All the Puzzles Hence Have Been Solved
I finally got my truckstop glasses. Excepting the fact that they arent' from a truckstop, they're pretty much exactly what I needed. Almost big enough to soothe my savage diva heart (because all those who know me know that I'm actually a diva. Ha ha.) but still new-agey, ugly, and obnoxious. And $2, as per my restrictions. And I found two pairs, one purple and one grey. It's at times like these that I feel like some luck-blessed film character. (Admittedly a luck-blessed film character in a fairly unimportant film, but nevertheless . . . .
I couldn't vote in the primary today because I registered as a trendy independent. More evidence that trendines sucks, folk.
I went back to high school today to hang out with my great English teacher and some unlucky still-in-high-school types (Steph and Jason, that is). It was hell, kind of. My dad's pretty unpopular at the school due to recent budgetary issues, and as predicted, most of the teachers couldn't see far enough beyond the ends of their noses to tell that lo, I am an 18 year old girl and not my father. Otherwise, my favorite pre-pubescent boy has been growing up, and seems a little embarassed around me. Come on, I know it's wrong to say, "Hey baby" to a 14-year old, even in jest. Those of you who know that I've been reading "Lolita" might be worrying right now, but I assure you it's unnecessary.
Room cleaning is still in progress, but it's been more successful lately. I have so many more clothes, books, and records, than I thought possible. My mother is right; I could start a second-hand store right now if I had a base of customers interested in wading through piles of clean but wrinkly t-shirts and men's dress shirts. Happily, though, my work wardrobe is starting to shape up nicely: black hose, lots of pencil skirts, vintage blouses, and black rubber bracelets. Pretty good, but I need some better shoes. And maybe it isn't acceptable to wear a hot pink sweatshirt over one's work ensemble. Whatever. Give me some orange lipstick and white pumps and I'm set (if only I could walk in pumps of any kind.)
And now it's time to turn in for the night: no more time to decipher mix tapes or hang up clothes. And, please god, no more diet cokes today.
I finally got my truckstop glasses. Excepting the fact that they arent' from a truckstop, they're pretty much exactly what I needed. Almost big enough to soothe my savage diva heart (because all those who know me know that I'm actually a diva. Ha ha.) but still new-agey, ugly, and obnoxious. And $2, as per my restrictions. And I found two pairs, one purple and one grey. It's at times like these that I feel like some luck-blessed film character. (Admittedly a luck-blessed film character in a fairly unimportant film, but nevertheless . . . .
I couldn't vote in the primary today because I registered as a trendy independent. More evidence that trendines sucks, folk.
I went back to high school today to hang out with my great English teacher and some unlucky still-in-high-school types (Steph and Jason, that is). It was hell, kind of. My dad's pretty unpopular at the school due to recent budgetary issues, and as predicted, most of the teachers couldn't see far enough beyond the ends of their noses to tell that lo, I am an 18 year old girl and not my father. Otherwise, my favorite pre-pubescent boy has been growing up, and seems a little embarassed around me. Come on, I know it's wrong to say, "Hey baby" to a 14-year old, even in jest. Those of you who know that I've been reading "Lolita" might be worrying right now, but I assure you it's unnecessary.
Room cleaning is still in progress, but it's been more successful lately. I have so many more clothes, books, and records, than I thought possible. My mother is right; I could start a second-hand store right now if I had a base of customers interested in wading through piles of clean but wrinkly t-shirts and men's dress shirts. Happily, though, my work wardrobe is starting to shape up nicely: black hose, lots of pencil skirts, vintage blouses, and black rubber bracelets. Pretty good, but I need some better shoes. And maybe it isn't acceptable to wear a hot pink sweatshirt over one's work ensemble. Whatever. Give me some orange lipstick and white pumps and I'm set (if only I could walk in pumps of any kind.)
And now it's time to turn in for the night: no more time to decipher mix tapes or hang up clothes. And, please god, no more diet cokes today.
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