I Look Like Lady Gaga

Today, I wore this to work:

cute boots, right? and I'm not sure the picture does justice to my MUSTARD tights.

It is by far not the craziest thing I’ve ever worn. (My affinity for orange should be a clue there. And my favorite shirt used to say “Donde estas mi pantalones?” And no, I did not fully understand what that meant at the time).

My outfit consisted of a blue dress, black cardigan, the boooots (I have a serious boot addiction) and, of course, the mustard yellow tights.

I love my mustard tights. They’re fun and bright and remind me of fall and brighten up any dull outfit. Since I have to actually dress like a professional now, most of my clothes haven’t been very colorful. So I needed these tights.

(Backstory: I bought them on sale at a Macy’s on Black Friday in Seattle. With my grandma. She seemed fairly shocked by my color choice, and her favorite color is red. Maybe she was just shocked that I wear them with skirts that are above my knees. But still. Some of my cousins show more cleavage than I do and they’re like, 15. Plus my sister insists on wearing everything XXS even though she should totally switch to medium by now. Not that you shouldn’t flaunt it if you’ve got it, sister. And cousins.)

ANYWAY.

The response to my outfit was unexpected. It was quite a sensation.

“I love your outfit! Those earrings! Your hair!” *Said by one of my co-workers at our monthly breakfast meeting at Snoooooze!

“Amy! Look at your boots!” *Another co-worker.

You’re getting the picture: for the first half of the day, I was a hit. Once the kids started arriving, however…

“Miss Amy, did you tan your legs?” *Several kids said this in jest. One kid said it earnestly. But really, who has ever had legs that color? Not even my lifeguard co-worker in high school had legs that color, and she had a natural tan plus a fake tan.

“What are you wearing, Miss Amy? You look like a witch.” *Said by two kids on separate occasions, so this was not a copycat case.

“You look like Alice in Wonderland!”

“No, she looks like Lady Gaga! (GaGa?)” *Two kids arguing over who I looked like.

“I’ve got it! You look like an Oompa Loompa!” *My always sweet and complimentary boyfriend. Most of the kids are too young to understand the joys of Willy Wonka as portrayed by Gene Wilder and his creepy Oompas or else I’m sure I would have heard this before. At least his reference dates him.

So there you have it folks. I’m a weird congolmeration of two beloved fiction characters, one of our most insane (and well-known) current pop stars, and an evil lady who lures children into her cabin in the woods.

Although maybe I could be a nice witch.

But they probably don’t wear mustard tights.

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Snide

I know it’s Christmastime and a jolly happy time of year. I love Christmas, don’t get me wrong, and during my commute, I often turn on the radio and tear up at the Christmas miracle stories.

However, I also ride the light rail (yeah RTD! Well, mostly.) and what I’ve come to realize that while I have a heart of mush, I also have a brain of snide.

It’s an interesting combination, which has led me to make these observations during my commute:

1. Chivalry is dead. All those little punks on the subway–you know, the ones where you can hear their music despite the headphones–never give up their seats to the little old lady with the grocery bags. Which leaves  me to do it, because let’s face it, someone has to. They also never give up their seats to the cute girl in her adorable-but-kind-of-painful-new-boots and skirt. (That’s me.)

2. I get really annoyed when people chew loudly. It is easily my biggest pet peeve. Especially when the lady sitting right across from me is already taking up the entire seat–then she proceeds to chew through cereal, crackers, chips, and cheese. That’s how I annoyed I was–I even got irritated by the cheese. I never get irritated by the cheese. (That sounds like a lame farting joke. It’s not. I just really love cheese).

3. I also am not a morning person. This is not a bulletin, but it is further exacerbated by people in my way. Either on the road or on the train.

4. I don’t understand when it became okay for someone to sit on the floor behind the girl in the skirt with sheer hose. Even if you didn’t want to look, you still could (and let’s face it, probably did). It was awkward, kid.

5. It’s really smart of them to set the buttons so that when you need to enter or exit the train in freezing  weather, you have to push at your stop. But sometimes people need a little help understanding that: I get it. Don’t worry, sir in the blue coat: I, too, panicked when the door didn’t open automatically.

6. Many different people commute. I like it. (The diversity, I mean, not the commuting.) Probably the same population as the entire town of Bozeman commutes in and out of Denver. I think that once I get over my shyness I’ll meet all sorts of interesting characters on the light rail. Besides old men that already talk to me. (They always talk to me. All over the world. Name the place and some old man has chatted me up, even if we didn’t speak the same language.)

7. People are so generous at Christmas. My boss has this theory (which I tend to agree with) that if people were as generous and caring as they are at Christmas, we wouldn’t have any problems. He also has an idea of running for office based on “Christmastime values.” I think he could be a hit.

8. T0 the lady with the cutest black lab ever, I want your dog to be my friend on the light rail every day. I know he’s your service dog so I won’t steal him or anything, but maybe we could coordinate schedules.

9. I live really far away from downtown Denver. If we didn’t have such an awesome apartment I would hate the commute way more.

10. The light rail still makes me feel excited to be living in the big city. Even when I spilled my coffee on myself. Even when that guy spilled his coffee on me. Even with the brain of snide, I still get excited.

That concludes my list. Merry almost Christmas, everyone!

Housewifely

I start my job tomorrow!!!!!

Which is good, because I’m not a very good housewife.

I'm sometimes a little more enthusiastic than this...

I’m also learning that living with a boy is fraught with complications.

Although, to be fair, I think Eric is a fairly clean member of their species. Sure, the bathtub had muddy footprints in it upon my arrival (a huge mishap if one knows my penchant for tubs) but that wasn’t so hard to clean.

After all, I did visit my brother in several of his apartments, and one of them had a literal layer of grime, dirt, and scum in the tub. So I can handle a few footprints.

(Plus my travels through South America and Southeast Asia has given me a wide experience in what a truly awful “bathroom” is.)

However, while I always thought Eric to be fairly anal, he is when it comes to his side of the closet and his desk and his gear and his car. The kitchen and basic cleaning? Not so much. I am well known as a messy, chaotic disaster of a housekeeper and organizer, but apparently, my this-is-so-gross-I-can’t-stand-it level comes a lot sooner than a that of a boy.

I can’t say I really mind cleaning our charming little apartment–especially the kitchen, which is my favorite room. (It has granite countertops! I feel like a queen!) It’s kind of fun to clean our dishes and unload our dishwasher and cook food that we bought.

But, I’m getting bored. I hardly ever get bored–I always have a book, or a project, or show/movie lined up. I always have a blog I want to write, or a place I want to research, or a place I want to explore, or stuff I need to plan (I do a lot of planning).

Not to mention catching up on all of my blogs and Pinterest.

However, I know only Eric here, and I never realize how social I am in Bozeman until I leave it.

That combined with my very real fear of driving here (SO MANY cars! going SO FAST!) and the excessive heat, I am getting a little stir crazy.

I’m really, really excited for my job. While our apartment is in Aurora/Centennial–kind of far away from the city–my main office is right in the middle of everything. I might even get to take the light rail there, which to my little city self, sounds pretty exotic and exciting.

Who knows how long that will last. 🙂

Well, since I only have one day of orientation before I have a four-day weekend, I’ll be sure to keep all you loyal readers updated on my new, grown-up, big girl job!

The Pitfalls of Packing

I am a terrible packer.

this is me every time

You’d think that after several lengthy trips abroad, living in an apartment and the dorms on-and-off, I’d get the hang of it.

But, no.

For example, when packing for my studying abroad in Peru, one would think I had bought the plane ticket the day before: not only was I frantically packing an hour before we were to leave for the airport, but I also assumed that because Peru was south of the equator, it would be warm in Cusco in January (it’s summer, right?), a city set at around 13,000 feet.

Therefore, I had many clothes I couldn’t actually wear, terrible rain gear, and I spent the first several weeks freezing until I gave in and bought some alpaca wool.

I remember my first shower: although my host family did not have central heat, I had assumed they would have hot water, so my first night I dove into that water shivering with cold and excitement.

I almost bit my tongue off holding in the scream as the cold water poured down and left me freezing for days. I eventually learned that flushing the toilet would give me several glorious minutes of lukewarm water, but that was much, much later.

(I’m making myself sound terribly brilliant, I know.)

The school I was going to was also freezing–even when it got slightly warm outside, the walls would emit cold, I swear.

The next time I traveled abroad, you would think I would have been more prepared: this time, I knew more about the climate, and this time I knew to bring more books and less shirts.

But, no.

My pack was bursting constantly, and every time I bought a souvenir I ended up leaving several shirts behind. I also ended up losing my headlamp on the first night (I still think it was stolen, but everyone else seems to think this is a ridiculous claim for some reason).

Strangely, I am no better at packing up everything I own. Part of the reason is that I have to extract it from everything else in the basement (of which there is a lot) and collecting it from all the other rooms in the house. (And convincing my sister that if she hasn’t noticed a shirt missing for the last five years, it’s mine by now…if it ever was hers in the first place).

I also need to decide what I actually need to bring, while piling all of the other stuff, mostly kept out of purely sentimental reasons, into organized boxes in the basement.

I’m not sure how organized they are going to end up, considering I have about two-and-a-half days until I leave!!

AND I’d better get back to it, as I’ve barely started……….