Yesterday, in the event of a party I was planning to attend with Maile, I actually put on makeup and did my hair (did my hair= brush thoroughly). After waiting for Maile I discovered that she had been caught in her attempt to sneak out and therefore I had no place to go in my new found sexiness.

So I crashed on my couch with my makeup still on.

This afternoon, as I was walking to the studio, I was happy to see that my makeup was still intact and that I looked extremely pretty, and was dressed well in heels and a matching J Jill sweater that hung loosely on my frame, making me look wonderfully thinner than usual. Very Ralph Lauren Ready to Wear Spring 2005.

The walk from the bus stop to the studio is a nice one. I love stalking down a sidewalk in heels, swaying just so, tossing my hair back occasionally. I smile to my self as I see a beautiful man exit the pioneer memorial theatre. The beautiful man turns his head and slides into eye contact with me.

I smile flirtatiously before proceeding to trip and face plant into the sidewalk.

It was a very curious fall, ambiguous in the sense that the cause of it was and is still hidden from me at this very moment; there was nothing in my way nor were the ivory Chinese Laundry pumps that I had found at market square for $11 the day before hard to walk in. I was simply walking one moment and flying in the air with a downward acceleration the next. Curious, to say the least.

“Are you alright?” The man exclaimed as he rushed up to me.

“It’s alright, you can laugh.” said I, observing his admirable constraint. “I’m just fine.”

“Be careful in those shoes” he said kindly, and with that he nodded and walked off, leaving me completely amused and humiliated.

Of course he blames the shoes; I suppose any untrained eye would. But upon close investigation of the footwear one can clearly see that they wouldn’t be the motive behind an unwanted descent of any kind. They have double straps, relatively low stiletto heels of moderate thickness, and an insanely pointy toe. They walk beautifully, easily. It wasn’t the shoes.

I myself blame the silly magazine I was holding at the time I plummeted, which threw off my equilibrium before getting in the way of my attempt to catch myself on the parking meter to my left. Clearly the magazine is responsible.

I continue my journey to the studio, a bit less confident than before. A smile kept on sporadically fluttering upon my lips as I thought of exactly what disturbed expression my face had been contorted into as I plunged to the cement below. Finally the grin pushed through my being and I started chuckling madly as I endeavored to walk. I accepted defeat and stopped walking to stand and laugh avidly. I decided it was best that I had stopped walking as another cute guy strolled past and grinned at the amused beauty giggling in the middle of the promenade; I don’t walk and examine men simultaneously too incredibly well.

I finally made it to the studio and began working. I made a breakthrough today on my project, and I think that the idea I summoned up there is going to work rather well. I was working hard and productively until yet another appealing male crossed my path to mess me up in one way or another.

“Hello.” He said. I smiled and gave a weak ‘hello’ in response.

“Are you in design workshop?” He inquired. He looked of semi-distant Asian descent, with jet-black hair, hazel eyes and beautiful white, straight teeth. I love dark hair.

“Uh, yeah, I have the other period. You have Professor Davis, right?” I stuttered. Bullocks, I can never be smooth when I’m caught of guard.

“Yeah. What are you guys working on?” He walked up to my desk to inspect my desk (or the contents therein, I’m still debating this).

“Folding paper, investigating positive negative space, figure ground, you know.”

“Sounds enjoyable.” He uttered.

“Do you want to tell me what you think of this study? This plane right here, it’s necessary but I’m afraid, um, it’s completely dead and inactivated. What, what do you think?” I asked.

He examined my study for a long time, walking around me, peering into it and around it, just looking at it.

“I hate the pause when someone looks at your work,” I laughed. “It’s painful.” He looked up and smiled.

“I like what you’ve done. I’m not sure what to say, though.”

“I know what you mean. I think the piece is active and intriguing, but from this one angle,” I paced over until I was facing the problematic side dead on, “It looks like nothing, just empty space.”

“Yeah, I see what you mean.” He said. He studied my work for 3 or 4 minutes longer until. We talked about his work and about class. 10 minutes later I began to start my second study of the day until I glanced at my sketch book. In it I had written my measurements, and I caught the phrase “Top to first incision: 1 and 27/32 inches”. I really didn’t want to work anymore. So I packed up and started to walk out of the room.

“You’re going home?”he asked.

“Yes- my work ethic is dismal if indeed existent.”

“Well, at least you came. See you later.”

I walked home, frustrated with myself. Luckily my journey was completely void of beautiful men, though I doubt I would have noticed, as I was lost in deliberation. The day was frustrating, frustrating indeed.

Well, I suppose men are in general.