There are some pictures of me at around age 10 wearing a candy necklace and otherwise looking deranged. That's because I was just one step into the process of transforming myself into Nona F. Mecklenberg, younger Pete's friend on The Adventures of Pete and Pete. The F stood for Frances but it may as well have stood for Fashion, with her bowling shoes, tube socks, and elastic floral print skirts. She made me long for a pair of rainbow striped pants and a blue knit hat with pearl beads. It probably would have been cute to wear these things when I was in 4th grade, but I don't think it was quite in line with my mother's vision for me and anyway we shopped at Mervyn's. I still have latent Nona tendencies. The best thrift store in the world is a mere block away from my house and I'm making up for lost time. The translation of Nona onto an adult body, however, is kind of bag lady meets Blossom.
And of course there is Ramona Quimby, the reason I've had a bob haircut for most of my life.
Who are (were?) your style icons?
It has really been storming here in that dark-at-3pm kind of way. Wind howls around the house at night and the tree slaps against the window in the classic horror movie style. I cower under my 5 blankets (arranged in an ascending hierarchy of itchiness) and have appropriate miserable sweaty nightmares. The latest-- I host a dinner party, suck out the souls of my guests with a single glance, have my evil henchman drag their catatonic bodies away, then I rail against the heavens and my own evil ways for awhile before instructing my assistant to bring me a few fresh ones! I invite your amateur analysis. Also, as I was traipsing through the rain today, I stepped in a puddle so large that I was submerged up to my knees, soaking my ridiculous winter costume which now includes an electric blue wool cape with a pattern of Russian nesting dolls on the lining. It's ok, though. As a Californian, I believe it is my duty to spend at least an hour a day in total outrage over THE BUDGET CRISIS and THE IMPENDING DROUGHT... so I welcome the rain and many future soggy wardrobe failures if it means I can, without guilt, spend a few more minutes musing over Dear Abby's latest tawdriness. And, let's face it-- I'm always looking for an excuse to listen to that Cowsills song.
Gentle reader, have you ever fallen in love? If you're like me, this happens sometimes. If you're really like me, it isn't reciprocated. If you're really really like me, then the morning found you in yogurt-stained pajamas amassing a collection of songs that remind you of, on the one hand, that beautiful nervous feeling and, on the other hand, a lack of reciprocity. You suffered a sleepless night spent mining previous conversations for romantic subtext, remembering the sensation of your hand in his and how, if it were transmuted somehow to music, the song would be "Good Vibrations," then crafting impassioned, bleary-eyed declarations of loving intent which would bring you to new heights in vulnerability were you to actually utter them aloud, a few whiskeys in, after a party on some winter night in your hometown, your hands and feet freezing but with nervous-adrenaline sweat running down your sides.
Here's that collection of songs.
Here's that collection of songs.
I think Superbowl Sunday is the perfect time to prepare an umbrella for next week's impending showers, aka, Valentine's Day. Grab yourself a domestic beer and gear up for romance. This Superbowl Sunday, I'm going to be testing a fragrance product I just made up called D00d Repellent(TM). I'm not really sure of the ingredients yet, but I'm guessing it's comprised of 14 parts Swarthy Italian Good Looks, 78 parts Glint in the Eye Suggestive of Clinginess, 1/5 wet cigarettes and spit collected from a bucket outside of a bar without windows, the rasp of an old bum as he sings "shoofly don't bother me!" and just a sprinkle of Essence of Unwashed (one of my other fragrance success stories, bottled right at the source-- my armpit). Good news: it's already working! Available at Walgreens and wherever fine fragrances are sold. Enjoy those sports, ladies.