The Winds of Change Are Always Welcome
I did absolutely nothing on Friday besides beautify. Ladies, do not think you are too young for L'Oreal's collagen pen. My God, that thing is amazing. You might be thinking all, "Oooh, I'm only halfway through my twenties. I don't need stuff like that." Right, just give it a try. Suddenly, you have a forehead like a ten year old. You will not be able to recreate that effect when you are thirty.
Saturday, I hit HPC and then went out to Studio 18 Ybor for some jam Muggles tossed out. Details on the location are highly sketchy. When I asked for some fleshing out, Muggles was his usual smooth self, telling me to simply round up as many beautiful people I could find, and be there. Naturally, I acqueisced.
I had the most fabulous outfit on, too. Some girl asked me if I was supposed to be a nasty schoolgirl for Halloween, which I thought was pretty fabulous, because I was actually just, like, dressed, not dressed up. The trick I think was the top. The rest of the get-up was a plaid petal-ruffle skirt and my suede Sacagawea boots, but the sweater was made entirely of spandex with eyelet-shaped cut-outs trailing down the arms and elongated cuffs that hit right at the knuckles. The edging on it stopped right under the bust and had a rolled ribbing to it. I think the universe has officially decided that I have the hottest abdomen in the world.
Also, I gotta find that girl Erin again. She took the shot of me with the rabbit fur last week, and I saw her at Muggles' thing, but between the ungodly hour, the massive amounts of pills, and the slowly settling exhaustion of having moved all my things back to Tampa (thank God - I don't know what I was thinking), I think she said something like, "Hey, I'm Erin. Remember we met when you came in for your fur?" to which I responded something like, "The stars have aligned in my mind. God, I have pretty hair. Wanna smoke?" Or something equally meaningless and nonsensical. Either way, I didn't quite get in the thanks I intended, so, yeah, that's on the to-do list.
I spent Sunday waiting for storm drama that didn't happen. I kinda wouldn't mind a minor hurricane making a direct impact here. I'm not wishing disaster on anyone, and I know sometimes my quest for excitement comes off as slightly destructive, but I think it would be neat to get all the whipping wind and driving rain and whatnot. I would be happy to throw a fundraiser party and help with environmental clean-up if a small storm were to come here. I suppose I should consider the Chinese proverb, but I am sorta disappointed by the mild weather.
I tried to create a stormy autumnal feeling by watching Sleepy Hollow with Mark and the chickie this morning instead. Mark fell asleep, but I was riveted by floating thoughts of spoooookiness. That is my favorite fall movie ever, and when I was young, my mom used to take us to Tarrytown, NY for the first weekend in November every year, because Washington Irving lived there. For some reason, it took me until today to realize just how nice it was of her to arrange a weekend like that, simply because her little girl liked a story so much. We went every year from the time I was six or seven until I was a teenager, and did all sorts of happy family things like apple picking and donut dunking and poem reading. Then, the third weekend of November was usually that joint in Connecticut where the other Rockefeller mansion is with all the gardens and stuff. I think it might also be called Hyde Park. I can't remember now, but, wow, no wonder my life seems like such idyll.
Saturday, I hit HPC and then went out to Studio 18 Ybor for some jam Muggles tossed out. Details on the location are highly sketchy. When I asked for some fleshing out, Muggles was his usual smooth self, telling me to simply round up as many beautiful people I could find, and be there. Naturally, I acqueisced.
I had the most fabulous outfit on, too. Some girl asked me if I was supposed to be a nasty schoolgirl for Halloween, which I thought was pretty fabulous, because I was actually just, like, dressed, not dressed up. The trick I think was the top. The rest of the get-up was a plaid petal-ruffle skirt and my suede Sacagawea boots, but the sweater was made entirely of spandex with eyelet-shaped cut-outs trailing down the arms and elongated cuffs that hit right at the knuckles. The edging on it stopped right under the bust and had a rolled ribbing to it. I think the universe has officially decided that I have the hottest abdomen in the world.
Also, I gotta find that girl Erin again. She took the shot of me with the rabbit fur last week, and I saw her at Muggles' thing, but between the ungodly hour, the massive amounts of pills, and the slowly settling exhaustion of having moved all my things back to Tampa (thank God - I don't know what I was thinking), I think she said something like, "Hey, I'm Erin. Remember we met when you came in for your fur?" to which I responded something like, "The stars have aligned in my mind. God, I have pretty hair. Wanna smoke?" Or something equally meaningless and nonsensical. Either way, I didn't quite get in the thanks I intended, so, yeah, that's on the to-do list.
I spent Sunday waiting for storm drama that didn't happen. I kinda wouldn't mind a minor hurricane making a direct impact here. I'm not wishing disaster on anyone, and I know sometimes my quest for excitement comes off as slightly destructive, but I think it would be neat to get all the whipping wind and driving rain and whatnot. I would be happy to throw a fundraiser party and help with environmental clean-up if a small storm were to come here. I suppose I should consider the Chinese proverb, but I am sorta disappointed by the mild weather.
I tried to create a stormy autumnal feeling by watching Sleepy Hollow with Mark and the chickie this morning instead. Mark fell asleep, but I was riveted by floating thoughts of spoooookiness. That is my favorite fall movie ever, and when I was young, my mom used to take us to Tarrytown, NY for the first weekend in November every year, because Washington Irving lived there. For some reason, it took me until today to realize just how nice it was of her to arrange a weekend like that, simply because her little girl liked a story so much. We went every year from the time I was six or seven until I was a teenager, and did all sorts of happy family things like apple picking and donut dunking and poem reading. Then, the third weekend of November was usually that joint in Connecticut where the other Rockefeller mansion is with all the gardens and stuff. I think it might also be called Hyde Park. I can't remember now, but, wow, no wonder my life seems like such idyll.
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