Tonight when I was driving home from my brother's house when I saw a dog running in the street. He didn't run like other loose dogs I have seen, but ran in a straight line down the street at a full sprint, holding up traffic. I followed him for four miles, pulling over and trying to call him off the road. But when he heard me he just ran faster. I got ahead of him then and ran in front of him trying to herd him to a Safeway parking lot, but he was having none of it. He must have been terrified because as soon as he saw me he tried to run the other way, but was blocked by cars.
When my mom sees an animal in the road she stops to help it, even if it is dead she pulls over to get it out of the street so its body doesn't get more crushed.
So I jumped back in the car and followed the slow line of cars that was stuck behind the still running dog. And then I lost him. The street was too dark to see a dark dog and the cars had gone back to their normal speed.
So as I've mentioned before, I love menswear. Lucky for me, my mom remembered this and gave me a little something today: four Dior mens' shirts still in their packages that belonged to my grandfather years ago. Awesome.
So I know I've talked about her before, but I really cannot get enough of the glamourai. She dresses how I would if I were ballsier and richer. So here is a little tribute to my favorite glamourai costumes.
Whenever I start to accumulate too many clothes, I start to feel guilty because I really believe that you shouldn't define who you are by the things you own. I think she can pull it off because she makes her living looking good, and being unique (she designs clothes and jewelry and styles photoshoots and stuff, check out her blog). I however, can't justify spending the majority of my money on clothes (though I often do that anyway), so to Goodwill it is!
I don't know why I have such a thing for menswear, but I really do. I started "borrowing" my dad's wranglers when I still lived at home, and shopping the mens' sections in thrift stores. My favorite finds are old grampa sweaters and this silk shirt I got for 99 cents, at Gooodwill I think.
I even had a vintage mens' military jacket for awhile (sadly I got rid of it or misplaced it or something) and was super into guys loafers for a while.
So this story was told to me by my boyfriend, who heard it from his friend back in Texas, who heard it originally from his girlfriend. I make no claims to how true this story is, and I have only filled it out a bit from how I heard it, without changing anything. I think it has definite urban myth potential. Ridiculous? Yes, but I dig it anyway because it reminds me a bit of one of my favorite short stories, I can't currently remember what it's called but it is in my favorite genre, Southern Gothic.
Anyways, so the girlfriend, Morgan, was baby-sitting for a rich family who was friends with her parents. They lived in a nice area of some city in Texas, and she drove across town to get there. The kids were pretty young, but seemed nice enough, and all she had to do was feed them lunch, play with them for a bit and then their parents were scheduled to be back.
After lunch Morgan took the kids to their play room upstairs, which was entirely circus-themed. The rest of the house was big and echoing, and completely bare of all toys. But this room was colorful and overflowing with legos, costumes, and stuffed animals. There was even a little statue of a clown, about as tall as the kids, standing in one corner. Morgan already didn't like clowns, and was especially creeped out by the statue because it had eyes that seemed to follow her like a ventriloquist's dummy. She asked the kids where it was from. They didn't know, but said it was fun to play with sometimes.
After half an hour or so, Morgan heard the phone ring and ran downstairs to get it. It was the mother, calling to check-up. Morgan said everything was going fine, and jokingly asked why on earth they had such a strange clown statue in the playroom.
"What statue?" asked the kids' mom. Morgan explained. The mom was quiet for a minute then said quickly, "We don't have any statue like that, you need to get the kids and get out of the house."
Morgan did so and the parents came rushing back with the police. After doing a thorough search of the house they discovered that there had been a midget living in the house since before the family moved in. He had lived in the attic and moved through the air vents, sometimes playing with the children.
Speaking of Gilt, if anyone would like an invite, just comment on this post with your email and I will send you an invite. My membership is used mostly for sighing and wishing I had more money, but ah well.
So this story was relayed to me by a little blond stripper I work with (no I'm not a stripper too, that's just her other job), but I liked it so much I've decided to pretend I was there. She was at Zen Rock, which is this new supposed to be Vegas-themed bar in downtown Tucson, and guess who was there.
Yep, that guy. If he still looked like this the story wouldn't be as funny, I think. Anyway, so she goes over and asks him for a picture. They take a picture (him grabbing her ass) and then without any prompting from her, he says, "Let me sign that titty!" and pulls a marker out of his pocket, grabs her nipple, and signs her boob.
I probably would have been a bit traumatized by this, but she just thought it was funny, though she did say he was a bit of a creep.
I'm really curious what Ron Jeremy was doing in Tucson, but ah well, these are the mysteries of life.