Tipsy posty

Hidee ho, ho's!

I'm slightly drunkish.

Yeah, it's Monday, don't judge. I dunno about you, but Monday is the most alcoholically necessary day of the week as far as I'm concerned. don't try to say alcoholically necessary (or spell it for that matter) when tipsy. Verry hard.

Ok, so here is what I am doing RIGHT fucking NOW, people:

Cooking.
Blogging.
Dancing
Singing.

Details on the above:
Cooking: Spaghetti bolognese, or, as I still think of it, Misty Sauce, a spaghetti with beef, helluva lotta mushrooms and basil and 'maters, easy yet yummy and good for you too!
Blogging: duh.
Dancing: Well, NIN just stopped, but was chair dancing to that (iPod shuffle is so good, ti knows my moods).
Singing: The Toadies Possum Kingdom is my fave, I like to belt that one, I sing it pretty well when drunkded except for one note ("So Help MEEEE") when my voice always breaks.

Oh, cool. Now is Massive Attack. Slinky Dance!

Ok, so beyond the Monday drinking (DAMN today was busy, and it's gonna be a ballbuster of a week. I realize that I am somewhat ball-free, but I can bust other people's balls, can't I?)...um, what was I talking about?

Oh, yeah, ok, um....shit. What WAS I talking about?

......??.......

OH.

Yesterday I officially decided spring was here when I saw my first old lady in her bra. See, Norwegian ladies, above a certain age, are known for gardening and sunning in their bras. This, I assume, comes from them thinking they are too old for bikinis, yet, poor birds, they want sun on their tums and chests, so it is a common sight to see them gardening or sitting on their sun porches in their big supportive white bras (carefully folded off their shoulders, yet still covering the important bits). It's really quite cute, all these chesty mamas in their white boob holsters, watching the passers by and picking weeds. I hope to be one of them some day. By the time I'm old enough, I hope old lady bra gardening is a popular pastime in the US.

Perhaps I will make it a trend. Later in life, of course.

So today, in honor of spring, I wore a black linen shift dress with pumps, sans hose. Yeah, ok, it might have been a LITTLE early for that, because goose bumps on thighs is not pretty as you wait for the train. (I had on a sweater and jacket over the dress. I'm not insane.)

However, that being said, all the boys at work were mightily impressed by my outfit. I'm not sure why, though. The dress in question is literally over 10 years old, from Old Navy, the shoes, almost as old. Was it the above the knee (barely) length and the absence of hose, showing skin on bare legs? (Granted there IS a tattoo.) The tightly bound waist? The fact that it was all black and slightly narrow fitting? Whatever, but my ancient cheapo outfit was a hit.

Why is it that the outfit I don't even make an effort on is commented on, but the ones I really work on garner nary a comment (except from my fellow fashion obsessed comrade, Evelyne, who always susses out my fave outfits, which is why I lurve her).

I should not care more often.

Ok, I need to check dinner und dance some more. Tchuss!