmere cardigan with sparkle buttons, old jeans I had altered to be less flare-y, black boots, my usual assortment of jewelry.)


Sunday January 13, 2008

Stop Dressing Like an Undergrad, it's your pre-birthday cocktail party!
Yeah, sorry about that mirror flash.  Oops.
Taken pre-guest arrival for last night's Almost My Birthday party:  black/pink Kara Janx wrap dress, black patent peep-toes. 

On to the real event:  I utterly neglected to commemorate any of my cooking projects, but there was a mound of goug
ères, a massive tray of five-spice glazed meatballs, a few honey financiers (the recipe promised me 3 dozen pastries, and I ended up with 18, somehow), and as a last-minute addition to dessert, some dark chocolate-dipped dried apricots.  And lots and lots of cava (thanks to Trader Joe's house cava and 10% case discount) shoved into the ice-filled kitchen sink.  The cava is to blame for both the slightly hypnotized look on my face in later photos, and my inability to leave the bed before noon today.

I didn't even realize that all three of these guys were wearing striped shirts until I uploaded the photo today.  

I looooooove Niblack's dress.  And that she's trying to grab Mark's ass.

So clearly taken at the end of the night.  (See:  lack of lipgloss.)
Why is my glass mostly empty?

Erika & I, just before heading to the bar down the street to finish the evening.

I didn't bother to grab my camera until many guests had departed, so what you're not seeing in these photos is the makeshift bar, the Awkward Turtle Dance, the cat pointedly ignoring all guests, the Hedwig geekout between Tyler and myself, and the bookshelf scrutiny that occured- including my explanation of why Kissinger is better represented in our collection than Didion.


Thursday January 10, 2008

My birthday is Tuesday- ahem- and I need storage. 
Specifically, a 2gb chip for my laptop (in addition to the external hard drive I just bought.  sigh.)
and a bigger filing cabinet
(The two-drawer bitsy filing cabinet shoved into the corner of the kitchen is overflowing.)

Or, y'know, just come to our house and have booze and goug
ères with me.  That would be lovely, too.


Wednesday January 9, 2008

Just when I'm all decked out in a motorcycle jacket, big bad cuff watch, and scuffed-up Chucks, along comes Shoewawa and their photo of some gorgeous, ultra-femme Prada heels to knock me off the Butch end of the spectrum and plant me firmly in Super-Girly. 
Of course, at $600, I'll never ever own these, but they just might become my new desktop wallpaper.


Monday January 7, 2008


Well, it is a sweater-knit minidress.  And it's fucking tropical here.
(navy blue sparkly minidress, dark grey tights, light grey thigh-high socks rolled down, cowboy boots.)

Monday January 7, 2008

I had a dentist appointment this morning at dark o'clock.  Super.  Two fillings and I'm done and can go back to bed, right?  Until the dentist comes in and says "no, we won't do fillings without a full set of x-rays, and a full exam, and btw, I don't think you have any cavities at all".

Good to get that cleared up, then.
Dentist proceeds to examine my mouth, exclaims that my teeth and general mouth-care is excellent.  He passes me off to the dental hygenist / community college dropout for my cleaning, who has decided that the "very well taken-care of" teeth lauded by the dentist- THE ONE WITH THE DEGREE- are, in fact, scornfully uncared for.  Poke, poke, scrape, bleeding, muttering judgements, scrape.  Then, when finally given access to the little water jet to soothe my bleeding gums, she gets distracted.  And with one of her hands in my mouth, still scraping at invisible enemies embedded in my flesh, she moves the water jet thingy to her right, spurting water all over my face and into my eyes in a vigorous bout of dental hygenist bukkake for a good ten seconds before she's bothered to look down again and figure out why I'm making "ennnnnnnnnnnnnnnngggggggghhhhhh!" noises. 
She doesn't then turn off the water and get me a towel, but just moves the water jet back into my mouth and continues chatting with her co-worker while I lie there, wondering how I can best bite her index finger in revenge without getting stabbed by her poky, stabby dental accessories.

In conclusion, I am no longer quite so peeved at not having dental insurance, if that will provide the excuse to never see that bitch again.

(unrelated:  this whole "eat a fruit or vegetable with every meal" thing is actually going really well, but I wonder:  can a bloody mary be considered a vegetable?)


Wednesday January 2, 2008

I admit that when I found out that baby carrots are not actually tiny, special carrots grown specifically to snack-size but rather are FACTORY REJECT VEGETABLES, I was a little sad.  My illusions about a big root vegetable patch tended by people with gentle hands (so as not to harm the delicate baby carrots!), dotted with teeny-tiny carrot tops have been dissolved. 

Does this mean that I will stop paying more for the 2 lb. bags of baby carrots, versus their healthier, plumper siblings?  Hell no.


Tuesday January 1, 2008

New Year's Eve outfit, photo taken at 1:30 am.  (I swear, at one point in the evening, I had both lipstick on and presentable hair.  That point was clearly not 1:30.)  I tried to find a way to work opera-length gloves and my new fur hat into the ensemble, but it just wasn't working.
(black accordion-pleat dress from H&M, new Marc Jacobs watch, new grey over-the-knee boots from Chinese Laundry)
And did I specifically go for the empire waist dress to make noshing on salty cheese dips that much easier?  Perhaps.

So, the obligatory mention of things I want to do in 2008:

eat a fruit or vegetable with every meal
invite more scotch into my life

Also:  today is my grandparents' FIFTH-EIGHTH anniversary.  58 years.  Rock on, grandma & grandpa.