I find myself in Buffalo at the strange hour of almost-nine. This is the third time I've tried on this skirt over the course of two or three months. The long black knit jersey skirt with the thick waistband. Cute, yeah? I saw a similar thing on a pretty girl with black hair one day and it was freaking adorable. AwesomeLoveItGottaHaveIt. But she was a twig, and I'm not so much a twig.
Anyway, it's still not cute on me, even the third time around. And not even now that it's 50% off.
I feel loopy in this store. They're almost closing and I
must comb through
every single top on this rack.
Then the next rack.
And the next . . .
Am I OC, or what?
Maybe I'm loopy from the beer.
See, I had this really horrific day. It was my last day at my old job and perhaps the most insane day I've ever had, followed by a chiropractic appointment and an intensely irritating drive home where someone in front of me was trying to turn left on a narrow, busy street where turning left is prohibited. I honked. They honked back. I yelled out my window "NO LEFT TURN, <EXPLETIVE> <EXPLETIVE>!" I honked again. They honked more. I yelled again, threw some obscenities. The people sitting outside at Starbucks probably thought me bonkers. Will you look at the effing sign, please? It says right there: NO LEFT TURN. For crap's sake. I have places to be and beverages to consume.
Anyway, after that I came home and dumped my bags of food from the office refrigerator on the counter, peeled off the corduroy pants my sweat was pooling inside, stuffed some salame slices in my mouth so I wouldn't pass out, and went on my merry way to the little Mexican restaurant on the corner with the outdoor patio. I got me a fat Negra Modelo, a plate of nachos the size of a canoe (even though I said "chicos" not "grandes"), and parked myself at a table outside with a book I couldn't be bothered to begin, but I rather enjoyed pretending to read. Some kids sat at another table with obnoxiously huge fake glasses and hi-tops, and I laughed to myself. They looked like they were on a first date. Knock-kneed and awkward and all that. I wondered how old they were. Then I felt sort of oldish thinking about how old they might be. Then I felt even older thinking how I felt sort of oldish thinking about how old they must be. Looking back, this was a much stranger moment than I originally thought.
Oh yeah, so the beer got to me really quickly because I hadn't eaten anything since 1:30 in the afternoon and I'd done a lot of running around and stressing out since then. I got through half of the Modelo and most of the nachos before I started feeling a little tippy and bloated, so I slowed my roll and actually started reading the book that Dan gave me as a going away present. It was sweet, really, how he got me that book. Turns out he really likes me and enjoys working with me? It's hard to tell how people really feel, especially in a work situation, thus once again reaffirming how important it is for humans to be able to articulate feelings.
I'm still working on that. It's difficult, especially for feely types like myself.
Then suddenly it becomes dire, just
dire, that I walk up the street to Buffalo and Shop. Right.
Now. So now I'm here, sifting through the racks like the store won't be here tomorrow or the next day or any day after that until forever from now, or at least until the Rapture on October 21st. Or was it October 12th? Whatever, the math will be right this time and Buffalo will be open at least until then.
Sift sift sift sift, flipping the shirts one at a time
flip flip flip flip. I soon feel a little flushed and absurd and much too self aware, so I hustle into the dressing room, take some things off, put some things on, discover that I just do not have the figure for those romper things (and feel oddly okay with this discovery, because it's certainly not
my fault that people make clothes that don't fit me properly), and fall in love with how my canvas deck shoes (deck still pending) look with the short navy blue skirt I'm wearing. Ah! And the skirt has pockets. That does it.
I settle on the navy blue short thing and an American Apparel T-shirt in a tasty heather grey. I always buy my American Apparel shirts second-hand. They last forever anyway, so I might as well snag 'em when they're cheapish.
Where shall my sloppy, stompy feet take me next? Maybe to the wine shop to see if Brent's working, or see if Devon's there so I can tell her I miss her pretty face. I think I might change into my new skirt in the bathroom, because I simply cannot wait.
