Last week, I went and did the sing thing to get my mind off of family issues. My ensemble’ was a $7 t-shirt, black pants and what I thought were my black comfy loafers. They were actually my navy blue comfy loafers. So there I was in a lime green t-shirt, black pants and navy blue shoes. I looked fashionably challenged.
Yesterday, I wore my navy blue ensemble: navy pants, azure $7 t-shirt, and what I thought were my navy blue comfy loafers.
You see where this is going, right?
When I got to work and saw my shoes in the blinding office lighting, I realized that I was not, in fact, wearing my navy blue comfy loafers, but I was actually wearing my BLACK comfy loafers.
This is the problem with buying one of every color. My great-grandmother started me on that deal. She had fourteen sleeveless summer blouses, identical in every way but for the color or print. She also had eight pairs of navy blue polyester pants, not including the three pairs of summer weight navy blue polyester pants.
Or maybe this is just speaks to my habit of getting dressed in complete darkness. Considering that, I generally do pretty well. I mean, it’s not like I go to work wearing my clown pants and yellow suspenders or anything.
Not usually.
This morning, I walked by the cat’s food dish and I noticed that there is a nickel lying on their little food tray, next to the empty cat’s dish.
My first thought: Hey, Chelsea and Tilly left us a tip!
My second thought: Boy, they are lousy tippers.
But then I thought: Hey, where did they even GET a nickel?
With thoughts like these in the morning, it should not surprise you that I go to work looking like a color-blind idiot.
Last night, Mary Kaye and I got together. She asked me if I was mad at her, since I seemed really distant, and I explained that I had been very upset with her insensitive commentShe apologized to me and but I explained that I’m not as furious as I had been. Actually, now I find it strange that I was so completely furious at her. I mean, normally such a stupid comment would not quite incite my ire as much as it did. My psychology degree kicked into overdrive and I’m contemplating that possibly I was feeling so much grief that my id grabbed onto a feeling that it could deal with.
Anyway, we went to Red Lobster, where I had salmon and bananas foster cheesecake. Very good.
Then we went to see Moulin Rouge. There is just nothing Nicole Kidman can do without looking like that bitchy girl in high school. I never have sympathy for her, never. Not even when she daintily spits blood into a hanky. I just want to slap her all the time.
Man, that Ewan McGregor is one hottie potty. He is surprisingly a very good singer too. His voice is very good. He shouldn’t be wasting his singing talent fighting Darth Maul with light sabers and diving for drugs at the bottom of poopy toilets. He should be playing Raul in Phantom of the Opera.
And Daniel Day-Lewis should play the Phantom. Or maybe Peter Cousens, because I don’t know if Danny-Boy can sing.
And I should sing the part of an uncharacteristically but historically accurate plump Christine.
And then we might have to make a yummy Eric/Christine/Raul sandwich.
Andrew Lloyd Webber musicals would be so much more interesting if I wrote the libretto.
Don’t even get me started on my version of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor G-String.
Still no thoughts on going to JournalCon in Chicago? I would so be there if I knew UncleBob would be there. Wouldn’t you? Anyway, the ‘I’m going/I’m not going’ list is on the message board.
