A client came in today carrying a package. It didn’t yield a present for me, so I quickly lost interest. After her session she opened the bag and pulled out a purse that I can only describe as a Muppet that had gone up against a Viking and lost. There was a lot of fur and hardware…so perhaps the Viking didn’t fare so well, what with all of the leather and studs. I don’t know. Regardless, my client held up this pink, THING, and said to me, “This cost over $2k. Do you think I’ll wear it for more than one season?” Well…does that season exist, in, like, Xanadu? Because the only way that shit was going to work was with roller skates, ill-advised eye makeup and a lot of LSD. I didn’t tell her that, though. I wasn’t packing a shiv, and she might have had exceptional knife skills.
What I did say was, “The pink might be somewhat limiting,” and then I turned around to start chewing on my lip furiously so that DO YOU LIVE IN A BORDELLO??? wouldn’t fall out of my mouth and forever hang between us. Instead, I thought Baby Jesus and butterflies. Baby Jesus and butterflies. It's soothing. Try it.
She just twirled the bag in question around for a while and said, “Well, I’ll wear it for a while and see if it goes with enough of my outfits.” At this point, my next client had come in and was sitting on the floor next to me. The Pink Bag & Owner left and my client looked after her for some time. “You know,” she said thoughtfully, “I’d love to see the inside of her closet if she thinks that she has ANYTHING that would go with that bag. Because unless it’s Transvestite Adjacent, I think she’s shit out of luck.”
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Healing balm
So there are many things that I enjoy about my life, but what I love the most is being an aunt. My first niece, Holly, was born when I was only just about to turn seven and I’m closer to her and my second niece, Heidi, in age than I am to either of my sisters. For this reason, the whole familial package just sort of blends into one large group of people who are related. However, I’ve changed the diapers of anyone younger than my brother (and there's seven people who fall into that category), an activity that none of my nieces and nephews can claim. Yet. Turnabout is fair play, people, and those Depends have to get on one way or the other.
Anyhoo, we’d all been rather baby deprived up until three-and-a-half years ago when Nicholas came into our lives. He’s my sister Steph’s son. I don’t get to see him anywhere near often enough, and when I do, he’s been more interested in what he can Climb or Take Apart to really pay much attention to That Blond Lady Who Is Always Trying to Kiss Me Stop It PLEASE. I’ve persisted, however, because I HAVE changed his diapers and dammit, you’re going to hug me because I’ve dealt with your poo.
Sunday, I scootched down in the blistering heat to Steph and Tim’s house to enjoy an afternoon with the family. As I’ve mentioned before, the AC is out in my car, so I wilted into the house in a state of extreme dampness considering the temperature was well over 100 and DEAR GOD no one needed to hug me since I was clearly practicing for menopause. Everyone gave me wide berth as I stood in the foyer, a puddle spreading out from around my feet. Nicholas, however, had no such compunction about showing affection and hurled himself around my legs, where he proceeded to slide down to my ankles since he couldn’t get a grip on my skin. But he latched onto me furiously and didn’t let go for the entire afternoon.
If there is anything that will soothe a black mood better than an affectionate child, I don’t know what it is. At some point that weekend, I had cracked through his reality, and he was not going to let me out of his sight. This small person, my little nephew, completely erased the cesspool of negativity that I had been swimming in since Saturday morning. He drew me pictures, he insisted that I sit next to him at all times, he cuddled with me on the couch while we watched The Incredibles. Best of all, though, he came outside with a popsicle for me and insisted that we go and sit up in his tree house together. A date, if you will. And if you have not had such an experience in your life, then I pity you. Even in the withering heat as I sweat through my clothes, there was nothing better about Sunday than that moment, with Nicholas pointing to Kylie explaining, “She’s POOPING Auntie Jen! Then she will go peeps. Popsicle is COLD! Look! Spider! It’s HOT!” I find these kinds of conversations completely enlightening as most of my days are spent speeding through a packed schedule. To take the time to sit - even if my skirt needed to be wrung out - and notice the things that capture the sights of a three year old, well, you’d be astonished as to what you’ll notice.
And on that day, I sorely needed that. Not only the chubby arms around my neck, but for someone to say to me, look! the leaves are green! I pee’d in the potty! let’s spray the dogs with water just for the fun of it! And so we did…and my head felt remarkably healed. It was a good way to start the week.
Anyhoo, we’d all been rather baby deprived up until three-and-a-half years ago when Nicholas came into our lives. He’s my sister Steph’s son. I don’t get to see him anywhere near often enough, and when I do, he’s been more interested in what he can Climb or Take Apart to really pay much attention to That Blond Lady Who Is Always Trying to Kiss Me Stop It PLEASE. I’ve persisted, however, because I HAVE changed his diapers and dammit, you’re going to hug me because I’ve dealt with your poo.
Sunday, I scootched down in the blistering heat to Steph and Tim’s house to enjoy an afternoon with the family. As I’ve mentioned before, the AC is out in my car, so I wilted into the house in a state of extreme dampness considering the temperature was well over 100 and DEAR GOD no one needed to hug me since I was clearly practicing for menopause. Everyone gave me wide berth as I stood in the foyer, a puddle spreading out from around my feet. Nicholas, however, had no such compunction about showing affection and hurled himself around my legs, where he proceeded to slide down to my ankles since he couldn’t get a grip on my skin. But he latched onto me furiously and didn’t let go for the entire afternoon.
If there is anything that will soothe a black mood better than an affectionate child, I don’t know what it is. At some point that weekend, I had cracked through his reality, and he was not going to let me out of his sight. This small person, my little nephew, completely erased the cesspool of negativity that I had been swimming in since Saturday morning. He drew me pictures, he insisted that I sit next to him at all times, he cuddled with me on the couch while we watched The Incredibles. Best of all, though, he came outside with a popsicle for me and insisted that we go and sit up in his tree house together. A date, if you will. And if you have not had such an experience in your life, then I pity you. Even in the withering heat as I sweat through my clothes, there was nothing better about Sunday than that moment, with Nicholas pointing to Kylie explaining, “She’s POOPING Auntie Jen! Then she will go peeps. Popsicle is COLD! Look! Spider! It’s HOT!” I find these kinds of conversations completely enlightening as most of my days are spent speeding through a packed schedule. To take the time to sit - even if my skirt needed to be wrung out - and notice the things that capture the sights of a three year old, well, you’d be astonished as to what you’ll notice.
And on that day, I sorely needed that. Not only the chubby arms around my neck, but for someone to say to me, look! the leaves are green! I pee’d in the potty! let’s spray the dogs with water just for the fun of it! And so we did…and my head felt remarkably healed. It was a good way to start the week.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Evidence
Behold! Before I 'fro'd my hair out, before I put on my white bell bottoms, before I applied my blue eyeshadow, I had to pause as we payed homage to the pose that girls in their early 20's have been doing for ages. It also shows off the sequined top quite nicely, don't you think? You all can forward your thank you notes to Teresa who reminded me that I promised photographic evidence. Don't say I don't follow through.
And, you're welcome.
And, you're welcome.
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