Being Punished for Worshiping Satan's Birthday?

I thought I was doing so well today. Had a lovely Halloween Taco Dinner with PT, (Oh, and next time I think it is a good idea to eat FIVE TACOS, please just punch me in the stomach immediately, so I am reminded what I will feel like later?), drank some wine, watched some old episodes of Buffy and let the candles in our Jack O Lanterns burn out. I went to bed at somewhat of a decent hour and woke up ON TIME to meet Boulder for breakfast. (Ok, sorta. Sort of on time. Well, just like 10 mins late, but he STOOD ME UP LAST WEEK, so was completely justified.) I wore my new black velevet jacket over a red silk top and plain A-Line black skirt. I looked very nearly put together.

B. and I had a nice breakfast and as I got up to leave with enough time to get to work ON TIME for once, I knocked an entire glass of milk onto myself. It completely soaked the front of my shirt and my entire lap. I looked like some sort of excessive lactator. Annie and Megan tried to mop me up but the damage was done: Unless I wanted to spend the rest of the day smelling like sour milk, I had to go home and change. FAST.

I raced home, clattered up the stairs and ripped off my milk stained (and dry clean only. CRAP.) clothes and searched for something else to wear. Luckily my jacket was spared, so I threw on a sleeveless red top and kept the jacket. Unfortunately, the only skirt I could find that was remotely clean, unwrinkled, and non-milk covered was a black satin and tule number that I had bought when I really was a size 4 at H&M. Many many tacos later and this particular skirt still "sort of" fits. And by sort of, I mean that it doesn't hang exactly right and emphasizes my GIGANTIC ASS. It is also shorter than I remember, but of course, I am sure it has something to do with me wearing it around my WAIST in an effort to cover up the lower belly pudge that has been following me around lately. End result is that I look like a reject from the Gotham City Ballet. Add the velvet jacket and I look like someone who suddenly had to go to the Opera and quickly stole an outfit from Miss Emily Grierson.

Sigh.

I didn't wash my hair today. Or yesterday. So, in a desperate attempt to look less disheveled, I put it back into a ponytail. Of course, it is growing out all funy so I was forced to pin back some of the layers that were too short to pull back, but that would have driven me to the edge of sanity by falling in my face all day. So, I have that stupid Rockabilly hair.
Now, before my hoards of Rockabilly readers start sending me hate mail, let me just say, I LOVE ROCKABILLY. I love your tattoos, and your cute outfits and makeup. And shoes! I love your shoes. I love your boys in rolled up jeans. I love how sometimes you are really just "goth kids who watched too many Elvis movies." I even love PBR when I only have $2 and desperately want a beer! But your hair just makes me look even more ridiculous than usual. Especially when I had to dig myself out of a cemetary before I went to work today.