Might as well jump

So I thought I would directly engage with the topic of jumpsuits canvassed yesterday.

Even though I only have one, I dig the jumpsuit.


I think their appeal is their simplicity. One garment, totally meeting your covering nakedness and style needs, serve it up, let's go. Some people like wearing layers but to be honest, I don't even like wearing separates. 

Figuring out how to pair all those tops and all those bottoms? It's a bit of a headache. That's why I like wearing dresses so much. One garment, everything you need, serve it up, let's go. But the jumpsuit is more fun than the dress.


Until it's time to go to the toilet, then it's more annoying than the dress.


But hell, we're here for a long time, not a good time as our friend Bibby used to say. The idea of eliminating all annoyance in clothing is an impossible dream.


So yeah, jumpsuits!

The help I need (AM)

Last night I had a dream that I went to the Doctor to talk about some things. You know that list of things that are slightly wrong with you but not so urgent or annoying that you do anything about them? Well in my dream I decided to do something about them. I sat down opposite the Doctor and told him* my list of complaints. The doctor listened carefully in that comforting way GPs do and then said to me "K, I'm really glad you came in to talk about this. I think it's really positive that you're seeking help. I'm going to refer you to a specialist and get you the help you need." I felt a little confused and asked what kind of specialist he was referring me to. He said "Someone who can get your hair sorted out for you. A hair specialist." 

Oh readers, I can't tell you the feeling of relief that washed over me when he said this. Finally, finally I was going to get my hair sorted out by an expert. Everything was going to be fine! It was such a wonderful dream. 

*Weird, because my GP is actually a woman. Good one, stupid patriarchal subconscious. 

Magic Mike (or the other Channing Tatum post we had to have) (AM)

Saturday before last Pickle sent me a message asking what she should watch on TV that night. Our boyfriends were out of town together and I guess she thought that she and I would both be home watching TV that night. She was right. And she was right to ask me too, because I'd already looked up the TV guide to see what was on for Baby that night and then done a sweep of what was on for me. I answered her instantly: Magic Mike! That's what I'd be watching if it wasn't on at 9:45.  (As if I'm staying up that late to watch a movie.)

Turns out Pickle didn't even know what Magic Mike was. Even more surprising was I managed to stay up not just till 9:45, but even till midnight when the movie finished. Even when Newbie got out of be at 11:30 and wanted to be settled, I made him lie on the couch with me and watch the end of Magic Mike.

I was obviously pretty interested in watching Magic Mike. Partly because I'm always interested to explore my feelings for Channing Tatum but mainly because people liked that movie so I thought it may be just what I was after, not challenging and highly enjoyable. And I pretty much got exactly that. Steven Soderbergh directed it, after all and that guy obviously knows what he's doing. Despite Oceans Twelve and Thirteen. Magic Mike is shot really well, and very considerately. The days are full of  this warm saturated light and the nights are dark and seedy.

Apart from the well-craftedness, I just fucking love watching people dance, even if there is a weird uncomfortable sexual flavour too it. And Channing Tatum can really dance. And even the choreographed team stripper dances with weird unattractive strippers doing a bunch of pelvic thrusts were great to watch. If there's one thing I love more than watching a person dance it's watching a bunch of people dancing in unison. This isn't really a post about Channing Tatum, but while we are (barely) on the topic of him, I may as well tell you that since I first explored my feelings for him in late 2014 after seeing 22 Jump Street I've had more exposure to him, in the form of 21 Jump Street and Magic Mike, and while I'm not saying he is a hunk, I can now confirm that I think he is a reasonably charismatic actor who I am happy enough to watch in crappy movies.

Let me make no mistake about this movie, it followed a highly predictable story arc and was not in the least bit challenging, but the quite weird thing about Magic Mike though is that I actually thought about it for a few days afterwards. I don't know if it's because I haven't watched a whole movie in a really long time or if it was CT's dance moves but it kept coming back to me and then I realised maybe it was to do with the ending. Now, if you haven't seen it I should warn you I'm literally going to tell you what happened in the end. Channing Tatum gets the girl. But only once he gives up stripping to pursue his dream of making extremely ugly furniture. Now sure, Hollywood has a whole history of making men settle down for the right woman, but not like this. Usually the man makes a little compromise, but usually he's also made some uptight woman loosen up a little and then they can meet in the middle. It's the loose women of Hollywood cinema that have to die or give up there scandalous ways/partying lifestyle/murderous intentions/aversion to children so they can live happily ever after. Maybe that's what kept me thinking about Magic Mike, this turning on the head the domesticising of the man.

Who knows? I guess I just found the whole experience quite heartening. Imagine a world with Hollywood movies that were at once mindlessly entertaining but weren't completely shit and did an interesting thing or two. That's what Magic Mike hinted at. Oh joy.

And then K told me she watched the Point Break remake and her retelling of it killed every hope I had for Hollywood.

Dreams can come true (PM)

I had no idea that story was going to end so happily! Even though the post was called Dreams can come true. But who would dare to dream such a thing? I know I willed the ideal coat into being, but even I would never dream that something I had loved and lost in seasons past would return. That's what I would consider to be an impossible dream. But I guess impossible dreams are still dreams.
Anyway, this is a wonderful thing that has happened, and I'm very happy for J.
But, I can't like to you guys. I'm also a little jealous. Because I have an impossible dream of my own.
Once, a few years ago, I tried on a shearling jacket at Scanlan and Theodore that was truly excellent. It cost something like $900, so when I tried it on, it was purely for the fun of it. It was never a genuine prospect. But I loved it quite a lot when I tried it on. Straight away, I loved it. I run a little cold you see, and the thought of wearing what is basically a lambskin akin to those babies lie on everyday was very appealing to me. But $900 is ridiculous, so I walked away.
But I think about that jacket often. More often than I'd like to admit to. And I've been to the Scanlan and Theodore outlet many times looking for it. I've scoured ebay. But it's gone forever. I've chalked it up as an impossible dream. But, um, dreams can come true so who knows how this story will eventually play out.

Three days, one rollercoaster (PM)

A few things that went through my mind while reading this morning's post. I'll spare you the extremely boring bits and just share the moderately boring ones.

First:

Mondonna's answer to J's admiration of her nails was 'Get polish?'. And J was impressed by that? J has heaps of polish. She 'gets' polish on a fundamental level.  Oh, oh I see. It actually says GEL polish. That makes more sense.

Then, in response to that photo:

J has such lovely hands. What a lovely nailpolish colour. So right for winter. 
Then, after gazing at my hands:
Stupid peasant hands. You are the hands of a woman who comes from a long line of potato gleaners. Why can't you be more like your crabsister J's mitts?

Then, when it transpired that Chickpea joined J at Tips and Toes:

What a magical night! That would have been taking place while I was watching At World's End, the shittest movie ever at a cinema in Manly on Friday night. I was wishing the world would end while those guys' lives were just beginning, sort of. 

Then, when I saw the photo of the chipped nails:

Oh, poor J. I must tell her that I know some people who, after a few manicures,  choose their favourite colour and buy a bottle. They take the bottle with them to Tips and Toes or wherever and then can patch up if needs be. It's smart thinking. I must tell J about that. 

And this is me telling J about that.
The dream is NOT over.
It's just a modified one where you either can't try heaps of new colours when you get a fortnightly manicure, or you can't do house renos in the days after.
But apart from those restrictions the dream is very much alive.

An open letter to Autumn (AM)

Hey Autumn,
J is right about your light, and the things you do to leaves. You got this town blushin' for you girl.
But baby, I can't lie to you. You put a chill in my bones. Yesterday, you sent a cold southern wind right through me and I know you got more coming. Girl, you made me so cold, I decided to stop off at the store to have a look at Lamby on my way to dinner last night.

Remember Lamby, Autumn?

I went and touched her strong arms and nuzzled my face against her soft soft collar and dammit Autumn, it felt so good. But I know she can never be mine.

I don't think I can love you like J does, or like I love a bag of chips,  but I respect you, Girl. And I'm really happy for you and J.

So long, Autumn.