Holy Bad Blogger, Batman!

I apologize for my absence, faithful cult (all three of you....). While I could blame my not blogging on lots of things, I'm not going to feed you excuses. Yes, I've been busy. Yes, I've been depressed as my beloved A's have lost eight straight. Yes, my husband shrunk my favorite jeans. Yes, last night I turned to drinking and spent a good deal of my night laying in my bathroom floor, my arms akimbo, begging for the love of a career .300 hitting catcher. But these are no excuses. No excuses at all.

Here's another thing though: I haven't felt especially fabulous lately. You know the last time I wore heels? Cause I don't. I wore wedges two days ago, but even then I tripped over a box of binding spines whilst talking to a colleague and managed to come thisclose to hacking my hand off at the wrist with the paper slicer. And I blame it on something that has plagued me my whole life. No, not verbose-ness, or even a love of pastry.

The thought that fashion is stoopid.

It seems that any time in my life that I'm doing something I find to be intellectually stimulating, my wardrobe suffers. Case in point: my entire college career. Granted, I had no money and was basically living on the contents of the tip jar at my post at Joe Muggs Coffee. But I had really bad style knowledge then as well. My idea of hotness was an ill-fitting, snarky tee with jeans that only fit before I began my total bagel and espresso diet. I was a mess. I had one black skirt that was kind of ok, and I wore that to death. But I didn't see any problem with it--I thought that being smart and going to a fancy-pants school entitled me the power to look like a street urchin. I consoled myself with the fact that the Ph.D.'s that I aspired to be donned polyester and Birkenstocks, not Manolos and cashmere.

But when I got out of school, I started getting it together. And in ways, I still have it together. I haven't started wearing muu muus and flips flops just yet. But I find myself making different choices. I'm meeting with a parent today--should I really go with the leopard print peep toes? Will they think I'm smart if I wear my olive green shift dress, or should I just go with the jeans and v-neck sweater (again)? More often than not, I find that I'm erring on the side of caution and boringness.

And I don't like it. I really want to be more like myself again. So tomorrow, I'm making a concerted effort to wear something exciting. I just got a cute green baby doll shirt that I'm going to wear with my black pants, a big ole honkin' necklace, and my leopard print peep toes. Screw the two students I have tomorrow (well, actually, don't screw them--that's illegal). I will be cute. Because isn't being cute the smartest thing you can do? I mean, seriously, don't we all judge with our eyes first? Looking smart shouldn't mean looking dowdy, looking smart should mean looking appealing and fun, and well, like yourself.

I have some lip gloss to review, so I'll be doing that soon. I promise to be a better blogger. And a better dresser. And a better person, dammit! No more late night puking shenanigans! No more scrawling "Bobby Crosby Must Die" on Bay Area landmarks!

Make that Joe Kennedy Must Die. He just made an error and two runs scored. I'm going to go drink something now.