fearlesstemp: (cary kate net)
Check it out – I have a new LJ layout. I even figured out how to create a sidebar! I feel like Michaelangelo after completing the Sistine Chapel, people, and all I did was change a couple of font colors. But visual design is one of a number of things on the long list of Stuff I'm Not Good At (other items: cooking, dancing, singing, applying eye makeup, knowing what shoes to wear with an outfit), and I consider figuring out how to get an icon to go up with each of my entries a major accomplishment.

And! A sidebar!

I don't really have anything to put in a sidebar, of course, which did nothing in preventing me from desperately wanting one. I sat staring at it for long hours (okay, ten minutes) this weekend, trying to come up with a clever About Me blurb, but failing miserably (I have had the same content-less user info blurb for four years now for that very reason), and instead I have created a Totally Awesome Item sidebar, which I hope to update weekly, but will actually be updated biannually, knowing me. This week's item is Neutrogena Norwegian Hand Cream, and it is AWESOME.

I would go on about it more but there is a small section of my personality that can still recognize when I'm entering soul-crushingly boring territory, and it's beginning to set off warning bells now. Moving on.

I missed The 4400 last night, which is very upsetting for me. It's not a very good show, but it involves people with superpowers, and I love people with superpowers. Yes, I am that easy. Will have to catch a rerun, clearly.

In other news: We are experiencing our first massive rainstorm of the season and I, naturally, have left my new spring raincoat at home. Macy's calls it an all-weather jacket, which is even better because it justifies me wearing it more – you can look at it here, only mine is in yellow. The kind of yellow that calls for all-caps: this is a YELLOW coat. I love it, even if it is one of those items that either looks great or hideous: there is no in-between. Am hoping it's the former, not the latter.

Oh God, just remembered that I have to count change in petty cash to make sure it reconciles. Joy. Joy joy joy. And so I end the most pointless LJ entry ever.
fearlesstemp: (lionel)
The only good thing I can say about my passport photo - the ONLY good thing - is that my right eyebrow looks pretty good. Well-groomed, appropriate (if slight) arch, good (also natural) color. Everything else? Horrible! Awful horrible terrible bad! Should be burned at the border!

The first thing that should be noted is my complexion which - as I have mentioned to several individuals - shines as if I rubbed vegetable oil on my face seconds before my photo. I look like one of those displays at the makeup counter for the T-Zone, where a perfectly normal girl has the forehead/nose/chin T-Line lit up in a different color, except in my case there has been no Photoshop or post-development touch up. This shine is all me, baby!

Also of note:

-my left eyebrow, which is both longer and more unruly than my right;

-the super-frizzy hair;

-my awkward, constipated expression (Not completely my fault! The post office photographer told me to smile when I'd read that you're not supposed to smile in passport photos anymore, and so we had this weird, "Smile!"/"But I'm not supposed to!"/"Sure you can!"/"But-"/"SMILE!" conversation with an entire post office full of people waiting and watching);

-the awesome double chin caused by my insane consumption of all edible things within arm's reach since Thanksgiving; and

-I think my right eye is bigger than my left, which I never noticed until now!

The moral of the story is that when one asks oneself, "Do I need to touch up my makeup before having this ID picture taken that will follow me around for a decade?" the answer is always - ALWAYS - yes.

If only one could travel back in time and apply loose power. IF ONLY.

This is a long introduction to this fact: I'm going to Europe! Soon! In 2.5 weeks! I am so totally, completely under-prepared! Today I decided to start preparing by going to Marshalls to look for new bras, because I desperately need new ones but am too cheap to pay full price. Right now I'm wearing these convertible ones, but I keep losing the straps. It's gotten bad, to the point that I kind of look like I'm making some kind of funky statement with my undergarments - wearing a tan bra with one pink strap, the the other black - when actually I just can't find all of the straps. I think the cats are stealing them.

(It's convenient having little critters around; you can blame them for losing things when really it's just your own carelessness.)

Anyway! No luck on the bra hunting. You may ask why I need new bras for Europe. The answer is, of course, just in case I run into my famous secret admirer while cavorting about the Continent. Also, my mother had a romance with a ski instructor when she went to Austria in her early twenties (she broke her ankle on the slopes and he quit his job to take her to the hospital! I KNOW!). Maybe it's in the blood!

Also, what if I'm in a terrible accident and become known as the American Girl With Mismatched Underwear and Horribly Unflattering ID? Oh, the HORROR!
fearlesstemp: (cary kate net)
Today's scorecard: My skirt fits funny and I have two runs in my stockings, both of them above the hem of the skirt right now, but they're moving fast. I had to scoot over to Rite Aid on my lunch hour to buy another pair, which I'm going to change into the second one of the runs sneaks by the hem.

The question of the skirt's funny fit is one I tried to solve in the bathroom earlier today by taking off my slip and then putting it on again to see if it was better with or without. I did this twice while standing in front of the bathroom mirror before realizing that anyone could open the door at any moment and see me standing there with my skirt hiked up, shimmying into the slip, since this was a three-stalled office bathroom and not my own little one-seater at home. I then became convinced that someone was going to burst in Right That Moment and hid behind where the door would open to fix my skirt, which was a ridiculous solution because (a) if someone opened the door at all, they would have nailed me and I would have had to explain why I was hiding in the corner of the bathroom, and (b) there was a private little stall just a few feet further away in the opposite direction.

Anyway. I am a mystery even to myself.

The verdict on the slip thing: Doesn't make much difference. The problem is my hip-to-waist ratio, which makes almost all not-completely-A-Line skirts problematic. Most that fit on my hips are too big on my waist and then fall down and sit funny. Note: The problem is less that I have a narrow waist (ha! Almost) but that I have far from narrow hips.

Also: I feel like my octogenarian Latin teacher from high school whenever I discuss wearing a slip, since I'm pretty sure I'm the only person under sixty who wears them. Mrs. R. had a tendency to put on the wrong slip in the morning and spend the whole day with three inches of the slip hanging below the hem of her skirt. Occasionally she'd comb her hair in the morning with one of those black thin barber's combs, stop halfway through with the comb in her hair, and then forget about it, only to discover it sticking out of the back of her hair halfway through her third class of the day.

I sometimes think Mrs. R. and I are spiritual sisters.

I got an invite to an alumni luncheon thing this year, which is featuring as its centerpiece yet another ceremonial award for Mrs. R. She got one last year and I'm pretty sure she got one the year before; she graduated from my high school sometime around 1930 and had been teaching for a few years when my grandmother had her in high school – and my grandmother was the class of 1947. She sticks around because she is from a wealthy family and is such a big financial supporter of the school that they're afraid to let her go, even though she's been having senior moments since the mid-eighties. I think they keep giving her these luncheons hoping that eventually, in one of her acceptance speeches, she'll announce her retirement, but no luck yet.

She was a character. I was one of four students in her Latin Culture and Vocabulary class, which was pretty much a joke. The night before the final exam she called each of us with mysterious messages like, "Think about Sparta...and Athens...and how they're different..." which then turned out to be the major questions on the exam. I think she was afraid that we were all going to fail because we'd all been so spacey and bored for the entire duration of the class. It was a legitimate fear; I was taking the class pass/fail, I think, since I was a senior approaching graduation with my college acceptance letters under my belt. I knew I would squeak by with a pass even though I'd been asleep for half the course both because I was a good test-taker and, also, I had a rep in the school as a Smart Kid, which, as everyone knows, cuts you a bit of slack at the end of your high school career.

She taught public speaking as well, and an odd assortment of other classes. Sometimes she would come in and spend the entire period talking about the dry cleaner down her street when she was growing up, and other times she'd tell us about the proper pronunciation of "often" (the t is silent) and the value of enunciation. One day she came in and taught me one of the most important things I learned in high school: what it really means to be a classy individual. She asked us what we thought it meant to be a classy individual, and we sat there, all fifteen and clueless, and said stuff about Audrey Hepburn and Jackie O. and expensive silverware. None of us had the right answer. Class, she told us, is not a set of clothes or good lighting; it's a way of treating people with respect and kindness. It's making your first priority, in any given situation, that the other person is feeling comfortable. The classiest person at a dinner party isn't the one with the best dress who knows the right way to use the flatware; the classiest person at a dinner party is the one who sees someone nervously pick up the wrong fork for the salad, and picks that one up herself.

Anyone can do that, she said, in any situation. That's the way you should be.

My cousin Mike is a classy guy. I have a sweet story about him that I'm going to share here, even though it would embarrass him if he found it. Even though it may come off as kind of corny. It made me smile and so I'm sharing it.

mike and dan )
fearlesstemp: (working girl)
How dedicated an employee am I? So dedicated that I devoted a good chunk of my lunch hour to maintaining the corporate dress code.

How do these stories always start? Ah yes: I was running late. I am always running late. This morning was particularly bad, though; six minutes before the designated time I should leave (if I'm going to be on time -- almost never happens) I found myself standing in my bedroom in my bra and underwear, hair soaking wet, one leg of pantyhose pulled up. At this point I realized I had a hole in the upper-thigh portion of said stocking (but only one teeny run taking off from it). I also realized that I had no time to find another pair, so I just grabbed the nearest bottle of nail polish (Mauvelicious, the color currently chipping its way off of my toenails) and slathered a bit of it beneath the hole and pulled the other leg up, all the while cursing the pantyhose gods.

All was well for about an hour and a half. Then, just as I was trying to debate the relative merits of croissaint vs. apple pastry (there was a meeting downstairs and they ordered too much food), I noticed the first tell-tale run, and by lunch, I had a strip of bare skin showing on my right leg. Very fashionable.

My initial solution was to just take the stockings off and walk aware with bare legs, corporate regulations be damned! This plan was hampered by the following:

(1) My legs' pigment currently best resembles that of a fresh ream of copy paper;

(2) Aforementioned pigment provides a nice backdrop for anything dark like, say, my leg hair (I envy fair-haired people who can get away with skipping a few days shaving their legs because no one notices! I get a five o'clock shadow all over within a day or two. Okay, maybe not that bad.); and

(3) Bare feet in the shoes I'm wearing today make a farty noise when I walk.

And so I went to the grocery store! And am again compliant with the dress code.

In other news: I have been doing crazy things at work the last three days, things that just beg for a rambly LJ entry, but I think these are crazy confidential things! Dammit! Maybe next week, when it will no longer matter.

And now, I collate.

skorts!

Apr. 19th, 2004 01:25 am
fearlesstemp: (fred and ginger pick self up)
Thelma and Louise has been in heavy rotation on my cable system lately, so I've been watching bits and pieces of it on and off the last few weeks. Today I actually sat down and watched the last hour and a half or so in one sitting and, well. So that's what all the fuss was about! Holy crap, that was an excellent movie. I say that in a way that's devoid of any real critical or intellectual thought. All I know is that I got that funny feeling in the pit of my stomach when I'm watching or reading something that moves, surprises, and impresses me all at once. It doesn't happen often and whenever it does I just canNOT shut up about it. I spent the rest of the night trying to talk to my parents about it, and since they had seen and talked about the movie when it came out, oh, fifteen years ago, they weren't as eager to go on and on and on about it as I was. They were ready to lock me out of the house by the end of the night.

Also: Brad Pitt? Wow.

I also appear to have started watching Stargate for some strange reason. As of now have only seen, like, five episodes and don't quite understand most of the intergalactic goings on. But. MacGyver! And Scully's Dad! It kind of reminds me of seaQuest, only not as bad. You could say that about almost every science fiction show, though.

Yesterday while driving to the mall with my mother, I issued an unjustified rude hand gesture. I still feel guilty. I thought this SUV was ignoring our expressed need to switch lanes via blinking turn signal when, in reality, said turn signal was out. I had forgotten this fact, so when we couldn't slide over easily, I gave the SUV driver and passengers (including a small child in the backseat who I did not see until I'd already pumped my fist a few times) the finger in the most emphatic fashion. I realized the broken turn signal thing about two seconds after the I'm Sorry hand wave became impossible, since the SUV had gunned their engine to spare the small child in the backseat any further vulgarity, I'd guess. This is why you shouldn't flip people off. An additional cautionary tale: the only time my mother issued a flip-off while driving ended with her realizing mid-gesture that the driver she was waving at was her boss.

Molly the cat is currently curled up on her side in the most adorable way on the bed next to me. I can't express how cute she is, but I will try: So! Cute!

Other accomplishments yesterday: Dropped waaaay too much money at a series of stores on clothes I don't really need. I did need the sandals I got, but beyond that? Totally unnecessary purchases. But. Black pants! How can a person resist nice black pants reduced sixty per cent? And a nice white blouse on clearance? These are fashion must-haves! Right?

The other items purchased were so not fashion must haves. They were more fashion really want to haves. The two items I am most excited over: SKORTS! That was not a typo. I totally bought two shorts that look like skirts, a.k.a. skorts. They are so fantastic, and by fantastic, I mean most likely hideously unfashionable. After I'd picked up my two skorts to try on in the dressing room, I walked to another section of the store and watched -- this is not an exaggeration -- four senior citizens descend upon the table of clothes I'd just left. I have a sinking feeling that the clothes I bought are totally over-seventy swinging single cruise wear, people. But honestly? I don't really care that much! Because they are so incredibly comfortable! Shorts! That look like skirts! All the way around!

As with most foolish clothing purchases, they had little to do with the person I am and more with the person I'd like to be, namely, a person who plays golf. The Jess who plays golf would wear skorts on the course. And I am determined to play golf! Determined! Some people would take lessons or go to the driving range -- I buy a wardrobe. Different strokes and all that (and dude, totally did not see the pun there till after I'd run the spell check).

Bedtime
fearlesstemp: (bucky)
1. I seriously spent all day today -- all day! -- contemplating the quickest route to my dry cleaner's, because I had a mess of coats and jackets that had to be dropped off today. The mess included the foolish Christmas gift I gave myself, a new off-white winter coat, which I still LOVE even though its upkeep will likely cause me to go broke, since I am notoriously spill prone. Example: Saturday, out at dinner, I proudly showed my parents the coat-care trick my friend Joanna, the always impeccably turned out, had shown me.

"See!" I said, turning the coat inside out, flipping the lapels in and folding it in half before draping it over my chair. "Now it will stay clean!"

"Ah," my parents said, suitably impressed.

And then I stood up to leave two hours later, put on my coat, and discovered a MASSIVE black grease stain right above my right pocket. How? How did this happen? Did I just not see it before I did the fancy coat flip? Or are stains so powerfully drawn to me that they can break the coat flip shield?

Anyway! So I had this massive grease stain, which Joanna advised me later should have been removed with hairspray but which my mother and I, being dumb about such things, just left alone and stared sadly at before sending it off to the dry cleaner. The dry cleaner closes at six, and I get out of work at five, and the difficult thing was that I knew that I could most definitely make it in that time frame, but there was no clear route from my current office to said dry cleaner's. Instead, there was a multiplicity of routes and I became fixated on figuring out the fastest possible one, taking into account traffic, construction, the direction of the wind, etc.

After hours of careful consideration I, naturally, selected the least efficient route, which took me north and south several times when really all I wanted to do was go east! EAST! I can't express how frustrating this was, to get halfway into a trip and realize that you have taken four separate shortcuts that make NO sense and that all of your clever plotting was for naught.

I did make it to the dry cleaner's just in time, happily.

2. Over the weekend I forked over $5.95 for a previously viewed copy of Orange County, and I think it may be one of my smartest purchases ever because seriously? I love that movie. LOVE. I may have to go on about it at length in the future, but for now, I will simply say orange county stuff )Another Jack Black movie that I heartily recommend: Saving Silverman, which is by no means sweet or warm but is enormously funny, featuring a Neil Diamond cover band consisting of Jack Black, Jason Biggs, and Steve Zahn called Diamonds in the Rough.

3. I've had this mysterious back pain for ages and am considering going to the doctor for it. I am, naturally, convinced that I am dying, because this is the conclusion my mind automatically goes to for every minor health concern. I blame thirtysomething, and their touching telling of Nancy's ovarian cancer, because after watching it at the impressionable age of eleven, I automatically associate lower back pain with ovarian cancer because that was Nancy's symptom! Does anyone else remember this? She kept having these tinges of pain in her back and was all "oh it's nothing" but it WASN'T!

I am, of course, as my mother told me, Talking Crazy, because the pain all started after that nasty spill I took in my driveway a few weeks ago, and I know that's the real source of it all.

4. There is no 4, because it is time for me to go to bed.
fearlesstemp: (working girl)
90% of the reason I spent twenty minutes digging my sorry car out of the mountain of snow my brother had so kindly buried it under (Never let a younger brother snowblow a driveway your car is parked in. It is just not a good idea) was so that I could wear my Truly Awesome Tights, which are black with little shamrocks on them and therefore only appropriate for today. I bought them last week for 75% off, and I'm wearing a green shirt that doesn't quite match the green of the shamrocks, but I don't care! I'm festive! I can't decide if the tights are cute or if they're a sign that I'm fast on my way to being a person who wears puff-paint sweatshirts with Christmas trees on them during the holidays.

In short: Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Century City, that show about lawyers in the future, premiered last night and watched part of it and taped the rest and I'm pretty sure it was everything I dreamed of (and more!). do i really need a spoiler cut tag? just in case )

A source of stress right now is the fact that I think I'm going gray. I've always had a few stray gray hairs, ever since I was sixteen or so, and there have always been three or four I could see in the part of my hair, and I thought they were kind of a quirky localized incident so I left them alone. Then I started noticing them more and pulling them out, and then yesterday in the car on my way back from lunch, I thought to check the rest of my head and OH MY GOD they're EVERYWHERE! I'm only 23! Isn't this young? Or isn't it? My mother says it's normal and I'm overreacting and she's probably right, but watch me still freak out. I mean, you can't really see them from a distance, and I have a lot of hair so you have to be looking for them, but I really don't want to go gray! My grandfather was completely gray by the age of 25. I'm nervous. My hair's super-dark (a coworker called it a "soft black" which is how I'm going to describe it from now on) and I've never dyed it and I don't WANT to and grrr.

I'm getting old! Wearing festive legwear, sprouting gray hairs, looking for logic in cheesy sci fi lawyer shows! What is happening to me?

To end on a less neurotic note, I leave you with an Irish Blessing:

May those that love us, love us.
And those that don't love us,
May God turn their hearts.
And if He doesn't turn their hearts,
May He turn their ankles
So we will know them by their limping.
fearlesstemp: (lionel)
I should be in bed.

That said: The other day I came across this young adult novel from the early eighties which I must have purchased at the used bookstore when I was in high school. Or, you know, maybe last year. Anyway! The book is entitled The Preppy Problem and really, it's chock full of searing insights into the adolescent experience and the importance of alligator shirts. Goood stuff.

But seriously. The best part? The BEST part, by far, is the fashion descriptions. Like:

Melissa looked at herself in the mirror. Now what in the world had Kip found to criticize in this silky, robin's-egg blue top with its stand-up Mandarin collar and long, full sleeves? She tied the narrow gold rope belt more tightly around the high waist of her front pleated white wool pants, and smoothed her hand over the long braid of her hair that she had caught at the top with a wrapping of a thin, gold cord. A brushful of light, rosy blush and some clear lip-gloss completed the picture.

and

She adjusted the skirt of the silky "Melissa-blue" scoop-necked dress that was embroidered all over with little flowers and had a border of white eyelet edging around the hem, the collar, and the full, puffed sleeves. The wide blue sash around her waist tied in a great big bow int he back, and her mother had lent her a blue and white Wedgewood cameo necklace that matched the color perfectly. Both she and Holly had decided to wear glittery, sheer white stockings, and Melissa had warn the same silver shoes that had caused such a fuss at the Valentine's dance.

I must say I'm curious about this shoe-related fuss, but lack the energy to investigate further. But seriously: White, front-pleated, high-waisted pants! And white glittery stockings! A big sash with a bow at the back! I remember when my bad eight year old self wore stuff like this and thought I was all. that. (and a bag of chips)

It should be noted that this all takes place *after* Melissa has had her fashion-related epiphany and decided to reject Prepsterdom for a more liberated fashion identity, or something. I'm sure it's symbolic, or maybe it's just lame.

Speaking of clothes, I have none to wear tomorrow. If only that were a reasonable reason to call in to work. That would be awesome. But instead, I will search through my dresser and end up wearing something from the early nineties that I loathe and will spend all day self-conscious, hating my laundry-avoiding self. Like I do most days.

And now I think that Pepsi I drank almost an hour ago is wearing off, and I should be able to go to sleep.
fearlesstemp: (lionel)
I should have known today would be a wash when I woke up this morning and couldn't find my short slip. Because of my utter laziness when it comes to laundry, I'd reached the stage where picking an outfit was no longer a casual, "Ah, I feel like this today" but instead a manner of searching high and low through drawers and my closet to assemble a clean, somewhat-matching outfit. A clean, somewhat-matching outfit with a knee-length skirt which I usually wear with my short slip and I couldn't find it ANYWHERE. Still can't find it. Naturally, I blame the cats. Why? Because I can.

The Case of the Missing Slip wouldn't be so big a deal if I didn't always, without fail, oversleep by at least fifteen minutes. This means that my mornings are spent with my brain on a constant loop of "Oh my God! What time is it? Why didn't I get up earlier? Why? WHY? Oh my God! What time is it?" and the slightest foul-up in the morning routine messes everything up.

Like today, I only got to eat half of my oatmeal because I was running late! Isn't that a tragedy?

Arrived at work to find more stupid things I'd messed up, and spent the morning alternately loathing myself for said screw-ups and obsessing over my dental appointment later that morning (I hate hate HATE the dentist). During a particularly intense Loathe Patch, I heard my name called and turned to see three of my bosses and a strange woman descending upon me from down the hallway in a manner not unlike the power shots at the end of the Buffy/Angel credits.

First thought: Oh my God! I'm so fired. Strange Woman is totally here to escort me from the building!

Second thought: Oh my God, did she say she was from my temp agency? She can't be --

Third thought: Please let the earth open up and swallow me whole.

Yes, yes indeedy. They sent someone over to Acronym Company, to my department, and had them make a spectacle of the Temp of the Month accolades. Wanted. to. DIE. I hate hate HATE being the center of attention (almost as much as I hate the dentist) and to have everyone in the department stop what they were doing to see me pull out my new Temp Agency Lunch Satchel and Temp of the Month Certificate (ready for framing) -- well, it's in spitting distance of my worst nightmare.

Luckily, after that Embarrassment Explosion, I had the fun of my dental appointment to look forward to on my lunch hour. I'd planned just to get this random, occasional twinge in one of my teeth looked at, and once Dr. Pain had looked at it, he quickly decided part of my filling in one tooth had fallen out. And then he fixed it right there! I had totally planned to have another visit to deal with the drilling and all that, but no! Right there! Today!

Naturally, the first shot of novocaine didn't completely work, so after the Traditional Swat of Hey! Ow! he shot me up a few times more (to the proper dosage for a bull, I believe) and it worked, I got the new filling. The only problem was that because of the massive influx of novocaine, the entire left side of my mouth/cheek and lower lip were completely numb. COMPLETELY. To the point that when I got back to work, I sounded seriously drunk because every sentence and word took so. much. effort. to say properly. Not to mention the fact that every time I took a sip from my can of Diet Coke, I had to put a finger under my lower lip to make sure it didn't slip off and cause me to spill soda all over myself. Talk about presenting a positive image of the company! They should put me on the website, complete with too-long slip showing beneath the hem of my skirt! (Note: I did roll up the top of said slip so that to my knowledge, the slip did not show all day. But still. There's the possibility of unknown slipping of slip. Always dangerous.)

I'm now suffering from Post Traumatic Drilling Disorder, where I keep flashing back to the sensation of the second drill they use -- you know, the big one that sounds like they're just spinning a boulder they picked up off the ground around in your tooth or something? Hate that! Hate that so much! Gives me the heebie jeebies hours later!

Anyway, my jaw isn't as ouchy now as it was before, and look! it's my designated bedtime. With that, I'm off.
fearlesstemp: (working girl)
Today I am wearing an outfit that either looks nice or is quite hideous. It is very red, that's for sure, and since red is my favorite color, I'm happy. But I worry that my red top doesn't match my red skirt. Also, am wearing a V-neck shirt, and since I have the fashion daring of a middle-aged nun, I fear I look ho-ish. I do have a black tank toppy thing underneath. And I have to touch up my toenails.

But my skirt is long and flowy and cool! And v. comfy. And multiple people have told me it looks nice! I kind of worry, though, if it's one of those things where you see someone wearing something truly horrifying and find yourself gaping at it open-mouthed, and then when they notice you staring you have to come up with something to say, and since "Wow, I didn't know you were colorblind!" isn't really in line with office etiquette, you're stuck with the old False Compliment.

In other news: GH is kind of a train wreck lately. Naturally, I cannot look away, largely because I totally love the teen scene. Dylan + Georgie 4EVA! Though he's too good for her, what with Georgie being all obsessed with HER COUSIN and all. I have discovered that I can even sit through the creepy scenes of Ric fondling the nursery mobile in the panic room as long as he does so shirtless, as he did yesterday. Yes, I am Just That Shallow.

And that concludes the soap opera portion of this journal entry.

In other news: I continue to be largely removed from politics, my only real involvement coming through Daily Show viewings and daily salon.com checking (I mostly do the former for the funny and the latter for the movie reviews, so really, the I only come by world news completely accidentally). There was a brief period, a couple of months ago, where I went to a Dean meetup and tried to get involved but (and this is a source of some intense self-loathing lately) due to two extremely awkward dates with a fellow Dean devotee, I have found myself completely unable to return to the liberal Democratic fold.

How terrible is that?? I mean, I thought I had ideals! I always kind of thought that when the chips were down, I'd be principled! And tough! And would fight for what I believed in, in the face of troubles and tyranny and all that stuff, but apparently all it takes to push me off of my political high horse is to ask me out on a date, spend twenty minutes talking to me about your joint problems, make a few unwanted advances, and cap it all off by trying to ask me out again.

And really, I couldn't believe that part of the whole deal. I practically broke the sound barrier shooting out of his car at the end of Date No. 2! And come on, I thought for sure that my whole saying that I couldn't stay out any later because it was late (9:30PM!) and I had to go to mass the next morning (!!) would give him a clue, but apparently not. He called me again and left a message asking me to go see some live music with him and I totally never returned his call. I am so evil!

Anyway. Maybe my awkwarness will wear off and I will rediscover my political convictions soon. Here's hoping!
fearlesstemp: (working girl)
This is why I don't go hiking. Also, all the hills! And rocky terrain! If I wanted to go off the beaten trail, I'd buy an expensive SUV like any self-respecting American!

I kid, I kid. Mostly. I just say no to both hiking and SUVs at this point in my life.

In other news: Am at work, suckily not working because it's Friday afternoon and my brain shut off about an hour ago. And!!! This monster case that has been eating the law firm and that was going to cause me to have to come in and WORK on a SUNDAY (I know, I know, LOTS of people have to work on the weekends, I just don't want to be one of them!)? IT SETTLED! Wheee!

In yet other news: You know how some people are red/green colorblind? I've recently come to the conclusion that I'm ugly/cute blind. Like, most of the time? I really can't tell! Which is why I usually dress really, really boring. Solid colors, nothing too daring or different. I usually try to get interesting cuts to tops and layer things so it's not too boring, but really? Totally unimaginative. Because if I ever buy anything totally crazy (like, say, the pants I have on now, which are black, capri-length, and with this tiny narrow pattern around the hem consisting of little red flowers and black and white gingham and red trim)? Whenever I wear them, I spend the whole day staring at them going, "Look at my cute pants! Wait. Are they cute? Oh God! They're ugly! THEY'RE HORRENDOUSLY, EYE-MELTINGLY UGLY! Or are they? Hm. I do like the red." Etc etc.

But regarding today's outfit: Have gotten independent verification from two (2) people in office that ensemble of aforementioned pants, black sleeveless shirt, red button-down shirt, black sandals and red toenails is not, in fact, ugly. Good to know, since the outfit is completely at odds with the weather conditions (rainy and cool), and can only really hope to have merit visually.

And now I and my ambiguously cute pants are going to go get our work on.

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fearlesstemp

February 2009

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