Shopping Trip

I am doing what I hate to do: two things at once.

I just got home from the theater, and I should go to bed, but I have to work on my bio for the program. I was told that I could do it in the morning but if my morning tomorrow (today?) is anything like my morning today (yesterday?), there will just be no time.

However, I'm having a hard time settling down to write it.

It's no big deal, it's not like I've had such an illustrious career that my bio should be anything more than 20 words: I've already found it quite easy to write these four paragraphs, and none of the facts in them (if there are facts; I don't even seem to know what day it is) existed until I typed them, just now. See? This one, here. And here! Ah, it's sooo easy to write stuff! So writing a lousy bio, when I already know the stuff that's hapened to me (I was there!), shouldn't be too hard. And yet: I struggle.

However, on top of not knowing the day, I thought it was an hour earlier than it actually is, which just adds to my confusion, and I drank about two gallons of diet coke at 8 p.m. And now? Now I am flying, a little. And sitting down and doing what I'm supposed to be doing seems really, really hard.

I know it's silly: there must be more caffeine in a chocolate bar than in a large diet coke (but I wouldn't know, I haven't eaten a whole chocolate bar in MONTHS); there you go.

See, I also wanted to write about my shopping trip, and the trip I took, therein, before I forget.

Today before going to the theater, I had about an hour to kill, so I went to J. Crew. I've been wanting to try on clothes and haven't really, since losing 11.8 pounds (though, tomorrow when I weigh in? I expect to have gained some of that back. More on that later). I discovered over the weekend that I could fit into some size 8 pants at the Gap, but I wasn't sure if that was just a fluke. Also, I wasn't thrilled with those pants - the Gap has a lot of crap out right now. Anyway: it's not a fluke. I pulled a bunch of 10s and none of them fit me. So: I can wear an 8!, and what does that mean? It means - my weight loss has had a concrete effect of the clothes I can wear, which, if you're not me, would've occurred to you already. But if you're me, you're not feeling skinny. You're looking in that badly lit mirror at your thighs, ass, and tummy, going, jesus, what a long way I have to go still.

See, what I don't understand is, how can I be that number and still look in the mirror and see the old me? The old 2-3 sizes bigger me? I mean, there's something really fucked up about that, and it bothers me.

It also bothered me that it took three people at J. Crew to find out that there were no size 8s in the pants I really wanted and would've dropped a ton of money on, just for the thrill of buying SIZE 8, and all the while, they were falling over themselves backwards to go put money in the meter of some other woman (some bling-laden SM blond thing)? Did you know that was even a service? They don't want you to have to leave the store to feed your meter in the People's Republic of Santa Monica, and I think that's pretty lame. Rich people have legs, let her feed their own goddamn meter. Or find free parking, as I did. Just a few blocks away, even. A good spot, and there was more than one, little Miss White-Jaguar-with-Pinstripes (she had to describe her car so the dude could put the money in the right meter).

Oh! and why no one-piece bathing suits, you morons at J. Crew? They have them online, and I do need a new one, but there is no fucking way in hell I'm trying on a two-piece. When I asked about it, the guy helping me (he was so "Dr Boogie" from Shear Genius) goes, "Huh. You're right. There are no one-piece bathing suits in the store." I was all, "That is sooo disappointing." I was already getting fed up with them; it didn't stop me from buying a sweater.

However, I digress.

In the interim of writing the last two paragraphs, my bio has been shot off to the guy who needed it, without his even noticing, I'm sure (nighty-night, Paul, hope you're feeling better). And Patrick is waiting for me to come to bed. I don't know where the point of this post has gone; it's tripped out the door and is waiting for me on the lawn, under the full moon.

G'night, you!