I wrote a lovely, somewhat serious entry this morning about books and stuff, inspired by the empress, but maybe I'll post it tomorrow. I'm not in a somewhat serious mood right now. I'm in a whiny, cranky, annoyed/annoying mood. I could list all the reasons, but .... bleah. I have to get dressed up and go to the Hubs' office party in about an hour. That pretty much sums it up.Also, I have been eating excessively for the last two weeks, pretty much gaining back what I lost in the previous six weeks. I'm disgusted with myself. And here's vacation, which is pretty much when I gained back all the weight I had lost last year.
As long as I'm being a bitch, let me mention the really nice sweater that my Chum gave me for Christmas the other day. It's a lovely v-neck, in colors that I like very much. It's ribbed, so that it's very form-fitting. Swell. Let me just mention this, and I'm sure there are those out there who will instantly get it: if you are a well-endowed person of the female gland (as Colonel Potter says it), you do not wear ribbed sweaters. It would be like going out in public with giant neon signs everywhere pointing to your boobs, screaming "HEY EVERYBODY! LOOK HERE!" I may be able to wear the sweater under something else, but I did try it on -- it gave my kids a laugh -- and all it did was make me feel more like a fat freak. All the weight I have gained that I need to lose is in my mid-section. So a ribbed sweater pulling tightly over that really just deflated any ego I might have had left. Here's what I want to know: when people see you wearing loose clothes all the time, what is it they're trying to tell you when they get you something completely different? I don't like the way you dress? People tell me that I don't look heavy/big-busted, but they don't get that the reason I don't look that way is that I dress to cover it up. Do they think I'm making it up?
I know that I am basically a small person; everything is relative. I am big in places for being a small person, if that makes any sense.
Hey, I know I'm being a cranky bitch. I warned you.
The Hubs finally put the lights on the tree last night, but of course we're going out tonight, so there's no decorating until R gets home from work tomorrow, which should be early afternoon. After all that aggravation I had in not being able to find the ornaments, now it doesn't even seem worthwhile to put them up. I'll be taking them down in a week anyway. Hey, maybe this year I should leave the tree up and decorated until someone else decides to put it away. Hah!
Citizen Kane remains elusive. On the other hand, I have enough finocchio to feed the Italian army.
I would rather just write here all night than post the entry and get dressed to go out. I've been wearing one of my mother's sweaters all day, a nice sort of comfort-thing. (She had some pretty weird sweaters.) I'd be happy to keep it on for the rest of the day. Alas. I don't own any wool pants or dressy sweaters, so I'm pretty much putting on thin, nylon-y type stuff tonight, and then I will be freezing. And the only black shoes I own, as it turns out, are heels. Not high heels, of course, but heels. I didn't even know I still had shoes like that. And since the evening is likely to involve a fair amount of standing around, I expect to be incapacitated by tomorrow. Something else to look forward to.
The Hubs is due home within a half hour or so. I wonder if I can manage to break a leg before then?
I'll be better tomorrow.
