I spent this afternoon meandering around Fells Point, after checking out the Baltimore Tattoo Museum. Between the chinese slippers on my feet, Mr. T Experience in the car, and the junk stores, I felt like I was fifteen again, only without the curfew. Rock! The past two days have been completely frivolous, as a wind down from what was probably the best funeral ever. I have a lot more to say about it, and more to say about my completely fabulous aunt, who left behind ninety-five years of great stories, most of which involved cocktails and her liberal use of the words “ass” and “bullshit.” I can still hear her gravelly voice telling me what a pain in the ass I am, moments before she starts to cry when it’s time for me to leave. I miss her.
I decided some time last week that it was extremely important that I have a black and gray plaid skirt, and if there is anything that death teaches us, it is to take care of the things that are truly important. Seize the day, and all that. So, yesterday I embraced my mortality and fleeting youth by going to the Gap and seizing the plaid skirt. I also seized some funky tights and boots to go with it. Which reminds me, I do have one other secret I can disclose, since that has been a theme lately: even at my combat boot wearing, purple hair, punk-ass craziest, I always kind of liked the Gap. Their pants and skirts have always fit me really, really well. AND, now that I think of it, my favorite purple sweater when I was younger, which I had from the time I was fourteen until I was in my mid-twenties, was from the Gap. Granted, I kind of accidentally stole it from my friend Danielle after the sleepover on her roof, but it still originated with the Gap.
Anyway, loud music, new clothes, funky tights. Take that, death.
