The boys I hang out with, all of them, they are not feeling my shoes. Miles says they are "total mom" and Matt asked me if they are even supposed to be cute. Today, JR and I saw a lady on the bus, and she was rocking my same look, down to the shoes. She was about 75. I am wildy orthopedic and I am not going back. Confident women of a certain age can kick shit however they like, wild styled, and thus, I am only SAS-ortho lifts in taupe and wooden shoes and 99-cent walgreen flips from here on out. And I don't care what anyone says, my stee is hotness complete.
Other than this: little to report. Puttering, errands, pep talk, falling in love with old people on the bus, the day yesterday that was so lovely all i could think of was that Sufjan song "Casmir Pulaski Day" which is about gratitude and death of a pretty girl--mostly that line about "what the lord has made", I got flowers for Valentines Day for the first time in my life, I bought weird treats I do not understand at the indian bakery across for Gandhi Electronics on Devon, I rode my bike in the sun and 46 degree weather and was seven kinds of in love with Chicago with a love so powerful it blots out everything else that is lesser than reverent love, then spent the night hours prowling the bookstore nabbing Tosches and Sontag and presents for Matt.
Today it is less sunny, but no less rapturous and deep of love.Posted by Jessica at February 15, 2006 03:22 PM | TrackBack