Analysis so deep, you could preserve a peasant in it

The last week's quake news was too deflating for frilly blog posts, so I just bagged it and drank a lot instead. It wasn't so much as a coping mechanism as it was a way to pass ones time without thinking too deeply.

Though by the third drink, the trend reverses and self examination begins. That's always dangerous. The only way to battle such a moment is to begin a dance party immediately. It is for this purpose that Justin Timberlake has been invented. By Japanese scientists. Like those sex dolls. But, you know, to fulfill a different need.

Anyway, frilly posts are totally back. You know, when I think about it, one could argue that they also serve a purpose. I'm not exactly sure what that is, but if I say so with the right amount of gusto, you'll believe me. That's how it works for the Shamwow guy, at least.

All of this is leading up to this statement:

I hate American Apparel.

I want to punch this girl in the kidneys. We get it. You sell tights. Tights in shades that don't match or compliment anything, so you have to wear them by themselves. Bravo. Now shut the hell up.

Never has a company been so successful at pushing leotards onto the general public disguised as actual clothing. Hot pants, stirrup pants, body suits, t-shirts...all made out of the same lycra in blank primary colors. And people buy it. They buy the fuck out of it. And I just don't know why. No one's going to cast them in a remake of Flashdance, so what's the point?

Maybe all the hate comes from the fact that I don't look like that in tights. Standing straight as an arrow still yields unsightly lumps where the flesh is constricted. Bending into a pretzel would really end up looking more like a scone. Home made...not store bought. It wouldn't be pretty. But I love to wear tights UNDER things. They keep me warm. They dress up my legs. They keep my shoes company. They're...essential.

But I won't buy them off that skinny bitch above. Her face will be hanging in the window as I shop just watching me. Knowing that the lumps will be there. I don't need that. No one needs that. Besides. I need patterns in my life. We all need patterns in our lives. And American Apparel will never understand that. Because they're stupid.

I win.

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.

Really.

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

Kara out.