girl at large

Snappy Replies

A few ideas for replying to the too-often asked "Are you married"? I had a husband, but I killed him, that's why I'm here at the paint store buying a plastic tarp. Have a nice day! No, I prefer to sleep with other people's husbands. Is yours busy today? Not anymore, I sold him on E-Bay. Shipping was a bitch. Yes, but I'm the second wife. He and I and his other three wives live in a trailer on the edge of town.

I'm going to make chit-chat cue cards.

I have anxiety about having to make small talk with the technician when having a manicure. Here I am, spoiled beyond reason with the extra dough and time for such a luxury as a bi-monthly manicure. I have no family to keep me home tethered to the washer and dryer, so I work 6 days a week instead, and take home a healthy salary to spend on only myself. I live like 1% of the planet. And all I can think is, what a hassle this is to have to talk to this person I don't really want to talk to, for no reason other than I talk to strangers for a living and I'm tired of it today. I feel like a horrible, stupid, wretched person who doesn't deserve what she's got and should be hung by her pretty fingernails for being so unkind to a perfect stranger just trying to do her job in a friendly manner. Then the technician opens with "Are you married?". WHY DOES EVERYONE KEEP ASKING ME THAT? NO NO and NO, I'm not married, I don't have kids, I'm about to turn 35 and CAN'T WE PLEASE FIND SOMETHING ELSE TO TALK ABOUT!?!?! I don't feel so bad about it afterall.

House Work

before/after the painting I'm just pretending that my building isn't up for sale, and that I can continue to live here for as long as I like...it's wonderful to have reasons to spruce the place up. With all the family coming for Thanksgiving, it's imperative to get the 'spare room' transformed into a proper study pronto. So far, so good--painted, bookshelves built, old junk moved out, even hung the newly framed print:

What Did You Just Say To Me?

A lanky designer, dressed all in fail-safe black, looking down at me, literally, from the top of the staircase with a sizing-up scowl: "Your hair is kind of cute. I don't usually like short, brown hair. But yours is ok". Funny, I don't usually like tall bitches, but you're ok too.

Party Girls

The gang all together for Miss Meg's birthday.

Negligent Homicide?

I kill plants. I try, I really try to have a green thumb. I purchase lush specimens of nature all through the short summer, only to watch them wither and die. I'm so ashamed of my frequent slayings, that I dispose of the corpses early in the morning, loading the fragile skeletons into my car and putting them in the dumpster at the grocery store. (Rather than clog up my buildings only average sized trash can). In my house cleaning blitz, in preparation for a cozy winter and holiday visitors, I went out to the balcony this morning to inspect the damage--it's like a slaughterhouse for green leafies, the horror! I think I might just get a half dozen small evergreens, those are easy to keep alive, right? ps. The only plant that defies my special talent is a....Geranium. I HATE Geraniums. I only got this one by mistake, it came in a mixed planting pot, and only became truly visible after the others had died of course. This little stinker won't give it up, it keeps clinging to life even though I actively encourage it to go to the other side.

Ruby of the Jungle

Winter of Kate

Well, no one else is going to do it! This is what the voice in my head said back to me when I was complaining of feeling run down, looking terrible--and, most of all, having no one to take care of me. "Well, no one else is going to take care of you!". So, that's it. It's up to me. I officially declare this the Winter of Kate. I'm going to be selfish. I'm going to do outrageous things like make myself a proper dinner, and actually spend my days off away from work. Imagine! Project 1: I hate my wardrobe. I had 10 outfits when I lived in France, by neccessity and poverty. And I liked them all, and I looked pretty cute. I have 100 times the articles of clothing now, and I hate them all; nothing fits right, everything feels cheap and nasty. So, no more impulse buying at Target, no more disposable clothes. I pitched and pitched, and edited fiercely. Didn't fit right? Out it went. Didn't make it through the last wash? Out. Of course, no clothing was harmed in this process, it all went to Goodwill. I'm piece by piece, meticuously recreating a wardrobe that looks good, feels good, takes up only one closet and lasts seasons longer. It's going to be spendy, but considering how much dough I've wasted on things that I'm now off-loading, it may save me in the long run. It's certainly going to save my spirit. Starting at the foundation, I spent two hours in the lingerie department of Nordstrom last week. Most of that time was in a tiny cubicle with a 4' 11' gal hoisting up my gals. The only bras I've ever owned that did the job, looked prettier than military issue and lasted more than 3 months were a treat from Mom in France (see the "comme Diva" story) and I was determined to find more. Nordstrom had 'em, and Michelle, my tiny dressing room companion, made sure I got 'em. With the improved scaffolding in place, complete with touches of lace, I feel like a new woman already. This week:hosiery, slimmers, pj's, robe and slippers.

It's here.

Ruby smelled something in the air today--fall is definately here.

Settling in for the long winter's nap...

Fall arrived this week, with burning trees, brittle wind and puddles in the road. And with it, the drive to nest. I recently had three of my grandfather's prints framed --here is one, above my new bedroom settee. The new bookshelves arrive on Wednesday, and the list of 'to do's' goes on...