I am a junkie. I love fashion so much. I love to see everyone looking beautiful. I can make anyone beautiful really. When I first graduated from undergrad I placed an ad as a personal shopper. The only call I got was someone that thought I meant personal slave. I changed my phone number. At the Victoria and Albert Museum in London they have an exhibit called “Radical Fashion”. It has works from some of the most cutting edge designers out there today. Ones that turned the industry on its side and then became the norm. I bought over a hundred dollars in books about fashion. I need to change industries. But being that I can’t draw, what could I do? I could be a lackey and be happy but at least while I pay of the federal government for supporting me in grad school I need to make real money. Maybe the day of my last payment to the government (in 2008) I will quite my job and go work in a clothing store in NYC. I’d love to be a fashion show designer. The ambiance and music. The make-up and hair. Most designers want to do that themselves though. Oh well.

The Depeche Mode show was wonderful. Dave stills looks fantastic and can really move. Sobriety has been good for him. Martin was in a particularly perky mood and played lots of guitar. He even sang several times. I reminded Patrick that if Dave Gahan wants me, I’m history. He accepts it. Don’t think he is particularly worried. The crowd was polite and knew all the words. It was such a dream come true to see them in London. I felt like a teenager again. Since everyone was about my age it was easy to imagine us all 15 years younger disaffected and utopia in thought. It was beautiful.

An interesting thing happened to us on our way back to the hotel Friday night. When we got off the underground at Victoria station a woman getting on the train said they were evacuating the station. As we started up the escalators an alarm started and a voice started to repeat, “Due to an emergency we would request that you evacuate the station please”. So polite. As we got out I heard a cop tell someone they suspected anthrax in the ventilation system. Surreal. We walked back to our hotel and by the time we’d changed (my feet were killing me) and started back towards the station everything was normal again. It was as if nothing had happened. There was nothing in the paper the next day either. If I start to feel funny I’ll got to a hospital I promise.

Patrick did a typically amusing Patrick thing as we were sitting having dinner at Heathrow. We heard a mobile phone go off. It was the ring that signals an SMS message has arrived (text message for you Americans). So then Patrick gets the “I’m figuring out a science thing in my head” look and I say “what?” He goes on to explain that Morse code for SOS is dot-dot-dot dash-dash-dash dot-dot-dot. The sound we heard was dot-dot-dot dash-dash dot-dot-dot. Of course he says “I wonder if what the code for ‘M’ is? If it is dash-dash then the ring would be basically saying in Morse code you have an SMS message.” I leaned over and smacked his forehead.

I have this “Hitchcock and Art” book laying on the ottoman. I started to read it but now it is just sitting around to make me look intellectual. Really, I have too much free time on my hands.

You’ve seen the coat before. I also wear it with my Hungarian long black skirt. The pants were on super sail at Gap and the 2 actually fit better than the 4. Of course now they have that annoying little bend at the hips. I really need to get back to the gym. It would help women with body image a lot if someone would invent a low cost, portable 3-D body scanning device. I am still 15lbs lighter than when I moved here but I have gained 10lbs in the last 3 months. I feel huge but I know in my head I am small. If I could see images of myself then and now, it would help me emotionally. I would also be able to tell better what exercise works best for me. I know you can’t spot lose but at least I would know what exercises built the best muscle on me. Ho hum.

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