Style Guide

Thank God for MSN. I appreciate their efforts to break down tiresome stereotypes and help women to be the very best that they can be:


Out on the town with the girls

Out on the town often means dressing to the nines, dancing and meeting a lot of men. These evenings call for a look that makes you feel hot (or at least hotter than your friends).

Some guidelines: Sheer shirt with no bra = no good. See-through (or netted) white shirt with black bra = tacky. Backless tank with full front coverage = sexpot. These style tips will help get you into the trendiest clubs -- and get you home with most phone numbers.

On dates

If you really want to go for "the innocent, but really not so innocent" look, try a slipdress. The spaghetti straps will showcase your shoulders and the tight fit on the top will keep his eyes glued to all the right areas.

[So that would be what? Your eyes?]


Working it when you're working out

Men are more inclined to notice those of us who work it right while we are working out. That means showing off the curves, lifting the chest and sucking in the stomach.

The whole truth

I have agreed to participate in some sort of survey about what radio stations I listen to. Since I only listen to three, it might be easier to just send the nice survey people a postcard with the tiny list and move on. Instead, I am supposed to fill out an elaborate chart for a week. For each day, all day, I must list the station name, the time I start listening and the time I stop. Clearly, the goal here is specificity.

Okay. So, I know the station and I know that I start listening at 7:15am. I'm not sure though how to account for the snooze alarm. I don't think there are enough lines on the chart for me write: on for 45 seconds, off for seven minutes, on for 28 seconds, off for seven minutes...

Best left unsaid

Last night the Trader Joe's checker carded me for my bottle of four dollar cabernet sauvingon. Because I am 34, I found this delightful and said so.

"I don't know," he said. "People up here look so much younger. It must be the air. The fog or something. [Pause] I used to work at a Southern California Trader Joe's and...."

He just shakes his head at the memory.

MapQuest

"You searched for '3854 Main, San Francisco, CA 94118', MapQuest did not find this exact address, but found one very similar: '3854 Main Street, San Francisco, CA 94118-3211.'"

Yeah. Thanks. That one will be fine.

Just in case

Every so often someone asks "If they were making a movie of your life, who would you want to play you?" This is usually a question asked at a party or something, not a production meeting, so presumably no one is really working on the screenplay. Oh. The parties aren't in L.A. I forgot to mention that.

Anyway, I always draw a total blank and can think of no actresses whatsoever except maybe Katharine Hepburn who, aside from being dead, wouldn't really be right. It came to me tonight though, and I just wanted to state for the record that I'd like it to be Catherine Keener.

So maybe your people could talk to her people. You know, when you're ready to give it the green light.

Literally?

I saw The Interpreter last night and I enjoyed it, but here's the thing. I know that Nicole Kidman's character is somewhat mysterious and that she's hiding parts of her past and all, but is she meant to be literally hiding them behind her hair? If not, perhaps a barrette would help. Or maybe one of her multi-lingual colleagues could catch her in the U.N. ladies' lounge and show her how to use those pony-tail elastics to greater effect.

Consequences

A friend recounts a tale of a late night drunken exploit from his college days in which he and his friends dragged a bunch of picnic tables from their usual place on campus and used them to block access to the health center.

Me: And then people died, didn't they? Because they couldn't get into the health center for the help they needed.

Him: Yes. Tragically there was an outbreak of meningitis on campus the next day.
[Pause]
People also starved to death because they were unable to picnic.

Winging it

I do not have a cell phone, a digital camera, a microwave, or a television, but now it seems I have a blog. How can this possibly be true? Perhaps I ought to have read more books on the subject before undertaking the responsibility. I know nothing about its care and feeding. I don't even know if this font is within my control. I don't know whether I will be this stutifying forever, or just today. I do know that and I ended up with a silly address. Here I am boldly sallying forth into the unknown world of technology only to be immediately thwarted. No justice. Who knew that all things cereal-related were so outrageously popular? Except raisins, apparently. Raisins I can have.


The entries below are (appropriately) back dated because before today I had what you might call an "imaginary blog." Me? Well, I called it a "piece of paper."

Deepest Fears

In the mail there is a window envelope imprinted with the words “Imagine being old and alone with nothing but your memories to keep you company.”

I panic thinking it is from a dating service.

Upon realizing that it is a donation appeal from Meals on Wheels, I am overcome with relief and promptly recycle it. I think I now officially qualify as a terrible person.

Togetherness

A neighborhood family is out for an evening stroll. I am behind them and I see that they have arranged themseves in perfect symmetry. The adults walk on either side of the double stroller in which their toddlers sit side by side. The mother is on the right; her left, or inner, hand holds the stoller push bar. Her husband on the left pushes with his right hand. In their free hands both parents hold cell phones to their ears and carry on separate animated conversations.