I Have....NO PANTS!

Seth and I were talking yesterday (Today? Last week? Some damn day) about how I don't spend money on clothing. And it's true. On a good day my entire outfit (including shoes, purse and underpants) will have cost me exactly $0.00. On an average day maybe $20. My roommate works at a clothing company, my friends love to clean out their closets, and I go to my fair share of clothing swaps. (Also, my everyday purse, a Strand Bag, was found in the garbage. PURE CLASS!) I think the most expensive piece of clothing I own is a hoodie I bought in Spain four years ago for the equivalent of $100.00. And I don't even wear the damn thing anymore!

The last time I bought jeans was years ago, and while for a long time that was okay (because I rarely wore the things) I've found myself drawn to them more and more recently for lack of anything else to wear. And this weekend my favorite of the two pairs I own ripped at the knee. I am still wearing them, but I'm thinking it might be time to invest in a new pair.

So where to go? I'm not spending $180.00 on a pair of Seven's. I owned a pair once, but they were a gift because, again, I am not the type to spend almost $200.00 on a damn pair of jeans. I am cheap. I can accept this.

On top of everything else I HATE SHOPPING FOR JEANS. A lot of girls hate the thought of bathing suit shopping, but for me? Jeans. Fucking Jeans. They. Never. Fit.

H&M jeans are not built for my body. I have a small waist and a big ass, and H&M jeans fail to fit over my thighs if I grab the size that fits my waist. Old Navy is always an option, but their sizing has gotten so wonky in recent years that I'm not even sure if it's worth the trip. (Though I do love walking into the only store in the world where I'm a size 2.) I have a pair of Gap capri's that fit me as pants. And I LOVE THEM. But they no longer have a crotch. So...yeah. I bought a pair of Levi's a couple of years ago because they were having a sale, but ending up turning them into shorts and then tossing them because they looked truely terrible.

Oh, and did I mention that I ABSOLUTELY FUCKING HATE TRYING ON JEANS?

Where the hell do you buy YOUR jeans? Should I just shell out the extra cash? HALP!

(Yes, I am riding on the coattails of The Tigerlily's hose post. Shut up.) ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves

I have the legs of a seven year old - I keep them under my bed. BA DA BING!

Summer is a good look for a lot of people. They get tan, they flaunt some skin, everyone is happy. Summer is not a good look for me. (I know it's not summer yet, but it's feeling like it.) I am shiny. I am red. I am breaking out all over the place. I have a pimple on my chest. My hair is the size of Kentucky. This is not cute.

Other people Tan. I get tan on my shoulders but every other part of me will only stick to two shades red and white. There is no in between. And it sucks, because there is something very flattering about summer clothes on tan skin, something I will never really understand. And fake tans and spray on tans look exactly that - fake. So why bother? I think I'd rather red than orange.

On top of the sexy that is my shiny red visage - last night my sandal caught the curb and I faceplanted - skinning both of my knees, the palms of my hands, and (somehow) my left ankle. RAD. I'm limping around today in pain with my right knee covered in band-aids and my left turning a lovely shade of purple. I look like a small child. And the fall was just so shocking. I haven't fallen like that in YEARS and it brought back so many memories of being a city kid and the bumps and bruises you get running around on concrete instead of a lawn.

People always ask me what it was like growing up in downtown Manhattan, and I always tell them the same thing - that I only grew up one way, so I have no basis for comparison, but it was great. I had run of the neighborhood, everyone knew me, it was FUN. I had my friends from around the corner, and their siblings, and we left home in the morning and came home at night. I hate people who say that the city is no place to raise children. It's a crock of shit. I mean, I turned out pretty okay:
Right? ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves

I may need more people to talk to

Because I am INSANE, I will sometimes have imaginary conversations with strangers in the street. Well, okay, I'm not THAT insane - but I will imagine comebacks to things people might say to me one day. That's probably not helping my argument. ANYWAY - the reason I'm thinking about this is because the comebacks I imagine myself saying are things I would NEVER EVER say in real life. For example, I just imagined myself saying, "And you shouldn't talk to strangers, you old COOT!"

Coot is word I have never used and cannot imagine myself ever using. Ever. In any situation. I've only typed it twice and already it's doing that thing where it no longer looks like a word.

I think everyone does this once in a while. Especially in New York where people talk to strangers all the time. It just makes sense to have a snappy comment handy in case whoever you're suuuuuure is going to talk to you actually says what you just know they're going to say. Right? Right.

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In the last few months I have determined that I look like a raging bitch when I am walking by myself. My coworkers were complaining about one of the banks we have to go to because, according to them, they would get stopped every time they walked in by someone trying to get them to open an account. "Really?" I asked, "It's never happened to me. I just walk straight through and don't look at anyone." I think eye contact might be the kicker. I will make it with random strangers on the street or on the subway, but never with someone who wants to sell me anything.

I spent my lunch break in Union Square which is completely overpopulated with canvassers who want you to save the children, or the rain forest, or perhaps the orphaned ducklings of Connecticut. I have no idea what they want because they never stop me. They will jump in front of any other person within the vicinity and leave me alone. It's lovely.

The people I have to work on are the ones trying to get me to buy discounted salon packages. Do I really look that bad? ♦DiggIt! ♦Add to del.icio.us ♦Add to Technorati Faves

OUCH. Let me repeat: O-U-C-H

For once in my life I am actually spending the New Year trying to make a better me. The first and second changes are not that strange: I got new glasses (well, Seth got me new glasses) and got a haircut. A professional haircut! I didn't cut it myself this time!

This is the part where you tell me I'm pretty. (Seth hates it. Shhh. He didn't want me to tell you that.)

The hairdresser, Mike, made fun of the state my hair was when I got to him.

Mike: Um...what's with the color?
Me: I got mad at a boy in July and dyed it black.
Flamboyant Assistant: Why do girls always take it out on their hair?
Mike: ::Shakes his head:: Who was the boy?
Me: Um...my then ex-boyfriend who is now my current boyfriend? It's a long story.
Mike: ::Rolls his eyes:: And when was the last time you got a hair cut?
Me: Um...well, my old roommate cut a couple of inches off with a pair of kitchen scissors? A couple of months ago? Does that count?
Mike: You are never allowed to touch your hair again.

Which is probably very good advice.




It is the THIRD change I've made this year that is the real shocker for anyone who knows me. For those of you that don't know me? I am lazy. Very lazy. My favorite things in the world are sleep and bacon. Everyone have a clear picture now? Are you sitting down? Comfortable? Excellent...






I joined a gym.




Now, please - nobody panic! I haven't lost my mind...I just...well...I'm turning twenty-five this year and the gym by my house is really REALLY cheap and...I've started to feel a little tubby. (A diet of sleep and bacon will do that to a girl) And I would be pleased if my arms were slightly less jiggly. And the gym - holy shit it is cheap. And a LADY gym, which means I don't have to deal with BOYS and feel self conscious. YAY!

Today was my second day at the gym and I am HURTY. Oh, I should probably mention this: this was my second day at a gym. Ever. Remember the lazy? Told you.

But as much pain as I'm in I'm also feeling good. Kind of, PUMPED. It feels bizarre. I've never really been invested in taking care of myself before.

I think I might actually stick with this...huh.

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