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sublingua | |||||
| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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The Demon Who Is Still A 10
...and holding... Old Navy still thinks that I'm a size 10. (I just bought a kicky new linen skirt there for $20--and, given the fine quality of Old Navy goods, as long as I don't wash it ever, I think it might last through 2 or 3 wearings. Not that those 2 or 3 wearings will happen within the next 6 or 7 years, given how often I wear skirts--but I'm trying new things, okay? Just bear with me.) Updated to add: Here I am in the new skirt (standing in Max's kitchen with our cat Groucho on my shoulder):
For those of you with even the most remote bit of interest in such things (and that is probably a specialized subset of you, or, as The Enforcer says, "Men stop paying attention when women start talking about clothes and emotions."), I am also wearing a black men's button-down dress shirt that I bought second hand, my Doc Marten boots (which took me to the opera last summer, nicely shined and with a dress that looked a lot like a priest's cassock and which was eighteen sizes larger than the skirt I have on in this pic), and a purse with a green tara on it (the purse came from a "touchy-feely" store that went out of business a few months ago (only to be replaced by the ubiquitous skater shop). (And, incidentally, I never carry a purse. Never that is unless the clothes I'm wearing have no pockets--and that happens a lot when you're talking about women's dressier clothes--which is something that I fucking hate. Damn clothes manufacturers, thinking that if you're a skirt-wearing woman that you don't have to carry keys or something?) From the "How much is it if we add five pounds?" File: I also went down to Target and bought a pair of thigh high stockings. At the register, the young woman held them up and said those words that every shopper dreads hearing: "Do you remember how much these were?" A collective sigh went up from the line behind me and people began looking for the next shortest line, already thinking about whether or not they could beat the old lady behind them to the next register and check out just that much faster. "No," I said. "I can't remember how much they usually are," she said. We both sort of waited a few seconds to see if her brain was going to cough up the info, but there was nothing coming. "Um," I said helpfully, "I think the two pack is $9." She sort of tilted her head and looked at me the way birds or dogs do when you say something that they think might be important. Then she asked, "What is that for one? Is that, like, four dollars?" "Four-fifty," I said. "Okay," she said, ringing up $4.50. God love her. She probably makes all of $6.00 an hour to do that job. (And no, I didn't try to put one over on her. I really had no idea how much they were and four-fifty is about right for a pair of stockings, huh?) The Weetabix-Wannabe List:
I was kind of a shopping maven today, having bought the skirt, the stockings, two pair of underwear, some mousse for my hair, the new Missy Elliot CD (Updated to add: Yes, I realize now that Missy Elliott spells her name with two T's, but I'm too lazy to change the rest of this entry, okay?) , the French vanilla and chocolate sugar-free Torani syrups for the iced coffee I'm suddenly into, and some double chocolate Ghiridelli (I'm so not spelling that right, and too lazy to open another window to check) hot chocolate mix for Max. And all the stores are filled with Easter candy, which I realize that I never really enjoyed--and certainly wouldn't enjoy now. Bring me a basket filled with fresh blueberries and peaches and I'd be a happy woman. (And isn't food what Easter is all about?) The Sublingua List: I am grateful. I am grateful for the enormous jumping spider that greeted me and Max as we came into the garden yesterday after working out. I am grateful for Oliver, the landlady's fabulous dog, who won't cross the Oliver-proof grating for any reason, not even when tempted by a huge sack of smelly garbage. I am grateful for dinners outdoors and my neighbors who wandered out to joke and laugh and enjoy the early evening. I am grateful for the poorly-paid, well-meaning young women who work the registers at retail hell outlets. I am grateful for the Aisho-san distraction factor, which continues to occupy those non-gym moments. I am grateful for Missy Elliot's sense of humor. I am grateful for The Enforcer (who, when we spoke of Missy Elliot, laughed and said happily, "She's an idiot." I asked why he thought that and he just laughed happily and said again, "She just is. She's an idiot.") I am grateful for x, who spiced up the story of The Demon Who Tolerates Intolerable Behavior by combining it with DrugCoBob's message on my answering machine. I am grateful for sugar-free Torani syrups. I am grateful for this day, this moment, this time, that the sun is shining, that I am loved, that I have the ability to love, that The Brain has not yet deserted me.
More lies:
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