The Ann Taylor Loft models...

...have gotten a little scary.

Seriously, what does she have under that jacket? And what is she planning to do with it?

The Job I'm Leaving on the Dressing Room Floor...

There are some people who would say I have very little to complain about.

They are absolutely, one hundred percent correct.

And I am, all in all, an almost ridiculously happy person. Or am I a ridiculously content person? I've never been sure. Either way, I like my life. A lot.

But I don't really know how to get by without complaining.

Right now, it's mostly student loans. Which are scary. And sharing a bedroom with my younger sister, which is both uncomfortable for an almost 26 year old woman and embarrassing. And then there's my utter lack of focus or direction, which I don't know...is this my fault? Was I just born like this? Is my mother to blame? My mother still isn't sure what she wants to do with her life. Maybe I inherited this feeling from her, a long with all her physical characteristics.

And today, it's this job interview I had.

Today I interviewed for a job as a Box Office Assistant at a regional theater in the area. This is a job for which I am overqualified, but that doesn't bother me; I'm overqualified for lots of jobs I end up doing. It offers benefits and it would work around my teaching schedule. Plus, I would be working in a theater-- glorious, glorious theater, which I sometimes miss so much it just aches inside.

Problem? It doesn't pay enough.

Going for this job interview-- which I almost didn't do-- was like trying on an expensive dress. Not a one thousand dollar dress, not one that is decimal places out of your budget, but one that is maybe one hundred dollars over, when you're at that place balancing your budget where one hundred dollars almost might as well be one thousand. And you think, "I'll try on this dress just for fun. I would never actually buy it."

So you step into the dressing room with it draped over your arm and already, even before it's on, it just feels better than the dresses you can afford. And when you're standing in the dress, looking in the mirror, you fall a little bit in love: not just with the dress but with the person you are in the dress and the person you could be. It's just lovely. And suddenly, you think maybe that extra money that you swore you wouldn't spend, that you can't spend, that is perhaps all that is keeping you in your apartment or eating or some such trifle, is not only worth it but entirely necessary for your future happiness.

That is what going on this job interview was like.

But you can't buy the dress. And you...or, I suppose we can switch to 'I' now...can't have the job. Because you, I, we are getting beyond that point where we get to buy frivolous dresses and have fun, low-paying jobs. We're adults now and we have to save those extra bucks and shoulder a bit of responsibility.

Sigh.

Everybody knows this is Nowhere...

How, how, HOW did it get to be October already?

This means the semester is practically over. Which means, really, my master's degree is almost finished. Which means I seriously have to consider what my next step is going to be...

Seriously.

Anyway, I'm worried about my hair. This morning, I was watching some quality TV during a homework break- the classic film Camp Nowhere to be exact- and I couldn't help but notice shades of resemblance between my style and the boy who played Mud. I have nineties preteen boy hair.

Also, I've taken to dressing in what I call 'Graduate School Chic', which means, when not at work, I wear clothing that just barely identifies me as human.

I am a fetus of unattractive mess.

AND it's October.

Project. Run-away.

I wish I could make my own clothes. I wish I could take a blue bedsheet or a curtains or placemats or even legitimate fabric bought from a store and transform it into something stunning.

In college, I had friends who could make things. As our four years flew by, they created quilts, hats, shawls, skirts, pajama pants- you name it. I crocheted a very ugly hat that my friend wore in a play once. And I started to make a pink polka dot dress, until we realized it was about three sizes too small, and I just gave up.

The other night, while watching Project Runway, I snipped the plain green buttons off of my Old Navy Jacket and added funky vintage buttons instead (after looking for advice on how to dress well on a budget). The coat transformed into something new and beautiful. I felt so talented. I thought I had tapped into a previously hidden talent for fixing old clothes (thoughts fueled, no doubt, by the heroine in Queen of Babble) and could move onto other clothing projects I had sitting around: like my green wrap-around skirt with the bohemian pattern.

This skirt has been sitting in my closet for two years. I ripped it my senior year of college, on the way to a friend’s graduation party. I was sitting in the back of the car (which I hate) when we stopped at the Wawa to get gas. I climbed out of the back and stepped on my skirt. It promptly fell to the ground. I shrieked, “OH MY GOD, I’M NAKED AT THE WAWA!”, which is when the entire gas station turned and looked and saw me- not naked, but bottomless, at least, at the Wawa.

It took two years to heal enough to even consider fixing the skirt.

Inspired by my recent success with the jacket, this morning, before work, I decided just to sew that tie right up, good as new. It took less than ten minutes. I was feeling like a project whiz, like I might as well audition for Project Runway and start designing my own clothing line. I was visually planning my spread in Elle magazine.

And then I untied the ties (I’d left them tied when I sewed the skirt- it just seemed easier) and discovered that, somehow, I’d managed to sew the skirt so that one of the ties connected to both ends of the skirt and one wasn’t sewn on at all. It was completely un-wearable. My fashion dreams fizzled.

But I’m still in the market for other projects…

Why I Love Television and My Smug Legs

I have had a headache all day. Plus, my right eye is twitching. Combined, this may very well mean I am suffering from a brain tumor.

Today, I am dressed as the perfect secretary, except for my right hand/wrist. On my right wrist I have a hair tie and a pink rubber breast cancer bracelet, there are remnants of my 9:30 club stamp on my hand, and I am wearing my usual turquoise ring. Besides that, I am the perfect secretary. I have on a knee length black skirt, and a pink flowered sweater and little black heels. I look hot and secretarial at the same time. Go, me.

I had a really great weekend. Joss Whedon is a bit of an ass, but he still writes good movies. So, go see Serenity. If you weren't a fan of the show, you'll love it. If you were a fan of the show, you'll love it and hate Joss Whedon.

Saturday I participated in the Race for the Cure, which is kind of a like a big breast cancer themed party where everyone decides to take a walk. Panera Bread is currently offering their Cherry Vanilla Bagel as a ‘Eat for the Cure’ sort of thing where they are donating money to breast cancer research if you buy it. So…they’re good. Eat away!

Afterwards, I went to a crab feast at my friend Amanda’s and then the Dar Williams concert. Dar was fabulous, as was her opening act, Girlyman. I have been listening to their CDs all day, mostly because they are the only ones I remembered to bring into work with me.

Yesterday, I had to be responsible. Instead of taking a free ticket to the Renaissance Festival, I worked overtime and then ran six miles for marathon training. When did I get so responsible? It's a burden, I assure you. Responsibility sits heavy with me. At least I could watch old West Wing episodes while I was working, since no one else was in the office. And my legs are like rocks instead of flesh. They’re getting kind of smug. I keep reminding them: 6 miles is nothing compared to 26.2. They still have a long way to go.

Then last night, I watched my three solid hours of television. Grey’s Anatomy may have become my favorite in the Sunday night line up. This is surprising, as it used to be the show I just suffered through as I waited for ABC to bring Boston Legal back. I watch a lot of television, but I’m okay with that. I think television fulfills a certain need in the working person’s life. Our shows come on at the same time every week, so we have to set aside an hour or two, just for us, where we don’t have to work or talk on the phone or do anything; we just get to relax for a few hours. Now I believe there are people who abuse the privilege, sure, but television is more than just brain rot. It is an important tool in a society that has a lot of trouble taking a breather.