03.29.06

WARNING; cramp-induced pettiness and kvetching make up most of this entry.

(Deal.)

Have you ever wanted to smack someone across the back of the head? Have you ever wanted to do it because of their clothing and/or make-up?

I swear, if I see one more woman with penciled-in eyebrows in a reddish-brown shade that's flattering to no one, I'm going to sharply rap her on the noggin
and march her to the bathroom.

"Let'cher damn eyebrows grow back. What are you, 13? A drag queen? Unable to see your reflection in a mirror? What's the deal?"

And hey, Guy with the Henry V haircut? C'mere while I hold you down and shave your head. While I'm at it; scraggly, balding, baby boomer boy? You're going under the clippers too. Growing your remaining anemic tufts two feet in length does not distract from the pathetic attempt at comb-over on the dome. And quit strutting around the lobby in your too loose, nylon running shorts. I don't want to live in terror of one of your testicles making a desperate bid for freedom.

Mr. I've-Got-A-Comma-of-Hair-In-The-Middle-Of-My-Forehead (and I ain't giving it up).
Give.
It.
Up.

You look like a jackass.

Sweetie-darling, I don't care how much you paid for 'em, or how trendy they were 23 minutes ago; stiletto-heel mules at the bottom of a capri-clad leg that could be mistaken for a barrel are never a good idea.

Perfume and/or cologne = nice. Perfume and/or cologne that overpowers in the cavernous, two-storey lobby (with doors that produce a powerful cross-draft) and smells stronger than the coffee that I practically bathe in every day is bad. Bad, awful, wretched, and chintzy.

Hey, you coterie of skunk-chunk, crypto-blondes; it's over. Stop dyeing your hair red and brassy blonde. Wasn't a good look when it was "fashion forward." It ain't a good look now.

Phew. Feeling snarky today.

Yes, I know I ain't a poster girl for sartorial fabulousness. Particularly with my 3mm. hair and my "uniform." We're supposed to wear khaki trousers and a black top to work. Sometimes the interpretations get...creative.

Just what does a Xat wear to work every day?

Dark brown boys' Dickies trousers that I found at Fred Meyer for $10.87.
Black, long- or short-sleeve t-shirts (depending on weather) found anywhere I can. Worn a little too tight, because I am shameless. And for tips.
Low-rise Chuck Taylors or whatever sneakers are closest to the door.
Cardigan sweaters.
A little make-up.

Yes. I am a vain, intolerant, and shallow creature. Sometimes I've got to give in to the snarky bitch. This way, she goes away for a while.

Speaking of intolerant creatures--damn! I had a lust-imp sitting on my shoulder this morning. He was throwing Alp-sized lumps of hot-and-bothered at me as I drove to work. Even forced me (okay, I didn't fight it too hard) to send a really naughty text message to Stuff as I walked to the coffee shop.

Augh.

Must spend Quality Time with G-Twist and the amazing, rechargeable batteries.

Send food and water if I disappear for too long. Or check me for head injuries.

Go. Be fabulous.

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