Enigmatic Female

Alternative Career?

Dallas and I were at the mall last night. We were walking off the effects of our celebratory dinner, which was capped off, for me, by warm bread pudding with ice cream and caramel. MMM. So good. I decided, in keeping with the momentum of the day, that a new interview suit was in order. We started hunting. We looked in department stores (Dallas was outraged by the $92 t-shirts we saw in Barney's), Ann Taylor, and other usual budget-friendly suit shops. Frustrated that jackets didn't want to button nicely over my rather ample bosom, I decided to check out a store that carries "women's sizes" (translation: big clothes for big women).* Not surprisingly, the smallest size they carried was perfect in the bust, but far too large in the waist. The pants, however, due to my impressive caboose, fit very nicely. The problem, however, wasn't how the clothes fit as much as how frumpy they were, and that they wanted $60-$90 for pants that I normally wouldn't pay $30 for, as they felt cheap and gapped in weird places. The ladies who worked in the shop chatted Dallas up as I tried on pants and pants and pants. Nothing was quite right (except a pair of corduroys that I was just not going to pay $80 for) and I decided not to get anything. As I was leaving, though, one of the shop girls asked me whether I would be interested in modeling some of their clothes in a fashion show next weekend. Tickled by the thought of myself as a model, even a "plus size" model, I agreed (I am under no delusions about my not-a-size-2 curves). They took my phone number, and I will be going in next week to try on my outfit and get a rundown on modeling protocol. Sounds like fun. And? Afterward I get a whole 25% off whatever I want to buy from the store. Those corduroys? They might be coming home with me.

*I eventually found a perfectly cut suit at Macy's, which is now at the tailor for a few alterations.

Wish List

I spritzed on a bit of this delicate perfume at Anthropologie  on Thursday and continuously brought my wrists to my nose throughout the remainder of the evening. It smelled better and better the longer I wore it, and has possibly the best morning-after smell of any perfume I've ever tried. If you're looking for something sweet and feminine that isn't cloying, give this a try. I think I will.

On Camel Toe

It's not a good look. Not ever. Nowhere in any fashion magazine will they tell you to show off your labia. It's off-limits, end of story. Expecially if you have camel toe that is lopsided. I don't really think I need to expound on this. Even if you are suffering camel toe in exchange for what you think is a hot look, it's still not OK. Wearing low-rise ass-tight jeans that make your ass look tight and that squeeze your stomach flat sometimes (often) makes this artificial fat bulge around your belt that looks ill as shit. Also I once read somewhere that too–tight jeans can lead to health problems such as 1) yeast infections (nasty), 2) acid reflux (painful) or 3) paralysis. Yes, you read that right, they can cut off the supply of blood to what I believe is the sciatic nerve and cause permanent damage. So, you, on the 1/9 at 72nd street today, in the interest of my being able to hold down my breakfast and in the interest of your health, for the love of god, pick your vag-wedgy out and never wear those jeans again. Who do you think you are, Britney Spears (scroll down)?

Solace

After leaving work a bit early yesterday (I snuck out at 6:15!), I
headed to Bloomingdale's to check out their allegedly great shoe sale.
It wasn't. Disappointed, I headed to 72nd Street to a store The
Roommate and I had stopped into this weekend, at which he found some
kickass shoes, and I saw some I coveted in the $200 range, which I
therefore did not try on. Unable to stop thinking about those shoes, I
headed back there last night, and to my chagrin, they didn't have my
size in the oh so precious $200 shoes. Twice disappointed, I headed
next door to a new nail salon, asking for a pedicure and some eyebrow
grooming. I used their bathroom, and in a moment of loopiness, which
are becoming ever more frequent lately, forgot to zip my pants back
up, a fact that my aesthetician was more than happy to point out
(after I nearly fell on my ass stepping off a step I hadn't seen) by
TOUCHING my zipper. Not a shining moment of grace or beauty. As I was
letting my newly Sangria Punch colored toenails dry, I got a call from
L, my most desired companion on a night where I felt awkward, edgy,
and a little bit crazy. She asked whether I'd eaten, I said no, and
invited her to get some sushi at our favorite spot. She happily
accepted. As I left the salon, I thought I should bring L some
flowers, as she's been having a rough time of it lately. I stopped by
a flower stall and selected five different shades of Gerbera daisies
that perfectly match with L's personality when she's in a sunny mood.
When I arrived at the restaurant, I laid them across her place setting
and waited. She arrived and was much delighted by her surprise. We
talked throughout the meal, lingered after the meal for long minutes,
finishing up the conversation that only we could have with each other.
She invited me back to her place for sherry, and I accepted. We hopped
in cab and sped a few more blocks uptown. She read me a history of
sherry, as I'd never had it before, and poured out two small glasses.
She put my daisies in water and told me she'd made me a mix CD, which
she then burned and handed to me. We curled up in our respective
seats, watched a little TV, and when it was time to go, I stepped out
into the warm night for the short walk home completely nourished and
renewed.

Length over Girth

I resolved in February to let my hair grow out.  I resolved to grow it for 6 months and see what happened. It's been just under 6 months, and it's not quite as long as I expected it to be by now, but the response has been overwhelming. Critics agree that this length is the best length for my hair. Some critics would do better to keep their opinions to themselves, ahem, dad and nosy next door neighbor? I don't give a flip that you think it looked "too butch" before. You guys aren't exactly the mavens of high fashion that I turn to for style advice, especially since you're so mean. Other, nicer critics, like my mom and sisters, think it's adorable...full and cute and curly. My younger sister thinks I shouldn't grow it any longer, but just leave it how it is now for the foreseeable future. I was almost inclined to agree with her. I have been tempted to get it cut several times in the last month or so when I've felt it's just totally out of control like it was this morning. Luckily I've resisted and made it to a landmark moment: my first ponytail since I got it cut off over 3 years ago. It's a sad, pathetic little tail that perches on top of my head like Pebbles Flintstone's ponytail did, but by God, it's up there and it's keeping my hair out of my face. This little victory has steeled my resolve to keep growing it until I have a real ponytail that can be twisted into a bun, and swishes in the back when I run. I am trusting that somewhere on the great island that is Manhattan, I will find the advances in technology needed to tame the wild beast as it grows. I need a good stylist and some products that will help me win the war on frizz.

Another Dooce Ripoff

Currently Thinking: Must. Go. To. The. Gym. Am getting fat and lazy.

Currently Reading: The Corrections

Currently Listening To: A blissfully empty house.

Currently Enjoying: Nivea Skin Firming Lotion with Q10. It even smells good!

How to Annoy Me: Offer a coupon where you buy a large Diet Coke and get a free Chick-Fil-A sandwich, only don't mention anywhere that the only kind of Diet Coke you have is the uncaffeinated kind. That was the whole damn point of my excursion!

How to Charm Me: Send me an email in the middle of the day asking me to join you for dinner. Or keep quiet about seeing a movie before, knowing that I wouldn't want to make you see it again, and wanting me to make the choice. Or go for late night walks with me by the water. Or dance with me in the parking lot of a grocery store at midnight. Or kiss me in the rain.

Glad We Cleared That Up

Brother: How's studying going?

Me: Shitty. I have a lot to do.

Brother: Yeah? Well, your hair looks good.

Me: What? I thought you said it looked crazy.

Brother: Yeah, it does. It looks like someone who's studying for the Bar.

DC Fashion Disasters #3 and #4

Sometimes a fashion disaster is not made by what is worn, but by what is not worn. Case in point: while walking to class, I noticed two incredibly long female legs walking hurriedly in front of me. Being short, I looked up and my gaze was about at ass-level of a woman wearing a mint green (and very brief) suit. She wore no pantyhose, and in fact, wore no panties. How, you might be wondering, could I tell that she was not in fact wearing panties? Well, I'll tell you. The skirt was so tight and the material was so transparent that I could actually see the crack of her ass through the skirt. I'm not making this up. Furthermore, because the skirt was so tight, it smushed the cheeks of her ass flat on the outside. I think I heard the strained protest of the fabric as I walked past. Needless to say, this was not a good look for her and she was going to WORK!

The second disaster by omission actually involves a repeat offender. Due to my hunch that she couldn't care less about anything clothing-related, I found it unproductive and unfulfilling to mention some of her outfits on this site, despite seeing many pairs of pants that are too short to be regular pants, too long to be cropped pants, and wearing every single shirt that Yale Law School produced the entire 3 years she was there, etc. I cannot ignore the constant disaster situation any longer, as I was forced to come face to face with two braless breasts in a way way too baggy tank top yesterday. If your boob is slipping out the armpit hole of your shirt, even a little, might you want to consider wearing something a little more, shall we say, supportive?

I Spy With My Little Eye

A 24 inch rat tail on a cracka-white boy riding the Metro. Think "Coming to America" and get that shit cut off.

DC Fashion Disaster #2

There was a woman in my bar review class today with an ankle-length blue and white plaid jumper worn with K-Swiss tennis shoes and socks. And she wasn't Amish or pregnant.