Snow! Snow that stayed on the ground, and didn't just disappear the way it should have. Snow? Bloody snow. That's what I woke up to this morning, and that's the view that's greeting me as I stare - rather listlessly, I'll add - out the window now. It's not a lot of snow... but it's the beginning of the end, poppets.
It's the start of the season where I take mincing little steps so as not to anger any stray piece of ice that may want to rear up and flip me over. This is the day where I start walking with my hands held out to maintain whatever imaginary sense of balance I have. (The walk, the Gin-Soaked Walk, is not particular to winter ice, of course. Hot summer nights with friends on a patio have resulted in the same little strut. The only difference is that if I fall then, my socially lubricated body doesn't feel the pain until the next morning. It's kind of a beautiful system.)
Winter has arrived, my darlings, and I need to go somewhere warm.
* * *
Has everyone been watching The O.C.? Are we all completely captivated by how insanely adorable Seth Cohen is? Are we all fighting an internal battle as to whether we want to be Summer or Anna? Have we all figured out how to get the makeup artist fired, because for the love of God, what is going on with the clown faces? My GOD! Circles of pink on every cheek, and each pair of eyelids duking it out for the Tammy Faye Baker Spackle & Trowel Award. Julie Cooper, your face is too busy! And is it just me, or does Marisa have far more accessories by Chanel than any 17-year old girl should own? It's California, people, not Boston! And she's 17! It's not natural!
* * *
I need to flirt. I feel The Flirt brewing within me, and if I don't let it out soon, it'll explode on some unsuspecting Piranha at work, and that would just be wrong.
It doesn't help that I wore a soft, grey, angora sweater yesterday, and an even softer red one today. Both are irresistibly touchable, and it's all I can do not to shoot a Loaded and Measured and Meaningful Glance at the poor sap who can't help but reach out and touch me. It's instinct, poppets! How am I supposed to fight instinct?!
God help me, it's a good thing I'm going out on Friday. I can unleash The Flirt on some unsuspecting stranger instead. Poor sod. Whoever he is, he has no idea what's about to hit him...
Happy Tuesdays, my beauties. You know I adore you.
0 comments so far