When charming isn't so charming

Normally, I’m a person who likes things that have character, or charm, or whatever you want to call it. One of the main reasons I chose my house was because it was a cute pink shotgun, and that made me happy. I didn’t want to live in a sterile condo-like environment. I wanted hardwood floors, and high ceilings, and mantels in every room. So that’s what I got, and right now, I hate it.

Apparently I forgot that moving in makes or breaks the house. You see, between Max and I we have a ton of stuff. It took the largest truck size, stuffed floor to ceiling, to move us in. Then that stupid hurricane hit, and the unpacking was interrupted. Not only was it interrupted, but it was disrupted by Max’s efforts to save our things should the neighborhood flood. I returned in January to find that Hurricane Max had upended much of our furniture and piled it on top of each other in an attempt to create higher ground. So I’m looking around my apartment tonight, and I realize that, despite the fact that our furniture is now in the right places, the overall state of the apartment hasn’t really improved all that much. It’s still a mess, and as I am main cleaner of the household, and as I have been too busy this week to engage in cleaning activities, the mess has gotten worse. Plus, the house is old, and old things are not perfect. Right now, I’m kind of wanting perfect. The pocket doors, while cute, do not close the whole way. The slightly odd hardwood kitchen floor just looks to me like its harder to keep clean. The lack of proper and coordinated furniture also is not helping my outlook, and I’m feeling quite disgruntled at the moment.

So right now, fuck charm. Fuck the hardwood floors, and the high ceilings, and the mantels. All I want right now is a sterile condo-like environment downtown, preferably with a maid to clean up after me. It also wouldn’t suck to have new appliances, as it seems that my major (and by major I mean expensive) appliances like to break all at once. Normally I would just engage in some cleaning, make the house look a little better, and thus improve my mood. Right now, however, I’m so sick of the everlasting imperfections that I just want to move.

Update: Ernesto causing heart palpitations

Have just been watching Weather Channel. Heard the words "Category 3" and "Eastern Gulf of Mexico." Did not catch the rest, as brain has shut down in self defense. Am beginning to think that birthday is a bringer of hurricanes.

Knock on wood

Yesterday, while sitting around in the student lounge with my friend Pink Pirate, I remarked that "I wouldn't mind a little tropical storm or something." See, the quietness in the Atlantic was starting to disturb me. When it's too quiet in horror movies, you know that the character stupidly creeping through the basement is about to meet an untimely death. Well, I sort of imagined the same sort of situation here, except that the Gulf is the basement and New Orleans is the main character, wading along belong sea level. I'm sick of us getting our asses kicked. Since this lack of hurricane-y activity was making me really nervous, I figured that something tiny might stave off something huge. Funky logic, yes, but it made perfect sense to me.

Then I turned on the TV this morning and, lo and behold, there on the TV was little Tropical Depression #5, which was forming yesterday afternoon even as I was babbling about tropical storms and Pink Pirate was furiously knocking on wood and telling me to be quiet. Does that knock on wood thing really work? Will #5 (set to become Ernesto) go away through the power of knuckles on an armrest? I hope so, because as soon as I saw the news, my "I wouldn't mind..." changed to "Aaaauuuggghhhh, go away!" Despite my pronouncements, I'm a big wimp. Hurricanes scare the hell out of me. I don't even really like the random midday monsoons that happen here, with thunder and lightning and huge sheets of rain that reduce the highway traffic to a slow crawl. I sit there in my car with the windshield wipers going full blast, practically wimpering, because I'm sure that the blinding rain is going to cause me to get into an accident.

Even more than scared, though, I'm lazy. Evacuating sucks. You have to wait in line for gas, for food, for cash. Traffic slows to a maddening crawl, forcing you to creep along with increasingly frayed nerves. Things take time to fix, should anything flood, and since the government is apparently as lazy as I am, that could take forever for all I know. Then there're the missed classes and the missed work, the money spent on running away to the closest dry land. Basically, it's not fun, and I'm planning on having a good year this time around.

So, Ernesto, #5, whatever your name is, go away. We don't want any of what you have to offer, thank you very much. We have enough left over from Katrina to last a looong time.

Update: more fashion-related bitching

I just realized that I completely forgot to add another fashion travesty. My list wouldn't be complete without:

5. Skinny jeans. I love it when my legs look like drumsticks, don't you?

Liza goes shopping

Rather recently, the limit on my credit card was raised. As I haven't bought any new clothes for myself in quite a while, and as the summer climate in New Orleans is rather different than that in Pennsylvania, I've gone shopping a few times in the last few weeks. However, my credit card has yet to get a workout. It continues to sit, neglected, in my wallet. This is because, on those few shopping trips, I have yet to find anything that looks even remotely decent on me.

I used to love to shop, like really, really love to shop. I still have the bad credit score to prove it. Lately, however, I really haven't been having as much luck. I may find things that I think are cute but, lo and behold, I put them on and instantly look deformed. Apparently clothing doesn't think I'm as cute as I think it is. So, without further ado, a few of my most recent fashion pet peeves:

1. Maternity-wear. I realize that it's not actually maternity wear, that "babydoll" is a better term for it, but since I look pregnant in it, that's what it shall remain to me. Mostly, it just makes me look flat-chested on top and shapeless on the bottom. Will it ever go away? Could designers at least try to make something different? Some people look cute in these clothes, fine. But not all of us do, so throw me a bone here.

2. Formal shorts. Are you fucking kidding me? Seriously, that looks good on, oh, no one. While over at my friend Pink Pirate's house the other day for some Project Runway fun, she said she'd seen a number of suits lately sporting the shorts look. I don't know what sort of office allows you to get away with this, but most do not. The look definitely doesn't say "Hire me, I'd fit right in to your conservative, old-fashioned profession." That, and shorts with a jacket is just lopsided. It makes no sense, like wearing Uggs with a mini (which, while we're on the subject, if you're that damn cold, put some pants on).

3. Long shirts. No belly shirts? Great, fantastic, about damn time. There is something known as overcompensating though. It happens when the shirt is so long that I wouldn't actually have to wear pants if I chose not to. I have small boobs and a decent sized booty. I don't think I'm deformed or anything, in fact I think I'm normal, but this looks accentuates the booty and downplays the boobs. I'm actually looking for the opposite effect. Leave some shirts long, I don't care. But maybe, just maybe, could I get a shirt that doesn't double as a dress?

4. Leggings. I look back at pictures of myself from the 80's, and I don't think about reliving the photo. Mostly, I just laugh at myself. Someone please make them go away.

I realize that some of this stuff is popular for a good reason. But, do you know what I left the mall with the other day? Flip flops. They're really cute, and I did kinda need them, but I want more. I want skirts, and dresses, and shirts that don't come down to my knees. I don't think that's too much to ask for.

Part-time lawyering

I'm starting to wonder if I'm actually cut out for working. I managed to finally find something to do with myself this summer, and so far...eh. For one thing, I seem to be allergic to staying at work for more than a few hours. Last Friday, for example, I was at one of my jobs (for lack of a better word, seeing as how I'm not getting paid) for a grand total of 4.5 hours. Not very long, huh? Thing is, I was so antsy I was starting to get irritated with the people who were coming in for our help, not really the best attitude (although, now that I think of it, part of the irritation was definitely due to the fact that most of these people are getting screwed and don't even know it. I want to shake them and tell them to stop working with assholes, get a full-time lawyer, and learn to protect themselves). By the time that 3:00 rolled around, I was checking the computer time every 2 minutes or so and, when we actually got to leave, I'm surprised I didn't actually run from the building, celebrating my independence.

So now I'm starting to worry a little. It's been my experience that lawyers put in pretty long hours. How am I supposed to prepare myself for 80-hour weeks when three hours leaves me thinking "Wow, that was such a long day"? Maybe I could be one of those work-from-home lawyers. I'm not sure that such a beast actually exists, but maybe I could start a trend. That way I could do what I like best all day, that is, drinking coffee in my pajamas, while getting some work done every once in a while. So if anyone knows of such a profession, let me know, 'cause I'm in.