exhausted but glamorous

A fashion update:

I went with dress #1 with a smart little faux-fur shrug and black heels. Believe it or not, it was entirely flattering and appropriate. Dress #2, on the day in question (today), made me somehow look like a pregnant ballerina - no dice. Dress 3 is likely going back to Torrid. The military dress is staying firmly in the closet until, well, I decide to trot it out.

The wedding was lovely. I am exhausted. I'd show you how lovely I am but my cameraphone can't capture my face and dress in the same frame, alas. And I'd completley lost track of my digital camera (hastily left behind and uncharged at my grandmother's house, apparently).

Lovely. And chock full of comedy gold. And a chocolate fountain besides.

I've apparently stopped making sense.

i am SICK of being SICK

Act 3, Chapter 22, something!

If this were the 19th century....

- I'd have consumption or some such thing, and get sent to the seashore
- I'd have faded gracefully, or be kept in a parlor somewhere, or have had poetry written about my graceful-pale-pretty-dying visage
- There'd be an opera, in which the dire cough would've started in Act 2. The aria would've started at the beginning of Act 3. Gorgeous and surprisingly powerful for someone with a death rattle in her chest.

Oh, old times, old times.

Bleah.

I had so many wildly interesting things to say. but I'm too gosh darn sick to organize them. I don't think I've been sicker in a long freaking time.

Let's put it this way. I can't muster up the energy to drag ass to the deli downstairs and secure junk food to supplement my Campbells soup and seltzer diet.

That's right. The siren song of "I'm sick and deserve a Devil Dog" is going, at the moment, unheeded.

I am in dire straits.

Lying around depressed is one thing. Lying around sick is infuriating and worrying.

Pick the dress!

Okay, campers, I'm going to a wedding next Sunday. In a castle on Long Island. What to wear, what to wear. Some of these things are going back to the store. Some to my sister in law (the previously mentioned smart brocade number, alas.) What a hassle. I've got a few old standbys in the closet, but they just don't make sense.

Let's open it up to the blogreading public (All three of you!). Open to suggestions as well.

For those unaware:

1. I am taller than these models. (Heels will also be involved; think 6')
2. I am bustier than these models. (In a serious way. Foundation garments will be involved)
3. I am not a fan of my upper arms; but, as pointed out, through accesories and distratction, according to a friend, they will likely not be noticed.

1. The Black Dress. A bit revealing, but kinda hot. (It comes with a sheer scarf thing, as stated earlier). Too much?

















2. The Brown Velvet Number. Picture this dress, in brown, with an improbable jewel somewhere near the bustline. (Some kinda wrap thing would be worn on the shoulders, again.) Too babydoll?









3. The Simple Brown Dress. Needs accessorizing. Is shorter on me than on the model. Too lame?


































Of course, I also threw this dress in the "torrid" cart - totally unnecessary, potentially interesting. Some may like it. It looks pretty fine. Definitely a bit costumey, no?

Whither Kyle Secor? I am serious.

What's right about Sleuth: "Homicide" (Andre Braugher & Kyle Secor, crisp white shirts)

What's wrong about Sleuth: "Miami VIce" (Don Johnson and Philip Michael Thomas, pink and turquoise trousers)

There's one that leaves you wanting more.

"Answered Prayers" by Truman Capote. Boy could that guy paint a picture.

I'd meant to include quotes, perhaps I will later. I'd also planned on researching who everyone "was," but perhaps later.

It's one of those works (like Raymond Carver stories or Albee/Tennessee Williams plays) that makes you want to drink, lots and lots.

Somewhere between escapist and pathetic, lies Capote.

Pharmacopeia (apologies to Edward Gorey)

A is for amphetamine, speedy and quick
B is for barbituates, slowing and sick
C is for cocaine, higher than high
D is for Demerol, slower, you sigh
E is for ecstacy, love all the people
F is for fentanyl, knocking you out
G is for gin and tonic, summertime shout
H is for heroin, riding the pony
I is for IVs, administration
J is for Jack Daniels, smooth smoky sedation
K is for ketamine, joyful and strange
L is for lithium, dampens emotional range
M is for morphia, deadens the pain
N is for nicotine, light up again
O is for orgasm, natural high
P is for Percoset, painkiller fly
Q is for Quaaludes so out of fashion
R is for Ritalin, speedy distraction
S is for sugar, the rush that you feed,
T is for Thai stick, good smoke indeed
U is for urine, teller of tales
V is for Valium, classic never fails
W is for Winston, smokes built to last
X is for Xanax, soothing and fast
Y is for yohimbe, limp dicks in the past
Z is for Zoloft, uplifting at last.

sometimes i enjoy being a girllllll

I just bought the most unbelievable dress.

It's black, and made out of some chiffon-y material, which is more evident towards the bottom, where the skirt is swoopy and swirly yet straight as it glides down to mid-calf. The bodice is fitted, yet hugs every curve in a flattering way. The bustline is gathered in the middle with sparkly-rhinestone trim, that highlights my cleavage in a most amazing manner. The top is held up with an array of multiple interweaving, thinnish strappy-straps that cross in the back and over my shoulders in an intensely complicated fashion. In a dressing-room feat which defies the laws of physics, the dress looked more attractive when I tried it on braless. Braless. (If you have ever seen me, you would be sucking in your breath right about now. I was inspired to do so by my girlfriend who kept poking at my ill-advised pink bra, and inspecting the dress with a skeptical eye, until I had the brainstorm to go top-commando, a feat which would have straightened Einstein's hair...."Ahhh, yes...Buy it! Buy ze dress!" My friend does not have an odd Teutonic accent, but you get the point. It was, in a word, transforming.) It is accompanied by a slip of a sheer chiffon scarf that glides over my shoulders in a sultry play-with-me way.

It cost me $22. On sale at Filene's Basement, reduced from, oh, a hundred and something dollars.

It was, my friends, the Dress that Had to be Bought.

I may sleep in it.

One-a-day

Every day I'm supposed to do something I really don't want to do.

Yesterday, I ate an entire salad. (Believe me, I've been existing on cereal and fruit, the all-breakfast diet, but I've also been parked on my ass more than I'd like to be.)

Today, I'd intended a gym visit. And I don't count "not blowing off a doctor's appointment." I do count clearing my messages and checking in with my temp agencies.

Tomorrow, now, that will be special.

Good times. Start small.

Tip of da day

Want to impress a European?

Do your best "Sopranos" impression. For a chick, Dr. Melfi or Adrianna. For a guy, any member of Tony's inner circle will do.

Trust me.

(I have been told this also works on Australians. Ba da bing, mate!)

Song du Jour. I've got work to do and I've got to get on with things.

I guess I shoulda known
By the way u parked your car sideways
That it wouldn’t last

See you’re the kinda person
That believes in makin’ out once
Love ’em and leave ’em fast

I guess I must be dumb
’cuz u had a pocket full of horses
Trojan and some of them used

But it was saturday night
I guess that makes it all right
And u say what have I got 2 lose?
And honey I say

Little red corvette
Baby you’re much 2 fast
Little red corvette
U need a love that’s gonna last

I guess I shoulda closed my eyes
When u drove me 2 the place
Where your horses run free

’cuz I felt a little ill
When I saw all the pictures
Of the jockeys that were there before me

Believe it or not
I started to worry
I wondered if I had enough class

But it was saturday night
I guess that makes it all right
And u say, baby, have u got enough gas?
Oh yeah

Little red corvette
Baby you’re much 2 fast, yes u r
Little red corvette
U need 2 find a love that’s gonna last

A body like yours
Oughta be in jail
’cuz it’s on the verge of bein’ obscene

Move over baby
Gimme the keys
I’m gonna try 2 tame your little red love machine

Little red corvette
Baby you’re much 2 fast
Little red corvette
U need 2 find a love that’s gonna last

Little red corvette
Honey u got 2 slow down (got 2 slow down)
Little red corvette
’cuz if u don’t u gonna run your
Little red corvette right in the ground

Right down 2 the ground (honey u got 2 slow down)
U, u, u got 2 slow down (little red corvette)
You’re movin’ much 2 fast (2 fast)
U need 2 find a love that’s gonna last

Girl, u got an ass like I never seen
And the ride...
I say the ride is so smooth
U must be a limousine

Baby you’re much 2 fast
Little red corvette
U need a love, u need a love that’s
That’s gonna last
(little red corvette)
U got 2 slow down (u got 2 slow down)
Little red corvette

’cuz if u don’t, ’cuz if u don’t,
U gonna run your body right into the ground (right into the ground)
Right into the ground (right into the ground)
Right into the ground (right into the ground)

Little red corvette

see also

Committing to your Bit....Or, what Thousands in Improv Lessons have Done for Me

I won the Rocky Horror "Virgins" Fake Orgam Contest on Saturday night in Chelsea.

Discuss.

Still more news

My Magic 8 Ball seems to have died. What's up with that! Some type of chemical degradation has occurred in the 8-ball solution. The fluid is bubbly and no longer sufficiently buoyant; the multi-sided fortune-telling die is no longer monostable inside the fluid and, thus, not a decisive predictor of one's future or a reliable answerer of one's life-changing questions.

I wonder if it is heat-sensitive; the 8=ball has been sitting near my TV, VCR or DVD player for the most part.

What is that stuff, anyway?

It also seems that, somehow, some evaporation has taken place, since more of the die is revealed.

I need to look into this. Seriously. Cause I don't have enough to do.

Also, a Magic 8 Ball would make a swell non-Valentine's Day gift. Just saying.

In other news,

- I can, do, and will play the flute. Perhaps you will see me play in public, soon!
- Upon mentioning this skill, even the most dignified and mature among us have to make a prurient joke about 'playing the flute.' Ha ha, indeed.
- Minute Maid Light Limeade is not only delightful, it is bilingually packaged.
- Soon I will be operating a comedy room of my own. It will have a snappy name.
- Not all stretchy black tank tops are created equal. They are all, however, sexy.
- I ordered a smart gold dress in the mail, along with two tiny pairs of sleeves to 'go with.' One is definitely faux furry. The other, supposedly, is real furry? But it is ridiculously cheap, so I shudder to think from whence it came. I refuse to believe it is actual furry, and am thus convinced it is merely plush.
- This is because in several weeks, I am attending an afternoon wedding in a castle in Long Island. Did you know there were castles in Long Island?
- I have not filled out my calendar for February yet. This is problematic for several reasons.
- Vacuuming and mopping have not occurred yet. This is also problematic.

Right now I am composing an email about my new comedy room and sipping limeade while wearing a smart black tank top.

I've got this and YOU don't, mortals.

Sweet!

Thanks lots to my good-friends-in-high-places-who-shall-remain-nameless.

Mortals can order it here.