Obviously

Like tarnished silver, the snow huddles on the street - ignored and lonely.
obviously on 12.15.05 @ 08:52 AM CST [link] [422 Comments]

Fuck Me Tonight [in red leather]

Yesterday I wore my infamous red FMTs (or as Momma would call them "FMPs" replacing the "tonight" with "pumps"). 4.5" stiletto red leather heels with a red satin ankle strap. Four years old and still kicking. Got them for a debutante party... cabaret? Moulin Rouge?. I remember careening into the University Park Nine West; desperate and searching for that perfect pair of slut heel. My dress, of course, was absolutely divine. Long and decked with beaded capped sleeves. A skirt that swirled and twirled with my every move. I loved dancing in that dress. Can't even remember the date but I'll never forget spinning across the Rivercrest dance floor. Joining the Madonna impersonator in a fantastic rendition of "like a virgin."
Nothing's better than a good pair of fuck me tonight's. They don't have to be fancy or expensive or suggestive. It's the mood. The aura that they deliver. That second after slipping your eager foot into its shape. The height that they deliver. Like foreplay.
Red leather FMTs like these never have a sell out date. They don't tire or spoil. They're nothing like eggs or trends. These are the sort of shoes that Bergdorf shoe buyers gawk upon in the elevator and whisper, "I love your shoes." See? They'll never expire.
I simply smile and thank them for the compliment.
Yesterday, after a signiicantly long day at work ("ohmigod. is it only 3:30? it felt way later than that." or "why does it have to get dark so fucking early!!"), I made my slow way home. Tromped and clipped through the store. Delivered all 20 brass vases to the seventh floor. Made all the appropriate arrangements. My heels sounding like a horse's shod hoof on pavement. Took a short nap on the subway and read chapters 6 & 7 of Prof. Parker's book. Made the sudden decision to transfer to the F-train at 34th street. Clip Clip Clip. Paper BG bags slapping my panty-hosed legs (brown opaque). Clip Clip Clip. Passed a homeless man sleeping on a subway bench. A young dred-locked girl playing the bongos in the foyer. Flourescent lights and lurching work-zombies. Clip Clip Clip across the mezzanine.
Made it to the F. A fair-spoken conductor who rarely announced the street names. Whispers across the train cars. What street is this? An old lady knitting a scarf. God I love the subway.
Lafayette and Broadway. Home at last. Clip Clip Clip across the stained tiled floor that stunk of old beer and piss. Flourescent lighting and icy drafts that bit my ankles. Like an angry maltese. Clip Clip Clip up the stairs. Excuse me. Excuse me. Me off in my world of thoughts, "fajitas and beer. fajitas and beer." Excuse me. "Fajitas and beer. Frosty mugs." Excuse me. Clip Clip. Four more steps. Who is this asshole? How many people are behind me? Excuse me. I stopped and turned. He was small. Tiny hands. Dark brown hair that kind of was curly. Bushy eyebrows. Textbook high school yearbook editor. 13th man on the debate team. Someone with Tiger Woods posted in their bedroom.
"yes?" I looked down upon him. The stairway was empty.
"I really like your shoes."
He almost dropped his bundle of belongings.
A rush to the throat. A tinge of embarassment and wariness. A punch in the stomach.
Thank you.
"Thank you." I said politely - like a debutante receiving her eighth pair of pearl earrings. Not too eager but not too stand-offish.
I turned and continued my ascension. Clip. Clip. Clip.
obviously on 12.14.05 @ 01:01 PM CST [link] [66 Comments]

help!

my dead uncle's ex-wife is in town and wants to have lunch and/or dinner.
what the fuck do I do? what if she asks if her darling nephew has written me? how in the world do I confront the fact that she tried to set me up with a complete loser? shit.
just finished "sex, drugs, and cocoa puffs," and it's amazing. all should read it and feel incredibly smart and up-to-date on all things pop culture.
obviously on 11.20.05 @ 05:36 PM CST [link] [49 Comments]

james joyce and five a.m.

stayed out 'til 5 a.m. and hung out with a short jewish boy who introduced himself as donald trump's son. naturally i didn't believe him but was so bewildered by his audacity that i accepted a glass of tea at a local diner. he then threw a fit when the milkshakes didn't come out in three minutes. he was god-awful. now am so tired and hungover and feeling fluish (perfect for the eve of my first day at work). also went to a club where bridget (fourth roommate who is oh so cool) and i danced with a sort black frenchman who smelled like a fourteen year old boy's gym socks. he just couldn't understand why neither of us wanted to dance close to him. then went to russian bar pravda where i helped a duke graduate get rid of the hiccups (hiccups are a contractiong of the diaphragm... in order to control your... put your hands on your head dammit!). then went to puck fair across the street and flirted with the irish bartender and told him (over two miniature hamburgers) that I'd bring my James Joyce the next time I went there. as I was leaving I ran into the scary, annoying, and rather odd short jewish boy (he had just returned from a bar mitzvah - so he says).



Now Fred and Anne's cat Townes are spooning on the couch and i'm still in my big ole teeshirt watching The Gilmore Girls and thinking of Sarah Tyndall.

obviously on 11.13.05 @ 02:29 PM CST [link] [117 Comments]

DKNY

Went to an event at Donna Karan's late husband's studio. It was a performance art presentation by a Danish artist named Jasper Just. Of course Donna Karan was there. Swarmed in many shawls and jackets and good cheer. She arrived in a limo. How tacky is that? Well. I passed her later in the evening - right in a doorway when we were face-to-face. Right after one of Anne's employees had bet me to reintroduce myself. So I said, "Ms. Karan. I doubt that you remember me; I met you when I was a little girl."

"And what? You're saying that I'm old?" She smiled right at me and adjusted one of her many scarves.

Her hair was in a scrunchie.

"Oh God no; I was just much younger." She laughed as I continued, "I approached you at an event and complimented your clothes and you invited me to be in your fashion show."

"Get out!" she exclaimed. "I did that?! And were you in it?"

"Yes. It was a wonderful memory."

She started laughing even more. "And why are you here tonight?"

"I'm helping my aunt, Anne Livet."

"Well," she began, patting me on the shoulder, "that means we're practically family."



So there you go. Donna Karan and I are old friends and family.


obviously on 11.04.05 @ 08:59 AM CST [link] [5 Comments]

Socked in the Belly

Just took Fred on his nighttime walk. Was shocked to see all of the homeless people curled up in the street nooks, covered with flimsy brown-hued blankets, and sleeping. It left me with this feeling of emptiness and sorrow - like no matter how much I wanted and desired to help them, I never could. When you're little you're led to believe that you can change the world and do all of these wonderful things, but in reality there's not much you can do. It's not like you can whisk them all up and employ them or house and feed them. I feel like my eyes were opened before they were ready for the sun glare. It's very disarming.
obviously on 11.02.05 @ 10:35 PM CST [link] [8 Comments]

Fred and Ethan Hawke

My dog met Ethan Hawke on the subway.

Usually, when celebrities are to be seen in this city, I'm alone and looking my worst.

There Fred and I were - happily sitting on a vacant bench (I reading my book and Fred sticking his tiny pink tongue out at the lady across the way) - when the actor approached my dog. The doors barely were closing when he left the stroller that he was pushing smack dab in the middle of the car and gushed that Fred was the most adorable dog in the world.
At first I didn't recognize him and merely thought that he was a grunge-dressed father, but then I saw those eyes and I noticed that his green jeans were not Levis. Ohmigod I didn't know what to do. With his face in my lap and my dog soaking his eyebrows with slobber, I simply continued to read my book. Because: it's better to pretend when you don't recognize someone than to make a big fuss over it.
He pointedly told his son to look at the puppy; the boy was more interested in his yellow nerf ball. I turned the page of my book, thinking, ohmigod ohmigod ohmigod. They stood there for a while - Ethan Hawke and his beautiful child - and then the strangest thing happened.
He swaggered over and sat down right next to me. Fred started wagging his entire body, tongue sticking out like a toothpick, ears flat on his head, collar clinking.clinking.clinking.
"What's his name?" he asked me.
Feeling like a ninth-grader talking to the star quarterback, I shyly whispered, "Fred."
"That's a cute name," he continued to pet Fred on his head and bestow many kisses upon him. I pretended to read my book but really wanted to ask him why he chose to be in Taking Lives when it was such a shitty movie. I really wanted to say, "So is there a reason that you chose this film after masterpieces like Reality Bites and Before Sunrise?" But I didn't. I played sweet southern church choir girl eye-flirting with the new shaggy-haired acolyte.
Then he picked up his son, held him upside down, and kissed his forehead. They talked about their week activities, what the boy's mother was doing, and other conversations that made me miss my own father.
He was wearing Kick Ass Shoes.
I, of course, looked like a little girl in a misfitting tweed skirt, stained long-sleeved tee-shirt, and burnt orange mocassins. I didn't want to stand up I looked so bad. At least when you're sitting down you can hide the fact that the skirt is totally not fashionable.
Then, after showing the boy how to catch the nerf ball, he turned to me and asked, "how old is he? He's just the cutest dog in the world. Hi Fred! Hi! What's up little boy..." Internal spasms. Contain oneself from embarassment. Don't stand up. Simply read this boring book and pretend that I don't watch Reality Bites on a monthly basis.
"He's two," I responded with the same little-girl tone that I had used earlier. Why couldn't I just buck up? He's a regular person too. A guy's guy. He sneezes and eats Fruit Loops on the sly. Or has some other odd everyman behavior that makes us each unique and normal.
Then he scooped up his boy and sat him next to me. The boy pet Fred, and Fred licked them both. I turned the page of my book. Finally my train stop came and I was forced to stand up. Utterly embarassed and wanting to call every single friend I knew, I put my book back in my purse and clucked at Fred. As we left, Ethan Hawke waved at my dog and said, "Bye Fred!"

Note to self: now only go outside when looking at very best. Don't ever ever dare to think that no one important or special or life-changing won't be there because they may. They may be standing on my doorstep or stepping on my shoe lace, or yelling at me to get the hell out of their way; but if one is dressed well, something changes - they are a bit more memorable, a bit more intriguing, and far more confident. Of course Fred can trot around completely naked and still have a wide-ranged fanfare. He can attract every person on the street and never think to discriminate, and that's what I admire most about him.
obviously on 10.24.05 @ 11:36 AM CST [link] [434 Comments]