2003-01-27 - 4:34 p.m.

On the internal soundtrack: "Reproduction", from the underappreciated "Grease 2"

Well, I suppose it's appropriate at this point to mention that Stacey and Brent are divorcing, and it was Brent's decision, not at all Stacey's.

She is managing, though. And she has a new boyfriend, Ted, who seems like a really nice guy. They seem to really hit it off. They came down to the city to have dinner with us on Saturday.

Our waiter was a handsome dark-haired guy in fitted black jeans, snug black t-shirt, gunmetal bead necklace, and a silver ring on his thumb. He discussed wine with me, but he did not have a lot of flowery adjectives to help describe the wine ("full-bodied" was as descriptive as he got). Near the end of dinner, the following conversation ensued:

Evelynne: What team does the waiter play for?
Stacey: [decisively] The other team.
Evelynne: Damn, you think? Poindexter, Ted, what's your take?
Poindexter: I haven't paid enough attention to make an evaluation.
Ted: Other team.
Evelynne: I don't know, he could just be a snappy dresser like my brother or [Sam's brother].
Stacey: He's wearing a ring on his thumb.
Evelynne: I knew a straight guy who wore rings like that. That's not really enough.
Stacey: Anyway, he's cute.
Evelynne: Isn't he? [giggles in a girly way]
Poindexter: [mock offended] Is THAT why you wanted to know which team?
Evelynne: Well YEA-AH!

Now, I know that straight guys love the idea of lesbians (lipstick lesbians, anyway), but imagine that they're 100% lesbian, not bi, and won't have anything to do with you.

Now imagine what it's like for us straight gals, that about 80% of the really snappy dressers with sharp haircuts out there are gay. It's NOT FAIR.

It doesn't matter, of course, because I'm very happily married to the most gorgeous man on the planet. But I have a mental block when I know I don't have a snowball's chance in hell with a man; it almost takes the fun out of looking at him. I begin to look at him as though he were another girl (looking at his clothes, hair, accessories, etc.) rather than as a lust object. It's not the same thing. I wish that straight men wouldn't worry so much about being mistaken for gay and be a little more adventurous where clothes and accessories are concerned. It would considerably spice up walking around the city. I've already griped that there's eye candy galore for Poindexter while I get stuck with guys in baggy jeans and baggy Eagles t-shirts and ball caps.

While we're talking about the other team, I went to Strawbridge's three times this weekend.

No, I didn't go up to the sixth floor. :) But I thought about it. I went to the fifth, and looked. It was dark up there and one escalator was completely blocked off by a fake wall, and the other escalator was not moving. I don't think they use it as a selling floor anymore. Which would explain a lot.

I did, however, get two pairs of smashing new pants ($13 each), three new warm sweaters ($12 each), an obscene boobage-enhancing tank top ($5) that I can probably only wear around the house, a short wool in-between coat ($60; in-between light jackets and long wool), and a sweater ($8) for Poindexter. The best part of all this is that I *LOVE* the stuff I bought. I didn't buy any of it just 'cause it was cheap. The pants, especially, I would've paid full price for ($30). Pictures of the new clothes forthcoming. Poindexter looks incredibly hot in the sweater and has to fend me off with a stick.

Anyway, the reason I went three times was this:

- Friday night I went to preview.
- Saturday I went to actually buy the stuff because I got an extra 20% off clearance items between 8am-2pm.
- Sunday I went back because Poindexter wanted another copy of his sweater and one of my pants (no more in my size, alas).

It was a little ridiculous, but what the heck. The Strawbridge's is a big old flagship store, with lovely detailing and a footprint nearly half the block, if not more. The elevator doors on the bottom floor are an incredible floral design made of colored metal. Next time I am there (I have something to return in the Gallery, next door), I'll take a photo.

Fun stuff while I was out:

I saw Madeline. I could not believe it. Madeline, pushing her sister in a stroller. I suppose it makes sense that you can buy that outfit, but it was still a lovely gleeful surprise for me to see, unexpectedly, on the street.

In the subway, while waiting, I saw something out of the corner of my eye on the tracks. It turned out to be a little tiny gray mouse, maybe the size of a pecan in its shell, with an extremely long tail. I was completely charmed, watching it run between the ties, pausing underneath each tie. Then I saw another. And another. Then I saw two of them chasing each other around. It was the CUTEST THING. And it made me think of Bernie and Omar, may they rest in peace. Ted said they were field mice, and that they come indoors when it's cold.

TOO MUCH CUTENESS!!

Lots more I'm!Walking!Everywhere! happiness going on, due in no small part to the geese who died to make me my coat. That coat has changed my life. When we first moved here, I was very worried that the whole point of living here (Walking!Everywhere!) would be defeated by the months of November through February. Happily, the coat has ensured that the happiness lasts through the winter. The only thing that bothers me about going outside is that my nose gets a bit old and it's annoying that it takes five minutes to get everything (thinsulate mittens, coat, scarf tied so as to cover neck/mouth, boots) on.

BTW, I picked up a pair of kiddies' imitation-leather boots at KMart awhile back, something to wear when it rained. They turned out to be so warm (they're roomy inside, so the trapped air keeps me warm, I think) that I've been wearing them every freaking day this winter. They're such goofy, clunky boots, but they've become my favorite shoes for winter:

Today I had to cave and take two buses to the doctor's office, because I was walking into 30mph gusts (in 15 degree temps) and my poor face could not take it. But I had a tail wind going home, which pushed me enough to skip a step a couple times, and enjoyed that quite a bit, and even got a little SWEATY. Holy cow.

As reported in my LJ, the thing on my arm is seborrheic keratosis, or in layman's terms, "nothing". If you look at the picture linked on that page, that's exactly what mine looked like when it was irritated. After I put a band-aid on it so I couldn't scratch it in my sleep, the irritation went away and it's just a faint flat brown spot again.

My brother is coming to stay with us from tomorrow afternoon through the weekend, so my parents can be alone on their anniversary. He's walking with crutches now and can handle stairs, so he should be fine here. I'd imagine he'll be happy to be in a little urban village after being a mile from the nearest convenience store at my parents' house. I think it'll be at least a couple of months before he can handle his 6th-floor walkup in Manhattan.

Gratuitous photo of the day:

Gonzolawyer says "We've seen plenty of tummy-centric photos, but what about the butt? Think about that." So here's one from a little photoshoot this weekend, although the busyness of the pants makes it hard to look at:

That is probably my favorite pair of pants, rivaled only by the two pairs I bought this weekend. I am such a sucker for plaid pants. I have to control myself or else I'll just buy every pair of plaid pants I see.

In the photo, I am checking the bottom of my heel because it felt wobbly. I can't pose for shit, which explains why these non-posed pictures are my favorites. I did get a few good posed photos, but I gave them to Partywhipple, who has first dibs on them.

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