someone got invited to four bbq's and i only got invited to one

i am depressed. on a national holiday. when the sun is shining, and the birds are chirping, and the whole country is barbeque-ing, pretty much, i am sitting here with my new holistic zit cream dotting my face, uploading photos and feeling sorry for myself.

it's a bathetic story, really. (i am not sure if that is the correct usage of bathetic, but it's such a nice underused word.) and because it is so so bathetic, and a little boring, and a little embarassing (to be so old and still feel left out of the party! aren't i supposed to get over elementary-school-era neuroses at some point, like say, in my 3rd decade?) i am not going into it, except to say that i walked myself home from the street party at 2am, got in a cab and ended up eating dry waffle crisp in bed with a science book i'd read 4 times before. by myself. again. again again again again.

so this morning, my roomate and his boyfriend are cooking all the food for their picnic, which means i cannot cook the food for my picnic, and their meat (that they are bringing to the bbq, just to clarify) is getting all over the kitchen. i hate raw meat. i hate that it's in my kitchen. i want to be invited to all the cool parties, but i think i am too quirky these days. i think that i've, in my old age, gone past cute-and-quirky territory and ended up fully in the wow, yeah, she's...quirrrrky camp. i mean, either i'm getting more and more comfortable with myself, or it turns out that i really am a bone deep, encoded in my DNA style freek.

see? i do sound totally pathetique. crap.

i don't even have any daily outfit photos for you, since yesterday i went from naked and sleeping to dressed and out the door in 15 minutes, which involved tons of bare escentuals foundation and flip flops and gauchos, and was not pretty a'tall, and the day before--well, that outfit really did rock, i have to say. an orange 80's shirt that tied under mah b00bies and black and gold sandals and a white pencil skirt that (and here's the problem) decided to unzip itself every 5 minutes. literally. wish i'd seen the broken zipper before i dragged it home from the thrift store, but oh well. daily outfit pics soon, for all my invisible readers who aren't out there.

i think a good hour or so of yoga is called for--i need to a) do it so i don't go crazy and b) maybe by the time i'm done my roomate and his boyfriend will be gone and i can have the apartment to myself. grand plan, if i do say so myself.