Today I am her. A Richard Avedon girl in Paris. I walked home swinging my bag eating a fuji apple, harder to find in Australia than another American, I was crunching away while I walked past Chanel and glanced longingly in. At what I don’t know but just the shear cleanness of it all. So put together, so black and white. And I wondered about the suit guys who open the door for you or just stand against the wall with their hands behind their backs. Black suit and faces of nothingness and yet purposeful, like they are waiting for something. But what are they waiting for? Is an attack on Chanel imminent? Do they help you to your limo when you purchased so much black and white you can’t carry it all out in one load. Are their suits Chanel? Do they like Chanel? Did they used to work at Prada? Do their wives wear couture. Do they have wives? I just wonder is all where do they live and how did they get to be the Chanel Suit guy. La De Da. I extracted a head nod and miniscule smile from the one at the door. It was probably a pity smile, him all the while thinking “Poor peasant girl eating her apple, someone should really tell her that her hair is uneven.”
In other news... today, while on hold for the inspector who is reviewing our project certification, they had “I like big butts and I cannot lie” playing. I didn’t know whether to be pissed when he finally picked up because the song ended or offended. Certainly not the later but one could imagine offense being taken. I’ll tell you one thing though, being on hold would be way better if it was required by law to play old school rap that was the most requested song at your 7th grade dance. No one would complain when they were trying to change their return flight back to San Fran to fly through Hawaii for a brief beach stopover but were being shunned by the airlines and kept on hold for hours at a time for not being part of the millions of people who can’t get home to their families because some volcano erupted. I’m just saying is all…
I’m going for a run now. My coworker told me you are supposed to eat three hours before going to bed which means I have an hour to run, prepare dinner and shove it down my throat. Hmmm that’s not going to happen. But if I were a little kid that would be the best excuse ever to stay up late. No?
No comments:
Post a Comment