A picture of loveliness

The other day I was wearing an orange dress to work. The dress is rust orange jersey and has a v-neck with a big 70's collar, and cap sleeves. It's pretty awesome. I was wearing it with a red belt and red sandals.

I'm walking home from work and this 70 year-old man stops me on the street and says, "Can I tell you something?" I say, "um, sure?" And he says, "I just wanted to say that it's so wonderful to see a lady in a nice dress! All the time nowadays you see these ladies and they have on their dungarees -- and I mean, that's ok! They can have... if they want to wear it that's fine -- but everything in moderation, that's what I say! When I see a lady with a dress, I think, now that's what I want to see. Like in the old days, they always had nice dresses. And now it seems like maybe the young ladies are wearing dresses again, and I think it's just great."

So during this speech I'm just nodding and smiling politely. A compliment, wrapped in a statement about how women shouldn't wear pants..... what do you even say to that? But it's definitely not the time to start a debate, so I decide to just take the compliment. As he was wrapping it up, he said, "and YOU my dear, are a picture of loveliness!" So he won me over in the end, needless to say.

This dress is a handmedown from my mom, who went to college during the 70's and subsequently had a TON of awesome clothes, the types of things you cannot find anymore. Fortunately for me, I'm approximately the same size as she was, and we're similar height, and since she has no plans to wear these things again I basically have free reign over anything from this era that I find in our closets at home.

I went a little crazy with this for a while, supplementing the handmedowns with stuff from thrift stores, the majority of which was made of 100% polyester and had prints that usually combined geometric shapes and floral patterns. I still have an impressive collection, which, if I sold it online, could probably buy me a pretty new computer with a nice big monitor or an impressively sized tattoo. But I should probably just cash it in for a new wardrobe, because the fact is that I cannot wear any of those things when I am actually going anywhere to do anything that is not totally climate controlled. 100% polyester is not suitable for supporting life. And as much as I hate to admit it, my wild and crazy days when I could wear whatever the fuck I wanted with no consequences are rapidly drawing to a close, causing me to rebel in more subtle and work-appropriate ways. Which makes the impressively sized tattoo (peeking out from under a v-neck sweater or pencil skirt) a little more appealing than a day at Macy's.

What's stopping me from selling it all is that I'm still basically the same person as I was, and so these objects have burrowed into my psyche and made themselves nice and comfy. It's hard to kick them out now. To sell the evidence of my teenage existence and to use the money for something so mundane as department store clothes.

But when I finally get my degree, this will be a rite of passage for me that should not go uncelebrated. I've worked for five-plus years on my own, taking care of myself, and I'm finally almost done. This is something I have to think about.

A product of my procrastination

While reading over some of my academic writing, I realized that sometimes I sound as though I'm consulting a magic eight ball with five or six transitional phrases. I keep repeating the same ones over and over, even when they're not entirely appropriate. "O, wise manuscript eight ball, which word should I use?" .... the little die in the purple liquid spins around and then lands on "Therefore" for the sixteenth time that day. So after some excellent googling and cross-referencing, I made this, and anyone who wants to use it is more than welcome. I'll update it if I think of any others

Apparently I learn nothing

...because despite the fact that the following words have left my mouth on more than one occasion: "I should not drink as much beer as Alex does at parties because then I feel like death the next day," guess what I did on the 4th of July?! That's right! There's something about when he says "I'm getting a beer --do you want one?" that I just can't say no to. I'm just a hopeless romantic I guess.

Although I did learn that fireworks WILL explode underwater. Someone is not going to have fun cleaning out their pool this week.

I have been writing from home this week, and I've completely lost all concept of time. I wrote a ridiculous amount today and then finally took a break to walk around outside, all bleary eyed from staring at my computer screen. Why am I staring at my computer still? I have no idea. They have some kind of power over me, those evil websites. I'm breaking the spell starting now.

Ten CCs of chocolate chip cookies, stat.

I just spent all day buried in data... and in the end I made ONE usable graph. In eight hours. FML. Seriously. I think I need a rootbeer float just to remind myself that there is something to live for.

On the plus side, there is another manuscript that I might be first author of. On the downside, I think that if I have to read it one more time I might throw up all over my office, which would not be good for anyone.

I'm putting it away and going home. We'll talk about this tomorrow, paper! You hear me? This isn't over.

(I like to threaten my papers. It keeps them in line.)

Want to hear about how behind the times I am? This month I am doing two things for the first time: a) learning to drive, and b) listening to podcasts. I haven't succumbed to twitter yet. But seriously, am I 70 years old or something? "Oooh, podcasts! Fun!" like they're new or something. "Well, I'm 27 now, I suppose I should do what high school students normally learn to do and go drive." I just never had to learn. It's embarrassing. Even more embarrassing will be when I drive into a telephone pole or a pedestrian. It's great too -- my first lesson is just far enough away that I can spend a week and a half working myself up into a nervous frenzy about it. I'm sure that'll really help.

Well, anyway. You win some, you lose some. But speaking of winning some: my boyfriend is now embroidering. Yes, you read that correctly. The other day we sat on the couch and watched TV, and I was knitting, and he was embroidering a little bee onto a piece of fabric for an art piece. It was pretty cute. These are the times when I realize that somehow, against all odds, I managed to find a good one. Maybe I'll bake him some cookies tonight.

On that note, it's out into the rain again.

Ok, crazy lady...

I recently made a purchase on amazon that included a pet fountain and eight pairs of underwear. Whoever was packing stuff to ship that day probably paused for a moment to consider my strange and sad life.

Thankfully Banjo actually likes the fountain, which means that I don't need to add this to the list of things that I wasted money on for the cat. After repeated UTI's I would rather spend money on something that places me firmly in the category of "crazy cat lady" than risk having to clean pee off of my stuff again. It really makes you appreciate how perfectly evolved housecats are, when you find yourself lysol wiping every inch of your apartment and still stopping to get your camera when they take a nap in a particularly cute position. I swear it's a defense mechanism.

Once, when I was a kid, my little brother wrote on the wallpaper with some crayons. However, my mom could not yell at him because he had written "I love Mommy". This just goes to show that my cat is as intelligent as a 4 year old boy. He has been using this strategy for years now. Perhaps this speaks very poorly of 4 year old boys. My cat also tries to eat packing tape...

Dear Massachusetts: Please stop sucking.

I love you. You know I do. I grew up here, and even when people bash you as being puritanical and stuffy, I stick up for you. When people complain about how bad the weather is, I remind them that it's really not that much better in other places. But seriously, this argument is getting harder and harder to make, when you insist on raining for the entire month of June. And not just rain, but gales and gusts, and downpours, and mists that make my umbrella useless (and turn it into a dangerous weapon, when the wind is blowing hard enough), and humid air that's still cold even though it makes me sweaty. I am tired of being damp. My boyfriend wishes you would fall into the ocean so that we would have an excuse to move to a sunnier climate. I vaguely remember something kind of yellow and bright that used to be up in the sky, but the memory is so foggy now (the humidity has seeped into my brain, it seems) that I can't even remind him of what that was like. I have lost all concept of time, since everything is an equal shade of gray, whether it is morning, afternoon, or evening. I find myself curling ever closer to desk lamps, like some kind of human beanstalk. 

Please. For the love of all that is holy. Stop raining. All of the vitamin D supplements in the world will not stop me from getting rickets at this rate. Is that really what you want? I'm short enough as it is and you know it.

I'm willing to forgive you this once if you admit that you were wrong. You have my number.

xo,

suzy

The "can I help you?" approach.

Alex went into both Windsor Button and Winmil Fabrics this weekend to get supplies for an art piece. I should specify: he went in to both of those places By Himself. He said he got some of the weirdest looks he's ever received from people. I told him, now you know how I feel when I go to metal shows. When I go to metal shows and don't take the trouble to change into all black clothing first.

p.s. I learned that knitting with size 1 needles on the bus might be more frustration than it's worth. I also learned that there are a surprising number of potholes along my commute.