Dressing for "the plan"
The plan was to take Elisa out tonight for drinks. The plan was to make her feel better. The plan was going to get me to actually go to a bar. What I didn't realize however, was the plan included getting dressed up in "bar wear". And this is when the plan really started to suck.
After showering, actually, let's call this shower scorching-my-skin-because-I'm-convinced-it-still-smells-like-pool-water-even-though-my-dad-hasn't-put-chlorine-in-the-pool-for-two-weeks, I stand at my closet, dreading opening it up. I know once I pull that right side open it's going to start the entire dress process. I hate this process. In fact, I hate it as much as the Greenday Broken Dream Avenue song...okay, maybe not that much. But I know what this process entails and it usually leaves me feeling disgusted. Even more disgusted than I am now, standing in front of the double doors, knowing I'm completely naked. Oh I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were eating. Your appetite will come back soon, I promise.
So I slide the door away, revealing all my wonderful clothing. My hand juts out to start sifting but I stop, mid-reach, understanding that sifting will not make a sexy shirt magically appear. I know exactly what's in my closet. I know exactly where everything is in my closet. I also know what type of hanger it's on, what color that hanger is, and what store my mother purchased this hanger. So I know there is nothing in there that is going to be appealing to any form of creature lurking in this bar we are going to. I place my hands on my hips, cringe for touching my naked body, and think real hard. How the hell am I going to pull this off?
I consider my skirts. I have really dressy ones but for the most part, the rest are right out of a surfing catalog. Though that might be appealing to a corndog vendor at Venice beach, I am going to look like a major tool walking into Huntington Village like that. So skirts are out. I turn towards the pants section of my closet. Last time I went to a bar it was on Maeve's birthday and I thought it would be real cool to wear my brown and white striped pants with a white button down shirt. I remember real quickly how awful I looked compared to EVERYONE ELSE who were dressed in normal bar clothes. Normal bar clothes consist of really tight barely-there shirts, pants with thong hanging out, and really high painful stilettos. I survey the floor of my closet which is mainly a variety of sneakers. There isn't a stiletto in sight. So it's just going to have to be flip flops.
From more striped pants to plaid ones, I realize my pant selection isn't very bar-like. So I finally decide on a khaki skirt and red tank top. Though my tank top really isn't what you're thinking of. Oh it's red, it's just not exactly "tank". The straps really aren't straps, they're basically sleeves. This is to hide the huge strap to my very sexy lingerie that I bought at Sears. My sister, Kim, likes to call my bras, "Over The Shoulder Boulder Holders" which I find amusing, but right now I'm trying to be sexy, and the wide straps are really making it difficult.
Not only is my outfit the furthest thing from looking hot, my jewelry is not helping either. I stare at my reflection in the mirror and scrutinize the way the necklace lays in relation to the scoop of my "tank top". I love my necklace. I think back to when I was about to walk out the door in Colorado to actually go to a bar when Christine stopped me. She asked me if I intended to get laid that night. I snorted and of course said, no. She then let me pass saying I could definitely wear the cross to the bar. Tonight I smile and touch my St. Bridget medal dangling from my neck. I'm definitely not getting laid.
After applying five different lotions and moisturizers to my body then blow drying my hair, I head downstairs in my not-so-hot-bar-wear to eat dinner. Everyone in the kitchen is surprised at how nice I look and they ask me where I'm going.
So the plan was to take Elisa out tonight for drinks. The plan was to make her feel better. The plan was going to get me to actually go to a bar. What I didn't realize however, was the plan included Elisa and well, Elisa called while I was in the shower. And she's no longer going. So this was when the plan completely sucked.
After showering, actually, let's call this shower scorching-my-skin-because-I'm-convinced-it-still-smells-like-pool-water-even-though-my-dad-hasn't-put-chlorine-in-the-pool-for-two-weeks, I stand at my closet, dreading opening it up. I know once I pull that right side open it's going to start the entire dress process. I hate this process. In fact, I hate it as much as the Greenday Broken Dream Avenue song...okay, maybe not that much. But I know what this process entails and it usually leaves me feeling disgusted. Even more disgusted than I am now, standing in front of the double doors, knowing I'm completely naked. Oh I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were eating. Your appetite will come back soon, I promise.
So I slide the door away, revealing all my wonderful clothing. My hand juts out to start sifting but I stop, mid-reach, understanding that sifting will not make a sexy shirt magically appear. I know exactly what's in my closet. I know exactly where everything is in my closet. I also know what type of hanger it's on, what color that hanger is, and what store my mother purchased this hanger. So I know there is nothing in there that is going to be appealing to any form of creature lurking in this bar we are going to. I place my hands on my hips, cringe for touching my naked body, and think real hard. How the hell am I going to pull this off?
I consider my skirts. I have really dressy ones but for the most part, the rest are right out of a surfing catalog. Though that might be appealing to a corndog vendor at Venice beach, I am going to look like a major tool walking into Huntington Village like that. So skirts are out. I turn towards the pants section of my closet. Last time I went to a bar it was on Maeve's birthday and I thought it would be real cool to wear my brown and white striped pants with a white button down shirt. I remember real quickly how awful I looked compared to EVERYONE ELSE who were dressed in normal bar clothes. Normal bar clothes consist of really tight barely-there shirts, pants with thong hanging out, and really high painful stilettos. I survey the floor of my closet which is mainly a variety of sneakers. There isn't a stiletto in sight. So it's just going to have to be flip flops.
From more striped pants to plaid ones, I realize my pant selection isn't very bar-like. So I finally decide on a khaki skirt and red tank top. Though my tank top really isn't what you're thinking of. Oh it's red, it's just not exactly "tank". The straps really aren't straps, they're basically sleeves. This is to hide the huge strap to my very sexy lingerie that I bought at Sears. My sister, Kim, likes to call my bras, "Over The Shoulder Boulder Holders" which I find amusing, but right now I'm trying to be sexy, and the wide straps are really making it difficult.
Not only is my outfit the furthest thing from looking hot, my jewelry is not helping either. I stare at my reflection in the mirror and scrutinize the way the necklace lays in relation to the scoop of my "tank top". I love my necklace. I think back to when I was about to walk out the door in Colorado to actually go to a bar when Christine stopped me. She asked me if I intended to get laid that night. I snorted and of course said, no. She then let me pass saying I could definitely wear the cross to the bar. Tonight I smile and touch my St. Bridget medal dangling from my neck. I'm definitely not getting laid.
After applying five different lotions and moisturizers to my body then blow drying my hair, I head downstairs in my not-so-hot-bar-wear to eat dinner. Everyone in the kitchen is surprised at how nice I look and they ask me where I'm going.
So the plan was to take Elisa out tonight for drinks. The plan was to make her feel better. The plan was going to get me to actually go to a bar. What I didn't realize however, was the plan included Elisa and well, Elisa called while I was in the shower. And she's no longer going. So this was when the plan completely sucked.