2003-06-13
2003-06-13 - 9:50 p.m.
I realized while shoe shopping this evening that I've become one of the women I used to mock. While sitting in Cathy Jean, waiting for a pair of 4" black stilettoes in size 8.5, a group of teenage girls with midwestern accents came in. Immediately after, the drag queen sales clerk came back with my try-ons. The teens blanched and giggled, tapped each others' shoulders and whispered behind me. I cleared my throat loudly, turned to the supremely glorious clerk, and said, 'thank you, sister'. The teens scattered behind me like frightened birds, and Madame Supreme burst into laughter. In that second I caught myself in the mirror: almost 30, wearing lowride jeans that show a little bit of tattoo and a black lycra tank printed with three huge cherries, and thought, this is it. I am no longer young. I am no longer sympathetic to intolerant bullshit. I will go home tonight and light some incense, listen to Mary J. Blige, and I will be thankful to no longer worry what others think. Then I paid for my sexy spike heels with a 29 year-old's platinum Visa and left the store. 2003-06-13 - 4:46 p.m.
Random thoughts before 10:00 a.m. on a Friday:
Miss Beek had a good point at dinner last night. How old is too old? Now that we're hitting 30, are 40-year old men suddenly in the scope? 'Cause if so, I need a cocktail. Are there any reasons to go to Boston other than to finally see Fenway? Will someone please get Joan Osborne and Annie Lennox new producers, please? How Sweet It Is is one of the worst albums in years, and Bare sounds direct out of 1984.
More randomness: Hippie Skivvies are cracking me up. And finally: Yippee! I officially have a paid internal internship in my office! This has been a year in the making, and required me to turn down a better job in March. I'm so grateful it's not even funny. Thank you: karma, darma, god, office manager, supervisor, J, Mom, Dad, Beek.
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