� opening lines of someone�s diary entry, I neglected to note the URL, that I found while hanging out at the Recently Updated Diaries page yesterday afternoon

On my way back from picking up the vegetables last night, I stopped at Fred Meyer and got that eggplant-colored lipstick, because of course I did not already own anything of such satisfying ugliness because of course my lipsticks are pretty and well chosen, thank you. Wet �n� Wild, 99 cents � gals, you know what I�m talking about. And I say eggplant, but really it�s more like the color of eggplant but without any of the richness or gloss, it is defeated eggplant. There, I�ve decided, that�s the name of the color: Defeated Eggplant. Tomorrow�s the big night I go out, after running, and plant myself for defeat, because tonight I�m meeting up with Vanessa for Mexican food and Friday�s a big party for us broke-and/or-bitter former TankedStock.com people so you know I can�t miss that, and Saturday�s Rebecca�s housewarming, after which there is going to be some kind of extra-domestic social activity that may include non-pathetically going out. I don�t even know what my Defeated Eggplant options are, since the Stranger listings come out on Thursday for that night through the next week, but surely there will be something for me. I can�t find the suitably grandma-looking vintage dress I thought I had, so I�ll have to poke around between now and then. Also I decided yesterday, while discussing the project with Vanessa, that for max path. the book I�m going to carry and read alone at the bar is �The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.� Isn�t that perfect, am I not a genius? Nobody at all will talk to me out of fear of catching my disease, and, verily, the sight of me will cause scenester studs to go limp from across the room. It�s going to be great � an instant classic, I tell you. At Fred Meyer I also got one in Wet �n� Wild�s Lexus line, $1.79, because now I can�t find that fantastic brown I was going on about a few entries ago, and since I know it will turn up eventually I�m not willing to spend the money to replace it (hint: MAC). And today I sport that quite passable cheapo brown and have renounced the no-legs policy that I meant to have in effect until this temp gig was over and am rocking what you could even call a capital-o Outfit, so there. For Vanessa and me, this is actually one of the major philosophical issues of our time, and, ladies, if anyone wants to weigh in, I would be very interested in your thoughts: should you go home and change, between work and drinks, out of your office-girl clothes and into something a little more devil may care? (Or � hell, it�s up to you � a lot?) Because it is a fact that sometimes one is wearing clothes to the office that one is not exactly eager to be seen in; they�re not necessarily *bad* clothes, but they�re office clothes, generic and impersonal. Or, in my case, just gray. Blagh. And it�s nice to be feeling comfortable and grounded in one�s non-work personality, that is to say the opposite of generic and impersonal, when one is going out to have a nice time with friends. On the other hand, it is not a date, nor are we trolling for dudes. And our time is valuable � frankly, we want to get straight to the cocktails. And I for one like to imagine that my non-work self, or its potentiality (these are troubled times), can shine through even a white cotton shirt and trousers. But then again, am I devaluing myself � insidiously, to myself � by saying oh-fuck-it and showing up at a hipster bar in dorkster duds? Is it really a good idea for someone who already tends to get preoccupied on the parakeet-among-peacocks tip to consign herself to chirping indefinitely? (Hint: a conversation along these lines was what had me asking the asexuality question a few weeks ago.) Mostly our solution, Vanessa�s and mine, is to arrange things in advance to the extent possible and on those days to wear something a little nicer to work, something that is not an eyesore when it makes the transition to barwear. But sometimes things come up, it isn�t until noon that it�s clear cocktails are in order, and those always seem to be the days on which I�m looking the most officely, and then I end up feeling foolish and taking up valuable cocktail-hour time apologizing for myself. And that�s no fun.

I�ve almost always got a decent lipstick with me, though, and there are hair products in my glove compartment. So that�s something. Fellow females, what is your solution?

After today, just two more days here. It�s nice to have had this extra week, because little things are really starting to irritate me, and Friday I can stage the scene so that �Beyond Belief� is what I hear as I get into my car and drive away, the song that for me has always been the soundtrack for just that kind of goodbye. I was listening to it on my Walkman as I walked down the hall of SCA high school for the last time before transferring out of there, artfully turning it up louder and louder until it was all I could hear and then I stepped out of that bad place and into the whirling snow, and in a lot of ways that�s one of my dearest memories. Oh, and I found out today from HR that they�re thinking about splitting the responsibilities for this position and transferring in someone who's just been laid off by another department to cover half of them. I mean, speaking of beyond belief.

Rebecca and Julian and Art and I went bowling on Monday night. The good news is that I am consistent. The bad news is that I am consistent right in the neighborhood of 90. My main problem is that I have no aim, so that if one or two pins are left standing after my first frame, chances are good that they�ll still be there after the second. Interestingly, Rebecca and I both bowled our only strikes of the night after eating a mozzarella stick. We have decided that we like bowling and will go again, and the place is open 24 hours, so I�m almost hoping insomnia hits one day soon so I can go try to calm myself down at the bowling alley, just stride up to the shoe-rental guy at 3 a.m. like it�s the most normal thing in the world.

I can�t decide whether I�m Losing Weight or have Lost Weight. Pants and skirts don�t fit, rings don�t fit, bras sure as hell don�t fit. But the thing is, I�m still eating like a horse, and I still feel fine. Could it be that this is purely the result of the new running regimen?

Note to self: be careful to execute Project Defeated Eggplant in a venue where Todd is unlikely to be spending his evening. Though I can�t decide whether running into one of his friends while undercover like that would be an unholy funhouse of abject humiliation or masochistically much to be desired.

I just found an old to-do list. Item: �Get stuff done.� Ha.

(P.S. Tom, I will try to give you a call back ASAP. If it doesn't happen for a few days, it's just because I'm unusually busy, and please don't take it personally. I have a hilarious piece of gossip for you.)

More P.S., later: YES.