Loft Watching

To my dismay, I discovered that the downtown loft building where I work, which contains twelve-ish loft apartments in addition to our gallery space, is home to a Naked Loft Guy. He lives on the ground floor in the back of the building, in a loft with floor-to-ceiling windows. And for some reason - no good ones, as far as I could tell from fifteen feet away- he does not prefer clothing. I expressed my horror at this discovery to the building's maintenance dude, who just laughed and was like, "Yeah, he's always naked."
This absolutely in no way corresponds to my recent interest in getting a loft downtown. Maybe this one, even. The biggest draw for me would be being able to walk or bike to work, in addition to feeling oh so cosmopolitan. If something like this takes form, however, I will seriously invest in curtains: the owner of our building, who owns a bunch of real estate downtown, has reported seeing numerous telescopes in tenants' lofts. Telescopes! Just set up right by the window (and not windows with a great view of the skyline)! How overtly voyeuristic. Goo. And there's people like Naked Loft Guy to consider. Curtains would be a must!

Good News First

I will post if nothing else than to say I am no longer officially sick. So there's good news.

My current challenge at work is to replicate the design of this Jimi Hendrix poster, minus the people. My work is having its 30th birthday party, and the print materials have been assigned a 70s look. While this is all fine and good, I have never looked at the fun, bubbly text from the eyes of the maker.

I am horrified by the intricacies of psychedelia.
Also, this show was not even in the 70s.

Yesterday I declared myself sick. Then I slept for over 13 hours, which I didn't know was humanly possible. Also, I don't remember any of it. No exciting dreams, nothing to entice me to slumber so earnestly save my own exhaustion. I have actually been somewhat sick for at least a week but have been denying it and suppressing with cold medicine so that I could participate in the following fun, non-sick-person activities:

Wedding. My old friends Kim and Aaron got hitched last weekend. I was a bridesmaid, which was my first time at that. The dresses were very elegant and I felt I did a very good job of getting glammed up way beyond the prettiness of my daily self. I also did a good job of reading love poems in the ceremony, taking advantage of the open bar, and dancing. The wedding was quite lovely and everyone partied with the appropriate amount of wildness that the words "till death do you part" inspires.

More drinking (survey says: bad idea, sick girl!). Ruth and I attended the Kansas City Chapter of Drinking Liberally, held at Harling's Upstairs in Westport. The group was shockingly small: a few middle-aged men with an adorably grassroots sign (media: blue and red Bic on folded yellow envelope) bearing the group's logo. A few other members trickled in throughout the evening, including a hippietastic couple from the Rochester, NY Chapter. I really enjoyed the quirky combination of people and the low-key dive-quality bar. In fact, for all ex-Bearcats in the audience (Jen?) the experience was eerily like Friday Happy Hour at the Pub with Eiswert, et al.

So, now I am officially sick (except that I think I have plans tonight, crap).

Where to live?

As many of you know, my favorite roommates of all time are moving to L.A. The jerks!
I had the option to sign on again at our current apartment, but decided against living in our complex, or any complex, for that matter. It is disheartening to look across the front yard, er, parking lot, and see a perfect reflection of the architecture that I live in. If you can call it architecture, which is questionable.
So what next? I've been scouring the classifieds and hunting For Rent signs in hopes of spicing up my living space. My three wishes are 1) bricks, 2) hardwood floors and 3) crown molding. Unless something entirely different presents itself, like not very realistic but maybe someday and sounds cool, but is there a place to shower?

Lyle Rocks

Blog, I need to update you like my sassy summer wardrobe and my seventy-dollar hair. Today I went to see my favorite hairstylist, Lyle (he is also responsible for Ruth's new hair). Lyle is brilliant with those scissors and is also quite talkative, perhaps too talkative considering he is a gesture-while-speaking person. This tendency of his leaves his scissors-clad hands flying about in the air much of the time, while I cautiously watch in the mirror to avoid undue injury.
At any rate, Lyle and I had a dazzling conversation about politics and the environment (he was able to act out the splitting of a glacier with his hands - this guy would positively win at charades). Meanwhile, my hair got smaller and cuter, and also a little bit colored. I felt only slightly bad that as we discussed pollution, the expense of gas, and whatever else is wrong with the world, I was spending over seventy dollars on my hair. But really, is there a better cause?
This was also my first ever go with hair coloring. I was scared. Ruth has mentioned that hair dying probably leads to promiscuity, but I have yet to experience this effect.