Got in from New York yesterday -- I will be blogging the trip for probably a couple of weeks because SO MUCH STUFF HAPPENED.
But today I am slammed so just one quick thing:
I have this sex-potty-hotty friend named Jan. She has the Body of Death. And Jan gave me this little cocktail black dress (emphasis on little) and I packed it to wear in New York because I don't think I have the big bold hairies to wear it in my home town. *grin* Plus, really, how many times a week do I need a cocktail dress here in rural Georgia? Answer: Even less than you would think.
Anyway this dress...It's SASSY. It's VERY short, it's very PLUNGY in the front, it isn't what one would call "baggy" but it still manages to look elegant instead of trampy. Like, in this dress, it is very probable that I look PURCHASABLE, but at least I look EXPENSIVE.
So I put it on to go to a VERY NICE restaurant called March and then to see a Broadway show, and I am craning all around in the hotel room mirror trying to decide if I can wear it out of the room, but Scott (whose opinion is suspect because he is a MAN and traditionally men are Pro-Not-Enough-Dress) says BABY I LOVE THAT DRESS LET'S GO.
SO we trot on over to the elevator, and its a LONG ride because we are on the top floor, so IN the elevator I am still craning and peering at myself in the highly polished brass doors and trying to pull the hem down without having a boob pop out the top and then trying to pull the neckline up without flashing my underpants. And I am thinking I am going to have to go RIGHT BACK UP and CHANGE because I can not POSSIBLY wear this out in human public.
Then the elevator stops on the 17th floor and PERSPECTIVE gets on. Perspective is about my age, and she is blonde, and she has her navel pierced. I know her navel is pierced because the neckline of HER little black dress allows me to SEE her navel. Or, no, not really the neckline, because the dress HAS no neckline. In fact, it has no front at all, just SIDES, and then two pointy pieces of fabric that come out from each side. They do not attach to each other, they just stick out in points to cover Niplandia and they have either been glued to her boobies or she is making them stay in place by a Superhuman Act of Will. The skirt is nothing more than a hint of loindrape -- the sort of about-to-blow-away-scrap you might see on a bit of classical statuary. She has long french manicured claws on both her hands and her feet and her mouth is an unapologetic slash of carmine and her hair is SO SO BIG that she could wear it to ANY Alabama shopping mall in the 1980's and not feel shame.
Suddenly, I realized I am positively NUNLIKE in my FASHION RESTRAINT, and I quit worrying about the dress and had a lovely time.
All this month I will tell all the NYC crap like meeting my editor and agent and what it's like behind the scenes in the big publishing house and what shows we saw (in 4 shows we saw 16 tony nominations!!) and where we ate and THE MUGGER story and Steve Martin and Nicole Kidman sightings and we will discuss HOW one MILKFEEDS a HEN... STAY TUNEDPosted by joshilyn at May 11, 2004 10:55 AM