New Levi's

So I splurged on some new Levi's a few weekends ago, and though I used to never pay more than $30 for jeans I thought it was time to buy some that really fit me well. They were $60, and boy, were they worth it.

The moment I put them on, everything was right in the world. They were tight, but still comfortable, and they clung to my legs like a second skin. And I could finally show off my bum, which is hard to do in jeans that don't fit so great but were on sale at Loehmann's for $20. They were worth every penny. There's just something about a great fitting pair of jeans that gives you confidence, makes you feel like a sexy bad-ass diva, and gives you a little trampiness and a little toughness all in one package. Throw in your favorite boots and you're practically invincible against whatever the world hurls your way.

And Levi's beats any of those high-falootin' designer jeans any day - jeans were made to be worn, not displayed like some kind of body bling so the world can see you can afford thin denim with an expensive logo. Whatever made me think of turning away from Levi's in the first place? Whatever it was is now a thing of the past, and I can embrace the future in something I know will give me what I need: a nice booty, and a healthy boost to my ego.

Levi's rule!

Soon, my Darling

Eeek. I'm going to be 40 next year.

I've been coming to terms with it as of late. The usual rationalizing, I suppose - I've done a decent amount of stuff in my life so far, I've got plans for myself, dreams yet to fulfill. But I have a feeling that once I'm 39 I'm doing to do a lot of unnecessary panicking up until the day of the big one (well, the first big one, since no one really takes 30 that seriously anymore), and so I've decided to start the celebrations early.

Phase I - I Must Add a New Vice
Alcohol is really too easy a path to follow, though a fine and noble one. And I'm not much of a drinker these days. The events that usually merit this kind of debauchery are few and far between, and if I counted making it to five o'clock without getting escorted from my job by security I'd be quite the lush in a matter of days. No, I think there should be an equal and possible wilder substitute for boozing as I sashay down the black path to middle age. Oh, whatever shall it be? What, what, what?

Ah. I know. I shall become . . . a slacker.

You have to realize this goes against my character. I was brought up by hard-working people who instilled a good work ethic in me by osmosis, and to slack off is to disrespect the pillars of my existence. But I have since found out that keeping your nose to the grindstone doesn't necessarily pay off. Instead, it convinces people that you'll do anything that needs doing as long as the job gets done, and even if the job wasn't that important in the first place (yes, marketing!). So what care I that the presentation slides aren't in color and they're bound together with stained clothes pins? I'm off to take a two hour lunch. Just hold all my calls - I'll be back when Honest John's runs out of Bushmill's.

And now to ponder Phase II...