If my bruised knees and scuffed up palms are any clue, you should know that yesterday was FANTASTIC. So fantastic, in fact, that Jill (whom some of you may know as Blowjoy) and I have decided to blog about it in chorus.
Let me tell you- the day did not start out so swell. My lint brush was magically gone from it's proper place in the powder room and I was forced to run to Dominick's and procure one, since Joan Holloway Dress had apparently mated with Mr. Catface in my closet since coming back from the dry cleaners. Still, I got my Sunday Best together in time to meet Jill at Cleo's at 12. We had a delicious matching brunch! Coffee, Mimosas, and French toast. Is French supposed to be capitalized in the case of fries and toast? I feel like it is, so I'm just going to go with it. Anyway, it was totally romantic, and Jill looked super hot in her bunny ears.
After our delicious brunch, we popped in the car and headed off downtown to go to see the matinee showing of Rent- which of course, was the crux upon which our day of fabulousness was built. Oh, but we had to stop back at her place beforehand because she could not locate the theatre (or downtown) without putting the address into her GPS. So I was all like "It's by Loehmann's!" and she was all "What's Loehmann's?" and I was all "Oh my god, we will go after the show and you will die." So yeah, anyway, we go to the theatre, and spend about an hour trying to find free parking which did not happen. (My body's talkin' to me, it says time for danger. Danger like walking into traffic. Which we did. Several times.)
Once there, I freaked Jill the fuck out with my in-depth knowledge of Rent and everything Broadway. By the way, you should know that this was my second time seeing it this week- god knows how many times total. It's a lot. I squealed often, and we cried a bunch- which was ok because she was all sorts of prepared with the Kleenex, and also I gave a five year old the finger for turning back and giving me the stink-eye when I squealed. Whatevs. I don't go and try and ruin her good time at Mary Poppins, do I? If one is old enough to see a show with a line like "There will always be women in rubber flirting with me!" (and ain't it the truth?), then one is old enough to get the finger for being a little snot.
(You down with OBC? Yeah you know me. Yes, I just wrote that, and I am lame times a thousand. This is Anthony Rapp and Adam Pascal who originated the roles of Mark and Roger. I made the sexy eyes at Adam Pascal from the audience during the final bow, which I firmly believe he saw. He is probably in love with me now. I will invite you to the wedding.)
Then it was off to Loehmann's, but not before going to a Bank of America so's I could cash a check or three ("When you're at Bank of Amer-i-ca, standing in line for the ATM" was the song we sang and it was pretty special).
If you, like Miss Jill, have never been to Loehmann's, you have not yet lived. We tried on lots of dresses, and it was a lot like one of those makeover montages in the movies, except there was not as much fun, inspirational dance music and more "I feel like this dress makes me look like I might be Aunt Marilla" and unnecessary voiceovers about the store closing in an hour. Jill, I will not make fun of that seafoam green number again- I've put you through enough already.
Eventually, I purchased some hot ass blue grey shoes that sort of verge on stripper/drag queen, but that I think I can pull off, three pairs of ruffly bloomer-type underwear that will not look good under any sort of outerwear--- but they had PEARS on them, and also polka dots, and purple zebra print. How could I not? I love pears. In fact, I am going to go eat one now. Oh, and two bras, which amazingly were in my weird ass size and cost only 25 bucks. This never happens.
Oh! We also totally almost bought matching Ed Hardy Wellies so we could look like the Rock of Love girls, but in the rain. Ok, no we didn't. But we saw them, and they are things that exist.
We realized upon getting to the counter, that we if we were like, walking gay male stereotypes, we would have had the best date on EARTH, and would probably be in love by now.
(Gah! I know I'm forgetting things. It was all such a whirlwind.)
Then we decided that we should probably eat hamburgers and reflect on our awesome day, and that we should probably do so at a terrible place... like BOUNDARY. On Division. Because, as a rule, terrible places have better hamburgers than most of the places that we go to. On the way there I explained half the plot of Gone With the Wind, and why Melanie sucked at life. The hamburgers were delicious (and, like the brunch, were matching. Fiesta Burgers per deux! Jill totally ordered for me. She's such a gentleman.), and the dude in the camoflauge hoodie did not spoil my appetite like I thought he would.
I told Jill the charming story of the two dudes who collectively broke my other, way more expensive bra (on separate occasions, mind you), and she told me a charming story about mucous plugs and monkeys. There are apparently monkeys that. when they mate, the male shoots a mucous plug into the lady monkey after he ejaculates in her, which falls out after a couple days. And her friend had a job running about the jungle picking up said mucous plugs. And I complain about retail! Mucous plugs are on my list of reasons that I refuse to ever have a baby. That and the belly button popping out and the ladyjunk turning black. And the whole baby eating predigested food inside of me thing. And the pain. And my boobs getting even more out of control. And the fact that I flip off five year olds.
So, anyway, as we were walking out of the restaurant, she starts going on about "Stuff White People Like" and pointing out those things around us: "Scarves! Fancy Sandwiches! Expensive baby furniture!" and as we're walking to her car, I see the fancy baby furniture store, with a fancy baby chair, and I totally lose my shit giggling and going into a mind fog about the image in my head of a baby in a chair, smoking a pipe and asking someone to fetch his slippers... and I end up in a faceplant on the sidewalk. Because that's just how I roll.
Easter Sunday Best Indeed!