Tuesday, January 20, 2009

I Hated The Inaugural Poem. Hated It.

I am filled with things to say. But I'm not going to say all of them because I must go out for celebratory drinksing. Yes, it's a word.

First, I loved today despite a horrible half hour between 8:00 and 8:30 am. And I didn't even have any candy. Or baked goods. Wait, I had some coffeecake. But it was low fat.

Second, how much I loved today keeps crashing hard against the fact that this country is heartbreaking at the moment. Example: Every day for 5 years I've walked by a architectural firm called Sienna. It's about a block from my building and takes up the entire ground floor of this high rise. All along the windows there are always models of every type of structure imaginable, some for living, some for playing, some for...I don't know what. I love walking by that firm. I love the little buildings. I love envying people who get to imagine and create for a living.

Monday I walked by and all the cubicles were empty. They looked ransacked. Most of the models were gone except for some sad little half broken ones. The place had closed after something like 45 years. It broke my heart. I'm filled with wary optimism for the immediate future of this country. But I'm trying to brace for the possibility of disappointment as well.

Third, I fucking hate tights. This morning, a half hour of my life was eaten up by 3 pairs of tights. The first pair were new. Just got them for Christmas. They were kind of a crochet sort of white type of thing. Really cute. But I went to put them on and they wouldn't go all the way up my legs. They stopped mid-thigh and began cutting off my circulation. I checked the box and they were my size, but my god...they didn't stretch at all! You know what tights look like when they come out of the box, like sticks. So if they don't stretch...you can only wear them if you're Amy Winehouse. Thankfully I am not. But boo, there goes a cute pair of tights to the Waif.

The second pair were hastily purchased on New Years Eve for $8 to go with a blue outfit when I ripped a hole in my last white pair (timeline seems off, but just ignore it). So I'd gotten one good wear out of them. And as I pulled them on, my left thumb went right through. My nails aren't even that long, damnit!

So then I go digging through my skivvies drawer and pull out grey ones. They didn't match a blue outfit, but I didn't have any more time to care. So that's what I'm wearing now. They're bunching around my ankles like a granny.
I don't get it. They have ONE function. To stay on my fucking legs and keep them warm and shaved-looking. Why is it so hard to find a pair in every desired color to do just that? Why? And I've tried them all...cheap, spendy, designer, etc. I've gone for thigh high and knee high and chin high. It's easiest just to use a garter, but they don't often make tights for them...just nylons (which are NOT the same thing).

Well this turned in to quite a rant.

I have more that I'm pissed about but like I said...it's a day of celebration so I'll shut my yap long enough to get a couple cocktails in it.

I love you all.


Even the ones who I don't love. Right now, I love you too.

Kara out.

13 keep(s) me blogging:

Sarah said...

I hated the poem too, but his speech was stellar.
Have a drinksy for me.

yinyang said...

There was a poem? Yet another reason for me to damn CNN's live feed - it got so annoying I didn't even finish watching Obama's speech.

And I agree that tights are terrible.

The Future said...

I guess I'm thankful I missed the poem what with work and all. I'm even more thankful that I finally got through to a website that connected me just in time to hear him struggle through the oath (thanks to Mr. Supreme Court guy), then lay out the next 8 years for all of us. I hope people understand that he meant what he said and that means no more bystanding.

Gorilla Bananas said...

It could have something to do with the shape of your thighs. Why not wear pantaloons instead of tights? They're far more eye-catching and will give your legs character.

Rachel said...

I missed the poem, but I trust your judgement and count my blessings.

"Bunching around my ankles like a granny" LMAO...oh if you only knew how often I suffered from this.

I hate tights and nylons.I have very round thighs (I refuse to call them thunderthighs!) In order to pull on a pair, I have to buy a queen size--the results of which include the aforesaid granny-bunch and the maxed-out sheerity(it is now a word) over the thigh regions, which make my legs look like I have some sort of melanin disorder.

Orhan Kahn said...

Aw, just aw. You do have a feeling or two inside that black heart of yours ;)

Jill said...

What poem? There was a poem?? Guess I made it down to the cafeteria at work too late to hear it. But I did see the swearing in. There was light applause after the oath was said. Pretty cool considering I live in a red state. Our county is blue though. A little blue oasis in the middle of a red desert....oh maybe I should write a poem.

AxAtlas said...

Ya know what I really enjoyed? The music performance of Itzhak Perlman, Yo-Yo Ma, and that awesome clarinet dude. Damn! It was breathtaking.
So sux for that architectural firm...another one bites the dust...and more companies will too.
By the way, day-by-day (yes, it rhymed), NW is lookin' more like a ghost town.

J said...

Unfortunately, I missed the poem and just about everything else (thanks to evil professors who refused to cancel class).

I completely agree about the whole tights thing. I have never worn a single pair of tights more than once. They rip so easily!

Woozie said...

Everyone started leaving during the poem if that's any consolation.

Kara said...

woozie - i just saw that on the daily show. now i feel bad for the world's worst poet. oh well.

Mandy's Kidding said...

I've been bitter ever since I found out the musical performance was pre-recorded.

White tights? Really?

Mary Witzl said...

Oh Kara, I hate tights too and I had no idea other people had this problem! They're either so short that you tug and gently pull and do your damnedest to work them up your legs with infinite care -- but they still end up just under your crotch with that awful 'buffer zone' between them and your flesh, or they're so long you could pull them right up over your chest and make them do double duty as bra and undershirt. What gives, I wonder? Are they being secretly manufactured by misogynists?