Wednesday, April 8, 2009


As the result of going to work Tuesday and on a dinner date afterward (quite heedless considering my ongoing illness), I have laryngitis. I had been telling myself to eat an orange and to stop acting like a pansy all week re: my cold or whatever I have, but now I must-- at least nominally-- take stock of all the reasons I have been wearing myself so thin lately-- into exhausted, now-silent tatters, really.

I've had these periods of voicelessness at least once a year as far back as I can remember-- typically, they last 2 days, although once it was nearly 9. Luckily such prolonged bouts of silence always inspire introspection in me. Well, at worst I'll be keeping a forced vow of silence during the home stretch of Lent, in lieu of the voluntary one I wanted to implement. To be honest, I would be enjoying myself entirely if I didn't have a day job which required me to speak. When I was an art model this was less of a factor. Well, at least for today, I'll absolutely WALLOW in silence.

Since I started living as though the world is my playground instead of a material prison nothing seems half as terrible or serious as it did before.

PS Tuesday night my date and I showed up to the restaurant dressed remarkably alike. We were wearing such painfully similar jackets he took his off to negate the gross couples-who-dress-alike effect:

"Did you get your jacket at Marc Jacobs, too?" I asked, feeling my skin crawl.

As it turns out we'd both had other wardrobe issues at work that day, as well. His boss had asked him to stop wearing shirts with lavender stripes (he's a lawyer in finance) as a concession to the conservative tastes of certain prospective clients he was scheduled to meet with this week. My had manager requested I get a short black gown he insisted would flatter my "bangin' body" more than the green on I was wearing. When I mentioned this to my date he suggested I buy a schoolgirl outfit, since all the Wall St. brokers he deals with (which also make up the lion's share of Tryst's clientele) like teenage girls better than anything else.

"You know you could pass for 18 with those pigtails and a pleated skirt," he said, pointing playfully at my hair-do.

I replied with a smile:

"So buy me a schoolgirl outfit. I'll wear it."

Since we were in the West 4th area we comparison-shopped at a couple of nearby sex shops and found one, which he bought with barely-concealed enthusiasm. I'll take pics of it soon. It kind of sucks, but it was the best one to be had on the block.