What I'm Wearing:
Necessary Objects Demin Vest, American Apparel knee-high sheer stockings, Skagen Watch, Forever 21
Suede Clutch, Audrey Sheer Floral Dress, Fake Tan by Revlon Powder Cosmetics, Doc Marten Combat Boots
Zooey Deschanel (a new obsession of mine you might have noticed) recently felt the need to defend her girlie style and ways in New York Magazine:
"I think you can still be girlie and maintain your power. The fact that you associate being girlie with being non-threatening, that is I mean, I can’t think of more blatant example of playing into exactly the thing that we’re trying to fight against. I can’t be girlie? Why do I need to be defined aesthetically by someone else’s perceptions of what makes me seem like someone who should be taken seriously? I’m going to wear whatever I want to wear, because I’m expressing myself, and I deserve that right. And I like the way that looks."
Ever since I was a tiny tot I've been fascinated with makeup and princesses and pretty things. My first memories of reading are of me holding a princess picture book and making up my own story to match the pictures. I think I was two. For my third birthday my mom gave away makeup kits in goodie bags. Or she tried to give them away. I pocketed them all, and when my tearful guests realized there had been a theft I was (tearfully) forced to return the makeup kits. I remembered that as a great injustice. I mean after all I needed that extra makeup! When I was four I refused to wear pants. I would only wear skirts, dresses or fancy velvet shorts. My mother made me wear tights in the winter and gave up trying to put me in boys' clothes. This didn't mean I wasn't a tomboy. I simply couldn't see why climbing a tree or doing cartwheels down the lawn required pants. I did not think of myself as a sexual object, imitating Jessica Rabbit's voluptuous ways to ensnare men...or boys rather. No, it wasn't my sexuality I was expressing the way the Toddlers in Tiaras look feels horribly sexual and exploitative. It was completely innocent and entirely motivated by aesthetics not sex. There are any numbers of photos of me from nursery school with my sundress so low my flat chest is completely visible. I had no sense of modesty or sexuality. It didn't occur to me to tug the straps into place, to hide myself. I just thought the dress was pretty pretty pretty. And I liked it.
Then pretty early on things changed. I began to get curvy. Very curvy and clothes got more complicated. By ten years old I had the figure I have now-- not just the boobs, which a lot of girls suddenly sprout at a young age, but the curvy hips and defined waist of a grown woman. Along with my very plain and very childishly round face it was a strange and arresting combination-- and not a particularly comely one. I can't count on both hands how many times I got told I was "ugly" growing up. I stopped wearing pretty, revealing things. It was a different game I was playing; one I wasn't comfortable with. I was sexy without being considered "pretty", and it felt...disgusting. It took a lot of years for me to grow comfortable enough again with myself to wear the pretty pretty pretty things I loved. It took becoming a fashion model in fact. On set I would wear couture gowns, but once the set lights were off and real life set back in I'd throw back on a large and shapeless tee and baggy pants. There was a new incongruity in my life. On set I'd feel beautiful and empowered-- all the pejorative adjectives and attributes of my youth were reversed and suddenly pale was pretty not pasty, my thick, coarse hair was "amazing" in its abundance not a curse earning me the monicker "Frizzy Izzy" and my curves? They were unique and sexy instead of weird or too womanly. I was uniquely womanly in a sea of stick thin bodies, and as I began to embrace it (even after being sent home from New York Fashion Week as I recently was for having "too large breasts" (I now can't count on two hands the times my breasts have been reviled by designers) I began to wear offset stuff even more daring than I was wearing on... I began to express myself again through clothes. I began to make clothes, to shop in consigment shops for unique looks. To take joy again in pretty things.
My boyfriend at the time did not appreciate this transformation. To be fair we met after I'd only been modeling a few months, and was just tentatively braving my own toddler style again for the second time in my life. It must have been an arresting experience to start off one month with one shy, bookish girl only a month later to find yourself dating an entirely different person. He himself was definitely a better match for the former than the latter persona. He was a writer, a graduate of an Ivy League institution, which as far as I can tell only distinguishes its title-holders from all others with the need to introduce themselves in this way: "Hi, my name is John Harvard/ Yale/ Columbia Doe." He discouraged my experiments in style, urging me to eschew all of what he termed to be "silliness" and "vanity". He told me what books to read and what shows to watch. I remember watching Mad Men with him and thinking it to be the most boring show on Earth...one of my favorite shows now. It's funny how much the act of sharing television-watching is an intimate and revelatory act. The universe turned humorless and gray, which was especially ironic considering he was a humor writer. He was obsessed with the foibles of others, ridiculing everyone around him with a painful accuracy which in his writing he turned into funny and charming anecdotes. Mostly. (His novel was criticized for making all the characters whose jobs he didn't approve of-- stockbrokers and..er...models and the like-- as too "two-dimensional".) One day I simply couldn't take it any more. The more time we spent together, the more ill-humored my humor writer seemed.
I remember every detail of the afternoon I cracked, because it was the day I really changed. It was sunny and bright out, but the light had the cold slant of the coming fall. I was wearing my first pretty dress. It cost $140 from LF Stores on Spring Street, which was then and is now a lot of money for me. It was a babydoll dress, and I still have it. Creamy cotton with lacy cap sleeves. I'd paired it with my cheap patent-leather mary janes from Target that people literally stop me on the street to ask me where I bought them.... just like in that DSW ad. I had come from a casting, which I hadn't gotten, but I was flush with the victory of having survived the experience. I used to practically faint at castings when I started off I was so nervous. He didn't notice or care that I was all dressed up. He had a sour look on his face; I can't remember why. I think I was late? His novel was consuming all his time and energy, and he thought the modeling, the dress, everything about me was...stupid. I could see it on his face, his judgment writ large. Suddenly, I didn't care. I didn't need or want his approval. I had never been so good at anything as I was at modeling and acting. Maybe it wasn't a highly intellectual activity of stunning universal importance, but it made me feel good. It made me feel brave. It cracked me out of the shell that had kept me in relationships with guys like him my whole life-- whether it was victim to bully as I'd been in school or put-upon girlfriend to dominant, controlling boyfriend as I'd become in later life.
When I finally broke up with him after innumerable arguments and attempts to talk things out, I kind of just walked out. Words, words, words hadn't gotten me anywhere with him. So I just left. "Where are you going?" he snarled at me. I didn't answer. If I'd answered, he'd have countered with one of his stunningly painful and perceptive anecdotes about human behavior. He had us all figured out; he would have put my behavior into the perception machine he and the Ivy League together had put so much oil and money and time into squeezing the universe into a Harvard/John Doe ball he could put his stamp on and he would have owned my actions, too. He would have stamped on me. So I fled. Of course he had to get the last word. He sent me an email later that day telling me I was too stupid for him anyway. I was flabbergasted. No one had ever called me stupid before. On two hands I couldn't count how many times I'd been called "ugly"... but "stupid"? Me. The nerd. The geek. The straight-A student in the gifted programs who spent her summers in nerd camp learning German? Who thought no boy would ever even want to kiss her pale, pasty face? Never. I'd always been the career-focused go-getter in the shapeless sweater and glasses....could a cream-colored babydoll dress really confuse male perception that much? Could it really transform me? By dressing in the pretty pretty princess dresses of my youth was I making myself stupid?
Where once my outside had attracted all the criticism, suddenly by changing the focus of people's perceptions my inside was under attack for the first time.
I realized as well that the act of putting on a pretty dress was as political an act as anything else I'd ever done. It was thumbing my nose to the puritanical notion that a pretty pretty pretty dress meant a pretty stupid person underneath it. I realized as well that the painful and hilarious perceptive capacities of someone like my ex-writer boyfriend were more limiting than liberating. That dress didn't and doesn't define me; it only expresses a longing in my heart to wear pretty things and express my own notions of what is aesthetically appealing.
I remember the next time I put on my pretty dress, I thought of what he said. It hurt then, of course, but I looked at my pretty dress in the mirror and I still liked it.
And I still wear it from time to time.
Here I'm wearing the Warrior Goddess and the Moon Goddess makeup. It took FOUR HOURS to apply the first look-- we had to keep experimenting with different colored and different textured paint and the stencils. I must have washed my face ten times, but my skin only looked better for it, which was a lesson to me. I'm very lazy about removing makeup. There's always day-old eyeliner around my eyes and things like that if I'm going to be perfectly honest and perfectly gross. I've been breaking out lately, and I think the mystery's cleared up though my skin still hasn't. Note to self: wash face more frequently. Your skin won't fall off. Anyway the four hours went by surprisingly quickly. I had the MUA's pooch-- an old, adorable shih tzu named Hugo-- napping on my lap, a cup of Starbucks coffee and Melinda's (the MUA's) company to make the time go by. She's an Australian makeup artist with a background in the London theater....everyone has an interesting story to tell I find. Irish Bachman was the photographer.
What do you think of the two different looks? The second only took minutes to apply. I like the stars they added in the back...I had to imagine them on set... "All of us are in the gutter, but some of us are looking up at the stars" and all that jazz... Actually honestly I was thinking of the poem by Virginia Woolf's lover called "Full Moon" appropriately, which I didn't remember it was called honestly. Perfect. If you memorize it, you will be a thousand times happier. Instant happiness. Here it is:
She was wearing the coral taffeta trousers
Someone had brought her from Ispahan,
And the little gold coat with pomegranate blossoms,
And the coral-hafted feather fan;
But she ran down a Kentish lane in the moonlight,
And skipped in the pool of the moon as she ran.
She cared not a rap for all the big planets,
For Betelgeuse or Aldebaran,
And all the big planets cared nothing for her,
That small impertinent charlatan;
But she climbed on a Kentish stile in the moonlight,
And laughed at the sky through the sticks of her fan.
What I'm Wearing:
Pink Yotto Leopard Print Chiffon Dress, Pink Yotto Belt, Marc Jacobs Bag, Forever 21 Tap shoes
I haven't been feeling very inspired lately, so I've been doing what I always do when I don't feel inspired: looking for inspiration. You can't wait for it to come to you. That's one thing I've learned in life. You've got to work hard and prepare a place for inspiration to flourish in yourself...once you've caught it that is. So I've been working really hard the past week, shooting shooting shooting and when I'm not working, watching documentaries, reading and drawing..the last inspired by the documentary Art of the Steal about the horrible fate of the Barnes post-impressionist art collection. Philadelphia is moving all these beautiful pictures that Doctor Barnes carefully collected in the 20s and 30s before anyone appreciated their value and carefully hung in a lovely snug mansion (so beautifully done Matisse said it was the "only sane place to see art in America")...anyway moving THAT to a big, ugly museum space in 2012. Pennsylvania has this lovely jewel in their possession and a piece of world history, and they're gutting it to max out tourist dollars. Have you been to a big city museum? It's an experience never to be repeated. Crowds jostling barely glancing at the pictures-- in fact most people don't even look AT the paintings. They stand in front of the paintings facing AWAY to have their picture taken with it. No, not with the painting exactly but with the 30 million dollar price tag.
There's so much injustice and stupidity in the world; people don't even get that the value of great art is a sublime spot of stillness in the midst of all this ever-changing anxiety and unthinking brutality. The Barnes Foundation was a whole shining spot of beauty Dr. Barnes created, but all of us can do that in our homes a thousand times better than it can happen in a big city museum. The art object has little value in itself for the true artist once it's created. Gauguin heaped up his paintings in a stack. It's that whole swirling circle of beauty around it that matters, the act of making, the act of doing... That's what the Pennsylvania philistines don't get. Pinning a Matisse to a white wall in some big room and ooing and ahing over how very much money it's worth has about the same value as capturing a nearly extinct butterfly that's fluttering around some high hill and pinning it to paper. Painting is the moment in the sunlight on the hill with the olive groves and the promise of Pan right around the corner in the dark grove; being in tune with that moment is what the artist does, and the great artist shares that with us-- all the trick of the light and the strange color of an afternoon. I still don't feel too excited about anything, and I still don't know what I want but I'm having an excellent time looking for it and learning quite a lot along the way.
Here are a few of my sketches, copies of my favorite artist Alphonse Mucha's illustrations. I'm definitely not a painter, but I love drawing. And below: a new dress out of the 20 dollar sale bin (yay!). If you watch Art of the Steal let me know what you think. Actual heist by the city of Philadelphia or conspiracy theory?
What I'm Wearing:
Clothes! Haha just kidding. (My boyfriend will not be amused.) Vintage Styling by Willium
Yeth. Another preview of my shoot with Miss Erin and her team this time featuring a beautiful garden in Brooklyn on a fall night with the roses all in bloom...
I miss acting more and more; wearing this vintage gown in this eerily beautiful and lush garden in the midst of the city made me long for more to do with this character than to stand their looking wistful. I wanted another actor to come on to the scene and for something, anything to happen so bad I could taste it. For some reason the scene from the outdoor ball in Rilla of Ingleside
came into my head, and I imagined both that Rilla's archenemy, her jealous friend, came into the garden to tell me my gown was dowdy and I had a smudge on my face-- just the way she insulted Rilla in the book, because she was jealous of how much Kenneth was falling in love with Rilla the night of the dance only a few hours before World War One was declared, only a few sweet hours before hell was unleashed all over the world...and...yeah... a little taste of what goes on in my psycho head!
What do you think of the picture? More to come soon with the garden-owner's gorgeous big ole pooch Bella and Willium's grandmother's couture jumpsuit!
Photo Credits: Erin Mayhugh Photography, Annie Reynor Hair, Anita Nouryeh MUA, Willium Styling
What I'm Wearing:
Vintage Bra, Vintage Broach, Topshop Tights
Not really!!! I only wish I'd been wearing this today...you'll see why by paragraph two I promise. But paragraph one has an explanation for the actual photograph in it, so read that first.
Second of all the cigarette is unlit...just want to emphasize that. (Yes, Mom I'm writing that for you.) This is a preview from a fashion shoot I did last night with Erin and a full team and lots of clothes I promise. Lovely, fully-clothed clothes. This is just the first shot she sent me. Lots of vintage gowns and sequined tops and the stylist's grandmother's beautiful jumpsuit from the 70s are coming-- as well as loads of pics of all the kittens and mastiffs and grumpy tuxedo cats we were hanging out with, oh my! Anita Nouryeh painted on the emerald lids and all the makeup, Annie Reynour did the hair and also trimmed my bangs for me thank goodness. I can see again, yay, and it didn't involve the usual two-week of growing out my own crappy trimming to get that way. And Willium did the styling. More to come soon...
The casting didn't go so hot today. Or it did go "hot" unfortunately. I didn't realize how hot the weather had gotten again until I emerged outside in a hoodie, black tank and jeans. 78 degrees today and by the time I got the casting I was drenched in sweat, makeup melted, hair a mind of its own/ gone mad, and felt generally exhausted. I saw Naomi Watts along the way pushing a pram, so that was kind of fun. She looks like a nice, normal lady and a regular, great mom in real life. There were lots and lots of girls there, all pretty and all different types. The only one the photographer seemed to like was not a stick at all. She was very curvy, curvier than me even and had tattoos and a tan. Everyone looked as if they had no makeup on, although I guess they did. I had way too much on, mostly because mine had melted and gone all over my face. We had to sign in and get a number, which is always disheartening and kind of dehumanizing: "Now I am number 214...and there are at least 213 other contenders, hmmmm." Then we had to do a whole short model shoot one at a time. The photographer interviewed us and then his assistant snapped our pics against a white backdrop while the other girls watched. My nerves are never great at the best of times, but I was already hot, sweaty and tired from shooting till 1 a.m. the night before so I imagine my shots were...weird. The photographer got to review them instantly on his computer. I caught a glimpse of myself. I looked very skinny actually, so I went out directly afterwards and ate a big, carb-rich lunch-- a sandwich and a scone. The casting was for a pretty famous catalogue, so it was high budget even for a casting in a really nice studio and it was all quite high-tech. A few of the models even had their portfolios on their iPads! The first time I've seen that, but it makes perfect sense. My portfolio is 9x12 with a heavy thick cover, and it weighs a ton.
To cheer myself up after the casting I went to the bookstore near my building and drank tea and ate scones and read UK Vogue. The latest edition features an article by the blogger Roz Jana of Clothes, Cameras and Coffee. It was inspiring...I haven't been reading at all lately, and I think my writing reflects that. The mind is a muscle...speaking of which I still have to get some excercise today. Hope you enjoyed an inside peak into a New York City casting experience. Any questions about it let me know!
What I'm Wearing:
Pink Yotto Tie-dyed long-sleeved mini dress, Frye Ankle boots (thrifted), F21 Feather Earrings, Coach Backpack a la thriftstore as well ;)
This has been a crazy week! Two shoots down, one to go...I shot six looks for Makeup Magazine and then last night for Erin Mayhugh's portfolio with a full team of really great people-- William from Morocco, Anita and Annie-- a styling team of old friends who were two of the nicest Brooklyn ladies I've met in a while-- and ....animals galore. There were these incredibly adorable animals everywhere last night-- tiny kittens, grumpy tuxedo cats and huge, friendly mastiffs. We ended up shooting with them all. I was delighted. I love my cats like they're my perma-babies, but I've always wanted a dog and have never been able to afford one. I have puppy fever the way some women have baby fever. Anyway I'll definitely post the pics with the animals when I get them-- the outfits were incredible as well. William was one of those intensely talented people who could whip a couture gown out of a curtain...apparently a feat he accomplished on his last shoot. We shot with a whole array of vintage gowns, sequined tops and gloves from the 20s in this lovely, private garden. I can't wait to see the pictures!
Thank goodness my last shoot this week will be more a normal length shoot-- three or four hours. Just a casting today and lots of housework and exercise and getting back to people. Well, I'd better get back to that...I'm also catching up on the news, and I'm pretty upset today. It's been hard to concentrate on anything else. Everything else feels so frivolous. When I heard the news last night that they executed Troy Davis, I couldn't process it. I was shocked at how painful and personal it felt. I feel like I'm going to start crying writing this. If you're outside the country reading you might not have heard about this so here's a brief synopsis: twenty or so years ago a black man was convicted of shooting a police officer in Georgia. There was scant physical evidence and since then several witnesses have recanted their testimony. Hardly a rock-solid case. There were I think three prior stays of execution while the case was reviewed, and I guess everyone thought based on the lack of reasonable doubt that another stay would be granted. It wasn't. They killed Troy Davis last night with a lethal injection while apparently the family of the fallen police officer looked on with satisfaction. How does that bring back their brother? Their father? Killing an innocent man or killing anyone? An eye for an eye and the whole world goes blind... And the drugs they use are simply barbaric. Even when administered properly, the three-drug lethal injection method appears to have caused some inmates to suffocate while they were conscious and unable to move, instead of having their hearts stopped while they were sedated, scientists said in a report published by the online journal PLoS Medicine. My boyfriend is an attorney; he worked pro bono on a Texas Death Row inmate's case, and what he's told me about the living conditions on Death Row is enough to make you sick the rest of your life. Once someone's convicted even with faulty evidence it's almost impossible to overturn their conviction-- even if evidence is presented that could prove their innocence as it's been in the case of a fella down in Texas who's still set to die and might as well. He's been in that hellhole for nigh on twenty years. He says he prefers to die at this point then stay in there forever....He prefers to die than stay there. It's hard to even fathom horror like that. Real-live horror.
Sometimes life is so unfair there's nothing you can do but cry and pray to God for understanding. It also makes me want to advocate and learn more. The death penalty is barbaric and wrong. Did you know that countries that still use it have much higher levels of murder in the general population? Monkeys see and monkeys do. The government needs to set a non-violent example.
Yikes. Well. Sorry for the rant. This isn't what I'm wearing to the casting and I need to calm down before I show up for a catalogue casting looking wild-eyed and enraged and heart-broken, which is the way I feel right now... I'm going to have to take a deep breath, change soon and get going. Wish me luck!
This girl's voice is spot on. This is completely rad. "What? Kim Jong Il is totally adorable." Haha. Enjoy!!!!!!!
What I'm Wearing:
Mystique Sweater, Urban Outfitters drop-hem skirt, Charlotte Russ Sparkling socks, Mystique Boots
I ended up pairing my new crazy-hemmed skirt with a sweater and felt much more comfy. Which do you prefer?http://www.misadventuresofme.com/1/post/2011/09/the-tale-of-a-brave-soul-wearing-sequins-in-sunlight.html
I worked a nearly twelve hour shoot day yesterday, so I rewarded myself this morning with watching some of the new fall TV shows. New Girl
was almost impossible to find, because I forgot to DVR it. You can only watch it on fox.com if you have some kind of paid subscription. You also have to pay on Hulu to watch it, or (happy, happy day)...if your boyfriend has an xBox you can watch it on Zune FOR FREE. Yes, he is delighted by the use to which I put his shooting-people machine. Anyway I already saw most of the gags on the promos, but I love Zooey to pieces so I was still delighted. And Damon Wayans, Jr. is on the show as well as being on Happy Endings
, which I also really enjoy for the same reason I think I'll watch New Girl.
I like the characters, and I LOVE Damon, Jr. He has something very loveable about him just like his dad. I thought the pilot tried too hard as pilots are wont to do, but I think it'll settle down into a great show. I also watched 2 Broke Girls
on cbs.com. I love the brunette actress from Nick and Nora's Infinite Playlist.
Kind of nice to watch the shows together: she's the spice to Zooey's sugar, but I didn't agree with the reviewers who said it's a better show. It's not trying as hard, but it kinda fails for that. It feels more formulaic than New Girl
, almost too smooth and perfect already in the pilot with no room to grow. But I'll give it one more shot because I love the Nick and Nora
actress that much.
Back to ZOOOOOOEY: I found this great article about her beautiful eye makeup when I was using my time and research skills wisely looking for the shows online. The article is by Marie Cravens whose blog "Beauty High" is filled with fantastic makeup and hair tutorials. I took out some of the more nauseating, product-plugging bits, or you can view the full article (as ad nauseum as you like it) here: http://www.beautyhigh.com/how-to/15727/how-get-zooey-deschanels-wide-eyed-retro-makeup?utm_source=nrelate&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=nrelateZooey's retro look starts with perfect, dewy skin. Use lots of moisturizer, and light, luminous foundation so you have a great base. Don't forget a girly pink blush on the apples of your cheeks! We love Desire by NARS. (
This is Izzy, the unitalicized bit. I'm pale as Zooey and I prefer Orgasm by Nars but that's up to you!)Then, it's time to put all the focus on the eyes. Start with a taupe, nude shadow as a base, like MAC's Kid. Next layer black shadow on the lash line, winging it out to the sides, cat-eye style. Using a shadow to do this instead of a harsher, sharper eyeliner line is the key to Zooey's soft, girly look.Carbon by MAC is a good shade to try — and line the lower lash line with it too. Try to only line from the outer corner to the middle of the lower lash line, to give the eye a rounder look. Pearly white on your inner corners will help open up your eyes even more. Try MAC's Crystal Avalanche.Finally, we come to the key to Zooey's look: those impossibly long and luxe eyelashes. Extra-long and thick, one-length false eyelashes across your top lash line will give you a great '60s look. We personally love how affordable the ones by Ardell are — especially since fake lashes are a one-time-use thing.
(That's not true. You can clean them and keep them. Especially if you buy expensive ones. Very easy to reuse them.)Curl (
Yeesh. You need to curl BEFORE you apply the falsies. Also cut the falsies in half or cut a third off depending on your eye shape before you apply them. That's what makeup artists always do to me.) and apply tons of mascara to finish the look — try Rimmel's Volume Flash Instant Thickening Mascara. (
She's just saying that cause that's who Zooey models for. I have tried EVERYTHING from the cheap to the very expensive-- Yves St. Laurent-- and Maybelline makes the best mascara. The falsies line is the greatest. Don't splurge on mascara, it dries up too quick.)
This shot from the Sartorialist inspired me to...shave my head? NO! She looks as beautiful as Sinead O'Connor did bald but... I don't think I could pull that off. What I did think I could pull off were sequins by day! I've had this vintage 80s sequined top forever and never known how to wear it until I saw this beautiful shot...If she can shave her head, I can wear sequins in the daytime. That makes sense somehow, right?
What I'm Wearing
Vintage Sequin Top, Urban Outfitters drop-hem skirt, Charlotte Russe shiny knee socks, Mystique glitter shoes
I've been very focused this past week on getting ready for the book cover shoot I had Saturday, so I'm behind in every other way. I dreamed last night that I was having terrible stomach and side pains and I realized I had to have a baby. I had the baby without any muss or fuss (I don't really remember that part, but if this was that kind of story I don't think I'd be sharing it so casually). I was living in my old teenage bedroom. I put the baby in a basket, and then got back online. I was dying to check something out. Eventually I sort of twitched the blanket over the basket aside to make sure the baby was okay. She looked hungry, but then I got back online again...
Hmm. I think that was half a gentle hint from my psyche and half simply due to having a very fat cat sleeping on my stomach. Ever since she was a kitten, one of my cats has loved to sleep on my chest or stomach for part of each night. I always leave a pillow next to my side hoping she'll curl up there instead. But no go. She prefers to sleep on me, and the fatter she's grown the more horrible this has become. Last winter I had the flu and because my arms were beneath the blankets before she climbed onto my chest (her enormous kitty ass in tow I might add-- seriously. My boyfriend has nicknamed her Pinhead for her disproportionate body mass). I was literally pinned down under the covers, too weak to free myself. It was extremely pathetic.
Anyway as much as I'd love to stay here and chat, I need to get going with my looooong to-do list including sending my rebate back for my new "free" phone. I'm one of those jerks Verizon totally profits from by setting the "free" upgrade up this way. "All you have to do is send back this coupon by October and you'll get your $50 back." And I haven't done that. And oh so many other things. Gotta run!
What do you think of the sequins by day? Would you try it?? I didn't have the guts to wear this (on my own). So I was a brave soul to even post this is what I'm claiming? Yikes, kinda a misrepresentation sorry. If I were meeting a friend, I think I could have handled it! My favorite poet Blake said something like as a web is to a spider, so are friends to men. And I'm sure he meant chicks, too, but it was back then when men were dumber than they are now if that's possible. Cause that's how my friends are to me! Not dumb, haha woops tying in a hurry...they're my web. Typing this quite fast and will prolly be mildly ashamed of this post. And sorry that bitterness is all for the sake of one of my girlfriends who just got treated very shabbily even though she is a million times too good for the guy in this case. Long story for another time perhaps... And I GOTTA GO SEND MY FIFTY DOLLAR REBATE BACK!!! See how this happens? Too much online time, not enough errand-running time. My psyche was right about me.