...I will wear all sorts of blazers, even if I'm sweating at the crest of a heat wave.
I have never been enthusiastic about blazers because they were a part of my dress code for so long. K-12 to be exact. And when I wasn't school, my mother had her own ideas of how I should look, which meant oxford shirts, pleated khakis, and penny loafers. Of course, when I could get my hands on the car keys and her credit card, I struggled to figure out my own sense of fashion at the King of Prussia mall. There weren't many opportunities for sartorial growth in Chester County 2002.
It wasn't until I moved to rural Ohio for college of all places where I parted with the blazer and its preppy iterations, and encountered its well-stocked thrift stores. Far from vintage store buyers, I could find 50 cent Members Only jackets (I think at one point I had 3 or 4), dollar Lacoste cardigans. and plaid upon plaid for pennies.
Now that I've graduated and now living in Philadelphia for two years, I feel like my undergrad look is a little staid. This summer I'm trading in the jean cutoffs for a more polished look. Though I think I'll leave the navy blue back in high school and go for something a bit more bold.
I thiiink I can pull the stripped blazer off, but it's going to be an adventure trying to find a similar styled jacket.
For the record, I've been wearing the same v-neck and girl's basketball mesh shorts combo for the entire weekend.
My guilty pleasures are getting guiltier by the day. I'm becoming too emotionally invested in the Real Housewives of New Jersey now, and I can't decide which team to bat for in the Dina vs. Danielle World Series of Hate.
A lot of people would side with Dina. She's very cool and collected. She doesn't really need to raise her voice, even in the throes of a battle. We certainly don't share the same tastes in interior design, but I could appreciate her merits and "artistic" sensibility. More importantly, I think I'd want Dina and her super size family on my side in the event I run into some trouble.
Though, Dina and I are both extremely sensitive, and it's most likely we would bicker. Plus, I'd get bored of saying the right thing and being her gay little pet. If I rebel, which is likely, I'd probably be excommunicated from the Manzo family. Which means sleeping with one eye open.
Which is why my heart often goes out to Danielle the underdog. She's trying to clean up her act and fall in love, but she's looking in all the wrong places. I could see us drinking Cosmos by the pool. We'd talk about our (boy) problems, start crying about it, and then go on a ski trip for good measure. I'd certainly feel less inhibited as she would convince me to engage in illicit phone conversations with a 50+ sugar daddy, but at least I'd get a Black American Express card out of it.
Yet I know Danielle will be calling/texting me every hour of the day, wanting to talk about her boy problems and not listening to my advice. I'd lose interest real fast and I'd probably run back to Dina and recite an Act of Contrition. I would earn her trust again by spilling the beans on Danielle's rough past and weird sex life. Then, Caroline would come out of nowhere with a large plate of lasagna to fatten me up and welcome me back to the Manzo family.
But, then you'd know by next week I'd be on another bender with Danielle. That's reality TV for you.
As if I've stated before, the life of mandatory leisure affords me little contact with the outside world, which means there are fewer opportunities to indulge in any new affections. Thus I must turn to the internet and TV in order to appeal to these fancies.
5. An italo disco gem: Kano's "Another Life" video.
He gets my attention with freeze frame poses and maniacal stares. And blaring Moogs are the only way to my heart these days. Plus, he's got babes in plastic cages.
4. London from Daisy of Love
Admitting this is kind of embarrassing. What's more embarrassing is the soundtrack and the "tribute" clip above to Daisy and London's budding relationship. Yeah, whatever. Anyway, I can't help but be heartsick for any doe-eyed bad boy with a sensitive side. Please come over so we can brood together.
3. Christine Baranski as Maryann Thrope
She is the mother I've always wanted. She would buy me the best designer clothes and instruct me never to drink domestic champagne.
2. BOYS ON BIKES
OMG TIS THE SEASON! And even though a bad biking decision brought me to the life of mandatory leisure, I am still going to fall in love with and stare down every boy that zips down 15th Street on a fixie or road bike. Duh, I'm a total stereotype. But nothing gets me aroused more than the sight of tatted calves pumping pedals as I oogle over the color scheme of his rims. I pray he stops so then maybe he can nurse me back to health while we make out to Repeater.
1. NICHOLAS CAGE FROM 1983-1990
I'd give it up to him while cruising on Sunset Boulevard
I don't understand. I ate a well-balanced, nutritious dinner that included grilled steak, baked potatoes, broccoli, and a side salad with mixed greens, tomatoes, and avocado (yes!). I even made room for dessert, which happened to be three pieces of organic fudge, courtesy of my good friend Han. That should have hit the spot, but now I'm licking my chomps for more. The sad thing is that this happens after every meal or in between every meal. Sure, everyone gets pangs, but this particular one has a specific flavor in mind. I'm not going to bother with savoring its taste. I just want an injection of something soft, chewy, and sweet. Something that's going to melt in my mouth, fill up my stomach to the brim, and threaten my figure.
I have to confess: I'm getting weak in the knees for Chewy Chips Ahoy.
The chips are really stacked against me, but for a different reason. The vintage Nabisco chime keeps ringing in my head. It sounds as early as 8 AM and continues until about midnight. If I resist, it will find its way into my dreams, torturing me with flying cookie saucers that can break the sound barrier and spoil my appetite. When I am startled awake, there's nothing left to do but strap in my boot cast and hobble to the kitchen to begin the hunt. You see I'm not the only one plagued by this ooey gooey delight. My father suffers from the same craving, which has expanded his waistline and caused tension in his marriage.
Although I am experiencing sleep deprivation and mild anxiety, I am fortunate to still be in the early stages of this condition. Since I recognize the consequences of eating an entire package in one sitting, I am not hasty in satisfying my hunger. Instead, I set limits, take a deep breath, and inhale the entire row. I wait a half an hour and inhale another. I pause, survey the damage, and then reseal the package as tightly as possible. I even make an effort to find a new hiding spot before I succumb to an all out cookie binge.
I can't bear to count how many cookies are in each row, or even begin to calculate about the amount of calories, fat, and sugar I consume. However, there are two things that help me keep Chips Ahoy at bay. First of all, I have agonizing visions of blimping out of my skinny jeans and into a pair of relaxed fit from JCPenny. Secondly, my mother never ceases to complain about how often she has to go to the store in order to buy overpriced junk food. Magically, her nagging becomes the blow horn that silences the Nabisco chime, which puts my guilt on call for the next Chips Ahoy pillage.
Ultimately, I think the hunger pangs reflect the restlessness that comes from leading a life of mandatory leisure. My social interactions are limited to the internet and telephone. I can't pour a glass of water without drafting a procedure that involves multiple parties. Did I mention I can't wiggle my toes on my left foot? So why not reward myself with popping an entire row of Chewy Chips Ahoy! Though after seeing this clip below, I might want to switch to Sprinkled Chips Ahoy. There's a party in every bite, and everyone knows I love a good party.
Let's file this under things I can't wait to do when I get back to the city. I have a lot of time on my hands so I'm making a list.
1. I'll let MC Lyte take the mic on this one:
Okay, the video quality is poor and the rhymes are weak at times. I mean at 2:04, we see Lyte get a little too vulnerable in front of Positive K. Face it: You don't need to get all touchy feely in front of the same guy who did "I Got a Man" 2 years later. What you do need to tell him is that "if you got some thoughts about taking me to bed/Kill that and get a five dollar crackhead."
Also, the only thing I'm crushing on right now is Lyte's terribly poor choice of gold earrings and light blue flannel tucked into what seems to be pleated khakis (?). How oppressively 1991. On that note, you will see me rocking this look on the streets of Philadelphia come June.
Every morning at 7:30, I am summoned downstairs for a breakfast of Kashi's Autumn Wheat cereal, a cup of Lipton hot tea with SweetNLow, and an orange from the farmer's market down the road. This is after I inject myself with Lovenox, which unfortunately does not make me more desirable as the name suggests, but surely prevents blood clots from forming in my atrophied leg.
Meanwhile my father, a dependable chap, follows me as he juggles a tote bag of miscellaneous items, a cushion to prop up my leg, and the commode that provides support when I perform bowel movements. Which is like waiting for Old Faithful to erupt on schedule. Regardless, such performances are very important to record for the visiting nurse, who comes 2-3 times per week.
In the kitchen, my mother is anxious to the pour the milk so I try my best to hobble down the two flights of stairs. Once I arrive, I plop in a large armchair, adjust my leg in an upright position, and turn on the TV. I think Cybill is on Lifetime. Welcome to my new office.
This is not a charmed life, but one of mandatory leisure. I am now subject to bad television, writing poems about pinball machines, and verbose blogging for the Twitter crowd. All under the influence of Vicodin. If I sound like Bea Arthur (RIP), it's because Golden Girls comes on 9am on the Hallmark Channel.
