the marvelous adventures of...: sucker born every minute, fashion edition, plus updates

Shall we do updates first?

Popeyes biscuits are indeed as good as I remembered. There is nothing in them of any conceivable nutritional value. In fact, they are so extremely full of everything bad for you that every bite probably takes 3.2 minutes off your life expectancy. It is worth it. Total mouthgasm. The spicy chicken was delish as well. I brought two pieces home for D, carrying them around in my purse for the whole of the ballgame (with the net effect that my purse will now smell like chicken probably forever, but oh well), predicting that he would like it, being predisposed by its presence in my breastmilk all those years ago. And he did!

Also, our seats were not behind a pole, we saw a vintage Wake pitching performance--not some minor leaguer's, it didn't rain, and we were out of the park by 11. That part of the weekend was just lovely.

Now let's talk about the less lovely aspects of the weekend. Friday afternoon my good friend "Justin" texts me to say that he is working late and will not be at my house to finish up the 1/3rd of my yard project that isn't complete. However, says "Justin" (I'm sorry, putting it in quotes is just cracking me up), this is actually good, because he can come over the weekend to finish it and that will afford him time to pick up the crushed stone I want, rather than come back and do that at a later date. Fine, I say. Just let me know when you will be coming, because I'm working Saturday morning and early afternoon, and Sunday I will only be home between 1 and 4:30 pm. (i.e. if you want to be paid when you are finished, make sure you are getting finished at a time I will be there). I hear nothing on Saturday. Quelle surprise. Not terribly upset by this, because it allowed me to go running after work on Saturday, since praise Jesus, not only didn't the world come to an end, it was a nice day! Sunday morning I hear nothing either. Quelle surprise, again. I figure my man "Justin" has overbooked himself again. I am not terribly upset. As I may have mentioned, the fact that the front looks presentable from the street and I do not have to duck the neighbors anymore is enough to keep me mollified till the work is complete. I decide to head into town earlier than planned so I can do an errand before the chicken and alcohol pregame festivities commence.

On my way (3:45ish) Justin texts me and says that perhaps he will come by and put the six bags of yard waste that he hasn't yet removed out at my curb for trash day, so that he will not have to charge me for removing them. Keep in mind, I specifically told him that a.) I absolutely was not going to be home after 4:30 and b.) that there is only one week this month that yard waste will be picked up by the city curbside and that week has come and gone. I text him back and say, don't bother, because I know that if those bags are identifiably branches, hedge clippings, etc--and they are--the trash guys will leave them on my curb. Fair enough, Justin texts back, he just thought it might be worth a try. (And here is where this devolves into me wanting to bang my head against something hard, or at least solid.) We'll "just go with the original plan" and he'll be by Monday at 2pm. Sweet jumping Jesus on a pogo stick. How that is the original plan, or anything close to the original plan, I do not fucking know. Sigh. I don't even.

Enough of that. Here's our fashion item.

I get emails from Madewell. Madewell is a division of Jcrew, I believe, and since I get email from them, I get email from Madewell, despite never having been been in a Madewell store. I never open these emails. I just delete them. This morning for reasons that are totally obscure, I actually did open the one in my inbox. Madewell is hawking chambray. I have nothing against chambray. In a twist of fate, I am even wearing my chambray cowgirl shirtdress today, over black leggings and a black beater. I look cute, even though this dress is kinda too big for me now. So, yeah, I am not a hater. However. This is one of the chambray items Madewell would like me to purchase. For $98, I might add.

Seriously? A below-the-knee, full, button-front, *fucking pleats at the waist* skirt. This is not "equals parts laid-back and impossibly chic", Madewell. This is a garment that a nice 62 year old Methodist lady buys from LLBean to wear to her garden club meeting. You cannot fool me, despite your clever ad copy and your 17 year old 5'11 112lb model. This is (and all y'all may remember me referencing this type of garment before) clothing that shouts out "I do not ever want to have sex again." You cannot make that chic no matter how high a price tag you snap on it. Are people idiots?

Know what I did order online Friday? Not a hideous skirt. A statue for my garden that will go where my crushed rock is going (should Justin ever buy and spread it).