A good day

The front of the building, which cozies right up to a very busy street in the city (of which my little burg is a 'burb), is shrouded in secrecy behind plants and bushes and flower pots and a long orange awning.

The "lobby" is just an old covered porch. On one end is an ancient fireplace and on the other is one of those slate zen waterfall dealies. The seats in the "lobby" are white wicker rocking chairs--far more uncomfortable than they look.

The receptionist is dressed to kill {{{in some other, arctic, climate}}}. Black blazer. Black mock turtleneck. Black knee-length skirt. Black panty-hose. Black flats. Black barette. Hair? outlandishly unblack. Her hair is so not black, it's damn near see-through.

The form I'm instructed to fill out is short and rudimentary*. On the whicker side table to my left is a two foot high stack of hair/nail/beauty magazines.

The woman that comes out after 25 minutes is also named Amanadoo. Isn't that hilarious!!! No, it is not. But she is laughing so I too will feign gaiety. She is dressed exactly like the receptionist, only in brown. Her hair, eyes, nail polish---everything---is brown. As the interview goes on, the thick brown circle (which you suppose was created by eye liner, though all evidense points to a melted brown crayon) around her eyes will become a distraction. But for now you're just glad to be relieved of that remarkably uncomfortable white wicker rocking chair.

This other Amanadoo's office looks exactly like your grandmothers guest bedroom, replete with a daybed in front of the picture window.

She has an hour-long speech. You are required only to throw out the occasional "uh huh" or "oh yes maam!"

At the end, she asks you what you think. You don't know what you think, you havn't heard a word she's said...her eyeliner coupled with her awful coffee breath was too mesmerizing and you are weak. But you manage to sqeak something enthusiastic out with a smile and she tells you that CONGRATULATIONS, SHE THINKS YOU'RE GOING TO DO GREAT AT THEI SCHOOL!

You say thank you, you sign some things while she chats about the weather and the school and the students. She tells you that you are going to do just great, she can tell. YOU, she says, INSPIRE OPTIMISM. Phhh, whatever. Optimism, schmoptimism...you're going to school! You give her some money, say thank you a hundred and six more times and you're outta there.

To celebrate you head over to Starbucks for a mocha frappachino (no whip cream please) and a gift card for S's twentieth birthday. You cannot believe that S, now a senior in college, is 20 freaking years old. That means that YOU have been hanging out almost two decades.

And now you've found what you want to do at last!

You have had a good day!

You don't know it, but...

...my favorite look would be not be replete without...

:)Fishnets
:)Lace
:)A little leather
:)Long black gloves
:)Matte red lipstick
:)False eyelashes
and
:)Whale bone (or a reasonable facsimile)

You can tell a lot about a person from their favorite look.


But I only used that as segue to my most recent life philosophy...

Self-dating! {very exciting}
Pick yourself up~~~Tell yourself a joke (make a good one- you've got a pretty lady to impress). Laugh uproariously. Flip hair. Re-cross legs. 'Unconsciously' run your finger from your neck to your clavicle.

Take yourself home~~~Make some coffee, margaritas, cocoa, whatever. Light that new Glade* aromatherapy candle you got on a whim from Wal Mart yesterday. Put on a little music-Coldplay or Maxwell will do. Read a sensual poem (Pablo Neruda perhaps?) to yourself. Listen to how sexy your voice is. Catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Turn it over in your mind what you might do to that sweet little thing in the reflection. Ah, yes, the poem...back to the poem! The words flow out of your mouth like so many tongue-knotted cherry stems.

Slip into something a little more comfortable~~~A hot shower should do the trick. Pay attention to every soapalicious slip. Feel the steam slowly open every pore. Towel off.

Seal the deal.

Eat an entire pint of ice cream.

Do something fun~~~Like color. Or buy and eat another pint of delicious Brownie Batter Ben & Jerries*

Drift to sleepy sleep~~~Don't worry about the drool on your face. Your date thinks you're amazing anyway!

I'm all verclempt

And let me tell you why.

I just watched the MTV movie awards. Not remotely entertaining. Somehow they were way better when I was watching them with a group of giggley buds throwing back..well...Buds. But I digress.

There's a Kotex* commercial out now. Yeah yeah, what can they tell us about maxi pads that we don't already know (except that when they say "feminine napkin" they aren't talking about actual napkins that you use at the dinner table.) Well the truth is that there really isn't much to tell, so they have opted, instead, to make the waters of feminine hygiene less embarrassing to navigate. The wrappers on these doo hickies are now "less crackly and noisy." AS IN--LESS EMBARRASSING.

Am I the only one who thinks this is abso-fucking-lutely retarded? THERE'S NO REASON TO BE ASHAMED ABOUT HAVING YOUR PERIOD! And there certainly isn't a reason to be embarrassed about being clean about it. The flushable tampon applicator commercials that said "no one needs to know your business, not your friends, not your boyfriend, no one..." was bad enough. I mean, the wrappers aren't flushable, so you still ending up having uterus parafenalia* around. Plus this ad inherently implies that you hang out with and/or date people that dig through the bathroom trash, looking to see if you [GASP] menstruate.

I'll admit that occasionally I was self conscious about changing the old girls suit at BFs old house when you could plainly hear every tiny tinkle and movement in the restroom from the couch. I couldn't care less about BP, it was more his brother and dad that I was 'worried' about. But then I realized that they were big boys and that somewhere along the line, some fair lady had let them in on the secret of life.

So I got over it. What a ya gonna do anyway? NOT change the thing??? Not hardly.

Anyway, it's just another symptom of sexual repression and backwards-ness.

Grrr.