31 January 2012

1 january: a revue

"so last night the spinach caught fire in the microwave."
"this, of all things, makes me wish i was in the same city as you. we should be setting our dinners on fire together."

"your subconscious is being a jerk right now."

"like the heart, home is where the lindear is"

"there. life = solved. eh?"

"i'd know those blue walls anywhere."

"i applaud your staying in bed."

"she has roommates? that seems like the kind of annoyance that should only be endured by college students."

"these children are germ farms."

"i applaud your sleeping in."
"i'm starting to question the legitimacy of your applause at this point."

"we went to see our friend read aloud in public! on a stage! before a crowd! it was just like anne of green gables."

"elvis. did you go last sunday? what a question....forgive me. of course you went. how was it?"

"this is just like the movie with morgan freeman."

"for a woman who's had so many plastic surgeries, she still looks good."

"if there's one woman in the world for me, it would be dolly parton."

"the only thing i love more than felicity is the gilmore girls."

"you've never cried as much as when you watch a walk to remember... and i'm a straight guy."

"anything with parents and family and children or a pet and i just tear up."


"no one even wooed."

"it tasted more like tropical than tennessee."

"i think if i were 30 or 40 years older, i could be an elvis groupie."

"my biggest issue with this is that there's no way in hell someone could do that kind of spending (two weeks at the flamingo in vegas, buying all kinds of dinners & corsets & garters, etc.) on the salary of a middle school teacher."

"nobody died! well... i mean, when they did they expired in victorian ways off-screen."

"what i wouldn't do for a short-term story at the moment."

"because, you know, fulfilling a masochistic rape fantasy as part of losing your virginity is really the best way to become a megastar in the evangelical preacherly world."

"i think my armageddon isn't scheduled until december of this year. so until then, you know, live your best days."

"oh. and his facial structure matches that of rob lowe nearly exactly."

"i love you but you have never ever sounded more stalkerish than in those three sentences about our dear friend's womb."

"hector found some pictures of corporate gift situations and he's sending them right over."

"it was just nice to wake up and talk to someone about the queen for an hour."

"i love that your life is peppered with podcasts."

"think you’ll see your kissing friend while you’re in france?"

"she obviously doesn’t care how she looks, or she wouldn’t be making out with diddy at industry parties in the first place."

"i imagine that you and jon stewart share a lot of guests."

"it probably does look a bit ridiculous because, admittedly, it is ridiculous."

"that is not dating. it's just prolonged awkward."

"omg, why do i know heidi klum's favorite day of the year?"

"and then i was all 'what is carbon monoxide? i should google it.'" 

"i realized i'm now 30. which was completely shocking regardless of the fact that it happened last may."

"being a grown up is not my fave."

"its like we needed to have all the weathers in one day."

"it may be that all she can do is open your blog, read the contents, and then collapse against her pregnancy pillow."

"i knew that would make you count your lucky childless stars."

"have you seen rupert evrette's new face? he looks like a madame tussaud's version of kevin klein."

"it's an All Weathers In One Day MIRACLE!!!"

"hey, what does green and yellow snot mean?"
"NO. i refuse to believe that."
"that, or you have tropical skittles up your nose."
"that answer i will accept."

"see, you're in the city, while i'm in the suburbs. therefore, i would have known how to respond if you'd said 'sup?'"

"i'm somewhat enjoying my walk through campus more than our rendezvous."

"please know that your blog caused me to get up for a bathroom trip for the sole purpose of seeing how short 'second-knuckle length' is."

"that's the literary equivalent of finding a severed toe in your soup."

"i just feel really bad for her husband now that i know that she slept with this dude. i mean, i felt really bad for him when i slept with her..."

"you do know that all of this 'SURPRISE'ing is going to come back to bite you in the butt one day when i just yell SURPRISE at you out of my bully-ing and then you pee your pants."

"p diddy? i will never see the attraction. if for no other reason than ...HE’s THE FACE OF DILLARD’s."

"so we really just had a core conflict about geography."

"that's another thing about new york: there were a lot of determined looking asian girls."

"today is all about surviving, until i can get on a plane and crash."

"DON'T eat the cookie dough egg roll. it's full of dissapointment and lies."

"and wait. how many men was it in 2011?"

"that is how serious my life is... i don't even have time for the new yorker."

5 wordy

in maph, when i first started writing about jackie, i kept a notecard on which i would write words. weird words, arcane words, clever words, foreign words. really just any words that caught my attention.

the goal was to then work these words into the jackie book. as a personal joke but also as a means of upping the ante. because i thought biography could sound and be smart and, thus far, none of the biographies of her had.

a few weeks ago, during an interview, an author said something that's stuck with me. as a side-note to my inane statement about how the story she had written read like a novel, she drifted into a discussion about words.

and she said this: that we as writers have an obligation to stretch ourselves and incorporate obscure or antiquated words into our work. that it is our responsibility as writers to keep these words alive lest they fall into disuse and fall out of the vernacular.

i heart that notion so hard. because there's nothing so subversive as words. and i don't think it's a coincidence that, when reading this author's book, i unconsciously slipped back into my old habit, jotting down the words that struck me, writing on the back flap the words i wanted to savor and to use.

30 January 2012

5 "see people, go places"

1 today, on this day, last year in oline history

jmills and i had a girls night, wherein we went to big star and consumed epic quantities of yellow chartreuse. there are no pictures, but it was wondrous.

27 January 2012

0 friday

kanye + olsens + photo booth

“Prince Williams ain’t do it right if you ask me, 
cuz if I was him I woulda married Kate and Ashley.”

2 so this is new

it's me and a friend and we're sitting on my fainting couch in front of The Wall of Jackie and i'm trying to explain what i'm trying to do.

and he says it makes perfect sense and seems totally in character with everything he knows about me, because trying to point out the obscure in something so well known is quintessentially hipster.

and i think, oh my god, i AM a hipster. not just in my jeans, but in my very mode of thought.

5 gary is having a spend-the-night with the in-laws, during which joe and burvil have figured out how to use their photo scanner. really, i can't even begin.

your beloved oline, impecably well-mannered southern lady. always, forever and ever.

debo and pammyla.

 fashion malfunctions are obviously a family trait.

debo and sadoline.

i repeat:
i had The Best Childhood ever and have been impossibly blessed ever since.

26 January 2012

0 in jackie stories you should know and love

"During her trip to India and Pakistan in March and April of 1962, Jackie went without the President and the hordes of staff, security and media which always prevented sustained and direct contact with the everyday people who turned out to see them. Making an impulsive gift of a scarf she’d just bought to a Pakistani woman covered in a burqua when she learned the woman wore colorful clothes beneath it, or wearing a fingerprinted Indian tilak on her forehead, her respect for everyday people she encountered and the cultures in which she was immersed cemented the affection those nations felt towards her but while hundreds of thousands of foreigners gained a better sense of all this through a United States Information Agency documentary about her trip, Americans were prevented from ever seeing and hearing her speak. Republicans claiming that its distribution to commercial movie audiences created unfair partisan advantage for the Administration, blocked it from being screened."

25 January 2012

10 the poo-pocalypse

my parents cat is dying the slowest death of any animal ever. it is, unfortunately, a death by diarrhea. (this has been going on for over a year. i have written about it before.)

despite the fact that she is single-handedly responsible for the introduction of the phrase "poo-pocalypse" into the vernacular of our family, my father is surprisingly unwavering in his determination that mimi will not be put down unless her quality of life is compromised. because a total loss of bowel control apparently doesn't qualify as compromised quality of life, mimi will likely outlive us all.

but i dare say my quality of life is severely hindered by the continuance of hers. i am not a classy lady (surprise!), but still there are topics i'd rather avoid. excrement is, by and large, one of them. alas, it is everywhere.

all anyone in my family can talk about these days is the cat's shit. joe, burvil, debo, doesn't matter, it's all the same... gary's cat is really sick. she's pooping up a storm.

i don't even know what that means beyond the fact that it sounds appalling.

over christmas, mimi was kenneled. not because we were going anywhere, but because my dad didn't want to have to deal with a house full people on top of all the cat shit. within hours of her arrival, the doctor called to report that mimi was obviously near death as she'd had back-to-back episodes of violent diarrhea. no, my father told him calmly, that is just who mimi is.

we seem to be caught in a vicious cycle here. with each shift in mimi's treatment- which has run the gamut from cans of $50 food to thrice daily shots- the initial euphoria has been punctured by the diarrhea's inevitable return and the subsequent poop report.

this unending quest to resolve the matter of the cat shit is my father's latest anthropological endeavor. in his eagerness to report back from the field, i am treated to his findings daily:

it is now my greatest fear that my father will one day write a sci-fi novel/memoir and that it will be entitled poop storm

3 hull house is closing

that is a big deal.
one of the chicago biographers wrote THIS.
you should read it.
my pull-quote:

"The great insight of the settlement movement was the power of social ties to realign the energies of prosperous people away from their class self-interests and towards efforts to support the reforms working people sought, which in Addams’s times included a livable wage and the eight-hour workday.Underlying that insight was the recognition that materially comfortable people often held dangerous misconceptions about working class people as undisciplined and without ambition and that working people held prejudices of their own about the selfishness and greed of the wealthier classes."

2 Movies You Really Should've Seen By Now If You Want To Consider Yourself A Grown Person: Breakfast at Tiffany's

breakfast at tiffany’s is perhaps best known for its lovely star—audrey hepburn—and the notoriously racist depiction of her asian landlord (played by mickey rooney, tarted up in yellow face-paint). and it’s that same tension between beauty and nastiness that forms the core of the film.

i love this movie for reasons that may not be immediately obvious.

do not be distracted by audrey's beauty and the intoxicating pallet of purples and citrines and neon pinks and bright lights! though tiffany's is tarted up in givenchey and its seediness is buried beneath the antiquated lingo surrounding the tipping of attendants in powder rooms, this is a dirty, sad story. holly golightly's a hooker, after all.

does it help to remember that capote wrote the character for marilyn monroe? the movie takes monumental liberties with his masterpiece of a novella (which every single person alive should've read by now), but what the film does, it does impeccably well. through its portrayal of the melancholy high-class call-girl holly golightly and her nameless cat, breakfast at tiffany’s captures the haunting restlessness that both powers a city and drives people to it.

on a superficial level, it shows the vast complexities that arise when country girls move to cities and try to leverage themselves into positions of wealth. but it's also- and i think this is what capote was getting at- a commentary on the differences between how people reveal themselves and who they really are. the stories we tell ourselves about ourselves in order to survive.

and there's truly nothing more adult than that.

24 January 2012

2 coated

when we were kids, the absolute uncoolest thing you could do was button your coat.

mind you, i grew up in tennessee, so blizzardish conditions were rare, but still, it could get cold. and when it got cold, i would deign to wear a coat, yes, but i unilaterally refused to zip it.

i realize now that this was the stupidest thing ever. because the bus was always delayed, i was always underdressed and, no matter how my mother protested, my coat was always unzipped. i count myself lucky not to have caught pneumonia.

today, i zip/button my coat. always. because it is really freaking cold out there and i do not want to die.

and yet...

the other day i saw a man getting off the train. he appeared entirely unphased by the fact that it was then twelve degrees. he was wearing a grey sweater and a black coat that was more a blazer than anything else. and it was unbuttoned. and my immediate thought was, god, he looks so cool.

1 would that there were a tasting tour

5 dear chicago

every morning, the cta guy tells me when the next purple line train is due and we talk about baseball until it arrives. every morning, the ladies at the coffee shop see me and pour a medium black. on the commute, chicago feels extraordinarily small town.

23 January 2012

2 deep thoughts from lindear

"The Seal / Heidi Klum breakup is one of the saddest ones I’ve seen in a long time. Almost as sad as one of my friends getting real life divorced last year."

6 today, on this day in oline history, last year a few days ago: the weekend of taste

2 gossip

this week's enquirer says that my beloved mary tyler moore is dying.

look at the miraculous recovery she made for betty white's birthday.

22 January 2012

0 :)

"I think it's about getting really comfortable with not knowing. Writing means the balls to turn up to something every day not knowing what to write or do, to keep asking it questions, keep listening, keep arse on chair, keep fucking answering. And to turn up the next day not knowing what the next step is."
-MK (read her)

20 January 2012

0 caroline clownpants

i was a super cool kid. in third grade, on the playground, i hawked contraband copies of "papa don't preach." and in third grade, like a total badass, i once told missy dean to "shut up." majorly super-cool. but don't worry. it didn't last.

around fifth grade, my hold on the coolness began to slip when my mother made me a romper. and we're not talking a romper like they sell at urban outfitters in the summer. it was, in hindsight, a wee more ronald than that. at the time, i fancied it the height of cool.

striped with a rainbow of sherbertesque pastels, i believed both the style and the fabric to be "fashion-forward." louis abercrombie laughed. though i never wore it again, louis abercrombie called me "caroline clownpants" for the remainder of the year.

(let the fact that absolutely no photographs of this ensemble exist be a testament to the trauma it provoked.)

in light of this, i sought salvation and solace from the most obvious source- conspiracy theories. asking all judy blume style, "elvis, where are you?" i arrived at the fervent belief that he was alive and living in kalamazoo.

i can't stress enough how great a role the bill bixby PBS Television Events played in the furthering of my delusion. the elvis files and the elvis conspiracy. two programs of two hours each wherein the actor bill bixby screened amateur footage proving that elvis was alive.

the thing that it's really hard to wrap your head around, the thing you really have to appreciate about the bill bixby PBS Television Events, is how authentic all of this seemed at the time.

i was eleven. i'd never seen a movie by oliver stone and i'd heard about elvis all my life. in truth, i'd never heard of bill bixby but there was bill bixby right there on my television screen telling me about his friend elvis. and there were all these other people who knew elvis and they said he was alive. and then, holymotherofgod, there was elvis calling bill bixby to say that he needed me to find him, because he was alive!

omg, he had me at "hello." 

and so, while the other children frolicked on the playground, i huddled in the corner of the children's world after-school daycare center searching for answers amidst the pages of the gail brewer-giorgio classic, is elvis alive?

no lie.

and, yes. yes, he was.

(you may wonder that i had any friends. fortunately all my daycare relationships had been solidified at the Audible Energy activity station on a snow day earlier in the year when- thanks to the skills acquired in the wake of mrs. christian's comment that it would be better for everyone in the competitive church children's choir if i simply mouthed the words- i gave a rousing lip synching performance of bruce springsteen's "born to run."

but for the boss it is quite possible that, given the potent combo of elvis conspiracies and clownpants, i might have already, even then at the age of eleven, been well on my way to dying alone.)

as it were, i not only had friends but a veritible mission field from which to win converts to the cause.

how could we play marco polo?! elvis was alive! 

my father used to always say that you can't be on fire all the time. he was speaking about fervancy for god, but the thought holds true here just the same. i'm not entirely sure when the elvis conspiracies stopped making sense but, as all fervencies do, even this died down.

eventually, my family moved to a place where no one cared that i could recite the soliloquy from "are you lonesome tonight" and everything changed. yet, nothing really did.

in my heart, i am still caroline clown pants. it's likely i always will be.

1 deep deep thoughts from the naked lady bar: "i'm telling you, 2010 is going to be our year!!!" (ie. the greatest naked lady bar of our lives)

"i'm not saying i'm competing with you, i just have a smaller, arts & crafts level compared to your industrial strength death spiral."

"it closes many doors and cuts out many possibilities... it's great."

"i have become quite the horticulturalist about cherry trees."

"it's like a whole package...  a death spiral that you can sell to others."

"no... it's a legitimate conversation."

"there may be something to this nautical tradition, guys."

"i finished that book and i was like 'what is that feeling?'"

"it's like a pixie stick of anglophilia."

"and they're well-rounded assholes."

"oh no, he's straight up asshole."

"that would be a level of wealth with which i am completely unacquainted."

"two servants?!"

"the end of that book crushed me to a smidgen of myself. i was just lanced."

"you're the pus sucked from said boil. that's what remains of the day is like."

"i'm really sad agatha christie is dead. that was my reaction to that news."

"art is evocative and it's weird that you just made that allusion just now."

"it's like the japanese national anthem..."
"was that all about sexy times?"
"would that the japanese national anthem were all, oh my god, you're so hot."
"image that at the dais at the olympics."
"i'm really impressed that your mind immediately went to the olympic dais."
"i mean, that's where national anthems really matter."

"so it's british teachers teaching american kids about japanese culture in chicago."

"i don't want to talk about my state. oh god no, i don't want to talk about my state."

"when the sistine chapel is in your house..."
"it is really hard to have a leg to stand on."

"that's all 'i thought buddhism was a holdout.'"

"where's the tamale guy?"

"in japan,  buddhism is really just a scam."

"the good thing about buddhism is it doesn't have a lot of 'i'll kill those people' passages so it's not all about mass slaughter like christianity."

"jesus years..."

"i think they're only doing the rich people in 3-d."

"now you laugh but you're going to feel silly if i'm right."

"we're on the sea floor. we're as far down as we can go."

"1,000 feet!"
"i think it was 12,000 feet."
"well then, 1,000 feet doesn't seem so impressive does it?"

"watch me draw a 3-dimensional box..."

"look! you can experience depth! well, hey, look, i can do depth all by myself."

"it's a box-off."

"we can already see that. that has been in movies since 1913."

"there were like multiple levels of floating forest..."

"you drink salted milk because you hate good things."
"you and your group."

"i think it was the one with the magic balls."

"so you prefer the christian roller coasters to the buddhist?"

"this is so straightforward and legit that i actually end up having respect for you."

"since the love birds... the flock of joy... what are they?"
"flock of seagulls."
"dana, the most uncool thing you've ever said is 'i'm not into flock of seagulls.' flock of seagulls is like the da vinci code."

"you are so cool, man. compared to me."
"what? i'm wearing argyle and khaki pants."

"you're so cool you've wrapped that shit back around."
"i've wrapped that shit around."
"right round, right round."

"you said this, which i understand is canadian."

"i don't eat pork outside of memphis."

"did we miss the tamale guy?"

"and i wasn't even drunk when i wrote this."

"shut up, you've never even had canadian bacon."

"i can print it out and take it to my home and put it in my pants."

"confidential doesn't include me."

"i am an artificial fat substitute or i am the internet. there is no middle ground."

"i don't want to think of a child bursting out of her head."
"no, i mean in a clear way."

"for athena or croftie, i think i would be very fluid-free."

"like when a thing just comes out of your brain. what do you call that?"
"a thought?"

"they literally live in a dell."

"more diagrams!"

"maybe they spoke like they live in the shire."
"well, they kind of do live in the shire."

"i'm telling you, 2010 is going to be our year!!!... 2012."
"oh my god, our year has passed!"
"i am getting that tattooed on my ass."
"we've already peaked."
"nothing particular happened to me in that year but i'm going to get it tattooed on my ass."
"maybe we peaked too soon?"
"so, in prague, you're supposed to eat a lot of bread."

"i don't want to insult you, but in this moment right now with your coats like that you kind of look like stalin and roosevelt at yalta."

"is the tamale guy not coming?"

"the blanket... such as it was draped... indicated that the man had a right leg but no left."

"clearly she was pretty proud of her thighs and that was fine."

"there were a hundred people."
"there were twenty-five."

"i mean, today's american college student... WHOA."

"no, there were many gallons of other things."

"if anything was ever meant to be a gif..."

"i only babysat for people who had hbo."

"even thought it's cool, it's an academic paper so you shouldn't be so slack-jaw."

"these terms wouldn't fly in our discourse community."

"well... i've peed, so i can laugh now."

"i feel like this was your comeuppance for declaring 2010 the best year of our lives."

"oh please, can you get the hiccups every time we're in the naked lady bar?"

"you do say fucking a lot."
"i do! i do! that's my thing. i'm like, this year i'm not going to say fucking so much. i don't know how i'm doing so far. i guess i'll see tomorrow when i read the quotes."

"you know, i can only identify about half the things as me when i read them the day after."

"i think i've truly been better with the fucking tonight."

"i don't know, there's been a lot of fucking tonight."

"more less?"

"where is that tamale guy?"
"i mean, it is about time."

"that was amazing. it was like something you've would've done had you ever learned zulu. you can't just make that shit up. it's like something you have to have learned in the tribe... i guess i say shit a lot too."

"no, mostly it's really early for the fucking and i feel like you seldom say that and ass, like never."

"it's like cunt, fuck and then everything else is 3rd."
"shit is kind of higher than bitch and dick."
"because fuck is cute right now."
"and you can do something with it."

"so wait, your new years eve resolution was to say fuck less and your's was to say cunt more. 2010... it's our year."

"you guys are like the hebrews."

"i can't even handle tonight. i mean, not even."

19 January 2012

1 a few words on word choice

word choice is one of those things to which writers dedicate an absurdly massive amount of time in proportion to how much attention readers pay it. 

because (and i exempt everyone who has ever been in maph from what i'm about to say) word choice isn't something most readers notice- unless it goes wrong. up to that point, they're indifferent, but reach that point and they'll sally forth guns blazing to be sure you, as a writer, are aware you've committed crimes against language. 

so, hey, today this happened:

a crime against language! the result of an editorial change i would've accepted without question in any context other than that of people with intellectual disabilities and the special olympics. 

sensei declared it "the literary equivalent of finding a severed toe in your soup." 

i promptly pitched a well-mannered southern fit along the lines of um... please god, dear editor, no, and we returned to the original line of "true that" and walked away with a new NLB inside joke. end drama. 

still. it's frightening, the power of one word. or even just two letters. 

7 for the love of god, WHY?

18 January 2012

1 there are things you know you need to do

by which i don’t mean the honorable, upstanding things, but the thoroughly stupid, senseless, impractical ones. the things people will warn you away from doing precisely because they seem to make no sense. or because they cost the equivalent of a small country's annual budget.

this has come up before. last year i used this exact logic as justification for going to paris for 13 hours. i'm realizing that, for me, the most thoroughly stupid, senseless, impractical things are maybe always going to involve paris.

i'm not sure what to do with that just yet. except go back to paris.

come may, i'm presenting a paper at a conference on narrative in france. a paper establishing jackie's tabloid life narrative as being of feminist importance. the conference is five months away. so far, my paper exists only as a three paragraph abstract that hits upon jackie's feminist importance in the vaguest possible terms.

this proposition is stupid, senseless and impractical on many levels, not to mention expensive. by extension, i'm ruthlessly gung-ho.

in hopes of finding inspiration, i've been wading through the pile of papers that have accumulated during the last eight years of research. two dozen legal pads filled with old notes and random musings. that is how i happened upon this, written in february 2004:

"jackie o as feminist icon? fun book to write but too hard to prove. TRUE but no one would believe. it cannot be done."

my first thought upon reading this? holy shit.

my second thought? yes, it can.

0 Movies You Really Should've Seen By Now If You Want To Consider Yourself A Grown Person: Gettysburg and/or (um... AND) The Outsiders

gettysburg and the outsiders are essentially the same film. because, in the (very important) pantheon of movies starring a shit-ton of hot men, the ted turner classic gettysburg is to the 1990s what the outsiders was to the 1980s.

plus awkward facial hair and southern accents...

minus tight denim and young rob lowe.

c. thomas howell (boy of promise, man of limited acting accomplishments) provides the link.

the outsiders was headlined (omg, why?) by c. thomas howell and starred matt dillon, patrick swayze, young ROB LOWE (!!!), emilio estevez, ralph maccio (what huh?), tom cruise, leif garrett and- somewhat inexplicably- tom waits. deep into the googling of photographs for this, i learned that it was also directed by francis ford coppola. (dude, wtf?)

gettysburg featured jeff daniels (yes, THE jeff daniels), martin sheen, tom berenger, our friend c. thomas and literally a million other men- most of them unknowns, some of them very cute, all of them sporting insanely clownish beards.

seriously. INSANELY CLOWNISH. urban outfitters could do better.

imdb summarizes gettsburg as follows: "The four and 1/4 hour depiction of the historical and personal events surrounding and including the decisive American civil war battle features thousands of civil war re-enactors marching over the exact ground that the federal army and the army of North Virginia fought on."

and now for the outsiders: "When two poor greasers, Johnny, and Ponyboy are assaulted by a vicious gang, the socs, and Johnny kills one of the attackers, tension begins to mount between the two rival gangs, setting off a turbulent chain of events."

you see what i mean? they're, like, THE SAME MOVIE. only one is 3 hours shorter, clean-shaven and barely begun puberty.

in gettysburg, lee's army of virginia is obviously johnny and ponyboy, just hanging out in a field in nowheresville pennsylvania when the north (ie. "the socs") sweep in and beat up on them so they're forced to fight on bad ground with the whole of mead's army aiming their guns down on them little round top.

when viewed through this context, the battle of gettysburg is basically just a street fight gone major.

seriously. how is this...

really all that different from this?

when i was a kid, these movies were equally electrifying. the outsiders, because i'd never seen so many boys in one place and it was my first encounter with hair grease. and gettysburg because i'd never seen a movie starring no women and did not know who won the war.

17 January 2012

1 how much your inbox says about your life

2 shortening

it's tuesday morning. i'm at work. i've just realized the dress i'm wearing doesn't pass the fingertip test.

by which i mean (my god, i'm saying "by which i mean" a hell of a lot these days), it doesn't even come close. it's second knuckle... at best.

i don't know that there's a male equivalent for this- the extraordinary phenomenon wherein one can look downright chaste in the mirror at home only to arrive at work dressed in an outfit better suited to a night in the clubs or a day spent working the streets.

jmills told me i can't wear mini-dresses past the age of 35, so i've recently taken to them with the fervor of the condemned woman. it's possible i've outdone myself here.

because this dress is almost too short. i've wondered if there can ever be such a thing, but the reality that i've got to deliberately pull the hem and tuck it under my ass every time i sit down may be an indicator that i've limits.

three times now i've wondered about this dress... is it maybe a top?

0 it's unfair

how long it takes to write something and how quickly to read it.