See, and this is why I am not always a fashion plate...

Thought that just popped into my head: You know what would totally make my whole outfit? A really nifty WWII aviator hat, ala Amelia Earhart. Preferably with goggles. (Please take note that what I am currently wearing is my Newport Jazz Fest t-shirt that used to be my mom's, an army green mini-skirt, leggings, wellies and a navy Little Lord Fauntleroy looking blazer.) In fact, my mind is dancing with visions of aviator hats and how cool I would look in one. Although I would probably leave it unbuttoned.


(Sadly, this one is for people with small heads.)

I am totally going to find one on ebay, and it will be all sorts of glorious, and everyone will be jealous.

Oh, and of course, as suggested by Amanda, I would look just like this in my hat.



I intend to add this to my list of things Katherine Hepburn and I have in common.

All of my sorta revenge fantasies involve being a lounge singer

Whenever I'm like, really pissed at someone, I have this elaborate semi-revenge fantasy that happens in my head. I don't like, stab them in the face, or enlist a hired gun, or burn down their prom with my mind, or anything like that...

In my revenge fantasy, I am a lounge singer- complete with floor length red sequin gown- and the person I am mad at comes into the bar where I am doing said lounge singing, unaware that I will be there. And then I see them, and I sing a really pointed song that is obviously about them and how I don't like them anymore (often "Mein Herr" or "Hard Hearted Hannah" or "You've Been A Good Ol' Wagon But Daddy You Done Broke Down") and never did to begin with. Then they feel really bad, but also vastly impressed by my singing voice, and also especially guilty for having been douchey to a such a talented human being. Then they try to talk to me, but I disappear. Or I say something really clever. It changes.

This song also figures heavily into things, because of it's amazing badassness.



And it goes other ways too, depending on how I'm feeling. It could also be a person I still like, in which case the song choice will change to like "Come Rain or Come Shine" or "What'll I do" or sometimes I'm the one who screwed up, in which case I'll sing a song like "Guilty" or something. And then, of course, I will be totally forgiven, because the song was so very moving.

Suffice it to say, a great deal of my childhood was spent watching musicals- which has contributed to my feeling that nothing solves shit like Gershwin. The funny thing about this is, I've never really mentioned this before. I don't know why, I'm pretty open about things. But I mentioned it yesterday on the Facebook when I caved into peer pressure and filled out that damn 25 things about me thingy that people won't let you alone about. As it turns out, I am not the only one who does this- which is kind of hilarious and amazing and comforting at the same time.

That old familiar feeling... (or, Pretty Words Make You Reagan)

You know how sometimes your gut tells you a guy is full of shit or an asshole or whatever at first... and then he says all these nice things that he probably knows you want to hear, talks about how he's so, so hip to that feminist thing you've got going on and you start to think "Wow! Maybe I was wrong! Maybe I'm just too cynical, and maybe he doesn't suck at life after all! I should give him a chance!" and then not two seconds later he comes at you with a jugular thrashing load of asshattery which he then tries to cover up with more nicety nice words which you now realize are as bullshitty as you thought they were in the first place? (see around 45% of my relations with dudes, particularly during my early years of Ice Queenery.)

Well, that's kind of how I feel about Obama today. This morning when I read that he was supposed to repeal the global gag rule, I chastised myself for the lingering feeling I had that he was not actually going to do anything other than talk about his hopes and dreams. But while he did have the time to write and release this statement about the anniversary of Roe vs. Wade, which is very pretty and nice... he did not in fact repeal the Global Gag Rule (as Bill Clinton had, and as he was rumored to be planning on doing- also, Bush put it back into effect on Jan. 22nd his first year in office. It's a tradition for godsakes!).

I CALL SHENANNIGANS!

Do not get all "I'm down for the cause" with me, Mister, until you actually do some shit. The global gag rule is insane and dangerous for women all over the world- so do not go around talking about my having no limits on my "dreams" until it is repealed. What that says to me, is that while I am more than free to "dream" about human rights and women across the world not being forced to have babies or getting the healthcare they need... that these things are not going to happen in reality. Which does not do much for me.

Words are lovely things- I use them often, and rely on them just as much as the next person for the majority of my day to day communication. But at the end of the day, existence precedes essence- dig? Show, don't tell. I don't want your letter, I don't want your words, I don't want your hopes or your dreams-- I want your signature on that damned piece of paper. And *then* we can talk. Ok?

Odd behavior

A strange thing has happened to me twice in the past few days. First, yesterday, when I was in line to get on the bus, a girl pushed up in front of me and said "excuse me, I have to get on the bus" and walked on in front of me as though I was merely standing there for my health. Then, two seconds ago, as I was waiting to cross the street, a woman walked past me saying "excuse me, I'm crossing here" which was also quite odd. I was inordinately bothered by both instances.

Also, last night I had one of those dreams where when you wake up you're not sure if it really happened or not. It was quite odd, because I dreamed that I was reading crap on the internet (how lame am I? Next think you know I'll be dreaming about waiting for the train) and I saw like, a link to something stating that a guy I dated for a minute a while ago died, and in my dream I did not care enough to click through and was surprised at how blase I felt about the whole thing, even when I was half awake and kind of thinking that it actually happened- like, I was lying in bed thinking "I should probably get up and look to see what happened. Also, I should probably feel worse about this." and I didn't- I felt absolutely nothing- which was weird because it was such a long time ago that I don't so much have any animosity left about the situation- I actually don't think I have any feelings at all left about it, either way. Maybe I'm just a horrible person. I like to think if it happened when I was conscious that I would have cared or at least been taken aback, or something. I don't fancy myself a sociopath.

An unbelievably tragic tale...

As I was walking through West Fest... I noticed that a brand new vintage store had opened up just a few doors down from me- which, a) is awesome, and b) is terrible... you know, for my wallet and all, considering my penchant for dresses and the fact that I really shouldn't be buying anything until I get rid of the shit ton of clothes I need to get rid of.

I try on several super cute dresses... the cutest of all being a glorious, glorious, glorious Chloe dress- which is so mod, and gorgeous, and just like, my freaking dream dress. It's navy blue, with like, a cute sailor type neckline with ruffles and a tie thingy hanging down, and ruffles on the hemline! And the skirt part is tight and the top part is blousy, which is like, my favorite dress cut ever... It is everything I have ever dreamed about in a dress and more, and it fit perfectly.

And it was only 100 dollars. 100 dollars! For vintage couture! For fucking glorious, Lagerfeld era Chloe. Not See by Chloe. Chloe. Motherfucking Chloe for 100 dollars. Could you just die?

But then the salesgirl tells me... there's a reason it's only 100 dollars...

And on the ass, there are like, weird greyish faded areas. I couldn't even wear it at night.

Not fair. Not even a little bit fair. Very few things in my life have been less fair.

But there is hope! I have heard of a magical tailors/cleaners place on Oak St. that can supposedly work miracles. I'm going to call them tomorrow and see if there is anything they can do about it.

A girl can always dream, right?

Lady, lady never start...

When I went to bed last night, I was so angry that my skin physically hurt and bristled, and maybe that's why I had all these ridiculous dreams and nightmares that I thought were real upon waking. Or maybe it's becase I was drunk. I don't normally remember dreams, and I don't talk about them either- because I am of the opinion that dreams are only interesting to the person who had them. It's not like I can tell you that I went to this weird zoo where they had like, terrifying sheep/kangaroo hybrids whose arms fell off if you shook hands with them and you can relate. Or that I for some reason sucker punched a pregnant woman in and her stomach crumbled like cardboard and you can say "Oh yes, I have seen that happen."

I digress. I'm sick to my stomach right now- and I don't know if it's from booze, or anger, or the fact that I have to work today and can't see Stevie Wonder play for free at the Taste of Chicago thingy. Maybe they'll let me leave early if it's slow. I like Stevie Wonder much better than I like most other people.

I am partial to band-aids being pulled off quickly- I don't like to look at the bloody underside, and when they're off I want them in the trash, never to be seen by me again. I wrote a rather vitriolic letter last night, which this morning I discovered did not actually get sent, and that's probably for the best. But now, maybe, I suppose I know why I have always been so instinctively vigilant about keeping the things that actually matter to me so well quarantined.

Ahoy!

1. Weird! So the night before last, I had a dream that I went to go get a haircut, but ended up at this firefighting school, and I joined because I wanted to spite this girl I did not like that I don't know in my waking life. Yeah, I'm petty in my dreams too. Anyway, last night, I saw my dear friend Lindy, who gave me a glorious, glorious belated birthday present! Three super creepy looking firefighter knicknacks (with hoses and also drills) from the dollar store. See, Lindy knows me. She understands my deep love for things that are terrible. But isn't that spooky? I would think it was if I believed in that crap. However, I LOVE them. And what I love even more is that it is a possibility that someone else probably bought them thinking "Gosh! Aren't these darling! They would look lovely on my mantle!" and not because they are hilarious. I will place them on my bureau next to One-Arm Juanita. They will be like her children.

2. Am quite hungover. We went to Danny's last night, and I made a new friend who has the same name as my dad! Who at first thought I was a drag queen! And then we sang Smell Yo Dick and a variety of Judy Garland tunes, and discussed Mr. Darcy complexes and Catherine MacKinnon. And then we went to Estelle's- which was probably not the best idea ever, but was in fact a good time. I will be hungover again tomorrow, however, because...

3. Am going out to night to hang out with my friends from the interwebs! It's true! All the Jezebel commenters from Chicago are meeting up tonight at a bar in Andersonville. And it will be glorious and snarky.

4. Purple Jeans. I want them to exist in my wardrobe, but they keep looking wrong/being too big in the damn calves. American Apparel apparently only thinks people with cankles want skinny purple jeans, which is not true and I am a prime example of this. Not fair. I have dreams!

5. Oh! I also found people last night who were familiar with this, the greatest thing that ever happened to NY Public Access. I love the sense that this song does not make. It makes my life, and if for some reason I have not shared it with you, I apologize.

Yay! I'm actually working on this shit again!

I am in fact once again working on my illustrated interpretation of a piece I wrote a couple years ago called "I Never Liked You Anyway." Basically, it's like a field guide to Robyn's occasionally horrifying incidents involving the opposite sex. It totally needs to be updated to include flip phone pick-up artist. Here are a few of the ones I did before... (it sucks because I totally cannot locate the one about my gothic cookie guy stalker. Alas...)

You'll have to click on them to actually see them, and then click on the large size. Because they just won't fit on here. Sad, but true.

Cult...




Children of the Corn...



Brits...



Dreams...

Most amazing holiday ever.

And I missed celebrating it! I'm so sad! Aparently in South Korea, on April 14th, people who are not in love wear black and eat black food! I mean, that's pretty much every day for me- I look ridiculous in colors and I subsist primarily on black coffee- so, maybe I was celebrating and I didn't even realize it! Or something!

Meh. I don't know, I'm not one of those "blah, I'm going to mope around because I'm single!" types- and on the other hand, I'm not all Larry from Three's Company about it either- frankly, that's quite creepy. I seem to attract a lot of fellas like that- I think because I seem like the sort of person one is supposed to see whilst sowing oats and whatnot. I haven't been said person lately as I haven't had much inclination or energy lately to be whimsical- which is one of the required traits of the job. I have yet to be fairly compensated for my enlightenment and un-repression services and have thus grown tired of the arrangement. I have mental fantasies of saying this to most fellas I meet:

"Let's just fast forward through this whole thing, doll, because I don't have all day. What's going to happen here is that you're going to hang out with me for a few weeks, which will be a good time because I am indeed a good time. I will remind you of June Miller, or Marla Singer, or Lauren Bacall or whomever. But, then, you'll have some epiphany in which you realize that what you really want is that Nice Girl over there. She's a little bit homely, and not quite as fun, or as smart or as clever or as interesting- but she's sweet and she's stable, and that's what you really need after all!"

It would be so much easier that way. And I wouldn't have to bother with shaving my legs for the experience.