Sunday, March 2, 2008

Test drive

I don't know about y'all but my possessions? Sometimes they speak to me. Like if I get a really pretty dress. Suddenly I'll hear a little voice saying, "You know what? We should go out somewhere."

OPH definitely has a voice. Let me explain some stuff first, though. My love of OPH started with getting my hair braided. (Oh, and OPH belongs on your head, not on your clothes. That's just way too dark for me. Like Holocaust kind of dark. And that's never cool in my book.) That first time, I thought, "Well hell. If I'm going to spend all this time (8 hours) and money, I may as well get some length as well." And then I discovered ponytails. I have always kept them in two lengths -- Everyday and Party Hair.

Everyday has been pretty happy recently. The same cannot be said about Party Hair. Party Hair has spent months sitting in a mesh bag. At first it was a gentle whisper. "Hey! You know what would be cool? If we went out for a night on the town." I ignored that whisper. And then Party Hair turned downright ugly. Screaming at me like a banshee. "Beyotch! I know you heard me! You're taking me out. Now!" It got so that not only did I worry that the cats would kill me in my sleep, but that Party Hair would do the same.

Then Mommy Zombie came up with an idea. A girls' night before she brings C2 home next weekend.

Saturday night we met up at Cesar -- and we both took our OPH out for an evening. There were food, drinks, and conversation. (Oh. And one of the points of conversation was a realization that she had made. Those food photos I post? I rarely eat all of that. At least not at one sitting. Hell. Because I like to taste and sample while I cook, I often plate stuff for the sake of a photo and then wrap it up in the fridge for later consumption. Mommy Zombie calls this one of the secrets of the skinny girls.) And the OPH basked in the whole thing.

Leaving Cesar, I walked with Mommy Zombie to the taxi stand in downtown. (Yes, there is one. Right next to the BART station.) On the way there, she asked how far my fave bar was. I told her a few blocks past the taxi stand. And then that other voice in my head spoke up -- my inner Holly. Well, she said, "Of course we can pop down there for a bit."

Now I'll admit that I was a bit nervous. The last time I was in the place was right before Christmas. And I don't have much memory of that evening. All I know is that I didn't have any cash and I had left my debit card at another bar. As far as I knew, I still owed money and they were pissed off at me. But they weren't. I ran into the former hostess with her boyfriend. After a hug, she said that she had just been asking where I've been. No one knew. Then my bartender came over and greeted me with a hug. I knew then that all was safe. The bad part was that he no longer could remember if I liked regular or diet Coke with my Myers. But at least he remembered that I like lots of lime. My inner Holly did not take this as a good sign.

So Mommy Zombie and I drank. And she taught me a really cool game -- "Live or Die." As folks walk past you say whether they should live or die based upon their look. One woman had been slated for death until I overheard her in the bathroom. She was speaking Portuguese. We could not hold her to American fashion ideals and so decided that this time she could live. But her outfit was still hideous.

You should have seen the bartender's shock when I closed out my tab after the second round. I explained that it had been a long day -- and it had. So Mommy Zombie and I headed back down the street. We didn't even have to go all the way to the cab stand when a cab driver called out his window to ask if we needed a cab.

And the photo? This used to be the boutique on my walk home. You know. The place with the cute dresses of which I would take photos on my way home. I guess I should be more surprised that they lasted this long. The clothes were cute but a bit overpriced in my opinion. The curse of having spent years working in fabric stores and of knowing how to sew.

But now I'm hearing new voices. The voices of all that other fantastic OPH I saw at the beauty supply store. They want me to liberate them. *sigh* What's a girl to do?

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