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21 june 2002

new review! unexpected store in unexpected place. the best kind.

impromptu student dance in the courtyard

that girl

I'd like one autumn over easy, please.

Blaagh. Hot. I don't like feeling hot. At least when you're cold, you can pile on more clothing or snudge up to your jo all cozy-like for extra warmth. The problem with being hot is that you can only take off so much clothing until you're cool...or naked. Which is, for all intensive purposes, bad naked, being as you're all sweaty and crabby over being sweaty in the first place. Extra crabby points if you're sweaty and sitting still. That's just wrong.

So I'm dressing myself today, which threw me into a most un-Kimlike tizzy. I'm looking into my closet and thinking, "perhaps it's time to purchase some new clothing. Maybe I should engage in this activity more than biannually." I'm having some serious don't-have-anything-to-wear-itis. Bleck.

This wouldn't be a problem if I (a) enjoyed shopping, or (b) okay, enjoyed shopping for anything more than books and electronics. I look in the mirror again. Staring back at me is some tall chick in need of a haircut, 70-degrees and a breeze, and some new duds. Hmf. Don't have time to worry about this. More important things to do.

I'm puttering around some more. Catch glance of frizzy-headed chick in blue jean shorts again. Go away! Come back in a dress or something, you!

I keep reminding myself that it's like 300 degrees outside, and I'm not going to feel attractive in anything. I can change clothes four times, and it's not going to change the fact that in ten minutes, I'm going to be outdoors, anyway. It's summer and humid, and my hair will not stand at less than a forty-five degree angle from my head until September.

This whole thought process unnerves me to no end. Most of the time, I'm pretty comfortable in my skin, and whatever I'm wearing at the time. I've never aspired to head up anyone's best-dressed lists. People who think that clothes make the woman strike me as not caring so much for the woman herself.

Yet, here I stand, not feeling so "made".

I shake my head, and throw on a blouse and shorts. Put fashion-police-no-no clogs on my feet. Yank hair out of my face. Makeup...right. That'll be gone in about ten minutes.

I go outside and pack up my car for the weekend. Look past my own nose to see him walking up the sidewalk. He's really happy to see me. I momentarily push my tizzy aside. It's kind of nice to be seen in someone else's eyes during moments like this. Just nice to get the reminder that I'm not that girl, that different things "make" me.

It's like borrowing someone else's eyes for awhile. Seems a good way to put your own back into focus.