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.