The Improper Bostonian Fashion Show

Step One: Wear to Office
Step Two: Profit!

Last night Crispy and I went to see The Improper Bostonian Fashion Show at a posh spot in Chinatown. I know that pairing "posh" and "Chinatown" seems odd, given its history as the infamous Combat Zone (Porn! Strip clubs! Murder!). But changes, they are in the air, and on the streets in the form of new luxury high-rise buildings for young professionals seeking an overpriced domicile while they rat race away.

The event was full of promises, encapsulated first and foremost by the three blonde goddesses who were standing in the lobby to indicate via their beauty that, yes, there is a Beautiful People Event occurring in the premises, are you lost, ma'am?

Once on the proper floor, the two of us zeroed in immediately on the food offerings, which were plentiful, if in microscopic amounts. Imagine a large man's hand. Now imagine his pinkie fingernail. That was the size of the foodstuffs proffered.

There was the requisite buffet table, and there were also servers who wandered about with trays of delicacies. As the evening wore on, they learned to recognize my round face shining at them from across the room as I spied their delicious cargo. I helped myself to plump mushrooms stuffed with Parmesan, slivers of asparagus in the delicate embrace of whole wheat wraps, an apricot pretending to be a clam, and three helpings of something puffy that must have originated from nature at some point.

After our bellies were mildly satisfied, thus rendering us slightly less homicidal, we walked back into the room and shamelessly ogled the models outfits on display along with the people who were special enough, like us, to be invited to this super sikrot event. 'Twas a veritable who's-who of Boston's downtown office drones. We spotted many a finance type: tall, sleek, impeccably attired in business suits. The women were exquisitely garbed in fanciful skirts and dresses. There were some Olds as well, trying not to look too nervous at all the staring Millenials.

There was only one rapey guy who was stage-whispering his plans for taking a model home, and he was dressed like this:

So, yeah.

Apparently, the alt-fashion types had come in first, all tatted and dyed and spiked and studded, but got bored and wandered out for a while. We encountered them coming back in when we were on our way out.

As for the fashion show itself--there appeared to be six models doing shifts on three pedestals. They usually needed help getting off and on 'em, mostly because of their toight, toight outfits. My favorite, of course, is the one pictured above: the Backless Sideboob Jumpsuit. I had many earnest conversations with my coworkers today about how versatile this outfit is: you could just slap on a blazer, wear it to work, and then whip the covering off the goods at five o'clock! Such brilliant.

In conclusion: I need more clothes.

This post brought to you by almonds. Almonds: what morally upright people stuff into their (sobbing) faces instead of Cheetos!

Sour Cream is My Nemesis

Just look at that white abomination. Uggghhhh

Yesterday I succumbed to my desire for nachos. I forgot to shout, “SOUR CREAM ON THE SIDE!” so the giant dish was brought out with the vile stuff squirted on everything. No matter, said I, wolfing down half of it.

An hour later, I was in agony. Demonic forces stabbed daggers into my stomach. As Fragrant Husband looked on in concern, I kept eructing uncomfortably in the hopes of expelling the noxious byproducts of the thrice-damned lactic acid bacteria used to ferment that foulest of dairy products.

Alas, I had no choice but to forcefully expel the contents of my tummy. And then I felt better…until my gastrointestinal tract, already on high alert from the presence of mysterious bacteria, decided to contribute some flatus to the expulsion.

It was bad, readers. I attribute my remaining married to cosmic intervention, possibly from that asteroid that broke up. Its blood (mineral?) sacrifice shall not be in vain!

This pointless post brought to you by Friday. Friday: I give up.

Am I My Mom Yet?

The end of the month marks another year of the imminent, inevitable, and progressive loss of my physiological integrity. On the one hand, I remain quite sprightly despite my tragic telomere attrition. On the other hand, I just discovered that I am supposed to turn into my mother this year.

If last month’s breathless news reports and blogs prove correct, I will shortly transform into the all-knowing carbon-based life form who deposited my chubby little body into an unsuspecting world.

In the interest of science, I have created a checklist to determine the likelihood of this phenomenon affecting me. I have weighted each category in an arbitrary manner, as a shout out to organized religion.

Am I My Mom Yet? - Checklist

Category	Weight	Score
Cooks with too much oil	10	0
No filter between brain and mouth	20	20
Somehow always correct, or able to hypnotize others into believing so	15	5
Needy	15	15
Likes humans more than pets	10	5
Hilarious	10	10
Disregards personal boundaries	10	5
Voracious eater	10	10

I scored a 70. I believe that makes me more than halfway toward becoming my mother. All I need to complete the metamorphosis is a diagnosis of prediabetes, and an unrelenting terror of new technology.

Time to go to the Cheesecake Factory on a donkey!

PS - Love you Mama!

How was the First Week?

It was good, until I delved deeper into the shared drive and did one of these:

Duplicate files in redundant folders! Documents in the wrong places! This is madness! This...is...SPARTAAAAHHH...!

Note: In my failed attempt to look up a word that rhymes with "Sparta," I googled "smegma." Except I forgot to do it in an incognito window. Blargh.

Happy Friday!

Wedding!!!

I got myself a Mr. Fragrant Elephant last Saturday!

Preparations went smoothly. The rehearsal dinner saw my friends mingling, my family hiding in a corner, and one drunken speech. Everyone was on time for the ceremony rehearsal the next morning. My mom-in-law and sisters-in-law shuttled me to a salon for a relaxing massage before my mani-pedi. Afterwards, my maid of honor and two bridesmaids got me made up, got my hair did, and stuffed me in my dress in time for the pre-ceremony photographs on the beach, where only one tree attacked me.

The wedding itself was a nerd bonanza. The flower girl, having been rigorously trained for a month leading to the wedding, made it all the way to the front, lured by her mom's dragon hand puppet. I walked down the aisle to The Legend of Zelda theme, arranged for orchestra, of course. One cousin commented that she felt her hands involuntarily grasp for a controller when she heard the music.

Our officiant, Dave, started out with, "Mawwiage. Mawwiage is what bwings us together here today." Then he described the Fragrant Elephants' love story using Neil Gaiman's words. He quoted from Babylon 5. He chose a reading from Lord of the Rings. He talked about the Wheel of Time when we went to put on our rings.

Right before our kiss, he surprised us by reading again from The Princess Bride: "There have been five great kisses since 1642 B.C. ... (before then couples hooked thumbs.) And the precise rating of kisses is a terribly difficult thing, often leading to great controversy... But I know the Fragrant Elephants will leave them all behind."

CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.

Oh, and I inserted the word "ninja" into my wedding vows. Because that's how I roll.

A lot of people said that what they would remember most about the wedding was how much I laughed my ass off.

The reception went by quickly. I took to the center of the dance floor when "Asereje" by Las Ketchup came on, but ran away after. I lost, and recovered, an earring over the course of the evening. I couldn't walk two feet without people launching themselves at me, so I implemented a policy of hugging anyone within arm's length and then gliding away like a swan. The analogy works because like a swan's, my feet were kicking frantically under my voluminous dress.

We ended the night with a beach bonfire. It was perfect.

I discovered the next day that our florist had placed the boutonnières in an unmarked brown baggie, so neither set of parents got to wear theirs. The groomsmen had no flowers for their lapel. I was pissed, but calmed down by making everyone put them on anyway. At least we used 'em! We had to stop by the florist to return their basket, so Mr. Fragrant Elephant walked in and gave constructive criticism -- something along the lines of, "When people are getting ready for a wedding and it's a madhouse, it might be helpful to label things so we know what they are."

So, in conclusion: weddings are fun! Now invite me to yours.

Let me close with this poster...

Pictures courtesy of my cousin MiscellaneousJill.

...and this exchange between Mr. Fragrant Elephant and Fragrant Mother.

"What's the return policy for your daughter again?"

"You must return within twenty-four hours."

"NOOOOO!!!" 

Bride Power, Make Up!!!

Now that the danger appears to be over, we return to our regularly scheduled fluffy programming. Today's post: turning beast into bride!

Last weekend, Special K and I ventured into Sephora for my beauty appointment. Makeup Lady, or ML, was professional, knowledgeable, and had me looking like a magic fairy within the allotted forty-five minutes.

In between applying all forms of chemicals to my face, ML answered Special K's beauty interrogations. Special K loves makeup and trains herself via YouTube, but her homegrown knowledge proved no match for one of Sephora' s operatives. ML told her, in no uncertain terms: SPF is okay, liquid foundation is superior to powder, these are the brushes you must have, et cetera.

At the end of the session, everything that touched my face went into a little box, and we jaunted off to the cashier. We used Special K's Beauty Insider card for the Super Sikrot 15% discount. Our purchase entitled her to a VIB card. That's like being able to stay at the MGM Grand for free because you gamble so much.

Special K, conscientious grad student, tried to return some items so my credit card would stop screaming, but I assured her it was okay. After all, I'm going to win the lottery any day now. Yup... anyyy... dayyy...

We went back to my place and she replicated what ML did in thirty minutes. Truly, Special K is an artist. See, this is why I opted for a friend instead of a salon -- I trust Special K with my face, and she'll be around all evening for touchups! Whoop whoop!

We agreed that the price I paid for all my bridal makeup was worth it, because they would last me a long time. Before we went to Sephora, I only owned crappy eyeliner and mascara. This was my first major makeup purchase, and it's probably comparable to what a normal female human buys in a year. I had to look at it as a long term investment.

To look at least 12% prettier on my wedding day (one month away! eeeek!), I bought:

• Three shades of eye makeup
• Three brushes for eye makeup
• Concealer
• Brush for concealer
• Primer
• Foundation
• Brush for primer and foundation
• Rouge
• Lipstick
• Brush for lipstick
• Lip gloss

Total: $443.43

---

"You still wake up sometimes, don't you? You wake up in the dark and hear the screaming of your bank account."

"Yes."

(The Silence of the Funds, 2013)

Before I Go Blind

Dear readers, today is Lasik day. In the unlikely event that I make it but my eyeballs don't, you may look forward to two more comics -- one about, what else, our cats; and another one about the infamous Boat to Happyland, inspired by a recent news article. Both works of dazzling art are safely stored in C:\Documents and Setting\users\Queen of the Universe\awesome\super awesome\ultra mega super awesome\i like cake\2012\march\do not open\why did you open. 

Haha, just kidding, I use a Mac so they're in... Finder. Somewhere. And here is how you make Finder show you the full directory path.

So, in conclusion:  YAY LASIK!

A Girl Moment

My girl moment occurred early yesterday, when I excitedly texted Boyfriend that we had officially been going out for six months. His response was witty and noncommittal. I suggested we go to dinner. Again, he responded in a very blasé manner. I was devastated. I stomped off to work, fuming at the insensitivity of the male of the species. How could he not know that this was important?

(I assure you, dear reader, six months is important. Why, entire lifetimes of countless insects have gone by in that time!)

I encountered my buddy on gchat and together we decided that I was overreacting. I made reservations at Oleana, left early to vote (rah rah Cambridge City Council rah rah), and called Boyfriend afterwards to remind him to come over soon. "I'm on my way to your place right now," he said, sounding slightly out of breath. I figured he was climbing stairs. A few minutes later, I discovered my door unlocked, and walked in expecting to see my brother, who occasionally stops by to say hi to Sheba and/or to raid my cupboard. But it was Boyfriend!!!! He was going to surprise me with roses. But my ninja skills barely gave him enough time to get into my apartment. My kitty burglar alarm was too sleepy to meow insistently at him, which would have given away his true location instantly.

Tee-hee-hee

Conclusion: Oleana is delicious. Also, men? Will surprise you.

Windows 7 Pro

Thank you, Microsoft, for creating a gorgeous OS. I say this despite owning a Macbook Pro running OS X.  Windows 7 is easily as sexy as OS X!

Coming to 7 from XP is like having a competent Baskin Robbins cake one moment and a swoon-worthy Finale extravaganza the next. Meanwhile, if you're coming to 7 from Vista (vomit), it's like going from being pummeled by morons to being massaged at a luxury spa by a deeply tanned, lean and muscular gentleman. Or lady, whatever works for you.

My victory is that much sweeter because I had to fight  to get this OS. And by "fight," I mean, "send a polite e-mail requesting a Windows 7 upgrade, and then wait three weeks for a response."

Tell your office to switch to Windows 7 Pro! Tooooootally worth it!

ZOMG

OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. CNN'S 2010 HERO OF THE YEAR IS HERE. As in, she is staying here in the guest house with me. This is me after she introduced herself.

Nobel laureates! Heroes of the Year! Am I glowing from all the humanitarian superstars I'm meeting? God, I hope so!

More tomorrow after I ambush her for photos.