365: prada the hut

In the last few weeks, I’ve gone to two parties, enjoyed Maria’s company as she gushed about a new girl, bought a truly titty-licous workout top (thank you, Adidas outlet store!), suffered a bout of work-related writer’s block, watched “Kill Bill: Volume 2”, shopped for bras with Olivia, and nearly fainted in Grant Park.

Oh, and I also gained 4.5 pounds. Or at least, discovered that I’ve gained 4.5 pounds since I last weighed myself about three weeks ago. Dammit. However, I’ve found that a surefire way to cheer myself up is to make totally inappropriate jokes about pregnancy test commercials.

So what have I learned in the last week and a half?

1. If I’m going to be a drunk diabetic, it should be on vodka and soda and not a vodka tonic.

Yeah, the summer office party was nice. The guy I usually almost make out with was not there. Needless to say, I was disappointed. Fortunately, there was a pile of duck-filled turnover thingies to consume.

2. Just because they’re looking doesn’t mean they’re laughing.

When I was at Irazu with Maria a few weeks ago, I thought I felt this guy at a table across the room checking me out. I wasn’t sure if he was doing that or checking out Maria. I know not what to make of this attention, such as it was. At times like that, I wish I had a miniature angel and a miniature devil, both bearing more than a striking resemblance to Stef, bouncing on my shoulder, telling me what to do.

3. It never hurts to take your measurements when you step into a lingerie store, even if you yourself are not shopping for bras.

Okay, so my bra size sounds impressive, but it’s not. I’m always disappointed that I’m more of a B than a C. Like, I wish I could be one of those fat chicks with huge tits. I think because then I’d feel better about being heavy, like the big chest would make up for the big everything else. But that’s just another pity party I won’t be attending anymore.

4. If you’re going to spend two hours dancing in grant park in 100 degree heat in a crowd of 1000 sweaty adults (and a few children), make sure you eat something.

Yeah, there’s really not much more to be said here. I went to SummerDance last Wednesday with Cynthia. We ran into Damien. I had had no dinner, and drank a single bottle of water. We danced through sets from Joe Smooth (who closed with Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit”, which worked better than you would think) and Andre Hatchett (anybody who spins Stevie’s “All I Do” and Teddy’s “You Can’t Hide From Yourself” in the same set is clearly a man after my own heart). I made fun of the aging raver dancing behind us who seemed to have a pipe permanently stuck in his mouth. I danced my ass off for two hours then nearly collapsed on the dancefloor. It was really hot. I didn’t feel right until I got home, ate some crackers, and fell asleep.

5. There is irony to be had when, in socializing with volunteers at the scholarship non-profit whose associate board you joined two months ago, you look up from your plate of miniature meatballs and notice that the song playing on the stereo is Pink Floyd’s “Another Brick in the Wall”.

I joined the associate board of the Daniel Murphy Scholarship Foundation. DMSF gives scholarships for private high school educations to promising underprivileged students. My friend Tony is chair of the associate board. Naturally, as a graduate of a similar program (some would say the grandaddy of such institutions), I felt compelled to join.

There was a cocktail hour last week for mentors past and present. It was a decent opportunity to meet some folks, though I thought we had more mentors. Lots of young professionals, very decent people and genuinely delighted to work with their kids.

Clearly, this is an effort by me to get some of you Chicago-area folks to, ahem, volunteer to be a mentor. ‘Cos we need them.

6. Don’t sweat the petty. Pet the sweaty.

Interpret that any way you like.

7. better things

a. My friend Meghann started a book club. We’re reading books from the Core. We just finished “The Apology”, and are voting on the next book. My vote is for St. Augustine’s “Confessions”, though there seems to be some support for Hobbes’s “Leviathan”.

b. Apparently, some paparazzo is suing Britney. He claims that a shot from a pellet gun that got him in the thigh came from her house. I can’t imagine anything in the world that I could be less interested in right now. Except . . .

c. Rosie doing “Fiddler on the Roof” on Broadway opposite Harvey Fierstein. My question is, will their rotund homosexualities naturally repel, not unlike pointing two magnets at each other?

d. My brother and his girlfriend are thinking of going on a cruise. Prices are cheap because well, the cruise would be during prime hurricane season. It could still be fun, though — just think of all the midnight buffets!


“From my experiments with sexiness, it seems like a lot of people are afraid at first, and fear usually equals violence. But eventually I’ll win their hearts, and instead of fighting, they’ll want to make love to me.”

the Sundays – I Kicked A Boy; Shudder to Think – X-French Tee Shirt; Elvis Presley – Good Luck Charm



~ by Jasmine on August 9, 2005.

One Response to “365: prada the hut”

  1. If I say I’ll mentor, can I join your book club?

    I promise to say at least one smart thing at each meeting. (But I’ll keep it short.)

    Please. You have to let me join. All I hear about is book clubs on the North Shore where the women read The Lovely Bones and Memoirs of a Geisha. I’m not interested in best sellers, so I’ve been threatening to start a book club, which I was planning on calling “N’Oprah’s Book Club.” We would take turns selecting the books, and all books would be acceptable, except you wouldn’t be able to pick anything Oprah had ever recommended on her show. Which actually, I’ve never watched, so maybe I’m full of it and her books were great. But now she doesn’t have a book club any more, so the whole thing is moot.

    So anyway, what about it? I’m begging heah!


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