An unsatisfying quickie
I have the uncontrollable urge to post today although I don't have anything in particular that I want to say. The four of you may as well stop reading now.
What's that you say? You're going to be a trooper and stick this one out? Geez, I really appreciate it. If I knew where you were, I'd send you some Rolo cookies or vegetable curry. My cooking skills are somewhat limited.
So, I'm at the library, as I often am. I just ran off to the bathroom and left my gigantor purse near my computer. As I was in the bathroom, I thought about what the little old ladies here on this fine Saturday morning could learn about me should one of them wander over to my computer when WebMD loses their interest.
First, of course, they would notice my embarassing fondness for pink. When I was little, my mom saw to it that nothing -- nothing -- I owned was pink. This pink prohibition was only a tiny part of her liberal feminist child-rearing ways, which of course led to my god-awful hyphenated name. Now that I'm older, I buy a lot of pink, just because I can. Today, I have my smallish pink purse inside my larger pink/purple/sequined-monstrosity-with-fairies-on-it bag (or is it a tote? I'm not good with accessory names.). I'm such a rebel.
Some items inside my sparkly corduroy fairy-land:
1. My notepad I take everywhere with me. The picture on the cover is a '50s housewife doting on an empty armchair with the words "she liked imaginary men best of all" next to her.
Old lady thoughts on this item: "This Pink Lady has had a rough time of it with the fellas."
2. Two books: Pink Think: Becoming a Woman in Many Uneasy Lessons and Bachelor Girl: 100 Years of Breaking the Rules -- A Social History of Living Single.
Old lady thoughts on these items: "Make that a really rough time with the fellas. She may perhaps spend a bit too much time in the Women's Studies section, too. She needs to get out of the stacks and put herself out there if she wants to catch herself a man!"
3. My knitting.
Old lady thoughts on this item: "Damn, she's closer to spinsterhood than me. I should invite her to the next Stitch-and-Bitch meeting."
How did it ever come to this?
Rather than feel sorry for myself this weekend -- as I would love to do with a bad movie (Gigli? Glitter?), Ben & Jerry's, and a bottle of wine -- I'm going to attempt to fix my garden (the lantana has quietly taken over; I fear that it may creep into my apartment and hold my pets hostage), until it gets too unbearably hot. So, I'll probably be out there for about 8 minutes. I walked Foxy at 7:30 this morning in my bikini because it was already too humid for real clothes. Tomorrow, I intend to kayak to Mound Key, provided I can get my boat on top of my van. Last weekend's kayak outing almost didn't happen because I dropped my boat four times while trying to strap it to the van. The humidity is such that there's an inpenetrable layer of slippery dew covering my vehicle every morning. Given my (lack of) height, loading the boat by myself (as we learned above, I am, in fact, all alone) is usually tricky, but I always get it up there. The dew, though, is kayak repellant; the boat just slides right off. It's like someone covered my van in Crisco.
God -- that would be a great story, wouldn't it? "Dude, I just woke up this morning and there was lard all over my car. I don't know how it got there. But I do know I suddenly have a craving for fried chicken."
What's that you say? You're going to be a trooper and stick this one out? Geez, I really appreciate it. If I knew where you were, I'd send you some Rolo cookies or vegetable curry. My cooking skills are somewhat limited.
So, I'm at the library, as I often am. I just ran off to the bathroom and left my gigantor purse near my computer. As I was in the bathroom, I thought about what the little old ladies here on this fine Saturday morning could learn about me should one of them wander over to my computer when WebMD loses their interest.
First, of course, they would notice my embarassing fondness for pink. When I was little, my mom saw to it that nothing -- nothing -- I owned was pink. This pink prohibition was only a tiny part of her liberal feminist child-rearing ways, which of course led to my god-awful hyphenated name. Now that I'm older, I buy a lot of pink, just because I can. Today, I have my smallish pink purse inside my larger pink/purple/sequined-monstrosity-with-fairies-on-it bag (or is it a tote? I'm not good with accessory names.). I'm such a rebel.
Some items inside my sparkly corduroy fairy-land:
1. My notepad I take everywhere with me. The picture on the cover is a '50s housewife doting on an empty armchair with the words "she liked imaginary men best of all" next to her.
Old lady thoughts on this item: "This Pink Lady has had a rough time of it with the fellas."
2. Two books: Pink Think: Becoming a Woman in Many Uneasy Lessons and Bachelor Girl: 100 Years of Breaking the Rules -- A Social History of Living Single.
Old lady thoughts on these items: "Make that a really rough time with the fellas. She may perhaps spend a bit too much time in the Women's Studies section, too. She needs to get out of the stacks and put herself out there if she wants to catch herself a man!"
3. My knitting.
Old lady thoughts on this item: "Damn, she's closer to spinsterhood than me. I should invite her to the next Stitch-and-Bitch meeting."
How did it ever come to this?
Rather than feel sorry for myself this weekend -- as I would love to do with a bad movie (Gigli? Glitter?), Ben & Jerry's, and a bottle of wine -- I'm going to attempt to fix my garden (the lantana has quietly taken over; I fear that it may creep into my apartment and hold my pets hostage), until it gets too unbearably hot. So, I'll probably be out there for about 8 minutes. I walked Foxy at 7:30 this morning in my bikini because it was already too humid for real clothes. Tomorrow, I intend to kayak to Mound Key, provided I can get my boat on top of my van. Last weekend's kayak outing almost didn't happen because I dropped my boat four times while trying to strap it to the van. The humidity is such that there's an inpenetrable layer of slippery dew covering my vehicle every morning. Given my (lack of) height, loading the boat by myself (as we learned above, I am, in fact, all alone) is usually tricky, but I always get it up there. The dew, though, is kayak repellant; the boat just slides right off. It's like someone covered my van in Crisco.
God -- that would be a great story, wouldn't it? "Dude, I just woke up this morning and there was lard all over my car. I don't know how it got there. But I do know I suddenly have a craving for fried chicken."
~~~~~
On a completely unrelated note, thank you JB for kind words. You made my day.
posted by BPDubs at 10:37 AM
1 Comments:
Pink! My own mother was quite the opposite and insisted on various pink outfits and decorations which have left me with a slight aversion to the girlish color in later years. Actually, the last thing I bought that was pink was a tank top, that ironically, my mother accidentally splashed bleach onto while doing laundry. I took it as a sign from God and have left the color alone. (Not to mention, it is not the best color for my skin tone.)
And Ma’am, if I may say so, I am positive that your readership has grown quite beyond four. :D
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