Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Me, Myself, and I

This weekend, I was unusually OK with being left to fend for myself.  Most times when T says he needs to work on Saturday and spends ALL day Sunday golfing, I feel abandoned and neglected and bored and grumpy.  I think, perhaps, now that we're on an even keel, it feels more comfortable to be apart and miss each other a bit.  Even a bit nice.

On Saturday, after sleeping in and going for brunch at Crepes&Co, I met up with E to see "The September Issue" and then do 30 minutes of (unsuccessful) power-shopping afterward.  I was surprised that the editors highlighted in the movie were not as glamorous and "edgy" as the models they styled.  The clothes worn by the staff at American Vogue were fairly ordinary; their hair was largely unkempt; and nearly all who were interviewed had some serious smoking wrinkles around their mouths.  There was no plastic surgery to be seen.  It was shocking, but very refreshing and hopeful to see that these queens of fashion have opted to age gracefully.

Shopping options in Bangkok are slim.  There is a plethora of shops stocking overly-embellished, too short dresses that have weird mixes of fabrics and far too many ruffles for any woman not wanting to look like she's about to attend her 5-year-old friend's birthday party.  There are few places to get basics and none offer pieces that are of truly good quality.  There's Zara and Mango and Promod and Forever XXI for simple tanks and other less over-the-top pieces, but their cotton stretches after a single wash and the seams aren't sewn with durability in mind.  I have heard that Gap will open at the beginning of next year and I am psyched for that, even though it will mean crazy marked-up t-shirts due to the fact that it will be considered an imported brand (but many of their pieces are made in Thailand, Vietnam, Cambodia!  Oh, the injustice!).

T and E have tried to get me to dress "outside the box".  That means they think I should wear more Thai designers and styles, like Fly Now, one of E's favorites.  Whenever I try their suggestions, though, I feel like I'm playing dress-up and could never imagine wearing the wildly patterned or oddly cut pieces in real life, let alone step outside of the safety of a dressing room.  While no one would look at me in my current wardrobe and say, "Damn, she's really edgy!", they would say that I am classy and understated, which, to me, is sometimes preferable.  However, there are some days when I really wish I had the clothes and courage to dress like a rockstar.  This is a problem since there's no distinction in my closet between play clothes and work clothes.  Everything has that professional, tucked-in look.  Ugh.  I need a personal shopper.

And a personal packer.  My current preoccupation: What to pack for Hong Kong this weekend.  Our days will be spent shopping (T loves looking at and sometimes buying designer goods), while our nights will be spent at hip or schnazzy restaurants and bars.  We're going to Cipriani's for dinner on Friday night and somewhere new on Saturday night.  We'll also probably meet up with some of T's old friends for drinks.  But my packing/"wears" phenomenon lingers and haunts me.  I utz every time I have to pack for a trip to any fashionable city.  I want to look hip.  I want to feel confident.  I want to be comfortable.  I just don't have the right tools to make it all happen together.  Maybe I'll find some good pieces on this trip.  (Hope springs eternal...)

Moving on...
On Saturday night, we went to my boss's place for a housewarming party.  I love the people I work with and I think T is starting to see why.  It's like being part of one, big, functional family.  I had my first taste of Pimm's Cup, which I loved.  Being an American, it was new to me.  It's a punch with a bit of Pimm's, lemon juice, simple syrup, and diced cucumber and mint.  Kind of like British sangria, I guess.  It was light and delicious!  With the encouragement of my boss, I joined some co-workers jumping on the trampoline, which I'd been eying all night.  Once on, that childhood fearlessness quickly melted away and I recalled all of the accounts I've ever heard about trampoline injuries.  I threw in the towel fairly quickly.

I was super lazy on Sunday, only leaving the apartment to get a Starbucks and go to the grocery store (twice--arg!) in preparation for dinner.  I made an excellent meal, redeeming myself after my mediocre couscous/veg/chicken salad last Sunday (which T still claims he liked, but I don't believe him).

Main: broiled chicken breasts that had been marinated in olive oil, honey, and cumin
Side: stuffing with sausage
Salad: spinach/mint salad with grated apple and slivered almonds 
Condiment: Ginger/Fig preserves

True to form, T made a sandwich out of all of it.  I would consider him a foodie in spite of the fact that he seems to think everything tastes better in sandwich form.  It's endearing.

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