If The Skirt Fits

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.

Wednesday

Yes

The most PERFECT cup of coffee in a US Army: ARMY STRONG mug

Low fat mini chocolate cupcake, made with love

Fat spoonful peanut butter (like, fat fat…)

No

Thick grey skies

Dying bamboo

Absent buses

Need

Approximately one more hour of sleep

The feeling that surges through my body when I lift weights

More poetry

Want

Black Mary Janes

Black structured coat, maybe with some great buttons or a

  high collar

Black floppy sweater with the perfect amount of floppy

*Of note:

    Odd phenomenon = Phenoddmenon

Today

I feel like I'm about to jump out of my skin.

Sky!

Sunshine!

Puffy clouds!

Sixty-something degrees!

I stood on the sidewalk in front of the court house, read the Mercury and let the sun seep seep seep into my skin.  Burn my eyes.  Warm my hair.  God, it felt good.

It is imperative that I run home from work today, rather than go to the gym.  I think I would regret it if I didn't.

And tonight I will cook dinner for the Boy and Brother Number One with the windows open, curtains aside, air moving through and pure sweet elation in my gut.

We will eat and eat.

We will be merry and cozy.

Much laughter will ensue.

Readygo.

More Butter, Less Paper Sack

I think I've done it.

I think I've really done it.

I have found the most perfect pair of jeans.

I know you think they do not exist, especially for women who have rather serious derrieres (like myself).  Most jeans?  Cool, they fit my foot.  And maybe my leg.  And that's it. 

Most jeans: deficient for those with anything in the trunk.

It also seems there is a direct correlation between the severity in problems with ill-fitting jeans and the quality of the jean.  Low-end department store denim: Okay, I can fudge it.  Maybe.  I'll just wear tops that come down a little lower than normal.  Don't mind the muumuu, I'm just shielding my muffin. 

But Target or Wal-Mart denim?  Forget it.  No way no how.  I might as well wear a potato sack (which I have threatened on multiple occasions, particularly when hauling ten pairs of jeans back to the fitting room clerk, discouraged and annoyed). 

I'm just not willing to spend more than thirty dollars on a pair of jeans.  Or on any clothing, really.  I am a woman on a budget.  I do not have $180 to spend on pants.

So whenever I'm in Buffalo (which I call Beefalo) I duck in and try on every eligible pair of jeans I can carry.  Most times: no luck.  Most times: super bonchy, too tight here, too loose all over, unattractively "boyfriendy," weird size, weird color, weird pull, butt spilling out, handles spilling out, any number of other things spilling out, too short, too long, too ugly, too whatever whatever whatever. 

But the other day...

It's probably because I wasn't looking for jeans.  I was looking for something else, an item which now escapes me.  But it was the Tao.  I am sure of it.

Boo-yah:

Citizens of Humanity
Light-Dark wash
High Rise Bootcut
Amber #263
Stretch

The best part?  They feel like effing butter.

That's how you know the fit is good.  And if you genuinely contemplate wearing them as jammies?  Even better.

"Any of those work for you?"

I handed the fitting room attendant a fat pile of denim, and held the Ones out away from my body.

"These are the winner.  They feel like butter."

She laughed heartily.  "Like buttah...!"

I wore them today.  I felt like a million bucks, and only cost me $27. 

Week One of Brother's Kamikaze Arrival: Success

First things first:

Makeshift Mattress (and Other Bedding)

Conveyor Belt Sushi

Ikea Brouhaha and the Ice Cream-capade

-->Love<-- this pattern. 

I want an entire wall with this pattern.

  

 Why, for less than ten bucks, did I not buy this?!

Idea: More chandeliers. 

Just one is not nearly enough.

I do not speak Swedish. 

But it sure is pretty.