2004-01-24
Fun with link titles
The writing in my diary tends to lean toward the narrative style, but today I thought I�d give �random crap� a go. Maybe I�ll get some interesting google searches out of it.
Last weekend, Tony came to Buffalo for my birthday. We had a most amazing weekend, and on Saturday, we went skiing at Kissing Bridge. Tony hadn�t skied before, and I hadn�t been in several years. Although there were plenty of comical moments during the course of this adventure, I have to say Tony friggin� rocked as a first time skier. He�s blogging this experience on his website, so I won�t say any more lest I give anything away. As much as I would enjoy a little spanking, I�ll let him reveal the epic tale as it unfolded.
Today I bought me a pink ski jacket for...get this...42 bucks! Buffalo�s not good for much, what with the Zuba pants (Oh, you don�t believe that people here still wear those fashion disasters? Here�s proof. I captured this nightmare with my camera at Target recently...)
and frosted hair and all, but we do have excellent sales on winter outerwear. The jacket has a gray fleece lining, which matches the headband and gloves I bought recently. Now I�m on the hunt for gray or, better yet, silver ski pants and a pair of silver goggles so when I hit the slopes again, I�m not only a kick ass athlete, but I�m stylin�, too.
The ski jacket was not the purpose of my shopping excursion, however. I was on the hunt for a suit to wear to a job interview next Saturday in Virginia. I haven�t been in the market for over ten years, and I�m scared shitless. I know I�m highly qualified, and my references are glowing, but steeeeeeeeeeeeeel!
Speaking of references, I stopped this morning to see my former program supervisor and friend, Dan. He was hired as an elementary school principal (about friggin� time!) over the summer, and his school was holding a pancake breakfast this morning. He was kind enough to write me a phenomenal letter of recommendation, and I went to pick it up. Someone (not Dan) had burned the shit out of the pancakes in the kitchen, and the entire cafeteria was filled with smoke. To me, pancake smoke is as bad as cigarette smoke. My clothes absolutely reeked when I left. I kept smelling myself all day and it honestly made me a little nauseous.
So, I�m at one of the crappy Buffalo malls looking for a suit, preferably with pants. The problem I have is that �misses� sizes don�t fit me for two reasons. One, the pants and jacket sleeves are always too long, delicate petite flower that I am. Two, the size I wear (12 now!) is too big on me in the misses� department and too small in petites. Throw in the fact that everything has been decimated on the racks, and the pickings are slim. I managed to find several nice suits with skirts (ick) in my size and narrowed it down to one sharp black number.
I should have been happy to find anything at all, but I became increasingly violent as I looked for a blouse to wear underneath. I just wanted a plain red or white one with a wide collar, but apparently simplicity in fashion is too much to ask for these days. Most fashion in Buffalo consists of chenille, wide horizontal stripes, or denim appliqued with Disney characters. I walked behind a woman today who was snailing along in her jean jacket with khaki sleeves and Eeyore emblazoned on the back. Eeyore and the lack of decent choices in a blouse made me feel like hauling off and smacking random people with the back of my hand.
I gave up on the shirt search and started looking for the Nine West pumps I�ve been wanting for a while.
In case you don�t know this about me, I�m a shoe whore. I need shoes like I need oxygen. I was TICKT AWF yesterday when I discovered that my lackadaisical attitude of late had cost me the ownership of the fabulous pink patent leather Steve Madden boots with the spiked heels that I�d been eyeing since October when Tony and I were in New York City. I�d seen them for $80 at the Steve Madden store we stopped at so I could buy a pair of comfortable, yet stylish, shoes for walking around the city. I�m the first person to bite my lip and deal with the bleeding toes for a pair of really great shoes, but even I have my limits. The pink boots had finally gone on sale, but I was too busy and too arrogant of a shoe whore to buy them when I should have. Ah, well.
Similarly, I lost out on tickets to see Michael Buble in Atlantic City on Valentine�s Day. Now they�re going for a minimum of $100 on ebay. I�m over this (no, really, I am) because if I�m going to go somewhere for Valentine�s Day weekend, it shouldn�t be to a shit hole place like Atlantic City. Although Neil Sedaka IS playing in York, Pennsylvania. No. No. No. �I will not waste money chasing obsessions to bumblefuck towns...� *repeats mantra*
At the Galleria Mall, (which, by the way, is sinking into the ground because the fucknugget �urban� planners in Buffalo built it on a swamp) the Nine West store came up tiny with the shoe choices. They had every style of shoe in the pattern I liked, EXCEPT the pump style I was looking for. Both department stores were useless. Tony checked the Nine West website for me while I bitched and whined, and found the shoes I wanted at a great price. I would order them online as soon as I returned home.
Still, no blouse. I walked the mall from one end to the other and found a shirt that actually looks remarkably similar to the shoes. I bought it. I purchased two backup blouses as well, and warned Tony that before my interview, he�d have to sit through the same kind of tedious �How Does This Look?� and �Which One Looks Better?� fashion show that he had to endure before we met Clay Aiken in Raleigh last month. Now that he�s a bona fide shoe whore himself (yay!), I know he�ll give me educated feedback.
I came home, pleased with my acquisitions. I didn�t fully relax until the Nine West pumps were paid for and the confirmation email was in my inbox. Ahhhhhhhh.
A surprise package arrived from Erin today, too! (Thank you!) Fellow francophiles, Erin and I enjoy bantering in French, particularly when that French is vulgar. I was thrilled to find this book in my mailbox and I plan to brush up on my cussing so I can talk really filthy in Vegas, but sound oh-so-sexy while I�m at it.
Yeah, I�m going back to Vegas. In March. A whole slew of us are going there to see Clay in concert. Unfortunately, he�s touring with Kelly Clarkson, since they�re represented by the same record company. Said record company clearly understands Clarkson needs Clay to sell tickets, since she couldn�t even sell out state fairs over the summer.
Check out the promo poster for the tour. I think it sucks ass.
Well, it did suck ass until I fixed it up.
I�ll be going to Vegas and DC to catch Clay on tour, since Buffalo is too crappy of a place to attract the likes of a star like Monsieur Aiken. Instead, we get Enrique Iglesias and Bette Midler.
Whoop de friggin� doo.
Still, I�ll get to see him live at least twice, and that makes me as happy as a little giiiiiiiiirl.
Would you like to touch my monkey?
So what else? I�ve got a new book to read, which is cool even though I�m still making my way through Slaughterhouse Five and skimming the pages of an exciting new publication about healing endometriosis through nutrition. Tony and I have this little game going where we�ve listed a number of our favorite books, movies and television shows that the other has not read or seen. So far, we�ve gotten through Waiting For Guffman, Notting Hill, and several episodes of Queer as Folk and South Park. I�m completely fangirly for Don and Mike and Wil Wheaton, and Tony has been converted into a David Sedaris and David Cross fan. I�m plugging through Slaughterhouse Five, and enjoying it tremendously, and he�s about to dive into The Crimson Petal and The White. Yay, us!
I�m listening to Kurt Nilsen, Daniel Kublbock and Joss Stone these days, in case anyone cares.
I guess there�s just one more random topic to discuss and that�s the third season of American Idol. So far I have NOT been impressed, even though I still love the show and will watch every last episode until my eyes bleed. The format is much too formulaic this year. Scripted interviews with the judges precede the shitty auditions (which aren�t even funny), of which there are too many. Guess what, FOX? We don�t need constant reminders of Paula�s overly bronzed skin or Randy�s weight loss or Simon�s man boobs setting up the bits you�ve edited so amateurishly. We can judge for ourselves, thank you. And the decent auditions are few and far between, because the producers of the show apparently believe we, the dumbass viewers with a collective IQ of 60, only want to see rednecks, bucktoothed geeks and hammy overactors sing unrecognizable tunes, only to be humiliated and reamed relentlessly by the judges.
Still, there have been a few beacons of light in the dark chasm of Simon�s abundant arm hair.
My prediction is to keep a close eye on John Stevens IV.
-screencap by Raina
I�m rooting for him because he�s from East Amherst, NY, a suburb of Buffalo. He�s also 16 mofoing years old! A woman I work with knows his family and she told me his entire room is wallpapered with pictures of Frank Sinatra. Boyfriend is my neighbor, has flaming red hair, does a mean Dean Martin impression AND hearts the crooners.
-screencap by Raina
He�s got my vote.
SPOILER ALERT...
I�m pretty sure he�s going to go on to the round after Hollywood, not just because it�s my hunch, but because I clicked THIS LINK today.
Anyway, if you like this cute kid, there�s already a fan site about him. Bless the dear obsessed souls of the American Idol fans.
Hmmm. I guess that�s all. Oh, wait. One other thing. I don�t drink or take drugs of any kind, but I�m a little concerned that I might have an addiction. To Ricola cough drops (the honey lemon echinacea ones).
What do you guyses think?
joeparadox at 4:53 p.m.