My house is full of teenage boys.

Not right this second, because they are all raising mild havoc up at the high school where they belong, but I have been lurking in my bedroom sans foundation wear for like two days because I don't own my own living room right now. What I mean is, we are housing kids from out of town for Music Fest, and DAMN can four boys make a mess.

That is unfortunate for so many reasons, not the least of which being that I haven't finished a damn thing since the last blog post, and I am champing at the bit to make something, ANYTHING. (I will admit that I am nearly done with the manfriend's birthday present (his birthday was two weeks ago) but I can't bring myself to battle metallic embroidery floss for it.) I have gotten a load of compliments on the striped skirt, and I have been enjoying wearing it except for two things: it makes me feel really, really conspicuous and it seems to have to power to turn the weather from fine to awful. Seriously. I have put it on my body three times now, each of those times on a calm, fair morning, and by 2 in the afternoon, it has been blowing sideways, pelting rain, and colder by 10 degrees. Also, I bought a jade green shirt to wear it with, and the effect was rather more Christmassy than I like. Back to the drawing board.

I cut my hair again. Well, Casey cut my hair for me. The last time it was this approximate cut I kinda hated it a lot, but it seems not so terrible this time. I can still set it, unlike last time, and I can nearly get the sides up in rolls, so that's okay. I am thinking seriously about doing something radical to it, but I am fucking vain about my hair, and a coward to boot.

So what's the point of this post, you ask? It's to ask your opinion! I have been thinking about making a new circle skirt for ages - since Casey (not my hairdresser. a different one) had a sewalong for them last summer. I have a few, but they are all prints, and bordering on novelty prints at that. My question for you is: navy or black? My first impulse is to make a black one, since the vast majority of my wardrobe is black, and it seems like it would be pretty utilitarian that way. But there is something a little romantic and nautical about a navy one, no? Maybe I could scare up the elusive mustard cardigan to wear with it.

In conclusion: no new nothing. Cut my hairs. What color skirt?

I do not have a Monday outfit for you, for several reasons. The first of these is: today is Wednesday. And the second of these is: no one wants to see pictures of me in ugly sweatpants and a filthy, decade old t-shirt, my hair 24 hours unbrushed, which is how I looked for all of Monday.

Instead I have for you the picture of the ridiculousness that was me on Saturday morning. See, I had gone out on Friday night, already all high on self-pity and indignation. I forced E. to take me out to the Pour House, which was having some kind of herring season/spring break promotional event involving Jagermeister schwag, pretty girls in tippy heels and scandalously short skirts (you know they were short if I thought so) whipping Jello shots like softballs across the bar, and challenges from random strangers that ended with: "YOU'RE the one I want to do a body shot off of!" In other words, not the sort of scene I normally enjoy. I like to drink my whiskey in PEACE, thank you. The upshot of it all was, I declined the body shot from the itinerant herring tender, I split a Jello shot that tasted of cough syrup with E., who was actually still coughing, and I scored some WICKED SWEET giveaways. On top of this, I had been making rather cruel comments earlier in the day about Supersoakers full of Jager and the type of person who enjoys them... so I was forced by my own conscience to wear this in penance:

I am pretty sure spring break does not coincide with Sturgis. Also, these are the Rock of Love scandalpants.

So then the rest of the weekend happened, and if you are reading this, you probably already know that the rest of the weekend was the shittiest 36 hours of the last three or four years for me. All the studded leather jackets and bitchface in the world couldn't keep me from the melancholy that beset me.

So, for the second time in a mere six months, I impulsively laid my money down to flee. The first time I was flying straight into someone's arms; this time I will probably have to shop around a little bit. We'll see what charms Texas Rockabilly Revival holds; I am going this one alone, and so will most likely spend my time pressed up against a monitor, making eyes at a guitarist who is busy making eyes at the 24-year old with the cut-off halter top and tattoos across her boobs. At least I will get to watch Jimbo slap his stuff again, and see the Queen of Rockabilly before she kicks off this mortal coil. I won't say that there isn't a curious weight in my chest when I think about how the one person I would dearly, dearly enjoy sharing this with can't even bring himself to look at my Facebook page, but that is neither here nor there. Rock and roll will burn the sadness right out of you.

Speaking of impulsive... um. Turns out the day H. shows up with her locks shorn into a delightful yet manageable bob is the day I ferret out a 2 year old bottle of peroxide and go all Patricia Day on my bangs:

I am only wearing half my makeup, and half my clothes. I guess it's good this is a headshot.

I went a little overboard, maybe. But I needed to do something in order to crowd out the running monologue in my head, the one that says things like this.

I am not making any outfits for RAB Revival, by the way. I am just taking those scandalpants and that Jager shirt. And the highest pair of Hey, Sailor! stiletto heels I own. Maybe the red ones.

So I was trying for rock star chic...

But I don't photograph well, so in all of these shots I look like I ate something weird.

Also, I should probably put some lipstick on before I try to take my own picture again. And my eyebrows need some work. I never look as fierce as I feel.

The one thing about having such a modern haircut is that I feel like it doesn't quite jibe with the retro-romantic feel I have been wanting to achieve. I guess I just have to love the punk rock, right? And besides, that's what scarves are for.

I don't really have much to add, except that I am excited about bass guitar. I just wish that my skill level matched my enthusiasm. At least I have the proper equipment to play REAL LOUD. Hmmph.