Eccentric Flower:199904/the altered bride
From Eccentric Flower
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april nineteenth the altered bride I suppose I should catch up. I thought I was going to catch up last night, and I ended up writing about things that were irritating me instead. Then I thought I was going to catch up this morning, and I ended up writing about suburbia and the Pet Shop Boys instead. Reminds me of a really interesting piece of smut I read once about these sexy red boots that basically transformed the wearer's personality, but which could not be taken off. Every time you tried to reach for the zipper, you'd end up getting distracted ... fondling the boots, or yourself, instead .... But there I go again, and before this turns into a postcard about clothing fetishes, I'll drag myself back on course. On Thursday night, I went for drinks and dinner with Marc. Then we ended up going to the dance club. Not an especially good club night, unless you count the opportunities to be catty about other patrons. There are usually at least one or two men I find attractive, but on Thursday the only cute people in the club were the lesbians. And I think it's getting to be a bad idea for me to go to clubs with Marc - he's really despondent about his lack of a relationship, and I can't help him or even come up with anything useful to say to him, and in many ways my presence just makes things worse; if I talk about it at all, I'm exacerbating the problem. Kinda like the dialogue I'm currently not having with someone else over suicide - but I'm not going to go there. On Friday, having done seven impossible things at work without stopping to eat, I went to dinner with Nonelvis and Jag and Marc and then we all went to see Go, which, as I've said, was worth seeing. Nonelvis and I knew we'd seen Sarah Polley before, and I knew that she'd been a little girl in whatever it was ... I remembered her face clearly, just not the movie. We looked her up when we got home. She's the little girl in The Adventures of Baron Munchhausen. On Saturday, I had to meet Nonelvis in the Back Bay, where of course there were fifty million tourists because the Boston Marathon is apparently now a tourism event. I groused about this at some length. I dislike large groups of people engaged in lemming-like behavior. My forgiveness to all the sports fans out there, but journeying from afar to attend an athletic event falls into that category for me. I mean, the Marathon isn't even that interesting to watch. I have a lot of respect for the people who run it - I've run in 5K and 10K races and I kinda like it - but none for the spectators. On the other hand, I'm about to travel to the other side of the country - to California, a state I have historically avoided visiting - to attend a book-release party ... so clearly I can't cast stones at frivolous junkets. That's why we were out shopping - Nonelvis needed some additional clothes. Now, again, I'm not sure I should go clothes shopping with Nonelvis; my presence only makes things worse, because clothes fit me and they don't fit her, making her grit her teeth. Shopping for Nonelvis is always an ordeal. She has a normal body; it's just that women's clothes are not designed for normal women. I drove her out to the Burlington Mall, where with perseverance we were able to find some nice items, so the trip was accorded a success. As a bonus, I discovered that MAC, maker of the best cosmetics in the free world, now has an actual store in the Burlington Mall! This makes me very happy. I bought some purple-blue nail polish to celebrate. On Sunday we went with Judy and a friend of hers to Jordan's, a huge furniture-store-as-entertainment, out in the boonies. This may not seem like a good way to spend an afternoon, but it is, trust me. And today is a holiday in this area - officially Patriot's Day, but really just an excuse to facilitate the Marathon - so I am sitting at home, catching up. And that's that. Hmmm - except that I haven't explained the title of this postcard, have I? On my way to meet Nonelvis in the Back Bay, I passed a store window which always makes me giggle. It's for a place called "The Altered Bride." That's me - an altered bride. I don't know what it is about bridal dresses, but my goodness! I don't especially want a lot of pomp and circumstance at my wedding, but I can't tell you how sad it makes me that I can't wear one of the dresses. Newbury Street, the heart of shopping in the Back Bay, is another one of those places I really shouldn't go - which seems to be the unofficial theme of this postcard. It's full of hair salons and trendy boutiques and, in general, makes me feel hairy and unchic. I'd like to be chic, even if just for an afternoon. I'd like to go to one of these salons and have them work some of their magic on me ... get some amazingly cute outfit and strut down the street just like all these other creatures of various ages and tribal markings who hover along its length, looking to see and be seen. On the other hand, when I see someone who is obviously trying to Be Seen, I usually think they're egotistical, and I'd hate to have someone think that about me, so perhaps it's for the best that such things are beyond my reach, eh?
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