Get This Woman Some Play Clothes

Is it any wonder that my sister had the intuition that lingerie may be in order to spruce up my wardrobe? Here's the thing: I love to shop; I am good at shopping; and I hope to die smiling either come to or from Ann Taylor Loft. But I typically buy clothes for work or for socializing in the more public areas of this great city. An area of my wardrobe that has never received sufficient attention is clothes for just hanging around at home after work. You can see from the above picture that Jeff took last night, that I have been single for a LONG time. My unwinding clothes make me look like an escapee from a mental institution who managed to find a cute hoodie to fly the coop in. And this is pretty much what Jeff has to look at all winter long. I believe he said to me when I stood up from the computer: "What exactly are you wearing?"

I think that's a fair question.

So, here's the thought process. I come home from work after 7 p.m., and nowadays it's dark and a little drafty, so I can't shimmy around in those little hot pants my friends gave me because I would die of pneumonia. It's also hard to cook in a teddie, or, so it seems, though I have never tried it. So, I put on my gap pajama pants. That's the hot striped number on my legs. But then I realized that those pants aren't so sexy or fashion forward. So, I put on my cotton Calvin Klein nightgown that is sleeveless and simple. But, then, I am cold. I accessorized with my new favorite hoodie from Anthropologie. And, finally, I hate walking around barefoot and I hate it when my feed are cold. Socks seem really like admitting feminine defeat so I just slipped my feet back into the shoes I wore during my day job-- black patent leather shoes with a little bow. And, that's the genius thought process behind my little outfit that I can be seen wearing around my house on week nights from 7-10 p.m. I am open for suggestions about what to wear that is a little more figure flattering and a little less like an outfit that screams, "I need more medication."

I do enjoy these high-class problems.

This weekend was intense ride for the BWJ staff. If I was the cursing type, I would be dropping all kinds of "f" bombs. Luckily, I am opting for more family-friendly ways to express how many feelings came up this weekend. I think the main lever for getting some of these long-buried feelings out of my gut was getting a contract on my condo-- the original bachelorette rose garden. I do love that condo. And while it's painful to possibly (fingers crossed) let her go for WAY less than I paid, I think it's more of the spiritual piece of letting go of my first piece of property that I bought all by myself with my hard-earned money. It was my first legitimate first footprint in the world and now it's going to be sold (at an outrageously low price) to a very nice gentleman relocating from a little hamlet called Harlem in New York. I have been decidedly raw since finding out that my little cocoon is on its way to being someone else's next launching pad. Another door to a piece of myself is being closed (at a very low price, but I am not bitter) and certainly making room for something else. I am now more attached to Jeff and our life here because there is no condo across town that could scoop me up at any moment. I have never consciously thought I would ever live there again or that I would ever live without Jeff, but somewhere deep inside of me, there is a seriously neurotic single woman dying a very slow death. I would say she's got about 5.8 more weeks to live and then it's time to say goodbye to her forever.

I have never been good at goodbyes, especially not for parts of myself that I am consciously and explicitly watching slip away.

I am listening to the perfect song right now for this contemplative mood: Strangers, most famously done by the Kinks and featured last year in the movie Darjeeling Limited. The version I found today was by Golden Smog. I love the lyrics:

So where are you going to I don't mind/
If I live too long I'm afraid I'll die/
So I will follow you wherever you go/
If your offered hand is still open to me/
Strangers on this road we are on/
We are not two we are one.

I do love a song that speaks to my fear of dying, and I love the image of the offered hand. I got a lot of that this weekend from Jeff, even though I was being a pain in the ass on several occasions. I know, I know, it's hard to imagine, but trust me. I was.

The preparation Jeff and I did this weekend for the wedding was mostly within our relationship. The shifting ground as we recommit everyday to continue on the path that will find us making a capital C commitment very soon sometimes feels like plate tectonics. Lots of energy being unleashed these days. I think it's just as important to sit down and have conversations that start with the question, "I know I am a pain in the ass, but do you understand that is never going to change?" as it is to find color-coordinating place cards. So, we're doing the the work that shows up on the calendar and the work that no one will see except me and Jeff, though you can be sure that as soon as I can articulate it, I will be sharing it.

This picture is from an art show at Linda Warren Gallery this winter in Chicago. I love it. I think it's vaguely naughty and innocent at the same time. I love the delight on the little boy's face. I love the curiosity and almost-horror on the little girl's face. I tell myself that they are little siblings at a moment in time before their life experiences are warped by messages that there is not enough (love, attention) to go around or before they are taught that the differences between them may rend their hearts in inseparable ways. Art is so good for the soul.