Take Your Own Advice

Note to self: go grocery shopping. fridge is empty, save tortillas, 2 eggs, 1 pear.

Productivity? Sure, I guess so. At least I turned in everything that was due, and G didn’t yell at me this week. That’s a good Friday in my book. Also, in a fit of culinary regression, I ate bunny-shaped macaroni and cheese while watching Alias because my brain was so fried that I coudln’t think much past boiling water. It was delicious, and nutritious. Salsa dancing in North Philly as pretty fun, although rather humbling. Got hit on by the police captain, who gave me his business card, and insisted that “me llamas para bailar.” Sure, buddy.

Note to self: learn how do dance better.

Saturday, I actually [gasp] went to the library in an attempt to make up for my late rising. Mildly effective, although the weird weather was messing with my head. To clear said cerebral organ, I decided that it would be a good idea to go for a run.

Note to self: best not to go for first outdoor run since early January on the windiest day of February.

so that was interesting, but invigorating. Continuing with the windy theme, I also thought that it would be a good idea to wear my hair down on my date, and also wear lipgloss.

Note to self: if you don’t want to end up eating your own coiffure all night, in addition to stellar emanadas and churros, put it in a ponytail.

But I felt as though the outfit I’d assembled merited the novelty of ‘down’ hair; I’ve never really thought of myself as a sort of “icing” girl, I like to have a substantial cake as well as frosting. I know that if you smother butter-cream on a dry, tasteless sponge cake, it still ends up tasting like crap. Maybe I’ve been neglecting substance lately, who knows. In any case, the icing was in top form last night. At the ardmore train station, chewing on my wind-blown locks already, a lady came up to me and said “I just have to say that your outfit is great. I mean, I don’t know what you’re wearing under the coat, but you look great. I sell wedding dresses, and I know fashion, so I like that stuff and I just had to tell you.” Hell yeah. Made my fucking night. I don’t delude myself that I’m a great beauty, but when I’m in a self-congratulatory mood I like to think that I can throw an outfit together. I was all in black and white, shoes, skirt, purse, sweater, and broke out the liquid liner for makeup. Too bad I left the house without the restaurant’s address.

Note to self: when invariably looking for keys at moment of departure from house, don’t forget to do other important information gathering.

We found Azafrán, if a bit circuitously, and the meal was indeed delicious. Worth the wait, and the trouble getting there. As we walked down Market, late for the r5 (which was already 31 minutes late), some ambiguously sober guys yelled out of their suburban “hey, you’ve got a HOT GIRLFRIEND.” Ha. When does that happen in reference to me? Never. Then, in what would formerly have been deemed a very Un-Thea-like activity, I mingled with flair at Lloyd 50’s; three sophomores from my spanish tutorial last year walked in to the common room to see me holding a Yuengling, decked out in a short skirt and three inch stilettos, and I think they nearly passed out. Ha. I was social, I chatted with people that I don’t really know, and I had a good time.

Note to self: stick with this new phase, you’ve got the icing down. Stick to the frivolous and sarcastic; levity and insincerity come naturally to you. What’s this nonesense about ‘sincere feelings?’ Bah. Screw the cake, just put on another coat of icing.


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