242: license to kim jong il
1. this sh*t is awesome
- Genius Lady: Kim sent me one for my birthday, and I’ve been laughing too hard to actually use it
- Gangsta Rap coloring book
2. A Roller Skating Jam Named “Saturdays”
I spent a humiliating Saturday afternoon trying on clothes. Being the heaviest I’ve ever been in my entire life, it’s been pretty hard to go clothes-shopping in the last few years. Keep in mind, this hasn’t stopped me from buying stuff. But I do notice that I own a lot more accessories than I used to. Understand that my obsession with handbags has been developing for some time, but the love of flashy costume jewelry is a relatively new thing. My dressing table/desk is overflowing with cheap rhinestone dangly earrings and fake pearl bracelets and a ton of makeup. Those of you who attended my birthday party last year and hung out in my bedroom can attest to this.
So I got up, walked the dog, and put on my shabby-ass peacoat for the quick bus ride to State Street. I tried to get in a few more pages of “Midnight’s Children” in time for book club, but was distracted by the well-groomed people on the bus. They didn’t have frizzy flyaway hair, and the pockets of their coats were not ripped after being overstuffed with wallets cellphones packsofcigarettes tubesoflipstick (can you tell I’m still reading “Midnight’s Children”?) fo the past few months. I was vaguely aware of the dry patches of skin on my cheeks and forehead, and the grubby sneakers on my feet. Would it have helped if I had taken an extra 30 seconds to curl my eyelashes and put on mascara? Maybe.
I bought some utterly unremarkable jeans at Sears with didn’t do anything for me. They are neither too tight or too loose, they aren’t too short or too long. They do have some stretch to them, but otherwise they are just straight-legged jeans. No saucy low rise or flare, no rawhide stripes or bits of lace to decorate them (thank goodness). If this is the softer side of Sears, then screw it. It’s bo-ring. I found some good jeans at the fat chick store, which was overrun by larger women and their giggly skinny friends who would exclaim over the clothes and say “Gee, I wish they made this in my size!” That’s the kind of bullshit sappy women say at baby showers when the mother-to-be unwraps a smock embroidered with cigar-smoking ducks or a nautical-style pinafore decorated with gold braid. Which is, incidentally, exactly the kind of stuff you might still find in the full-figured departments of most department stores. I wanted badly to turn around and hiss “No you don’t!” but my self-esteem got the better of me and so I just paid for my stuff and left for Marshall Field’s.
The cosmetics section at Field’s was full of flowers to promote the flower show going on at Navy Pier. Expertly made-up women wearing smocks, aprons, or lab coats applied dustings of powder and paint onto suburban matrons and their prom-going daughters. There was lots of traffic at MAC, and an utter lack of it at the Prescriptives counter. I resisted temptation (for the time being) and went upstairs to the raincoats. There was no getting around this item of clothing. I tried to find a cheaper model at Filene’s basement butall they had were swingcoat styles that were cousins to the awful, bright yellow rain poncho I had to wear at Epcot when Kathy and I visited Disney World last year.
But back to the raincoats. I wanted a springy green coat, but went with sensible! versatile! sophisticated! black. As I paid for my coat, I noticed that the raincoats were, of course, situated right next to the shoes. While visions of t-strap heels danced in my head, I made my escape (stopping at the Benefit counter for a birthday present for Linde) out of the Loop and back towards the relative quiet of my apartment.
Okay, so that night I got a manicure. Which would have been totally ordinary except that I think my manicurist got a boob job and I was somewhat distracted by her bosom. Afterwards, I ran into Sebastian at Walgreen’s (where I was hiding from the photo department manager in the magazine aisle) and we met Theresa for dinner at an Indian restaurant and then I went home and changed and met Theresa again for Linde’s birthday party where I hung with the other 2.5 Flips in attendance (Felix, this guy Chris I recognized from the U of C but never knew he was a Flip, and Linde whose mom is Filipino) and snacked on bacon strawberries brie chocolate wine crepes gingercake. Also, these mixed drinks with funky names like Moulin Rouge and such (because the party had a Parisian theme going on).
The apartment was filled with candles which made it rather warm in some rooms. I hadn’t dressed up for the party, though Linde wore a fetching beret and Paris-themed t-shirt. There was some girl made up like a poodle or a kitten, and a girl dressed as Little Red Riding Hood. She’s French? I didn’t know. Theresa wore a fringed shawl and skirt, and I pretended to be from a former French colony, like Vietnam. Or Quebec. This worked out pretty well for me, actually. Lots of people at the party were very Trixie-fied and such, so the vibe wasn’t working for me at times. I went home kinda early, as I had to get up early-ish for my own birthday celebrations the very next day.
“There’s not much makeup in the army, is there? They only have that nighttime look, and that’s a bit slapdash, isn’t it?”
The Who – The Song Is Over; Snoop Dogg – The One and Only; The White Stripes – The Same Boy You’ve Always Known; The Roots – The Seed 2.0