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

Maggie Mason makes me want things. Often, I want them so badly, that soon they arrive, neatly wrapped in brown boxes, bringing me every ounce of delicious joy I knew they would when I first saw them on her excellent site. A $75 handcrafted Rolodex? Yes, please! Organic chocolate with the essence of lavender and tiny blueberries? I'll take two! Lip gloss that will irritate my lips into a lovely pink pucker? I NEED that. Perfume so good that I want to eat it? Yes, and throw in the matching candle -- everything should smell so good! This time, though, it's different. This time she has me pining for things I'm not prepared to spend a lot of money on, but after extensive research (multiple store visits, hours of online searching -- even eBay doesn't have them), I'm afraid they aren't available in any reasonable price range. You see, I saw the ones she found from Russel + Hazel, and I LOVE them. But, at $18 each, my husband has already ruled them out of the question (I would want at least 2 -- for a total of $36), and since we're on a bit of a budget at the moment, I won't buy them. What I want is simple: classic canvas looseleaf binders, and I'm not all that particular about the color, although a nice old skool camouflage green or khaki would be fantastic. Coincidently, I recently received a binder from 1953 full of the memoirs of a woman born in 1869 (one of the projects I'm working on; I will elaborate more on this later). This binder is beyond perfect, but clearly isn't available now, nor is any facsimile thereof. Sigh. I guess the plastic/vinyl view binders I bought at OfficeMax will have to do for now. Damn you, Maggie Mason, for showing a girl what she's been missing!

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.

Just Another Day at the Mall

While gazing longingly at an incomprehensibly expensive pair of Christian Laboutin flats ($570.00 -- that's U.S. dollars, not pesos) in the shoe department of the North Park Mall Nordstrom a few days ago, a song played through the store speakers (no piano music on a Monday afternoon, apparently) that I recognized. The "ba-bay...ba-bay" immediately called to mind Rudy Huxtable, age five, along with various other Cosby Show cast members, lip syncing along to the Ray Charles classic, "The Night Time is the Right Time." I recognized the song, and the reason for my recognition, just moments after a black shoe salesman asked whether I needed any assistance. Clearly I wasn't going to be putting my sweaty, dirty, flip-flopped foot into a $570 shoe that I had no intention, let alone ability, to purchase, but I wanted the salesman to like me, or at least think I was comfortable contemplating such a gross purchase. I caught myself just before I slipped in a comment about how that song always reminded me of the Cosby Show, realizing that I was making an assumption that I shouldn't be making. The assumption was that this middle aged black man working in an upscale shoe department would not only get my reference to the Cosby Show, but that he would appreciate it and somehow think better of me for having made it. Bad. Bad, bad, bad. Perhaps he would have gotten it and agreed with me, but it's unlikely that the reference would have made him think any differently about me than he did when he asked whether he could help me and I responded that I was just browsing. Or, maybe it would have brightened his day. Who knows? All I know for sure is that I'm glad I caught myself before I turned into a "but some my best friends are..." joke.

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.

Under Where?

I did something tonight I vowed never to do. In fact, I've actively made fun of people for doing this very thing in the past. Granted, they did it by stopping at their local drugstore and getting a multi-pack, while I went to an upscale department store, but still, it's deplorable conduct. Rather than wash the laundry I've accumulated in D.C. this past week (I'm now at my folks' house for the weekend), I simply went to the store and bought new underwear, confident I can make it a few more days without washing. Pretty gross, huh?

Coping

Three years ago, when S broke up with me, I discovered that there's a reason shopping is sometimes referred to as "shopping therapy" -- it works as such. Needing to stay busy and focus on external things to avoid needing an oar to paddle out of the puddle of my own tears, I dragged my mom and my older sister on a 2 day shopping excursion during which I spent a grand. Yes, $1,000 USD. That was the shopping therapy cost of my last breakup as well, out of coincidence rather than design.

R and I had a final conversation today, over IM so he couldn't see or hear me cry if I needed to. We're ending on a good note, as I've done a lot of thinking over the past 2 days and think that he is probably right; we aren't perfect for each other. I certainly love him, even if he's not sure if he loves me. I certainly ache for him. I could certainly see us building a life together, making a home and a family, and growing old together. But, I didn't consider what I'd be giving up for this life with him and evaluate whether it was what I really wanted. I thought of it as a foregone conclusion, and instead tried to distance myself from New York, dislike my job, and find other reasons to return to Maryland. When we discussed tonight he told me I deserve to be with the perfect guy for me, but that he isn't it. A bold statement, and ultimately, I think, a true one. First, though, I need to learn how to keep being myself while in a relationship. Haven't quite managed to get that one right just yet.

[Meanwhile, I'm still crying periodically and laughing a bit too loud. Must be patient and let time do it's healing thing.]

The Unfun Kind of Shopping

My hope for each of you is to never experience the conversations I've had with my grandmother over the past week with your own grandmothers. Yesterday my mother, sister, and I took my grandmother to Kohl's to look for a few things such as gifts for friends, new tan pants, and a new nightgown. I was lucky enough to find myself in the lingerie department helping grandma look for the nightgown of her dreams. I saw a few things I thought would be lovely for an 81 year old grandmother of 6 and great-grandmother of 2. Thinking I was being helpful, I showed them to my grandmother. They had a few things in common; all of them had long sleeves, all of them were long and flowing, and all of them were a lovely soft cotton with small floral print. My grandmother took one look at them and turned up her nose, saying that she hated long sleeve nightgowns and didn't want anything that would bunch up around her when she slept. We walked together through the rest of the nightgowns until we came to a rack of synthetic satin gowns in various styles including an empire-waisted sleeveless number in foam green. This, she proclaimed proudly, was her "style of lingerie." Because when she is "alone at night it's [her] time to be sexy and feminine." I'm not so sure I was able to keep the look of abject horror off my face, as I felt my lip curl and my eyes wince.

Smell My Fingers

I've been home for a few days and the jokes have been flying. I haven't been quite as sharp or as dirty as I normally am around my family. For example, last night my dad, my younger sister, and I went to Crabtree and Evelyn to get some stocking stuffers for my mom and grandmother. As we were walking out to the car, this was our conversation:

Sister: EW! I smell like a crabtree!
Me: Well, that's better than smelling like Evelyn.
Dad: ---
Me: This is the best joke I've ever come up with!
Sister and Dad: You're slipping.

Explain me this:

Why do women wear baggy underwear? I have seen two instances in the last few weeks of things that just make no damn sense. There was a girl in the show that I noticed in the dressing room wearing a pair of baggy white cotton panties. This is NOT SEXY in any way. It looked like the elastic was shot in the legs and waist and that it was a little threadbare. What's with this? I don't get how this can be comfortable considering that it would bunch up under a tight pair of pants or skirt and most definitely leave a VPL (visible panty line). This seems to me like a woman wearing boxer shorts, only our pants tend to be a LOT tighter than men's pants. Further, little shaping action in the seat area of underwear never hurt anyone. It gives you a little extra lift and makes pants look better. Baggy I don't get.

The second instance was at the gym tonight. A very fit woman was wearing a sports bra and shorts to run in. Fine. Good call. If I were as fit as her, I would wear the same thing. Only my sports bra would fit me properly and not be baggy. I don't know whether there's something about the physics of this situation that I was just not grasping, but this couldn't have been comfortable. She was not completely flat-chested; I would estimate her at about a 32B or so. There was enough there to want to restrain it somehow. As a very curvy woman, sports bras are a must for motion control. You don't want your breasts running at their own pace. For running I sometimes use a cotton underwire under a sports bra for extra stabilization. Baggy I don't get.

The take home lesson here, ladies, is that your underwear would be a lot more flattering and a lot more functional if it were the correct size. If you need help accomplishing that mission, they will fit you for free at Victoria's Secret. In fact, I think they get true enjoyment out of it, so make their day, buy something that fits.