late nights and loud fights
it's all just a blur

3:46 p.m. | 2006-05-26
It's Going To Rain

I dress pretty "smart" most of the time. If anything I'm always matching and I'm always in some sort of "style."

If I'm feeling a little edgy or artsy I put on jeans with holes (and perhaps some paint), a nice thrift store t-shirt, a super cool vintage striped scarf, and my emo black rimmed glasses.

If I'm feeling straight forward and in control I wear my grey pin striped dress pants and this pretty french collar, blue, button up shirt.

If I'm feeling casual but chic I wear nice dark jeans, a pretty embellished tank top and a great brown jacket with some clicky heels.

No matter what you'll find me in scrubs or pajama pants maybe once a week (only when I clean) and that's for 4 hours at most. I refuse to even sleep in them.

But here's where it gets me. I like when I'm dressed up. I like when I look good and feel good and smell good. I love when people comment on my perfume (Ralph Lauren Blue usually) or tell me my hair looks so soft (my stylist always tells me I have the healthiest hair of any of her clients). What I love more is I don't put too much effort into all this.

But it still rubs. I'm sitting here all pretty and ready and everything legs are shaved, my body lotioned, my face pretty (but not overdone), my outfit stylish and...I can't even turn heads. I'm starting to wonder what it is about me or what it is I can change (there are a few obvious answers) but you'd think in the past few months I'd have at least had a little interest.

I'm just starting to wonder where that spark went, ya know?

Maybe I'll get vain later and show you -- that way maybe you can fix whatever's wrong and get me on the path to someone I deserve. Or something. I've lost my eloquence.

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