Actually, my mood has taken a turn for the AWESOME because a Super Top Secret Creative Project that amberle404 and I have been working on for ages has finally come to fruition.

Introducing...

Bachelor Girl!

TA-DA!

I love LiveJournal (obviously - I've been here FIVE FREAKING YEARS, oh my GOD), but I wanted a space, my own little space, to start fresh and write my stuff and be a little bit more professional and (fingers crossed!) hopefully attract some more freelance work. The content will be pretty much the same as here on LiveJournal, just probably without so many lame-o memes when I have writer's block.

Bachelor Girl has truly been a labor of love for everyone involved. amberle404 designed it, her husband is hosting it, and avidchick created the Bachelor Girl caricature! Many others gave us shoulders to cry on and offered us wine when Google wouldn't play nice with us.

My LiveJournal will remain...pretty much forever. I want to be able to keep up with all of you and stay active in my various LJ communities. PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE come see me at Bachelor Girl, though, because I would be so lonely without all the funny and crazy comments you guys make here on Clothes_Slut. I don't know what I'd do without my Peanut Gallery!

I've got all kinds of exciting things planned for Bachelor Girl - In addition to chronicling my misadventures, I'm doing the $25-And-Less Gift Guide again this year, and closer to Christmas, there'll be a GIVEAWAY! And who doesn't like free stuff? I know I do.

So check the ol' Girl out and tell me what you think!

(Empty comment fields make me cry.)



Your thrilled
Kel

My mom watched Amanda Palmer's "Leeds United" video today. (At my insistence. Cool as my mom is, she does not sit around watching the Dresden Dolls' YouTube channel while she's supposed to be working.)

(Like someone else we know whose name begins with a "K" and ends with an "elly," and who is a pain in the ass of everyone she works with.)

Mom commented appreciatively on Amanda Palmer's drawn-on eyebrows, then let fly her criticism.

No, not of Amanda Palmer.

Of me.

"Wow. And you thought you were tearin' it up by wearing a miniskirt to the Dresden Dolls concert. I don't see a single person who's not in their underwear."

For the record, it was, like, 2 degrees in Birmingham that weekend.

--------

One of the many reasons I wish I was Amanda Palmer is that it would be really cool if people just started making out with whoever was next to them whenever I came around. Like they apparently do when Amanda Palmer's around. Although no one tried to make out with me when I went to see the Dresden Dolls, which, to be truthful, was something of a disappointment. I wore a miniskirt and everything!

That's something Americans need more of: "Makin' out to Faces of Death."

(No, I didn't just make that up. COME ON, Y'ALL. I'M NOT THAT WEIRD. It's from "Guitar Hero" on Who Killed Amanda Palmer.)

Y'all really need to go buy that album if for no other reason than you'll know what I'm talking about half the time.

--------

I sometimes think I'm clever, but other people rarely agree.

--------

So let's talk about someone who is quite clever:

The multi-talented arthursimone!

In addition to being a fantastic artist (I CAN HAS ORIGINAL ARTHUR SIMONE?), Arthur's also the Air Sex Champion. Which is pretty much the epitome of everything awesome. Though not necessarily the epitome of everything tasteful.

(None of those people are Arthur. Arthur's way better at Air Sex than any of those fools.)

Anyway, Arthur's having a solo exhibition at Lewis Gifts in Shreveport from Black Friday until Christmas. At some point during the holidays, there will also be a meet-the-artist event, which I will likely talk about excitedly every day for a month. (Please note: I will also agonize over what to wear every day of that month.)

Congratulations, Shreveport! You're doing something cool! Keep it up.

So you should really go to Lewis Gifts and see Arthur's paintings. And buy one. Or four. You know, as gifts. For someone you know whose name begins with a "K" and ends with an "elly" and who is a pain in the ass of everyone who reads her blog.

If you go to Lewis Gifts and Arthur's there, ask him to show you his mad Air Sex skillz. I bet he'd do it, too, if you asked really nicely. Or bought a painting.

Off to plan my outfit.

And stand in front of the mirror practicing begging Arthur to show me his mad Air Sex skillz.



Your pain-in-the-ass
Kel

...and so does Mere. And Jennifer. And all of you, probably.

I'm beginning to think that maybe - just maybe - I'm too uptight.

Maybe it's Catholicism. Maybe it's the fact that I don't drink much anymore. Maybe it's the notable lack of recreational drugs in my life. Maybe it's the family. Maybe it's having been single for so long. Maybe it's Bird's influence (he's an attorney, and if there's one thing attorneys do well, it's BE PARANOID).

Actually, I like that one. Let's stick with that idea, shall we? IT'S ALL BIRD'S FAULT.

Yes.

Anyway, to put it in graphic and unsavory terms, perhaps I need to unclench.

The other night, in a fit of misguided optimism (and before I wrote the now-famous "Match.com" post), I signed up for Match.com for one month.

As predicted, most of the guys are EEEWWWWW. But there's this one that's...not. So much. Maybe. OK, FINE. HE'S REALLYREALLY CUTE. There. I'm shallow. Happy?

He's also...you know, not stupid. Maybe. And he likes historical stuff. Which is good. And he's all into creativity and shit, like me with this here blog.

Anyway, so he's e-mailed me (through the Match.com site) a few times and hasn't said or done anything to make me think he's a sex-crazed psycho killer. Which is something of a record in my world. Generally, it only takes guys 1-2 communiques before the little voices in their heads say, "Oh, go ahead and tell her all about your bestiality fetish! This one won't mind! I CAN TELL."

So perhaps, because of that fact, I got a little carried away. And when I went to reply to his message, I didn't click "reply" through the Match.com site, I clicked "reply" in my actual e-mail.

Which means that my e-mail signature was at the bottom of the e-mail.

My e-mail signature which lists the following information:
1. My real name
2. My place of business
3. THE FUCKING ADDRESS OF MY PLACE OF BUSINESS, OH MY GOD IN HEAVEN
4. My work phone number
5. MY G-------- CELL PHONE NUMBER

Brilliance, thy name is KEL.

Because I'm LIKE, SUPER AWESOME in a crisis, I then performed the following actions:
1. Ran around the coffee table multiple times screeching OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD
2. Flopped onto the sofa and covered my head with a blanket
3. Searched the house for alcohol (search returned: 0)
4. Called Jennifer, who didn't answer
5. Called Mere, who told me that I am insane

Heee. Don't you want me around during, say, a tsunami?

Fortunately, Mere talked me down off the ledge.

"KEL," she said severely, "This is not the best thing you could have possibly done, but it is certainly not the worst. You work with a veritable army of gigantic guys, all of whom are extremely protective of you and your family. I FEEL SORRY for the guy who goes up there and tries to start some shit. Second, you're not listed in the phone book, so he can't get your home address. Your apartment building is like Fort-Fucking-Knox, so even if he DID figure out where you live, how's he going to get in? And finally, it's your cell phone number. If he calls and you don't wish to talk to him, THEN DON'T ANSWER THE PHONE, GENIUS."

"Well, he asked me to COFFEE. Isn't that a little...untoward? I mean, I don't even KNOW HIM."

"Kel. It's COFFEE on a SUNDAY AFTERNOON. Look, the whole purpose of sites like Match.com is that you are supposed to meet someone with whom you will eventually GO ON DATES. Like, TOGETHER. What else are you going to do, prearrange a time to pass by one another in a specified aisle in the grocery store? It is not the least bit unreasonable that he should ask you to coffee. The amount of time invested is less than an hour. Coffee houses are PUBLIC PLACES FULL OF PEOPLE. You like him? You order a second cup. You don't? You suck down your coffee and leave. I mean, I'm guessing the residents of Shreveport would figure out that something was up if he slipped a roofie into your gingerbread latte then started dragging your lifeless body toward his car ON A SUNDAY AFTERNOON. If you're going to do this, then you're going to have to take a chance. It's that simple."

See, when she puts it that way, it all sounds so...normal.

To further complicate matters, after I sent The E-mail of Doom, I Googled his name to see if something along the lines of "John Doe, Serial Killer" would come up. It didn't, but what did come up was a website with a bunch of pictures of him and his buddies getting drunk and hanging all over Hooters girls. This? Yeah, I want no part of this.

Then Mere pointed out that all the pictures are date-stamped 2000 and 2001.

"Kel, that was seven and eight YEARS ago. How old were you eight years ago?"

"Um, 23?" (WHAT. I'm really bad at math.)

"Think about what we were doing when we were 23, 24 years old. Would you want someone to judge you by your 23-year-old self? I think not."

"But..."

"No but. He seems like a perfectly nice, normal person. He's in the Air Force, for Pete's sake. Stop being a dumbass and meet him for coffee."

That Mere, she is wise.

For the record, Jennifer pretty much echoed Mere's sentiments exactly. She warned me to make sure to tell a couple people where I was going and what time, how long I planned to be there, to call them afterwards, etc. and everything should be fine.

So what do you guys think? Am I being paranoid and uptight? Is coffee unreasonable? How would you feel about doing something like this?



Your perhaps-a-little-too-stuffy-for-her-own-good
Kel

This has not been the best week.

Match.com hilariousness and general foolishness aside, this has pretty much been The Week of Kel's Discontent.

Yesterday, I got home from work (LATE, just like every other day this week) and trudged up the stairs feeling a little teary and very much like the title character in Amelie before the night she learns that Princess Diana (a.k.a. Laydee-Dee) has died.

(If you don't know what I'm talking about, then HOLY CRAP YOU NEED TO GO WATCH THAT MOVIE THIS MINUTE!)

("But I HATE subtitles!")

(Jesus Christ, do you know how many INCREDIBLE movies you will miss because you don't want to read while you watch the teevee?!)

Anyway.

So I was marching up the Stairs of Doom, preparing to throw myself an evening-long pity party when what should catch my eye but

A PACKAGE!

ON MY DOORSTEP!

THAT IS PRESUMABLY FOR ME!

And what do you suppose was inside?

These!



From the lovely and generous bankgrl!

bankgrl knows that two of the major pleasures in my life are:

1. Chihuahuas and Chihuahua-related items
2. Anything in the post which is not a bill

WHAT. I'm easy to please!

One of the many things which have gone wrong this week is that my workplace has apparently become the repository for any animal which anyone no longer wants. Therefore, we became the proud foster family of YET ANOTHER mama cat and two kittens.

Fortunately, we were able to find homes for the kittens, but the mama cat, whom Carol named Tabitha after the daughter in Bewitched (because I like witches, she said) has become the Office Cat. For those of you keeping score at home, Tabitha is Office Cat #3.

Dear Citizens of Shreveport: We like cats and apparently, you don't. This does not mean, however, that we are willing or able to adopt every unwanted cat in the state of Louisiana. Please do not leave any more cats on our doorstep. In sum, FUCKING KNOCK THIS SHIT OFF. Love, Kel & Her Coworkers

And with that, my dears, I take my Tylenol Simply Sleep and leave you with

KITTEH PICS!

Week of 11-17-08

Your ready-to-start-over-next-week
Kel

P.S. I would also like to give a very special and cryptic Clothes_Slut shout-out to amberle404 for being a generally all-around stand-up chick. YOU RULE!

I could go on forevermore about my trip to Tampa to visit Jennifer and Swell Nathan. I know some of you are probably going, "Dude, you went to Florida, and it's nice and all, but WTFBBQ?"

For one thing, it was SUCH a long time in coming. The last time I saw Jennifer and Swell Nathan before this trip was at their wedding in 2005!

For another, Jennifer and I have so much in common, and she feels sort of like a big sister. She's not very much older than I am, but she's just so much calmer and wiser and levelheaded that she seems like some strange combination of sister/sage/shaman/fairy godmother.

I won't go into all the mushy details, but I had separate conversations with her and Swell Nathan this weekend about relationships. What they're about, what you should be looking for, what you should watch out for, but most of all, how they should make you feel.

For some reason, this weekend, I finally Got It.

I know a few - a precious few - people who are in what I would describe as truly great relationships. I never thought much about what made them so great. I guess I just thought that they got lucky (HA! so to speak) and I haven't. Yet. Or ever. Whatever.

This weekend, I had an AHA! moment. I tried to describe it to Swell Nathan in terms of a Venn diagram.

(And I'm sure he must have been thinking - though he is kind enough that he did not say it - "You explain relationships in terms of Venn diagrams and you wonder why you're single?")

I tried to figure out how to draw Venn diagrams to explain this, but I am Dumb, so instead you get lists. Because I'm better at lists than I am at computers.

My successful-ish relationships have consisted of:
1. Physical attraction
2. Admiration
3. A weensy bit of trust
4. Varying degrees of respect
5. Some mutual interests
6. Some shared goals and ambitions
7. Need - humbling to admit, but true
8. Shared morals/religious principles
9. Love
10. Logic - it makes sense for me to date this person.

But the best relationships, well, they're:
1. I was going to try to make you another list, but the point is that the best relationships are simply more than the sum of the parts listed above.

And they're not always logical. They're sometimes inconvenient. Ill-timed. They don't always look real great on paper.

I asked Jennifer, "How did you know Nathan was The One? Like, when did you know?"

And one of the smartest, most rational, most balanced people I have ever met or ever will meet said "Our first date."

"REALLY? SERIOUSLY? You're kidding."

"Nope. I knew after our first date. I had no idea how he felt about me, but I knew that he was everything I'd been looking for but never thought I'd find."

They were married in a few months.

Three years later, they are one of the most blissfully happy couples I've ever seen.

That's the point. It wasn't terribly rational by most people's standards. This is a girl who has worked so hard her whole life to be successful, and she did so by planning carefully, meeting lofty goals and making very intelligent, considered decisions.

And she found the love of her life by taking a leap of faith.

--------

On a somewhat related note, just when I think I have everything figured out with regards to my disastrously failed relationship with my ex-husband (He Who Shall Not Be Named, As He Comes of a Very Litigious Family), I have some new revelation.

It occurred to me not too long ago, out of the clear, blue sky, that it never was a matter of Her (the woman for whom I was unceremoniously dumped) versus Me. Her relative merits versus my relative merits.

It is simply this: He was (is) madly in love with her. He loved me, I'm sure, but not ever in the way he has always loved her.

It doesn't make sense. From a strictly objective point of view, I probably make more sense as a wife than she does. But that doesn't matter. And it never did.

The heart wants what it wants. His wants her. It's exactly that simple. All this time, I've thought it was me, or him, or her, or a combination of the three. It wasn't. It's just that.

It was one of the most liberating moments of my life.

--------

I didn't say anything at the time, and I'm not going to say much now, but in September, I ended a "relationship," for lack of a better term, that was, in a word, crushing. Long story short, I was simply not good enough. At least that's what I was led to believe. It was one of those "relationships" that has you constantly striving and wondering and always wanting to be something better, something more than you are. But not in a good way.

Well, I dropped a fucking nuclear bomb on it and didn't look back.

I haven't felt so good or so much myself in nearly two years.

The best relationships raise you up.

They don't push you down.

--------

So as much fun as I had at the Food & Wine Festival, as much as I loved cooking and creating and talking and laughing and debating happy manatee families with Jennifer and Swell Nathan, the best part of the trip was the fact that I figured out something that quite literally changed the way I see the world.

I know y'all hate it when I wax poetic. Don't worry. I'll be back to writing about making an ass of myself tomorrow. For one thing, I'm going to hem pants - imagine all the mayhem that's going to result from that! Just the "sewing with cats in the room" aspect alone will be good for at least one ridiculous story.



Your learning
Kel

For they let me play with knives and fire in the same evening.

Dear Jennifer and Swell Nathan:

Why did you do that? Don't do that.

Love,
The Rest of the World

Way back when (you know, 10 months ago or so), I made a New Year's resolution to learn to cook one dish that did not originate in a box.

DONE!

Swell Nathan taught me, the girl who can barely boil water, to cook a WHOLE CHICKEN! And make chicken stock! And mashed potatoes! And roasted asparagus! And...something else, but I can't remember right now.

(In other news, I am sick. AGAIN. PEOPLE, I AM STILL ON ANTIBIOTICS FROM LAST TIME. All the bacteria in the world have apparently decided to gang up on me. So if you've ever wanted to lick a toilet seat, eat raw pork, visit a leper colony, etc., now's your chance - the bacteria are not looking, because they're far too busy setting up shop in my sinuses. So I'm on pharmaceuticals, which in my lame world, means one thing: I'M HIGH. Which makes me think I'm funny.)

(How nice for YOU!)

In addition to teaching me how to, you know, cook stuff, Swell Nathan and Jennifer also taught me to make jewelry. Which is pretty much everything I've ever wanted in the world, since I think I am Martha Stewart and OMG SPARKLIES!

You may not know this, but Jennifer and Swell Nathan make jewelry. And when I say "make jewelry," I mean they, like, MAKE IT FROM SCRATCH. They have an Etsy store and everything! Which is here: Avidchick Jewelry

I know, right? GORGEOUS.

Jennifer and Swell Nathan? If y'all ever decide to take up polygamy, I'M IN.

And now, the photographic evidence!

Tampa! Part Three

Your chicken-roasting
Kel

Mouse introduced me to Thai food. Ever since, I've been hooked. I love rice noodles, coconut, citrus, lemongrass, peppers and peanuts, so I suppose my affection for Thai cuisine was inevitable. When I first moved to Shreveport, it didn't have a SINGLE Thai restaurant, and I mourned this travesty at great length.

Sunday, Jennifer, Swell Nathan and I made our way to the Thai temple in the late morning. Basically, the deal is this: Each family who worships at the temple prepares food to sell on certain Sundays each month. They set up at long tables in a pavillion, and people from the community come and buy the food, then they eat at the many picnic tables by the water. The families then donate all the money they make from the sale of the food to the temple. Jennifer and Swell Nathan found out about it through Creative Loafing, and they've gone frequently ever since.

Many of the temple members don't speak fantastic English (though many probably speak English better than I do), but everyone communicates pretty well nevertheless. All anyone really needs to know is "This," "How much?" and "Thank you." I surveyed the landscape, then swooped in for the kill.

Cute side story: One Sunday, Jennifer went into the pavillion and indicated to one of the ladies that she wanted to try some sort of orange-colored dish, probably a mango salad. Jennifer pointed to the dish and said, "This, please."

"Nooo..." came the answer from a little old Thai lady.
Jennifer was understandably confused. She indicated the dish again. "This?"
"Nooo..."
Jennifer held up some cash. "I have money, I can pay! I'd really like this, please."
"Nooo..."
To this day, Jennifer doesn't know what the deal was. Maybe the lady figured it was something Jennifer wouldn't like.

I'm gonna be real honest with y'all right now. I don't really know what I ate. All I know is it was fanTASTic.

Jennifer and Swell Nathan found a table for us right near the water (as in, if I had walked three steps from our table, I would have found myself IN the water), and we dug in.

After we finished eating, we decided to have a look inside the temple. I didn't take any pictures inside, of course, since that's you know, just rude, but I think from the outside pictures you can tell that it was one of the most magnificently beautiful things I have ever seen.

(When we walked - barefoot - into the temple and kneeled, I gasped, it was so gorgeous. Swell Nathan just looked over at me and smiled.)

As delicious as the food was, as breathtaking as the temple was, as good as the company was, the most important part of the day was a grand cultural lesson that I learned because of the experience:

Church ladies are church ladies no matter where they're from, what language they speak or who they worship.

Seriously. Except for the notable lack of Sicillian food, it was more or less exactly like the St. Joseph altar at my church.

I couldn't understand their language, but boy howdy, I know me some church ladies, and they were gossiping and fussing at each other and their kids and grandkids just exactly like the church ladies at St. Joseph. I was expecting, at any moment, someone to grab me by the arm and demand to know why I'm not married yet.

Some things naturally transcend nationality and religion, I suppose.

I'm just glad no one bugged me about why I haven't yet birthed a litter of Catholic (or Buddhist) babies.

And now, the part everyone's waiting (or wading) for: PIKTURZ!

Tampa! Part Two

Your table mannered
Kel

My brain is still a little foggy. I feel like I slept forever last night. It's funny; I had so much fun with Jennifer and Swell Nathan in Tampa that I never felt the least bit tired all weekend, even though we were going a million miles an hour the whole time I was there. Ah, well. Reality has set back in and I'm feeling the after-effects of a trip that included more activity than I've done in a very long time!

And boy, was it ever fun.

Friday night, about 10:00 p.m. Tampa time, Jennifer and Swell Nathan picked me up at the airport. The plane was really crowded, so I was in the back of the swell of people headed toward the baggage claim. Jennifer told me later that she said to Swell Nathan, "Remember, she's tiny, so we may not see her right away." I saw them before they saw me and started hopping up and down and waving like an idiot. As soon as I got to them, I grabbed each of them in turn in giant bear hugs. We found my suitcase right away and headed to the car. We stopped at Wal-Mart for Diet Dr. Pepper (nectar of the gods) and went back to their house.

Dear Jennifer and Swell Nathan: Please adopt me. I realize I'm a little old, but I'm very neat and clean and hey! At least you don't have to send me to college. Love, Kel.

Their house is like the coolest museum on the planet. Every single way you turn your head, every place your eyes rest, there is something cool to see. It may seem like this would be junky or overcrowded, but they've done a really good job of editing and arranging all their stuff so that nothing seems out-of-place or disjointed.

You may recall that Jennifer and I first bonded over our mutual love of comic books, so I almost passed out when I saw their office upstairs.

( The Office of My Dreams )

We stayed up for a while looking at photo albums and catching up, then we headed to bed to get some rest for what proved to be a very exciting activity: the Epcot Food & Wine Festival!

For a foodie, the Food & Wine Festival is pretty much like dying and going to heaven. I was expecting the food to be very good, but not world-class. I mean, it's Disney, and they're feeding a) thousands of people and b) thousands of people who are not necessarily adventurous eaters. So I guess I was expecting the watered-down versions of the various world cuisines.

Yeah. No. It was some of the best food I've ever had at any time in any place.

Though Jennifer and Swell Nathan, as regulars at Disney, were a bit wary of bringing bags of any kind to Disney (the bag-check lines can be murderous, though they were definitely not on the day we went), I brought a little makeup bag with my money and essentials, most importantly, stomach medicine.

I knew. I just KNEW. That my already-sensitive stomach was going to be, like, "Leek tart and lamb shank and apple strudel and cream puffs and couscous? OH YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME" and rebel. Strangely, it didn't. Despite all the weird shit I managed to eat that day, my stomach never so much as threatened me. It was probably just happy that everything I ate was so, so good.

After we had sampled all the goodness that the Food & Wine Festival had to offer, we made our way to the Magic Kingdom, where I proceeded to turn into a five-year-old. Everything at Disney, even though I've been there three times before, was new and fun and exciting when experienced with best friends.

Best of all, Jennifer and Swell Nathan are the perfect people with whom to have an experience like this: they're laid back and fun, and they're the kind of people who are enthusiastic about everything and think everything is fun, and those are the kind of people who make others happy to be around them.

"Fine, fine, Clothes_Slut, we get it, you had a great time, blah, blah, blah, NOW WHERE ARE THE EFFING PICTURES?!"

Hold your horses! They're right here!

Tampa! Part One

More tomorrow!



Your still-dreaming-of-escargot-en-brioche
Kel

I have returned!

And I had more fun than is legally allowable in several states.

Jennifer and Swell Nathan? They are swell. They are sweller than swell. THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE DOES NOT EVEN HAVE A WORD FOR HOW SWELL THEY ARE.

Anybody got an English-Swahili dictionary?

Yes, I had a great time, but this girl? She is POOPED. So more later. Trust me, I have so much to tell you guys, we just may talk about this little holiday for the rest of the year.

But until then, I leave you

With this.



Chihuahua say, "CHIHUAHUA NOT IN HAPPIEST PLACE ON EARTH. CHIHUAHUA WISH MICKEY MOUSE WOULD CRAM DUMB EARS DOWN MOUSE-HOLE."

Hope you all had wonderful weekends and mildly painful Mondays!



Your insanely happy but very tired
Kel

In these troubled economic times, every American is being called upon to exercise fiscal responsibility. We're all having to reevaluate "wants" versus "needs." Everyone has a little less disposable income, and, in a nutshell, it's Belt-Tightening Time.

To that end, I gave myself a pedicure and a manicure last night rather than paying someone to do it for me.



WHAT. BABY STEPS, PEOPLE, BABY STEPS.

I would like to thank the Academy for recognizing genius when they see it. Also, my yoga teacher and the above-pictured lamp, purchased at Target for $7.99.

Speaking of belt-tightening, I acknowledge the fact that my new apartment costs a great deal more than my old one. However,

1) I love not living in a tenement, and
2) Even more than that, I love not living above stalkers.

Perhaps best of all, tonight Cici's Pizza was selling medium pizzas for $5.00 right outside the gate! Which, by the way, is $0.42 less than it costs me to make a pizza at home.



Most humans experience complete happiness few times in their lives. Chihuahua, on the other hand, experiences it every single time I walk in the door from work holding a pizza.

"MEAN LADY HAVE PEPPERONI FOR TO FEED CHIHUAHUA?!"

Other than painting my own toenails and eating pizza, I've been packing for my much-anticipated trip to Florida to visit Jennifer and Swell Nathan. The only part of this experience that's NOT enjoyable is trying to decipher the Kabbalah-like airline regulations regarding liquids in one's carryon luggage. DOES NOT COMPUTE.



Well, off I go to pack some more. This girl's gotta look good for Mickey, you know. Lots of pictures and such when I return.



Your very excited
Kel

P.S. Here's hoping Lola doesn't eat all the food out of the automatic cat feeder on the first day. I'm half-expecting to come home to find a beach-ball-shaped cat paws-up in the middle of the kitchen floor.

Some of us are celebrating, and some of us are threatening to hang ourselves and/or move to Milan. I must say I'm very disappointed in the results for California's Proposition 8. Don't despair, though; we'll get there.

In any case, the Clothes_Slut has had enough politics for this week. For one thing, my mother is no longer speaking to me.

So let's talk about Disney World, shall we?

This is shaping up to be a banner week - we have a new president, amberle404 and I are making fantastic progress on a Super Top Secret Creative Project, and Friday, I'm flying to Tampa to spend the weekend with avidchick and megarath!

Thankfully, I'm completely over Bacterial Infection 2008, a.k.a. HALP HALP I'm Gonna DIE.

Kel's Immune System: 1

Streptococcus: 0

Among other things, including, but not limited to, DISNEY WORLD, Jennifer and Swell Nathan are taking me to La France Vintage Store, a vintage clothing store in Tampa.

I'm just going to tell you right now that chances are good to excellent that I'll start speaking in tongues the moment I walk through the door.

We're also going to an authentic Thai temple to - what else? - eat. Jennifer and Swell Nathan, like yours truly, delight in anything Asian, seasonal, hard-to-find, and just plain WEIRD. I can't wait to see what's cooking at the Thai temple.

(I'm going to wear my highest heels, talk in a gravelly voice and pretend to be Anthony Bourdain.)

I'm so excited about this trip, I'm surprised I haven't broken out in hives yet. Harley Quinn and Batgirl will be together again!



Your eagerly waiting
Kel

So...yeah. This is definitely going to go down in history as the Worst Halloween Ever. Michael Myers himself showing up would be a marked improvement, because at least then things would be more interesting. And Halloween-themed.

Speaking of Michael, I'll be watching Halloween for the 84,000th time tonight. Because who doesn't like 70's-era all-natural boobies, especially when they're combined with blood, guts and knee socks? I know I do.

At least y'all are here to keep my spirits aloft with your funny comments and suggestions for weight loss. I hope y'all know I love you more than my luggage. I love y'all so much, in fact, that I did something for you today that is heretofore UNPRECEDENTED in Clothes_Slut Land:

I took pictures of myself...

SANS MAKEUP.

Quick, someone grab the smelling salts!

If this ain't journalistic integrity, then someone's going to have to tell me what is BECAUSE I JUST DON'T KNOW.

Anyway, here they are: a photographic record of The Halloween Which Sucked a Thousand Dicks.

Mere: "In a row?"

Halloween 2008 The Giant Sucking Sound

Happy Halloween, my darlings! Look out next year: Mere and I are going as POLYGAMISTS!



Your scary
Kel

I have this Thing.

(I have a lot of Things, actually, but here's a new one!)

Before I go out, like, you know, for an evening out, I have to straighten up my apartment. Because people might come home with me, and I don't want them to see my shamefully messy abode.

Not like COME HOME WITH ME come home with me, but, you know, just come over after a night on the town. Like when you're sitting at a restaurant and everyone's like, "Let's go finish this bottle of wine somewhere else!" I'm always petrified that my place will be nominated, people will come over and the illusion I try to create every day that I am this perfect, perfectly beautiful, perfectly organized creature will come crashing down around my ears because people will see my dirty potty or my overflowing garbage can.

Obviously, this blog greatly helps to maintain that illusion.

I think this particular Thing is leftover from Kel: The Post-College Years, when I was one of the very few who had a) had an apartment and b) had an apartment that did not house myself and five roommates. People dropped by all the time and stayed for hours, so I was always very careful to pick up after myself.

These days? Not so much.

So Saturday night, I headed out to my friend Karla's daughter's 13th birthday party. I didn't pick up before I left because, I mean, 13-year-olds don't go back to anyone's house after a party to drink too much wine and talk shit. Or at least they shouldn't.

I won't give too many details, but A.'s party wasn't going so well for her. She had a pretty good time, all things considered, but let's just say there was a fair amount of intermittent crying.

During the final crying jag, I got a flash of inspiration.

After quickly talking things over with Karla, I invited A. back to my place to spend the night, watch scary movies and gorge ourselves on cookies and popcorn. Sunday, I promised, we would go to the mall or anyplace else she cared to go.

Well, it worked a treat, and A. quickly packed her stuff for Slumber Party 2008.

(There will apparently also be Slumber Party 2009, as A.'s little sister S. promised not to get jealous that A. was allowed to spend the night with Miss Kelly, etc., as long as she could spend the night with Miss Kelly by herself on her birthday. What can I say? I'm popular.)

We got back to my place, and the cat boxes. Were NOT. Clean. Whatsoever. The whole joint smelled like poop, and I had to scoop the boxes with A. watching. Fortunately, she didn't seem to mind a bit, but this is what I get for not cleaning up before I go out. Lesson learned.

I have to say, though, as good as an evening with Miss Kelly's undivided attention was for A., it was every bit as good for me.

See, the thing is, unlike yours truly at 13, A. is definitely part of the In Crowd. She and her little girlfriends rule the 7th grade, whereas I, in sharp contrast, had to go to the middle school Valentine's dance with the son of my father's optometrist because no one else was going to ask me.

A. doesn't think there's anything pathetic or weird or countercultural about the fact that I'm single and have no children. As a matter of fact, she thinks it's freakin' awesome. I got to see my world through her eyes, and it was a little like having the ghosts of the popular girls from my junior-high days tell me that I did well, that I turned out OK. In A.'s view, I have unimaginable freedom - I can eat whatever I want! I can go any place I want to! I can sleep late, and no one's going to come in my room in the morning, jump on my head and demand that I play with them!

(Yet. I will have a boyfriend again someday, you know.)

She loved my pink appliances, my "HUGE!" closet, my pets and my car. I must have heard "Miss Kelly, your house is so clean" about 150 times.

"Well, lovebird, I don't have any little girls to mess it up!"

Sunday, I took A. to the Clinique counter at the mall for her first "real" makeover. The Clinique lady assumed I was A.'s mother and kept saying things to me like, "Well, Mom, you can help her practice with eyeliner at home." A. and I were greatly amused by this and didn't correct her.

As we walked away from the counter, I said to A., "Aw, lovebird, she thinks I'm your mommy!"

"I know!" A. said, laughing. "You're too young to be a mom!"

God bless your anachronistic little heart, A.

(Please note: I am barely a year younger than the child's mother. Perhaps she meant "too immature" rather than "too young.")

It was a perfect girls' weekend in every way. We talked about boys and college and cars and apartments and high school and makeup, and I hope I had a small part in ensuring that A. had a 13th birthday that she'll remember for a long, long time.

My favorite part, though, was this:

After Mass, we went to Sonic to grab some lunch. We ate in the car, of course, with the windows rolled down so we could enjoy the gorgeous weather (I *heart* Louisiana in October). As A. munched her popcorn chicken, she went quiet for a few moments.

"MISS KELLY!" she said suddenly.

"What is it, lovebird?"

"I just remembered something!"

"What?"

"When I'm 20, you'll only be 38. We'll be practically the same age!" she said.

Damn right, lovebird. DAMN RIGHT.



Your loved
Miss Kelly

Yesterday evening, after work (and after having driven around downtown Shreveport for 20 minutes trying to find a parking space that did not involve parallel parking, because I cannot parallel park to save my life even though Lord knows I have TRIED, Lord, I HAVE TRIED, and after nearly mowing down five pedestrians, and this is why I should not be allowed to have a driver's license) I found myself perched on a barstool next to my friends Jessica and Susan, sipping (read: gulping) a vodka martini and eating a hamburger that probably contained enough calories to sustain the population of a third-world country for a year.

Hi! My name is Kelly, and I *HEART* details!

ANYWAY, Jessica and Susan are a couple of impressive ladies. Jessica, at a very young age, is the editor of a religious magazine that goes out to something like a quarter of a million people in the state of Louisiana, and she enjoys the kind of creative freedom and latitude that I have been dreaming of my entire life and will probably never achieve.

Susan, on the other hand, spent her work day assisting in twelve hours' worth of brain surgery. So, yeah. THEY SMART.

In sharp contrast, here is what I have accomplished this week:
1. Got hopelessly lost on the way to a potential customer's house
2. Broke D.J.'s camera
3. Got in numerous arguments with my family
4. Had my panties man-handled by a washing-machine repair person
5. Locked up and subsequently shut down the server at work (please note: I have no idea how I managed to do this)
6. Wrote about my misadventures for the amusement of the entire internet

So as I was sitting there in the bar last night, a sobering (Sobering! Heee! See what I did there?!) thought occurred to me.

"I just realized," I said, turning to face Susan and Jessica, "that I'm sitting here with one person who brings the word of God to thousands of people all around the state and another who saves lives every day."

"I, on the other hand, spend a great deal of my time shopping, scheming about Happy Meal Toys and then writing about it for the whole internet to read."

Of course, Jessica and Susan said that this was bollocks and pointed out many of my fine, outstanding qualities and career achievements. Which just adds, in my opinion, to the myriad reasons they are AWESOME.

So here's to Jessica and Susan - between the three of us, we can make you a better Catholic, operate on various parts of your body and then turn it into a funny story on the internet.

(And then bake you some cupcakes.)



Your (under?)achieving
Kel

In honor of amidreamingmere's birthday this week, and the shameful lack of clothes-talk on a blog entitled My Life and What I Wore, AND the fact that we've spent enough time this week analyzing MY psyche, I decided to do things a bit differently for this week's Friday Five. I interviewed Oh Mere of Mine about one of our favorite topics: fashion!

My and Mere's fashion sense couldn't be more different, but she has a polished, tailored and modern aesthetic that I really admire.

1. What's the first piece of clothing you ever owned that you fell in love with?

My Guess jeans that I got for Christmas in middle school. They were the stonewashed style with zippers at the ankles. They made me feel really stylish and cool.

2. What's a trend right now that you hate?

Oh, jeez...high-waisted pants and skirts. Does anyone look good in those?! Also, shoes with tiny, spindly heels - no one can walk in them.

3. What's a trend right now that you love?

All the 1920s-inspired fashions, but especially art deco jewelry.

4. If all your clothes were - God forbid - burned up in a fire tomorrow, what's the first thing you would replace and why?

Definitely my jeans - they can take me anywhere. I can dress them up with a cute top and heels, or dress them down with an Auburn t-shirt and sneakers. And they're perfect for lounging around the house.

5. What's your favorite season for fashion?

Fall. People dress more modestly in fall, for obvious reasons, and I love that, because the emphasis is on femininity and a woman's curves, not just exposing skin. Of course, I love the colors and textures, particularly that of soft, cozy sweaters.

And a bonus!

6. Favorite designer?

I know it's old school, but Calvin Klein. They do the whole "trendy but classic" thing really well. The clothes are up-to-date, but you know you're getting something that you can wear for years, not just one season.

L-R: bankgrl, Kel, amidreamingmere, Brandi and gotmusic69

Oh, amidreamingmere, how do I love thee?

--90-98 percent of what I write has your hand in it in some way, form or fashion. It either quotes you, or it's inspired by you, or I just worked it out in my head while talking to you. You are truly your Kel's muse. I know you'd prefer to be the muse of some really sexy (male) French artist, but hey, sometimes we have to take what we can get, eh?

--You're the best, most trustworthy, most honest and fiercely loyal friend I have. You help me hide the bodies, and I love you for it.

--You introduce me to really hot guys. As far as I'm concerned, this is one of your best qualities.

--You're brilliant, creative, amazingly talented, sharp-witted and subversive: my favorite qualities in a person.

--As evidenced by the photo above, you're a freak. And it takes one to know one :)



Love you more than words can say,

Your
Kel

Questions from arthursimone!

Here are the rules:
1. If you want, leave a comment saying, "interview me."
2. I will respond by asking you five questions of a very personal nature.
3. You will update your LJ with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this and an offer to interview someone else in the post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

1. What's the meanest thing you've ever said to someone?

Allow me to preface this by saying I don't think I'm mean; I don't say untrue things to people for the purpose of hurting them. I am, however, blunt and rather impatient. And as I think everyone knows by now, I don't suffer fools easily. Plus, I am as fierce and stubborn as a bulldog where my family's concerned.

A few months ago, my mom caught bronchitis. One Saturday, she was having a lot of difficulty breathing. I was concerned enough to call her doctor's answering service and have him paged. He called me back right away.

"Hi, this is Kelly," I said, "My mom saw you a couple days ago for bronchitis, and now she's having a very hard time breathing. She's taken her decongestants and a hot shower. What else should we do?"

"Well," he answered, "She has bronchitis."

"Yes, I know," I said. "But she's having a really, REALLY hard time breathing."

"That's the bronchitis," he informed me.

We went on this way for several more minutes, until I couldn't take it anymore. "LOOK," I exploded, "did you GO to medical school in Granada? I KNOW she has bronchitis but am telling you that she CAN'T BREATHE. NOT BREATHING leads to DEATH, and in case you missed that day in med school, DEATH, unlike BRONCHITIS, is INCURABLE."

He met us at the emergency room.

2. You live in shreveport. Why in the hell do you live in shreveport??

Like so many things in my life, living in Shreveport was not The Plan. I was born here but, as my parents have the worst case of wanderlust known to man, have lived all over the place. Mom and Dad eventually retired here. I moved back to Shreveport after a Very Bad Event (i.e., husband unceremoniously dumping self and marrying chief reason for divorce), intending for my stay in Shreveport to be temporary. And it was! In May of 2005, I moved to New Orleans, one of my favorite cities in the world.

Class, what happened in August of 2005?

Back to Shreveport goes Kel.

One year later, my parents came out of retirement to buy a business. And they needed me. Then my brother moved to Shreveport. He needs me too.

Shreveport's definitely not high on my list of Places I'm Dying to Live, but the best way I can explain it is that now is the time to do this. And while Shreveport leaves a lot to be desired, in many ways I like it just fine. I've made lots of incredible friends and found my mentor - the sparkly, wonderful, talented, generous, admirable Lucienne!

3. If your hen purse came alive for a minute and could answer one question, what would you ask her?

"How do I make the perfect Pimm's Cup?"

4. Of all reality tv shows, which do you think you could actually win?

Amazing Race, definitely. I've actually wanted to try out for it several times but have never found anyone who would try out with me.

5. What'd you do in a past life to warrant reincarnation into *shreveport*??

I'm just lucky I didn't come back as a dung beetle.

A: To lay it on the line.

That's Carol's very favorite joke. She can crack herself up with it every time.

Ahem...

I GOT THE HEN PURSE!! Courtesy of someone who wishes (I think? Still? Lemme know, 'cause you need to be acknowledged for this) to remain anonymous.

BEHOLD:



Did you know it's hard to take a picture of yourself in the bathroom mirror whilst holding your (hen) purse? Well, it is.

I LOVE HER. She just seems very British to me. Her name is Henrietta.

Shut up. At least she's not Hortense.

I LOVE HER!!



Your chicken-carrying
Kel

I went home at lunch to collect Chihuahua (she hurt her back last night and I brought her to the office with me so I can keep an eye on her this afternoon; Chihuahua say, "MEAN LADY NO GIVE CHIHUAHUA LORTAB. BITCH."), and what do you suppose I found in the mailbox?

My VERY OWN copy of Who Killed Amanda Palmer courtesy of amidreamingmere!!

You're the best, Oh Mere of Mine! You sure know the way to a Kel's heart.





Your happyhappyhappyhappy
Kel

P.S.
( The patron saint of lost causes. )

avidchick and megarath are kicking everybody's ass in the Tacky Souvenir Collection contest!

Yesterday, I picked up a rather nondescript box from my apartment complex's main office. I opened it in the car and when I saw what I was, I started howling. Like, tears-running-down-my-face, could-not-breathe howling laughing. Then I looked up.

Into the face of a really cute guy who probably couldn't imagine what kind of psychotic break I was having.

I held up the coconut for explanation. Because I'm smooth, y'all.

So here it is for your viewing pleasure: our new winner!

Thank you love you miss you so so so so much Jennifer and Swell Nathan!





Your endlessly amused
Kel

P.S. EVERYONE who has walked into my office today has been told the full story of the coconut and, in a few lucky instances, allowed to hold it. I am generous, is what I'm saying.