SassyBlonde

Got a fly new haircut today. Loving it... shoulder-length, flippy little number. Hubby said it made me look taller. Howzat work, anyway?

Well, I now have one more item to add to my list of things not to wear to the laundromat under any circumstances. This list now includes:

1. Yoga pants
2. Jogging shorts (the baggy nylon kind)
3. Tank tops
4. Cute tops
5. Cute pants
6. Cute skirts
7. Skirts that come up higher than my ankles
8. Shirts that have any sort of neckline below the collarbone

Why, you ask? Because every time I go to the laundromat I spend two hours fending off the most offensive sort of flirting from the opposite sex. Not just the "Hey baby, what's your number?" sort of flirting, but prolonged, all-during-the-wash-cycle one-sided conversations and deferrals and protests. Seriously. It's not so much what a girl wears there as whether or not she's alone, which draws the guys over from the pool tables in the waiting room like flies. The clothes are a huge red flag though. Look cute in any way and you'll get accosted, and no it makes no difference if you're wearing a ring. Last week when I told the blob-of-the-week I was married and to go away, his response was (honest to God, I swear) "Well you know, girl, it could be just between us..." to which I responded with a frown and a cold remark about exactly where he could go with that one.

And THIS. HAPPENS. EVERY. WEEK. So now I'm basically sick at the thought of having to go there every week, even though it's the only good laundromat around.

Well, today I had just had it with the whole process. In the interest of honesty I should tell you that I violated two of the above rules due to the fact that it was laundry day and I only had a pair of yoga pants and my low-cut yoga tank top to wear as I washed everything else, but when the first guy approached me and started making unbelievably rude comments in Spanish to his greasy buddies about what he'd like to do to my ass, I simply whirled around (who approaches an unfamiliar woman from behind making crude remarks, I ask you?), looked at him coldly, and asked with my arms crossed, "Does that ever work for you? Because from over here, you're rude now as well as being smelly and greasy in the first place, cabron. Shove off, because nobody here is interested in what you got." Speechless to me at least, he turned around and headed back over to his buddies at the pool table muttering about what a bitch I was, and at least he left me alone after that. (I think I managed to cover that my hands were shaking with nerves and rage after the fact, I hope so, at least.)

Marginally satisfying and unnerving all at once. I hate laundry day.

So I have a question for all you lovely ladies out there... have you ever tried on an eight thousand dollar dress? Weeelll... neither had I, until today.

Red and The Muse know that I am a girl who loves her clothes, even if I am at the moment a bit past chubby and seen mostly in yoga pants. One of my favorite things to do after Sunday shows is pop over to Neiman Marcus Last Call and try on shoes. (Remember these Bibas? Thank you Last Call.) Well, today I deviated from my normal flight plan and browsed over to the premier designer evening gown rack just for giggles (Really, I'm not stressing about this concerto thing in September, I promise.) There were a few truly bizarre gowns hanging there, including a chartreuse number that just about put my eyes out, but mixed in among the crazies were two dresses I had to try on, right then. One was out of purely practical instinct-- well, okay, not purely practical-- since it fit the bill for my touring orchestra. The other, however, piqued my interest in a major way, especially after I saw the price tag. (Evidence after the jump.)

People, sometimes my own asshattery has consequences even I couldn't have seen coming.

When I sprained my poor pinky toe a couple of weekends ago, I hoped maybe it would cooperate by next week. (That's right, it's not broken. The X-ray says no, but that's not exactly a good thing. Sprains hurt more and heal slower I'm told.) After practicing in my shoes yesterday for a couple of hours, I can clearly see that it will not. People, it was the size of a sausage link when I pulled it out of said lovely shoes. I'm going to try taping it today an see if that helps matters, but I'm not holding out much hope.

What's a girl to do? I have a week and a half until the concert, the perfect dress, and no shoes to wear. Crap, crap, crap.

Anybody have any suggestions?

So I have to update y'all-- one of the things I'm doing today is going over to Sloans and Kenyon in Bethesda (where I scored that rockin' flute earlier this year) to check out the auction of Barbara Bullock's stuff. Remember her?

Throughout the hour of unabashed confessional testimony from Bullock yesterday afternoon, some jurors and spectators in U.S. District Court stared in amazement at her account of thoughtless spending sprees -- and laughed out loud at her candor.

"Miss Bullock, would it be fair to say you like to shop?" Assistant U.S. Attorney James Cooper asked.

"No, that's not fair," Bullock said. "I love to shop."

(WaPo)

Yeah, well. Now we all love to shop for her stuff at bargain prices. Chanel, Fendi, Judith Lieber, even an Hermes Birkin are up for sale, an if S&K's past history is telling, they'll be had for well below what you'd expect to pay elsewhere. *zoom*

So here's the thing:

I've missed you guys.

I've had some pretty heavy things going on in my life this year, things which basically have changed the face of my entire existence in one way or another. And I haven't really felt comfortable talking about that here, in public, for anyone and everyone to read. More importantly, there are very good reasons why I can't and shouldn't.

And frankly, it's killing me.

Because if you're still reading this, then I've probably known you, or had you as a reader, for long enough that you're probably wondering what the hell happened to me.

Because if you're still reading this, you're probably one of the people whose opinions and love I value enough that I'm going to need your help in the next year.

Because frankly, I need an outlet more in-depth than Twitter and less personal than Facebook.

So here's the other thing:

On March 1st, this blog is getting a makeover. I'll be moving it to a new server, shaking up the layout a little, and converting it to a new CMS, though the site address won't change. The ranting and raving and silliness will stay the same, only there will be some things that I don't want to share with everybody, some things that I may need to share and say, but only within certain circles. I'm tired of keeping it all pent up and I've done that for long enough.

If you're still reading this blog, and you're been a loyal reader or friend or even a long-time lurker, email me at (sassy{at}sassyblonde{dot}net) with the title of this post in the subject line or comment on this post and request an access key. I'd love to have you in the circle.

Til then, I'll be cleaning house and doing some renovation, and I'll see you on March 1st.

UPDATE: So, snow and circumstances being what they've been around here, I'm going to have to ask you guys to wait around a little longer, which actually ends up being appropriate for a lot of reasons. I've gotten all your emails and comments, and if you can hang tight for a few more weeks, I'll have the next phase ready on April 1st.