Thursday, July 05, 2007

Where's the lady from the Walmart commercial when you need her?

IMG_5723_1I fully realize that the only person who will be able to understand how the title of this post is relevant to its content is my sister. My most sincere apologies.

I got home today, turned on my computer and then promptly fell asleep in front of it. I try not to do that, because it only means I'm going to have a much harder time sleeping at night, but it's hard to reason with yourself when you're already out.

I feel guilty for not posting yesterday, but I was up until midnightish dealing with some things that I'm really not at liberty to discuss on this blog and at that point sleeping so that I can stay awake at work is a much higher priority than blogging. One day I'll get paid to blog and then you'll own me. My every post will be your command.

Last night I ended up at Metrotown with a friend trying to find something to wear for a wedding that I feel obligated to go to even though I don't particularly want to. The problem is that absolutely nothing fits right. I have a really short torso so everything I try on bunches up in the back, just above my butt. The one store there that was dedicated completely to petite-sized people like me had a selection that was completely unappealing.

The list of things that I don't do is so immense as to be beyond human comprehension:
super sheer fabric
things above knee-length
frills and pleats, unless they're the kind that is meant to obscure the fact that you have a lumpy stomach

And of course, the only things I could find that were the least bit interesting were black, and my companion wouldn't even let me try them on because apparently there's this rule out there that I've never heard of before that you can't wear black to weddings. Apparently wearing black automatically makes it a funeral. But at least if I get something black I can wear it again.

I really need to get my own personal tailor. The fashion industry is really letting me down.

And then in the middle of all this, a person we knew in high school called multiple times trying to get us to come out to a party. As time wore on he became progressively more pushy in that over the top happy friendly sort of way that you only use when you're really irritated that you're not getting your way.

Let's just say I don't like being argued with about things like this. No amount of arguing will get me to change my mind once it's made up, and if people can't accept "sorry, I can't come. I have other plans" and leave it at that, then they can go fuck themselves.

And let us also say that if you can't accept the fact that I'm unwilling to go an all-night party in the middle of the work week in Kitsilano, easily an hour and a half home on the bus at night, to drink with a bunch of people, none of which I've previously met then you're insane. I'm just not doing it and you won't win me over by trying to make me. I refuse to show up at work hungover and without having had a reasonable amount of sleep. Sorry that I have to act like such a responsible adult all the time.