I’m not wearing any makeup. It’s a perk of my new job. I also run errands, soaking up the glorious freedom of self-employment, with my hair un-did and in yoga pants. But that doesn’t make me any less beautiful. (gasp) Anyone else feeling awkward that I just called myself beautiful?
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I wore my lumber jack shirt twice in one week, to work. It’s red, flannel, plaid, comfy and surprisingly stylish with pearl snaps. I can wear this to work, because this is how they decorate the office: Animal carcasses line the walls like floorboards would at a normal place.
My attire has changed considerably since I started working, and I’m looking forward to what lies ahead. At my first job out of college, I coveted my coworker’s snappy pantsuits. They were clearly expensive, not a mere attempt at professionalism. Pinstripes, polished shoes … so this is what it’s like to be an adult.
Then at my next job, I spoke in traditional churches in the Bible belt often. My pantsuit wouldn’t quite cut it — as I learned. Not only did I need to be dressed up, but it was preferred that women wore skirts or dresses. I bought my “Republican suit” at Brooks Brothers and wore it proudly to Laura Bush’s church. At least, I told my parents that was her church when she wasn’t in D.C., but I never saw her there. The suit is very Sarah Palin, but I didn’t know it then (circa 2007).
And here we are today, where I wear jeans nearly every day. And I look dressed up compared to the bighorn sheep and birds, with signs that say, “Please do not touch.” No need to worry. … I usually avoid dead, stuffed animals, not touch them.
My last day of work here is Friday. Soon I will be working from home as a freelance writer. Hello, sweat pants and slippers! Goodbye, taxidermy.
Shhh! Don’t tell me. I haven’t seen the finale of The Biggest Loser yet. Week after week, I enjoy the workouts (last chance workout!), cringe at the product placements, fast forward through the yapping and weigh-in suspense, and tear up during the heartfelt stories and pounds shed. With 13.4 million viewers, this show has struck a chord.
That chord sounds to me like a lot of hurting people whom the church has failed.
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Well, the weather outside is … freaking freezing. There was a solid layer of ice on all surfaces. Even though the roads are plowed, I don’t trust the streets. Yesterday there were two cars who had spun out and were facing the wrong way on the highway.
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Ah, autumn. The shifting seasons, cool breezes, warm colors, pumpkin spice lattes, changing leaves. And this year, more than the leaves have changed colors.
My hair follicles have joined the ranks.
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Excuse me, but my uterus is shuddering. The good people of People.com have let the cat out of the bag: The Duggars are pregnant with their 19th child.
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We camped for the Fourth of July. My husband loves camping, and I had never done more than sleep in a sleeping bag in the family room before I met him. This is my second season of camping, which was prompted last year when I moved to Colorado to get married. While my inaugural year brought discomfort and grimy fun, I’m really learning the nuances of wilderness slumber this year:
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My lady at work was pleasantly festive today.
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Warning: This post might make boys squeamish. I’m a little squeamish about it myself.
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There’s a middle-aged woman in my building at work who regularly wears completely inappropriate clothes. Overalls shorts? Slinky, wrinkled shirts? An inch of skin showing above the waist? Yes, please. I like it.
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