I found myself with no job, no car and no boyfriend. I searched for all three. And I found them! Then I lost them. Then I found them again, and a bunch of other stuff happened. So I guess what I wanna know is... Are we there yet?
Since I got a raise at work, I decided to treat myself to ... a diamond ringnew carmassage housekeeper. I'm still frugal, so I scoured Groupon for a deal, and found Handy. I scheduled a time for someone to come clean my house. Now I usually keep a fairly clean house, but between me, my female roommate and the three cats between us, I get tired of vacuuming. So it was either say fuckitall, or hire a specialist.
I chose the latter.
Well, right on the dot my cleaning lady Maureen rang the buzzer. First strange thing I noticed, she speaks perfect English. Then she arrives at my door, and the second surprise. She is GORGEOUS. No, I didn't accidentally order a stripper-maid, she was a regular maid. She wore shapeless baggy sweats, her hair was in an un-brushed ponytail, but she was just beautiful.
I showed her around and she got to work. Every so often she would ask me a question about something, and toward the end we were both in the same room and started chatting a bit. Lo and behold, my beautiful articulate housekeeper is also ... wait for it ... an actress and screenwriter. She went to school for screenwriting and journalism and has aspirations of acting.
In any other town in America your maid would be an undocumented worker from Mexico or the Philippines or Czech Republic, but not LA. In LA you get yet another wanna-be actress.
"I'm an actress." "Oh really? What restaurant?"
I suppose as far as flexible jobs go, would you rather sling food at assholes or clean up after one? More power to her. And next time I can't deal with vacuuming or get writers block, I know who to call.
I went out shopping today for shoes and came home with a little black dress. And no shoes. Whoops. I swear, I wasn't even going to go in the fitting room. And yet, there I was, with this cute little black thing draped over my arm that had leapt from the rack to my grabby little mitts. Everything happened so quickly that I didn't even look at the size. I only saw that it was Kenneth Cole and marked down to $40 from $128. And that it was so cute!
Well, as I'm ripping off my clothes in the fitting room wishing I wasn't wearing a sports bra, I happen to glance at the size. It is a 2.
Just so we're clear, these are the types of women that wear a size 2:
I usually wear a size 6, maybe a size 8 if it runs "smaller" in the booty. (What? I have junk in my trunk carried by my child-bearer hips) If it has more "generous" sizing, I might be able to squeeze myself into a 4. But a TWO???
I haven't worn a two since... since... well, since never! I went straight from kiddie sizes to sprouted hips in one fell swoop. I remember being in middle school and wishing I had the ruler shaped bodies of my schoolmates, thinking I was fat because my body curved out from my waist. (Lord don't get me started on my 12 year old self's body image!)
Well, I had already stripped off my clothes so I figure, what the heck? It will be too small. I won't be able to get it over my now-loved hourglass shape (read: hip bones and booty and junk). I'll just try to get it on to see if I should even hunt and search for a bigger size. --there was only one on the rack, hence my quick snatch and run to the fitting room. I prepare to suck in the guts as far as they will go, think thin thoughts, step in and -- WHAT THE WHAT??? Praise stretchy fabric and it's smooth ride over my hide!
Always! Gawd, Marilyn, you're so smart.
Ok, so it fits over my rump, surely the long sleeves are going to be way to short on my gangly arms. I pull the dress all the way up, zip up the back and... do mine eyes deceive me? Does this LBD actually fit?? I have to look at my reflection no less than four mirrors just to verify that I don't look like sausage being squeezed out of its casing.
BTW, don't google "sausage casing" unless you want to be grossed out.
I don't think I will be eating that again. ever. Berf.
Well, even if the four mirrors at the store lied, I came home and tried it on for the roomie, and she agreed that it fit! Wahoooooo!!!! (does happy dance)
Mama's got a new LBD! ...now if only I had somewhere to wear it...
Actually, I was sleepless before Seattle. Specifically, the night before. Remember the cute boy I met in Vegas? He flew me out to see him... three weeks after. I was nervous, to say the least! How do you sleep when you are going to fly a thousand miles to see someone you met twice while drunk in a city that imbues inhibition, and you've only traded some flirty texts and a few phone calls since?
Gahhhh!!! I'm getting on a plane!!! Gahhh!! It is landing in Seattle!!! GAHHHH THERE IS A GUY WAITING FOR ME!!!!! geez get a hold of yourself.
I don't know if it was the nip in the air (fucking Seattle!) or the copious amounts of booze I drank, but I warmed up to Todd* pretty quickly and the three days was spent laughing and having the best time. Plus I got to see Rachel the pig, Pike's flying fish, salmonell-ebol-hepatiti-gum-wall, a really big Needle, rode a ferris wheel (Bueller... Bueller... Bueller...) and went to a real actual not-fake speakeasy!
and it pretty much looked exactly like this
At said speakeasy, I ordered a drink called "director's choice" aka whatever the bartender wanted to make. I chose vodka and asked him to make it sassy! Well, let's just say it was more than hair whipped back and forth plus two snaps and a twist! Bowl'o'vodka with a dash of habanero. Yeehaw!
It was a whirlwind, and I didn't want it to stop blowing. But that blustery gale swooped me up and plopped me smack dab back into reality.
Fine. I'll go back to my life. I'll date someone a thousand fucking miles away. I'll take six dates in three days and then no dates for weeks. I'll do whatever I want! (sticks out tongue and PPLBTHTHTHT!) I love being a grown up.
