What's Goin' On

• Dishwasher was delivered and installed. She's beautiful and very quiet and I have yet to load or unload her (since that's not one of my chores), but it seems as if I could get my entire collection of Crate & Barrel dinnerware, circa 1997, in there at one time.
• Our central air went out sometime last Wednesday and was just restored yesterday. The temps on the six days we were without air were as follows: 100, 102, 100, 93, 88, and 91. We survived, thanks to four fans, one hotel stay (for me and my friend Trina who was visiting for the weekend—a big shout out to her husband for giving us his Marriott rewards points—thanks Jim!), one stay at the in-laws' (for hubby and baby), and eating out most meals over the weekend to take advantage of the AC. We had to replace the whole shebang, to the tune of about half of my kitchen renovation budget. So that little project is on hold for quite some time. But at least it was just 6 days without AC; I know plenty of people suffer through these temps all the time.
• Just got back from yet another shopping trip and I think I finally found something to wear to the reunion. I bought white linen pants (which I would never have thought would look good but they do) and a chocolate brown top that's a silk blend but not shiny silk, more like crepe, I think it's called. It's got a draped neckline and is in general flattering, even though it’s short-sleeved. I like white and brown together—a very Ralph Lauren, WASPy, party-in-the-Hamptons look. But I also bought a pair of khaki pants in case I decide to go with the white shirt I bought yesterday. That would be the safe choice. I hope I’m brave enough to go with the white and brown outfit because I think it’s more “me.”
• Got Lauren's 9-month pictures taken this weekend (see above). Isn't she perfect? You need to click the photo to get the full effect.

Not good with headlines these days

I was hoping to be able to report in about my new dishwasher, the lovely GE PDW7880NSS, which was delivered Saturday morning. Sadly, she had some dents right on the front of her, so we sent her back. Her replacement arrives this Saturday. And no, I didn’t pay MSRP for it – it was $50 cheaper at Home Depot, plus 10% off, plus the $300 refund, plus a delivery refund, plus a $75 gift card, plus the $350 I made freelancing, which I’m considering found money. Gosh, it’s like they’re paying me for the privilege of having her.

Still no luck on the reunion outfit. Why is it that all clothing made for women “of a certain size” takes one of the following approaches to fashion:

• ghetto fabulous/hoochie mama/from the Mo’Nique collection
• British royalty over 60
• this woman, pre-death – or maybe post-death; how do I know what she's wearing now

I went shopping at lunch today for something to wear to my 20th high school reunion in a couple of weeks. (Let’s not get into the whole 20 years thing right now; let’s focus on the important thing: fashion.)

The main event is dinner and music (the invite did not say dinner and dancing, which is just as well; I wouldn’t dance and I don’t want to watch a bunch of almost-40-year-olds I went to preschool with dancing, either). The invite also said the dress code was “casual.” Where I come from, “casual” could easily be interpreted as your best NASCAR shirt and going-to-church jeans. In my book, a 7:30 dinner/music event calls for, at the very least, black pants and semi-fashionable top, heels, etc. So it’s hard to know what to wear—dress up too much and people will think you’re all puttin’ on airs. Dress up not enough and you won’t look like the successful, savvy woman that you are. Or something.

So I’ve been looking for an outfit that says:

“I’m better than you now because I haven’t lived in this stinking town since 1987 and you married the guy you sat next to in algebra and you live a block away from your parents’ house where you grew up. And I actually left not just the county but the state for college. And I make more money than you. And I’m still a band fag at heart and damn proud of it, you stupid jock.”

It must also must disguise the fact that I’ve gained a hundo since they last saw me (L-baby is 9 months now; I’ll just say it’s baby weight).

Perhaps that’s a bit much to ask of an outfit.

I find myself feeling bemused around the young women in the office. How young, you ask? One day an e-mail went around with a link to a site that tells you the number one song on the day you were born. One of these girls said hers was Van Halen’s "Jump." (In case you’re wondering, mine was "I Heard it Through the Grapevine," and I don’t mean when it was part of the singing raisins commercial).

Oh, they’re so young, so fresh, so full of hope and optimism about the future. So eager to get their careers off on the right foot. And I, I am the sad, old, cynical married woman who remembers what that felt like. I, too, had a first job once, when the ink was barely dry on my diploma. I remember driving away from my Loop office in the big city and seeing the skyline in my rearview mirror and having my very own Mary Tyler Moore moment. Now, this song queues up on the old iPod and I think, "No shit."