Dreamy

I've posted before about how I'm not particularly enamoured of men with Oedipus complexes. That's just me, of course. Women have all kinds of tastes, and if you're the overly nurturing, wounded type, this gem may be just what you're looking for! Click to read.

He's all yours, ladies.

Hat tip: Shakesville.

No vacancy

Last Saturday night, I met my ex-roomie Sherri on Santa Monica's 3rd Street Promenade for dinner and a catching-up session. Sherri and I only lived together for about 8 months, and were both so busy that we barely got to know each other during that time. Interestingly, we have gotten very close since she moved out. She's a fascinating woman; she grew up in South America as a privileged daughter of a banker, and moved to Los Angeles so she could learn to make it on her own. She once emphasized to me that at home, she'd had bodyguards, drivers, and maids, which sounds wonderful but deprives one of certain survival skills. She's trilingual (Spanish, English, French), which I envy. She was kidnapped and held for ransom as a child, which she talks about so matter-of-factly that it's as though she's telling you a story she heard from someone else. Younger than me by two years, she's already been married and divorced. It's funny that two women who are so diametrically opposed on paper have so much to say to each other, but hey, this is America.

Since it was such a nice night, we strolled around and browsed the stores of the Promenade for a while afterwards.

Walking to our cars, we passed three or four men sitting on the sidewalk, asking for change. "Hey man, got any change? Got a quarter? Can you help me out, lady?" They called out to each passer by in front of us.

Sherri was barely paying attention, looking out into the street. One of the guys made eye contact with me and yelled out, "Hey, I need a place to stay tonight!" Startled, Sherri jumped a little.

"What is it he said?" she asked as we passed. "All I hear is, 'tonight'."

"He told me he needed a place to stay," I chuckled.

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever it is they're wanting from us..."

"...they're not getting," I laughed.

"Strange men," she shook her head. Well, those are everywhere.

Needless to say, I went home alone.

What should Ginger do?

Peeps, I am in love with Mad Men; it's one of the greatest shows on television, and let's face it, we were all waiting for somebody to fill the old Sopranos Sunday night spot with some quality. The clothes! The writing! The unflinching portrayals of complicated characters who present a perfect image and fall apart trying to keep it together! I am in heaven.

For reasons that I'm sure are obvious, Joan is my favorite character. Redhead solidarity! She's very accurately described as "...a complicated, guarded survivor in an era that wasn't kind to women with professional ambitions." (Has anything changed? End sarcasm). On a totally superficial note, she's inspiring me to wear more color. I tend to avoid brighter colors in my wardrobe for fear that they'll make me look like a human sherbet, but I think I'm going to start rocking yellows, pinks and reds.

Every year, I look for a famous redhead to be for Halloween. Past costumes include:

Catwoman


Jessica Rabbit


and Ginger, (of course).

I was having trouble finding a redheaded icon for this year's festivities. I supposed I could be Wilma, but I'd need a Fred...I was considering Lucille Ball or Lizzie Borden, either of which could be really fun. But now I've found Joan...the pressure's off! I just need to find period clothes and a pen on a chain, and I'm good to go.

I've added "What Would Joan Holloway Do?" to my blogroll. Maybe I should change my icon to this?

What do you think, does my image need another update?

Go away, part whatever

Hey, dude (I'm quite sure you are a dude) who inexplicably wound up at my blog by Googling "raped redhead woman":

Back away from the porn, wash the jizz from your hands and go to this blog instead. Followed by this blog. Finish up by reading this no doubt dead-on description of yourself.

I'm not advertising, but you're selling anyway

Walking to Borders books last night, I passed a man coming out of a falafel restaurant. He was white, probably in his 60s, was wearing dingy clothes and looked drunk.

He eyed me up and down, then held out a small can of Mace in a broken blister pack. "Pepper spray, miss," he said, "for your protection."

"No thanks," I smiled. "I have a gun."

I didn't, but it stopped him following me.

Happy period control!

I'll post again soon, I swear. In the meantime, here's the new Sarah Haskins Target: Women video. Enjoy!

Hat tip: Feministe