I need a beer

There's this Martina McBride song called "This One's for the Girls." (Please see playlist above) Since I know that you love how much literary analysis goes on here, I thought today I'd really go for the gusto. Lyrics:

This is for all you girls about 13
High school can be so rough, can be so mean
Hold on to, on to your innocence
Stand your ground when everybody's givin' in

This one's for the girls

This is for all you girls about 25
In little apartments, just tryin' to get by
Livin' on, on dreams and spaghettios
Wonderin' where your life is gonna go

CHORUS
This one's for the girls
Who've ever had a broken heart
Who've wished upon a shooting star
You're beautiful the way you are
This one's for the girls
Who love without holdin' back
Who dream with everything they have
All around the world
This One's for the girls

Blah, blah, blah, then we have the 42-yr old girls, thankfully I'm not there yet, so we'll skip it.

I just have to get this off my chest:
I am 25 yrs old, yes, BUT I am not living on dreams and spaghettios. Oh, no. I am living on chili-lime cashews and irrational delusions.

But I am fully aware I am delusional. Like for instance, I am fully aware that it is plain WRONG for someone who knows calculus LIKE THE BACK OF HER HAND, someone who can solve (partial) differential equations, someone who can find the eigenvalues of the Schrodinger equation, to commute an hour and a half to be a sales girl. Yes, it seems odd to me, too.

And what a commute. Let's see: the first leg is me riding my bike in the freezing June wind to the Bart station where I spend 20 minutes trying to find a place to put my bike since everyone and their mother is obsessed with neutral carbon footprints while dripping snot all over the place and getting my pants and hands nice and dirty. Do keep in mind that I work in the Marina in a store that sells $400 sweatshirts. Dirty and windblown is NOT a good look.

Then I rush into the station only to see my BART pulling smugly away, so I settle in for a nice long 10 minute wait till the next train comes, passing the time by listening to Teri Gross interview the Death Sentence Chancellor about all the innocent people who we killed, and who passed, despite our reassurances of painlessness, in apparent agony.

On the BART, my choices are more Death Sentence or listening to the lady next to me bite ferociously at her fingernails, while the man next to her picks his teeth - loudly and with frequent examination of his picking tool. BART is delayed.

Off the BART, my third leg is the MUNI.
On the Muni, I listen to the driver tell me about her hoodlum children and her dieting failures as she picks random pedestrians and in a very paranoid and creepy way imagines out loud how they are judging her. Shortly after boarding, the muni horn goes off and doesn't stop, despite the driver's desperate efforts, despite the commuters looks of horror. I ride all the way peppered with beeping and a continuous stream of soul-baring. The muni is, needless to say, delayed.

Mind you, I left out all the parts where I am waiting for a half-hour as strange men hit on me, or I am racing to catch the muni, only to have my gigantic necklace break and huge beads cascade around me like the ironic fruits of a somnambulant rat-race. I left out the parts where crazy people scream at each other while clicking their hooks (yes, they have no hands) at each other and where creepy men walk around in bulky coats and try to open the doors while the train is moving.

Martina McBride, thank you for your little song. It gives me strength, knowing that I'm not the only one. Plus, it sounds so romantic the way you put it. Just saying "spagettios" I get chills down my back.

I'm not really a beer drinker. But here are some other things that definitely cheered me up.
Lovely shoes by calleen cordero available on sundance:



More lovely shoes from Plus by Chausser:





Comfy beautifulness from my new favorite designer Mike and Chris. Top three reasons I love them:
1)made in the USA
2)what I am about to show you is made out of sweatshirt fleece. So these gorgeous jackets are as comfy as pajamas and as snuggly as blankies.
3)Down with zippers, up with buttons. Fantastic use of buttons. Behold:







More upscale sweatshirts from prairie underground via the studio.







I wish you all loads of really comfy gold shoes and really comfy, incredibly stylish jackets. And a short, painless commute. Till we meet again.