yes, mom

A Lady: Armmmmmms.

D: Headaaaaaaaache.

(Am treating headache with coffee, as I have eaten all the ibuprofen in my office already.)

A Lady: But have you tried water?

D: Interesting idea.

Coffee is…made with water.

A Lady: .

D.

Go drink a big glass of water.

Now.

You're a grown-ass woman

D: Teasing, dear. I've had a liter already today.

A Lady: Okay okay.

D: Yes, Mom.

A Lady: Harrumph etc

D: I have even eaten TWO BALANCED MEALS today Mom.

A Lady: Okay but did you do your homework?

D: YES I DID ALL THE GRANTS WERE SUBMITTED.

A Lady: (I was going to do some pushups but it seems I can barely lift my coffee mug.)

YAY

D: Now can I have a ride to the mall?

A Lady: Only if you promise not to waste your money at Claire's or Topkapi

D: Okay okay okay I just want this sweater from 5-7-9

A Lady: Are you sure you don't want to get something nicer at New York & Co.? They're having a sale!

Hang on, I have the flyer from the paper…

D: Moooooooooooom, that's an old lady store

A Lady: Their ribbed sweaters are very nice!

D: Ahahahahahaha

A Lady: Just don't put them in the dryer.

D: This is pitch-fucking-perfect.

A Lady: (Oh god, ribbed sweaters.)

D: (Oh god, 5-7-9 sparkly sweaters)

A Lady: Um, hi, we haven't even done Express yet.

D: Or Vanity.

A Lady: That one I don't know…

D: Oh maaaaaan, Vanity was such a low-rent version of Express.

A Lady: What about...

Shit

What was the name of that terrible store that sold Silver jeans?

THE BUCKLE

Not that I could afford more than one pair of Silvers.

D: MY FRIEND'S PARENTS OWN THE BUCKLE.

TRUE STORY.

It started in Nebraska.

A Lady: NO THEY DO NOT.

D: THEY TOTALLY DO.

A Lady: CAN THEY GET ME SOME SILVERS?

I can finally be cool.

D: I TOTALLY had Silvers in high school.

A Lady: In 10th grade.

D: Saved up the part-time job money from the snack stand, went to the Buckle, bought Silvers and Doc Martens.

A Lady: NO. Ugh.

D: YES. I DID.

A Lady: I wanted Docs so badly.

Like, even asked my mom to see if they were cheaper in London.

D: I had two pair.

A Lady: (They weren't.)

D: Brown leather

A Lady: I HAVE NEVER HAD ANY

D: And then I bought the MOST 90S DOCS OF ALL!

A Lady: I WAS NEVER COOL IN HIGH SCHOOL

D: Sixteen eyelets, silver and black, steel-toed.

A Lady: YES.

My guess was gonna be red MJs.

D: The BEST concert-going shoes, dude. STEEL TOES!

God why didn't I keep those?  I  spent ALL my high school job money on 1) shoes and 2) bottomless coffee at Perkins.

A Lady: I wasn't allowed to have a high school job, which was LAME.

D: Oh man. It was like "You're 14, you can work, go get employed."

A Lady: I begged, BEGGED.

But no, all I was allowed to do was teach.  Violin or viola.  And swimming in the summer.

D: High school jobs: swimming teacher, mall snack shop stand employee, and the restaurant carousel of host, waitress, cook.

The mall snack shop? Called MUNCHVILLE. Yes really.

countess crystal

D: (some weeks back)

I’m reading Tempt the Devil for Shitty Book Club. I’m only on chapter 3, but: oh man I hope there's a gay subplot. And aristocratic allusions and then piracy? THIS IS PIRATES OF PENZANCE SLASHFIC, INNIT?

A Lady: You are going to be really disappointed.

D: Dammit. Not that I really know Pirates of Penzance all that well, but I figured singing pirates could go homoerotic really easily.

Even the Foreign Swarthy Silent Bodyguard isn't gay?

A Lady: I know! Or a eunuch! But no.

D has finished the book and has lost a significant number of brain cells as a direct result.

A Lady: Dude, the opening sentence is: "It was a terrible day to die--was there ever a good one?"

It was a terrible day for punctuation.

D: Things this pirate will not harm: ladies, the innocent. Things he will massacre: grammar, punctuation.

A Lady: The pirate isn't actually so awful at it; I blame the narrative voice.

D: Well yes, because he is Secretly Posh, which must be how he acquired a taste for expensive silk pirate shirts and all those sashes.

A Lady: So many sashes! If you're that well-to-do, wouldn't you own some belts?

D: Doesn't that seem like an impractical thing to wear on a boat? I mean, the loose ends would always be blowing around and getting in the way.

A Lady: Belts were definitely around by then.

D: They are not particularly HARD TO MAKE.

A Lady: LET’S GET TO THE NAMES. OUR HEROINE’S NAME IS DEVON. Devon is definitely a lady's name in the, um…

Ah right, we're in 1715, which is a very specific year. In 1715, Devon is a shire, not a name.

D: And there’s a photograph in 1715.

A Lady: RIGHT, the photograph of Devon's mother. Because this novel also includes a time-traveling daguerreotyper? Or, I guess, photographer, since it's not even as archaic as a daguerreotype.

D: (I am trying REALLY HARD not to make a time-travel Doctor Who joke here. I am sparing you)

A Lady: (Oh god, thank you. You know my feelings about Doctor Which.)

D: (I almost bought a Doctor Who novelization last night. BUT I DIDN'T. And I'm not gonna make you read one for shitty book club, either.)

A Lady: (Which Doctor)

D: (Seventh, I think)

A Lady: (No, I mean that's his new name. The Which Doctor. Because whenever I see him on TV I feel my head shrink.)

D: (BLASPHEMER!)

So when Our Heroine Devon is on the boat and all these clothes magically fit her: did they raid an atelier? Is Devon a fit model?

A Lady: Yeah, I'm thinking someone doesn't understand how dressmaking worked in the early 18th century. Of course, someone also doesn't understand that photography wasn't invented until the 19th century.

D: Stretch jersey? Lycra?

A Lady: She is on a boat. And sailors wore wool jersey, so, um… no.

D: How many times did they do that jaunt from London to the Caribbean? Seven or so?

A Lady: Back and forth like it's no big.

D: Frequent flier miles: invented in 1715, just for them.

"BRB, gotta go check on the house halfway across the world.”

“BRB gotta break off my London engagement!”

A Lady: Sailor miles! I'm amazed they didn't have smart phones.

D: Also, apparently boats never need maintenance. Pirate ships are built to be lower-upkeep than my 2005 Honda Civic!

Anyway, where were we?  Names?  Our Pirate Hero’s name is KIT. I can totally see why he gave himself a pirate moniker.  Diablo > Kit.

A Lady: Kit I can let fly historically, on the grounds of Christopher Marlowe. But: "Kit the Pirate"?

D: No one fears Pirate Kit. They assume he's 9 years old.

Also, let’s not neglect Pirate Kyle.  The fact that a pirate is named KYLE is killing me.

A Lady: I know, I knowwww. Kyle is just such a piratey name.

D: The fierce, bloodthirsty... Kyle.

A Lady: First Mate Chad

A Lady: Deckhand... Rick

D: Deckhand Trip

A Lady: TRIP YES

D: Pirate Buddy! (I totally knew a kid named Buddy. It was his GIVEN NAME.)

A Lady: No you did not.

D: I TOTES DID. We went to elementary school together.

A Lady: Pirate Buddy definitely sounds like a toy from the 80s.  Also: First Lieutenant Chip!

D: Second Lieutenant Bryan!

A Lady: Omg omg Seaman JARED

D: YESSSSSSSSSSSSSS

A Lady: Bless the 90s.

Er, the 80s.

I am in denial about my age, clearly.

D: We totally escaped the 80s w decent names, thank god.

A Lady: Just barely.

D: COUNTESS CRYSTAL

A Lady: WENCH LINDSEY

D: Lady Mindy

D: Wasn't the fey fiancé Winston?

A Lady: Winnie!

D: This is basically the cast of Fresh Prince with slightly different names.

A Lady: What was the piratess's name? Scarlett?

D: Yessssss. I love her. Because 1) weapons 2) good hair 3) DOESN'T GET KNOCKED UP.

A Lady: That's definitely the slashfic way I was hoping it would be headed. I was really disappointed she didn't seduce Devon.

D: Oh Devon would be shocked, SHOCKED.

A Lady: And confused.

D: (Hopefully in a hot way.)

A Lady: Duh.

I'm sick of these spineless women and the men who abuse them but make them like it. This seems to be a trend in Connie Mason novels, which always involve a woman betraying a woman. The men lose their temper or are stupid; the women are also stupid.

Having now skimmed five of her novels, I've decided I have no patience for Connie Mason.

D: Five. Really.

Your patience/masochism astounds me.

"Bad boy! Nice lady! Struggle! Love! Everyone gets married! Even the angry vaguely-ethnic dude, because we found an ethnic lady to pair him off with!"

Fuck that shit. Let's give all the romance "heroines" some Judith Butler, a knife, and a vibrator.

A Lady: It's not even that; it's "Bad man! Spoiled lady! Easily explained misunderstandings that are never explained! Lies kept for no reason!" etc. And the endorsement of/desire for a tiny lady/huge man dynamic is (for obvious reasons?) so bizarre and creepy to me.

D: The tiny lady/huge dude immediately makes me think of a doberman and a miniature dauschund.

A Lady: So can I just tell fans of bodice rippers that there are plenty more and insanely better books where that one didn't come from?

D: Yes! Recommendations for bodice-rippery that will not induce head-smackery!

A Lady: Seriously, Julia Quinn's novels, which are hilarious and witty and way sexier.

Also, Lisa Kleypas and Stephanie Laurens.  End of discussion.

greyscale

D: Shitty Book Club Time! Fifty Shades of Grey and the whole damn trilogy. You have a pisco sour, I have a brown derby. We have... thoughts.

A Lady: Yes! So many thoughts!
Mine are more positive than yours, I think?

D: Of course they are.
Well: 1) I do not go in for love stories. You can keep your Brontë, Austen, etc.
also 2) THERE IS SO MUCH BETTER SMUT OUT THERE.

A Lady: Oh, who cares about the love part; that's stupid.

D: It was like I LOOOOOOOVE HIIIIIIIIM; I CAN FIIIIIIIIIX HIIIIIIIM.

A Lady: And YES there's better smut, but doesn't it just warm the cockles of your frozen little heart that so many boring housewives are discovering smut?

D: Oh my god yes. That is something I can 1000% get on board with! Go and read your dirty stories, everyone! GO FORTH!

A Lady: Because usually these women are confining themselves to like, bodice rippers and heaving bosoms. And suddenly it's like: CANING!

D: Bodices got nothing on a ball gag.

A Lady: Although...

D: Although she never gets actually caned, does she?

A Lady: I KNOW! THAT BOTHERS ME. Like, caning/gags/even a little belting is beyond the pale? Pfft whatevs.

D: LET'S USE THE CHEKOV GUN RULE HERE. If you bring out the canes in book one, it'd better get goddamn used by book three.
Belting. Really.
I mean... no.

A Lady: "OH NO I CAN'T DO THIS!" Oh really, have you ever suffered anything at all? Really, you can't bear spanking?

D: Girl, you are 21 years old and have never gotten laid. You go out there and you FUCKING GET IT ALL.

A Lady: What, is she made of marshmallow?

D: Yes. Marshmallow and Jane Austen, obvs.
Also, basically 30% of the book is Consumerism Porn.

A Lady: Not even gonna lie, I loved the consumerism porn. Stuff!

D: La Perla!

A Lady: Helicopters!
La Perla!!

D: (jinx!)
Stockings! Manolos!

A Lady: Macbooks!
Louboutins!

D: Oh god. the Macbook. That was.... gobsmacking.

A Lady: Can we talk about how this girl in her 20s didn't have a smartphone?

D: OR A COMPUTER?

A Lady: Ain't no way you're an English major without a computer.

D: You're not writing those fucking papers in the computer lab.

A Lady: Or on your roomie's lappy, because 1. She has her own papers; 2. Can't Facebook while someone else is on your computer.

D: 3. She'd quickly grow to hate you (from personal experience of not having my own computer for ONE YEAR and borrowing roommate's computer and yeah dude that is not good for friendship).

A Lady: 4. Google Reader isn't going to read itself.

D: Well, clearly no one in this world spends any time online. Except on their... Blackberries.
And who the fuck is dumb enough to send personal hella sexy emails from their work email address?

A Lady: Oh god yes, she's clearly an idiot.
Oh hurray for you, you recognized Tess of the d'Urbervilles, hurray you love Austen.
But, aside from cliched and boring tastes in literature, what do you bring to anything?
You can't make conversation. You're apparently blind? Because everyone's all "GIRL YOU SLAMMIN" and she's all "I'm a mouse."

D: "My huge blue eyes are too big for my face!" "My chestnut hair is..... something?"

A Lady: ...which is clearly a symptom of the author desperately hoping that this is her sitch.

D: You are 20-some years too late, lady.
ALSO. Oh my god also.
You can talk about riding crops and dildos but you keep referring to your "behind." And your "sex."
OH MY GOD REALLY?????? Way to take all the sexy out.

A Lady: HER SPECIAL FLOWER!

D: HER TREASURE!

A Lady: It's like a Judy Blume character read some Harlequin novels. She's not tough enough to turn a top like that!

D: She was all "Okay, I'll change my name!"
"Okay, you can totally control every aspect of my life!"
"I'm a strong independent woman! Destiny's Child!"

A Lady: There are better, more convincing ways to portray a power bottom. For one, add some power.

D: All the women! Independent! Throw your knowledge of reproduction out and get knocked up immediately on accident!

A Lady: "Birth control is HARD!"

D: I am sure you had sex ed, and the friendly dorm RA with condoms and Plan B. Someone, SOMEWHERE had this talk with you.

A Lady: I can't. How can you be a contemporary author writing about kids in their 20s and be SO anachronistic? She's finishing college in 2011 and doesn't even have a computer and NO ONE IN AMERICA SAYS "PRAM," ENGLISH AUTHOR.

D: It reminds me of that scene in Daria were her dad is all "I'M EDGY! I'M COOL! I'M HIP!
EDDDDDDDGY!" (Why does youtube not have a better Jake Morgendorffer freakout reel? You disappoint me, internet!)

A Lady: Oh man. Okay. So: change the main idiot in 50 Shades and replace with Daria. You know who'd end up caning whom.

D: Wait. Daria and Sweet Innocent Thing? I WOULD SO READ THAT.

A Lady: Exactly.

D: Make it so.

A Lady: The birth of even better fan fiction!

D: And in that case, a one-dimensional character is okay, because she is literally a cartoon!

A Lady: But! What did we like?

D: Okay, okay, enough of my cold black heart.

A Lady: Did it spur you to find better smut? That would count as a positive.

D: Yes, I love that middleaged women are like "Ooh! Smut! Why yes, I enjoy this!" And yeah, also points, in a weird way, for sending me on a spite-quest to find better, dirtier smut to counteract the Love and Marriage and Babies plot. (Fuck this! Bring on the porn!)

A Lady: I didn't mind the marriage part so much...

D: Well. My cold black heart, etc.

A Lady: ...because can you imagine the spending allowance?

D: Oh my god, NO PRENUP!

A Lady: Even that should defrost you a little.
Free. Rein.

D: She ain't messin with no broke brother.
The tech.
The cloooooooooothes.

A Lady: The real estate.

D: The shoooooooes.

A Lady: The cars.
The lingerie.
The yacht.
The helicopter.

D: (Ooooh the lingerie)

A Lady: And first class, and first class...

D: The wine!

A Lady: ...and first class. Can you tell I'm flying economy back to New York tomorrow?

D: And the apartments, omg. I cannot even fathom a world where HOUSES, multiple, can be purchased. Apartments, multiple, is as much as my head can wrap around.

A Lady: Okay, so much for the envy.
The sexytimes weren't terrible, if you skipped over the actual prose and focused on the content.

D: True. If you ignored the terrible, terrible stand-in noun and were like "Okay, let's just visualize!"
So this lady got like, a jillion dollars for the movie rights, etc., and it's total crap. This clearly means we should write our cliché novel, but just add in lots of BDSM and STEP THREE PROFIT!

A Lady: Okay, but what happened last time we tried to write a novel?

D: Uh, we never started? But now we have spite to motivate us!

A Lady: Maybe all that happened was that I tried to persuade you to write a novel, and instead we wrote a blog.

D: In that case, we are totally on schedule. The schedule being "we're gonna do that."

A Lady: Okay, so I'mma start writing; you write something too and we'll see what disaster happens.

D: This is basically exquisite corpse w smut, innit? Yay! Trainwreck! Six-figure movie deal! That's how it works!

cawfee

(amid a discussion of just exactly how dehydrated I am):

A Lady: HOW ARE YOU ALIVE?

D: I ask myself that a lot.
Good strong German genes?

A Lady: Uh huh.
No healthy adult should drink as much pedialyte as you do.

D: Hey, I have not had pedialyte in LONG TIME. (That doesn't mean I didn't necessarily NEED it, but...)

A Lady: The bodega probably thinks you have a toddler secreted away at home.

D: Oh, they know it's for me. I start drinking it before I leave the store. For those times when I am SERIOUS about rehydration.

A Lady: .

D: AT LEAST I AM REHYDRATING.

A Lady: .

(part of this complete breakfast)

cut-up

Did you miss us?

Well, no, probably not a whole lot, but in lieu of sending us "oh my god where have you been" valentines, you could do something sweet for A Lady! (She'd never ask you, oh internet strangers, to do this for her, so I am.)

Look, she has really pretty shoes. And I helped pick 'em out. (Coattail grasping, what?)

Please to:

go to The Cut's facebook page

like 'em

click on Snippets From The Cut

vote for her gorgeous footwear by clicking Keep It!

...and then cross your fingers that she wins the $1,000 first prize. Because you guys, a lady writing her dissertation could most certainly use some baller cash.

battle jumpsuit

A Lady: So I was standing in the hall talking to my boss and one of the (sweet, foreign, older, non-creepy) management dudes walked by, turned around, walked back, and said: “You look like a movie star. Every day!” and my boss was all, “I KNOW, RIGHT?” Sparkly purple jumpsuit (it has the word “suit” in it, ergo it’s totally work appropriate) win!

D: If you are wearing that lurex jumpsuit to work...

A Lady: WITH A CARDIGAN

D: Giiiiiiiiiiiiirl. I can't even. Also, that’s faulty logic: by this token, a swimsuit would be work-appropriate.

A Lady: Erm…I have worn a swimsuit to work before. WITH A SKIRT. AS A BODYSUIT.

D: Uh. Um. I.... I can't. YOU WORK AT [CONSERVATIVE CORPORATE OFFICE REDACTED].

A Lady: I’m a rebel. A rebel with a sartorial cause. Silent and mysterious at my desk.

D: You are wearing sparkly lurex. Ain't nothing silent about that.

A Lady: I have brainwashed everyone. Chicago's next.

D: Goddammit. This is why I live in the Midwest: to avoid mobs of Jumpsuit People.

A Lady: I'm like the Jumpsuit Zombie.

D: Instead of saying BRAAAAAAINS you mutter ONESIIIIIIIE threateningly. How do you kill a jumpsuit zombie? Do you repel them by creating a self-defense line out of, like, sensible shoes? Birkenstocks?

A Lady: You can't kill a jumpsuit zombie. It's what makes us terrifying and our reign inevitable.

D: I still cannot fathom a way in which I could look good in a jumpsuit. Doesn't exist.

A Lady: See? It's working. Now it's no longer "it's gross," but rather "I wouldn't look good in one." Baby steps. Baby zombies.

D: I’m certain you look good in it. I do not doubt that. But I think that it sends a dangerous message to the rest of America that they, too, should wear a jumpsuit.

A Lady: SPARKLES!

D: Ok, I am all for SPARKLES.

A Lady: Shiny shiny. I am way more happy with this than anticipated.

D: Ha, you know how to make my brain go "shiny ooh.”

A Lady: I'm a master manipulator

D: Bastard. C'mon, be nice. I did just get HIT BY A CAR.

A Lady: Fine, you get a pass on this, but ONLY because a truck hit you and ran over your bike.

D: So every time I want to win an argument with you I need to have a near-death experience?

A Lady: Yup. This totally works for me.

D: I may try to avoid being shot at just for the sake of argument-winning, though. But maybe if we start to discuss other topics of contention I would be amenable to a slight stabbing. Like, just one clean wound. (So I'm headed to the po-po in a few to file my police report for the accident, and though I could wear the jeans hanging from my doorknob, oh no. I'mma wear cutoffs just so the full array of bruises is on display for sympathy purposes.)

A Lady: (Strategic Dressing: not just for dates.)

magpie

D: Step one: spend too much money on iPhone.
Step two: buy this iPhone case.
Step three: PEACOCK FEATHERS EVERY DAY!

A Lady: It's always Halloween in your world, isn't it?

D: You say that as if that is not a great thing. And ahem, do note that it's not sparkly. It's as restrained and conservative as peacock feathers can be!

it’s not a problem, it’s a hobby

D: I am hoarding this Sephora gel stain. I fear they will discontinue it. Please tell me you’re hoarding things too.
(Um also: those thin Uniqlo heat-tech knee socks in all the shades of grey. They are the best things.)

A Lady: Oh yes. I hoard spices I'll never use. So much saffron.

D: BUT WHAT IF YOU HAVE TO MAKE LIKE 5 GALLONS OF PAELLA?

A Lady: EXACTLY. One never knows.
Mostly I hoard vintage clothes.

D: Silk scarves.

A Lady: Ooh, yes.

D: Nivea lip balm sticks.

A Lady: Yes! I still have all this shit I never wear. And flannel sheets I don't need any longer.

D: Inexplicably: pearl necklaces. I own four. I wear zero.

A Lady: ME TOO. I even have a long grey pearl necklace. I never, ever wear it. Pearls just look wrong on me.

D: Basically we hoard pretty/tasty things.

A Lady: Even though we never ever ever use them.

D: If we have to play dress-up post-apocalype, we are SET.

A Lady: You know, some people would actually use all this crap.

D: Maybe. Then again, those people probably hoard practical things like batteries, flashlights, uh.... hand-cranked radios? The emergency survivalist things?

A Lady: Meh. Unnecessary, all of them. This is what sparkly jewelry is for!

D: Yes. If it's shiny enough, it can be used as a light source.

A Lady: No batteries required.

D: I also have a huge shelf of pickled vegetables, so in the event of total worldwide calamity, I can garnish my bloody mary while the world burns.

A Lady: We are so ready. We're intentional hoarders, ergo, it's not a disease.

D: Clearly our priorities are correct.

A Lady: Oh, we should totally hoard some smoked oysters or something, too, or else the hangover will be terrible.

D: Smoked oysters and white cheddar cheez-its!

A Lady: Ooh and reduced fat (read: saltier) wheat thins!

D: I love that shit.

A Lady: AND DIET COKE

D: Perhaps we should just invest in a salt lick.

A Lady: And baked cheetos!
(Oh god, I'm going to die so young.)

D: OMFG yes baked cheetos YES.
(Die young, leave a good-looking corpse)

A Lady: All the preservatives will preserve me too?

D: Well, if we self-embalm ourselves with salt and booze....

A Lady: Exactly.

D: It's scientifically sound.

bookish

Current reading lists

D: Let's see. Reading The Anthology of Rap, the whole Sherlock Holmes collection, The Club Dumas, and just finished The Pale King.

A Lady: I need to re-read Anthony Easthope's Poetry as Discourse.

D: ...

A Lady: Still in school. Forever in school.

hazardous cargo

D: Okay, it’s been over a month. I think I can talk about The Cargo Shorts Incident without PTSD.

The (heh) short of it: some time back (like early June?) I ran into PB in the bike lane en route to work. Immediate reaction: revulsion.The cause: his ensemble of a novelty-logo t-shirt, athletic shoes sans socks, and CARGO SHORTS. Not Jack Spade-esque slim cargos, oh no. These were the worst offering of Abercrombie & Fitch circa, like, 2001. The kind of cargo shorts with pockets upon pockets. So very puffy. I think a built-in webbed belt was involved. These were the shorts you'd wear if you were a college sophomore playing frisbee golf on the quad with your fraternity brothers.

A Lady: Oh god I lost it at logo-tee. A grown man wearing cargo shorts? I mean, sure, I think the Current/Elliott skinny cargo pants for ladies are kinda cute but ON A DUDE? AND SHORTS? I can’t.

D: IMAGINE HOW I FELT.
At least he was wearing a bike helmet?

A Lady: This confirms my belief that you place too much emphasis on the presence of a bike helmet when evaluating people.

D: I went to work and immediately bitched about the outfit to a sympathetic coworker, who pointed out that perhaps since it is summer and he was biking to work at his fancy not-at-all-unlikely-to-require-a-suit-occasionally job, he was probably going to shower at the office gym and change into Real Person Clothes there. I grudgingly accepted this idea, but oh man, I did not entirely trust the hypothesis.

A Lady: Had you bitched to me instead you KNOW I would not have let that slide or told you to give him the benefit of the doubt. Which is probably why you bitched to the coworker instead. Also, if I can bike in a pencil skirt and four-inch heels, he can bike in pants.

D: Heh. So, the next day we had date plans to see a play and have dinner. Note that I hauled ass home after work to change from work clothes (which would have been entirely serviceable, but not particularly date-worthy) into something more going-on-a-date appropriate.

AND THEN. OH MY GOD AND THEN. HE SHOWS UP ON THIS DATE WEARING THE SAME LOGO TEE, CARGO SHORTS (CARGO. FUCKING. SHORTS.) AND SNEAKERS SANS SOCKS.

I could. not. deal.

Post-show, post-dinner (what, like I was going to bail on a free dinner?) we start biking homeward. I turn off a few blocks early like SEE YOU NEVER, GOOD NIGHT.

I have not seen him since.

A Lady: Okay, remind me that we need to have a Serious Conversation about the relative value of a free meal, and how lentils can be just as delicious and will cost you $0.50 and no self-respect. Standards!

D: I have standards! Occasionally low and situationally-flexible as they may be: STANDARDS. And puffy, excessively-pocketed cargo shorts do not meet them.

AND THE THING IS: HE SAW ME SEE HIM the day before in that same ensemble. COME ON DUDE. Repeating sweaty biking clothes for a date the next night, no matter the contents of that outfit, is just fucking unacceptable. It's a symptom of a total lack of effort. If you cannot be bothered to change your goddamn clothes into something that does not suggest you might go home, get stoned, and listen to Phish, then I CANNOT BE BOTHERED TO GO OUT WITH YOU EVER AGAIN.

Fuck that. I might not always be immaculately pulled-together and turned out, but for the fuck of shit, I make an EFFORT. Not always a successful effort, but come on.

baggage

D: THIS. IS. RIDIC.

A Lady: WTF. Seriously. I take a big purse, and that’s it. Fin. (I mean, hell, I take a big purse and a small duffel for a WEEK. IN THE WINTER.)

D: AMEN. I mean, Jesus Christ on toast, I am in the midst of the travel marathon for work at the moment, and this is absurd. WHO CHECKS LUGGAGE FOR A THREE-DAY TRIP? I had to do slightly more than a big purse (although heeeey, that leather bag you made me is so best for work travel needs) since this is a Professional Fancy Times travel itinerary, but for REAL.

A Lady: Do we even have to get into why this is absurd? DO NOT CHECK LUGGAGE. Wear the big things, pack the small ones. Wear: jeans, tank, cardi, sandals. Pack: shorts, tank, dress, swimsuit, heels, underthings. Pack makeup, one hair product, travel brush. Jesus. Or leave Jesus, because then you might have to check.

D: Plus, if we're 90% water or whatever, Jesus will probably violate the 3 oz. or less of liquids rule.

And if you're traveling anywhere citified, you know that you're probably going to end up buying a significant amount of clothes there, which means you’ll pack for like 2-3 days less than the duration of the trip. And NO ONE needs to bring the entire makeup bag, c'mon. Especially if the vacation is beachy. You're going to end up wearing waterproof mascara, sunscreen, maaaaaaaaaybe powder for non-swimming times, and some sort of tinted lip balm with SPF. Maybe lipstick for evening.

I mean, I packed for 10 days in Peru in a single carry-on. And I didn't end up wearing half of what I brought, either. (Sum total of makeup packed for Peru: mascara, powder, tinted lip balm. I ended up wearing only the tinted lip balm. Shoulda thrown in another tube of sunscreen, though.)

A Lady: And’s let’s not even get into when you’re going home/the S.O.’s home and you’ll have easy washing machine access. In those cases, it’s entirely appropriate to take a week’s worth of clothes—again, a small duffel—and know that you’ll have the ability to wash all your basics. Also, no one at home will care if you wear the same thing three days in a row. (Or at least, they might care, but they definitely won’t comment.) Long weekends, I seriously just take a big purse/small overnight bag and fill it. Oh, also: roll your clothes! Fewer wrinkles, less space. Oh, and a foldable (!) lint brush is good. Or one of those mini travel rollers.

D: Ok, current contents of my work-travel bag. This is for three days, and I really should’ve pared it down better (the flats were unnecessary. Shoulda just done heels + sandals), but I did have to be ready for a fancy work thing (hence the lint roller).

Shift dress (nonwrinkle!), tank top (didn’t even wear this), multivitamins, stripey shirt, cutoffs, iPod, laptop + sleeve, professional-like black dress, book, business cards, work documents, huge tangle of cords and makeup bag. All inside the leather duffel. The purse got folded up and put inside the duffel and held travel docs, phones, wallet, sunglasses, etc. Shoes: black heels for work, flats worn on plane, sandals worn everywhere else. One bag to schlep. And this felt like WAY too much for three days, honestly. God, wish I’d taken a photo of my carry-on for Peru. I brought three swimsuits (because I like options?) and ended up wearing only about 80% of what I packed. For ten days. In a carry-on.

A Lady: Oh, def. When I went to Mexico, ditto the three swimsuits—and that was just for five nights—two sundresses, two shorts, wore jeans and a sweater, a couple light linen beach shirts and tanks, flat sandals, and a pair of heels for dinner. Wham, bam, you’re welcome. I seriously think my makeup bag was as big as the rest of the stuff I packed. And amen to slipping the purse into your bigger bag. That’s also a way to get around the one carryon/one personal item role: take a carryon, a big purse/small duffel, and put your regular purse in the latter. Take THAT, airlines.

you could look better

D: Haaaalp. I am pouty today. Pouty and poorly-put-together.

I'm going to see "Bill Cunningham New York" today after work, and there's an opening reception beforehand, and I knooooooooow that I'm going to be stupidly hurt that no one takes my photo at the event. I won't have time to go home and change into something splendid between work and movie, so I am stuck wearing what I wore to work. And yes, I tried to step up my outfit game a bit today in anticipation of this, but I am so wholly dissatisfied with how it looks and UGH.

The outfit: slim-but-not-skinny dark-wash jeans, cuffed; bright magenta socks with vintage brown mary janes; flowy cream t-shirt; Rodarte for Target nude lace cardigan; bunches of necklaces. And yet as good an idea as it seemed this morning at 7:45, I now feel like it looks sloppy and generally crap.

A Lady: Okay, outfit. Get rid of the cuffs, tuck the hem under instead. Socks/ankle strap/cuff is too much.
The cardi...have you tried pushing up the sleeves? Also, flowy t-shirt: tuck the front in.

D: Done and done. Shirt will be tucked, cardi sleeves already pushed (always), hems tucked.

A Lady: Also, were I you, I'd ditch the socks. Magenta/nude/white/brown seems a bit intense.

D: I will test this out in front of the work bathroom mirror.

A Lady: Do it. Now. It might help your mood.

D: "Hello, coworkers! No, I am not prancing in the bathroom for any particular reason."

A Lady: Run to the bathroom for five minutes, adjust ensemble, and see if this helps. Then report back.

D: Will do.

Okay! The shirt looks wonky tucked in, but I adjusted the pants hems and took off the socks, and I look far better. This is amazing. I was thinking that the socks + heels were the best part of the ensemble, but I was so wrong.

A Lady: Heh. Even working blind, I'm here for you.

D: You are an Outfit Whisperer.

Well, at least when I bike up to the theater, I’ll have the glowy cheeks thing going on from the ride. And who doesn't love a lady on a bike? No one, that's who.

A Lady: Exactly. PS you'll love the Cunningham doc.

D: OOH HAVE YOU SEEN IT?

A Lady: Duh. Dude, I saw it in April. It's amazing. Insane and amazing. You'll want to give him lots of hugs.

Postscript: I left work too late to make it to the pre-movie fashiony-type-people party, but enjoyed my dinner of movie theater popcorn and a giant Diet Coke during the film. And of course it’s brilliant, but I am very concerned that Bill Cunningham rides his bike without a helmet.

she's crafty

OH MY FUCKING GOD THIS THING IS GORGEOUS.

Hence the facial expression of total joy and amazement, obviously.

A Lady blogged it far better over here, but the short version is that she just saved me like $300, I have a gorgeous new leather bag, and my coworkers were amused by the reverberating squeeees of joy coming out of my office this afternoon when the bag arrived. I think the little dance I did down the hall (there may have been skipping involved) was more befuddling than amusing, but that's not the point.

stalkers

A Lady: Fuck. Off.

D: OH MY GOD THOSE LOOK LIKE THEY ARE IN YOUR HOME OH MY GOD OH MY GOD HOW DID THIS HAPPEN

A Lady: Barneys. Warehouse. Sale. 70% off the discounted price.

D: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.

DUDE.

OH MY SWEET JESUS. If I were standing up, I’d have fallen over.

I am just going to make incoherent allcaps noises over here.

Well, I bought $30 worth of Korres lip gloss today so.... WAIT THAT'S NOT THE SAME LEVEL OF GREATNESS AT ALL.

A Lady: Ahahaha. Fuckoff heels! I has them!

Sigh.

D: Ahem, shouldn't I be the one sighing with envy here?

A Lady: Oh, right.

D: So, as per request: the etymology of "fuckoff heels." It is pretty clearly Belgian Waffle, in my brain, but I think it's one of those concepts that most women will immediately understand.

A Lady: See, I've been using it for tech things for years. Such as: "fuckoff stereo."

D: Aha, yes.

A Lady: "A huge fuckoff tv.”

D: "That was one spectacular fuckoff sandwich."

A Lady: Ehhhhhhhh. I object!

D: Cmon. You know that I, of all people, will say "fuckoff sandwich" in the most highly approving manner.

A Lady: There has to be intent to intimidate/proclaim awesomeness.

D: Well, maybe the fuckoff sandwich is HUGE and also you are REALLY hungry.

A Lady: But is it putting other people in awe? I feel like that's the necessary bit. And I have never been in awe of a sandwich. (Have I told you about the pancake-eating competition?)

D: (Ooh no do tell.)

A Lady: (Everyone at brunch, dudes included, ordered the triple stack of plate-sized pancakes.)

D: (Ow Jesus my stomach hurts at the thought.)

A Lady: (The dudes were idiots and got chocolate chips. My friend and I got fruit ones. So it was a race. And I won, hands down. Ate the whole plate in, um, 90 seconds.)

D: (GODDAMN. I am impressed. And a little horrified, so basically DOUBLY impressed.)

A Lady: So you see why the idea of fuckoff food is like, eh.

D: Well, you're you. Meanwhile, I have been in serious awe of food on many occasions. Now I am on a quest for a fuckoff sandwich for illustratory purposes.

A Lady: Ahem, D, back to fuckoff heels. They usually involve some kind of a platform, yes?

D: Note: I think the fuckoff heel is for other ladies.

A Lady: Really? Oh, I wear them for both: dudes, ladies, you can all fuck off.

D: Well, how many straight dudes do you know that would look at the shoe and appreciate it as anything other than "pretty!"?

I mean, everyone can fuck off, but ladies Get It.

A Lady: Naw, I mean, they're sexy shoes, but they make you tall and you can stomp in them.

D: Ah, right-o. So fuckoff heels are 1) tall, and 2) stompy.

I don't feel that a plain black leather pump, no matter how tall it makes me, is really a fuckoff heel, though. Like, if it's pretty much unquestionably work-appropriate, it's not fuckoff.

A Lady: Also, the black pump can tip into fuckme shoes pretty easily.

I wonder if the difference resides in the platform. I feel like if it's sold at Anthropologie, it's not gonna be fuckoff, knaamean?

D: Mmhmm.

A Lady: They have to be stompy.

D: Do they have to be? Or is that just a common thing? Because sometimes there's a difference between a stomp and strut shoe, but I think I have strut shoes that are fuckoff.

A Lady: Hmm. Ok, my verb of choice might be stalk. Catwalk-style.

D: Oooooooh, yes.

Can wedges be fuckoff?

I'd think a fuckoff wedge would have to be 5", or it would just go clunky.

A Lady: There has to be some kind of angle or a tapering.

D: …something that looks just slightly precarious, which makes it all the more fuckoff that one is stalking in them.

A Lady: Exactly.

D: Under no circumstances can one of those pencil-thin stilettos be a fuckoff heel. You cannot stalk in those heels. You can slink, maybe, but not stalk.

A Lady: Yeah, those are totally fuckme territory.

D: Yup. A fuckme heel is meant for minimal walking, yet is also seen in the wild at ill-advised dance clubs. Poor choice, ladies!

A Lady: That's why they can't dance!

D: Also most of the population at those clubs is not known for good decision-making.

cinematic

D: Why yes, I did get tipsy this month at an art opening & decide to go see "Burlesque" by myself.

A Lady: I can't believe you went to “Burlesque” drunk, alone.
I mean, I can.
But: amazing.

D: Ahemmm. Not drunk, tipsy. The art opening ran out of booze before I could get properly drunk.

A Lady: Was it everything I'm hoping it will be?

D: If you hope for a bastard child of “Showgirls”, “Cabaret”, and “Moulin Rouge”.... then YES.
Sequins, bad makeup, tits, and hilarity.

A Lady: OMFG. I need that in my life.

D: I still cannot believe that Alan Cumming was convinced to do that movie.
Also, Cher's face Does. Not. Move.

A Lady: Wait wait wait. Cumming's in it?

D: I KNOW
YES I THOUGHT I WAS SEEING THINGS
BUT HE'S IN IT.

A Lady: Must. See. Now.

D: I believe his first line is "I should wash your mouth out with Jaegermeister for that.”

A Lady: Holy shit, how did I not know that?

D: Best-kept secret of that movie, I swear.
Oh! And Cher has a line like "Did you tell him about the tattoo on my ass?"

Also all the girls in the movie who are not Xtina/Veronica Mars (she’s the Gina Gershon) look like Jessica Simpson.
EVERY. SINGLE. ONE.

Dude, this movie was so worth the $4.

socially clumsy

I can't argue with A Lady on this. She notes:

"D, your dating life is like the social interaction equivalent of a montage of people walking into doors."

book club

It's worth noting that the Trollops' current reading list is Edna Woolman Chase's Always in Vogue and Jay-Z's Decoded. We're well-rounded.

trollops' holiday woes

Email from A Lady:

"I realized today you and I have opposite approaches to overeating: you put on clothing that works around* the offending body part. I put on clothing that I fit into ten pounds ago in order to remind myself to not eat everything in sight. BUT there is strategy involved: jeans where the waistband is so tight that I’m desperately uncomfortable and in a little pain, but a big sweater over it so as not to offend anyone.

It’s like a hair shirt in service of vanity instead of divinity."

*... that is to say that I'm currently wearing the hell out of my loose shift dresses and the two pairs of pants that button.

lippy

D: I have decided that I need a good coral lipstick.

A Lady: Ooh yes you do.

D: And a good violet gloss.

A Lady: ?

D: Not pastel-violet... plum? Something purple-y.

A Lady: .

D: I got into a red rut.

A Lady: .

D: I am taking that “.” as endorsement of this plan, whether you meant it as such or no.

A Lady: Uh huh.
They make berry colors for a reason. S'all I'm sayin’.

D: (My intern is going to come into my office any minute and see me frantically scanning Sephora. This will not surprise anyone.)
I kind of want to go play with this in Audacious Violet.

A Lady: EW. Dude.
Someone has to say it.

D: You never know! When I go play at Sephora, I will take photos. One of us will be proven right.
Hopefully it will be me.

A Lady: .
I know what this will look like. It will look like 1994.

D: Sssssssssh. Naysayer.

A Lady: YOU KNOW I AM RIGHT.

D: I will try it out! I am not saying I'm buying it sight unseen or anything.
…maybe more like a purple-y lipstain?

A Lady: Like a popsicle? or a cadaver? NO.

D: Popsicle.

A Lady: No one wants purple popsicle mouth. Cherry, yes. Grape, no.

D: Damn you, naysayer.

(later)

D: Photographic evidence, L! The selection at Sephora was a wee bit limited, but I fucked off from work this week for a trip over there with a camera.

NARS Shrinagar

Sephora Crush + Dazzling Violet gloss

NARS Bougainville

First of all, yes, I am obviously somewhat lipstick-impaired. Lipstick application is one of those girl-skills that I never acquired.

And second of, I only cropped the photos, no color correction/retouching. I am vain but not a liar.

A Lady: no.

D: Fuck you. I still think I've proven that yes, one can wear purple lips in real life.

A Lady: WRONG.

D: NAYSAYER!
Sigh. Ok, internet. Back me up here. These three purple lip experiments were not unsuccessful, right? Comment and tell me you're on my side.

Ed: FINE. No one has opinions. Way to make us feel alone and unloved, internet. (Setting aside the fact that we are often absent and neglectful and... oh, fuck it. I bought some purple gloss. A Lady can deal with it.)

wishful thinking

D: Um, yes. We are the worst bloggers ever.

A Lady: Sigh. Agreed.

D: Let’s ignore the fact that we are absent and disappointing bloggers and jump ahead like we didn’t accidentally hiatus for, like, three weeks.

A Lady: Yes! Exactly! Let’s get greedy.

D: AKA wishlisting time. This is the best part of holidays: pretending that it’s not a little sad that I, at nearly thirty years old, am still making wishlists.

A Lady: Plus, the Christmas-adjacent birthdays thing. Was this always a pain for you, or a bonus?

D: Oh, always a bonus. My birthday falls three weeks after Christmas, so I’d take the handwritten list off the fridge, carefully cross off all the things I got, leave the un- acquired gifts on the list, and retitle it “Birthday List”. It was all kinds of efficient.

A Lady: Ooh. That’s so clever. My problem has always been of the eleven days prior variety. No, I never know what I want for either holiday. The more important concern is What Do You Want To Do For Your Birthday, and, to be frank I’ve more or less decided to throw in the towel. People are always writing papers or taking finals or already gone home for break and god I resent the academy sometimes.

ANYWAY. What do we want this year, pray tell?

D: I think I can speak for both trollops here when I say “scotch”. Delicious, gorgeous, expensive scotch.

And a table saw would be nice. But probably not recommended to enjoy at the same time as the scotch.

A Lady: And a pony! A Tom Ford-approved pony!


D: And a first edition of “What Shall I Wear”, of course. One must have a well-selected library, naturally.

A Lady: I could always do with a Rothko and a Twombly.

I also feel like either of us would go for the Visionaire boxed edition of Diana Vreeland’s VOGUE memos.
I saw it at Art Basel Miami and pined for a few minutes. The last copy they had on hand was $160 or so. (Which, crap, I should totally have gotten as an investment because on the site they retail at $250 WTF. Not. Worth. It.)

D: Ooooh. That packaging. Swoon.

(I can’t believe you don’t keep a running wishlist through the year. My acquisitiveness knows no bounds: I have a specific list on my calendar just for Things I’d Like To Have Purchased For Me. Sadly, the list only gets longer, not shorter ever. Magpie tendencies.)

A Lady: (I mean, I did, for a hot second, have a running email I was sending to myself to keep track of everything I wanted, but then present time came around and I, um, forgot about it. Because what’s more fun than making life difficult for everyone?)

D: Passive-aggression is everyone's favorite gift.

A Lady: Another thing I could use, since Boswell ate mine, is a new pair of ballet flats. (The
Delmans are dead, long live the cheaper version?) Like these, but in my size.

D: V nice. I can’t believe I haven’t put Improbable Shoes on my wishlist yet. No, my wall of shoes is not quite full yet, and I must remedy that.

FUCKOFF HEELS!
These are insane. And so am I, and thus, it is perfect.

We are so easy to buy gifts for, really.