Quote from: Michelle_P on September 25, 2016, 05:49:20 PM
I'm getting better. 
I've got my time to assemble my new face down to 30 minutes. (Hey, first try took an hour, especially after I missed with the eyeliner!)
I'm sitting around the house in my Gloria Vanderbilt jeans, the snug size 6 ones, and a light, snug top neatly tucked in at my waist (back to 28"! Yaaaay! Being able to workout again sure helps.). No bra, so I'm a little jiggly, and the headlights are on. No wig or makeup, but no comments from my family yet. (Yeah, more than a little passive-aggressive of me. But I'm more or less me right now.)
I'm doing some light woodwork today, stretching the space between the headboard and footboard of our bed to accommodate a new adjustable powered bedframe. The task involves light shaping of some clear pine boards to form new bedrails. The first coat of stain/finish is drying right now. I love doing woodwork, really making anything with my hands.
I think I'm done almost done training and am ready to move to official Weird Old Lady status. 
Gloria Vanderbilt? What is this? 1986? My mother wore those with her batwing sweaters.
And also teamed with a sequin spangled, shoulder padded bolero jacket that she got rid of after finding out I wore it. She swears it was only because it had gone out of fashion, but I think not. Some ulterior motive was at work.
'Poison' by Christian Dior is all you need now to complete the look. That's what did for me - I had an almost photographic memory of how to crush clothes back into the exact position they were in, but perfume levels - that's not easy to hide. Even worse because we swapped rooms - I needed the traffic side to sleep, so I ended up with her entire triple wardrobe and her dressing table.
Oh, well, if it had just been a decade later, I might have let her find me. But as it was, I knew exactly how long it'd take to dive into bed if I heard her get up as I examined myself in the mirrors. She had good taste.
It's says so much for the times that she never ever mentioned the cigarettes out of her packet, but would wonder aloud in a somewhat accusatory manner why her perfumes were down. And she was/is the ultimate ->-bleeped-<- hag, so you'd expect her to be less unamused. But, the Poison and the Paloma Picasso ended up being taken out of the room, and the Marboros were left in situ.
Gongrats on the waistline!
For my age it will always be the late 2000's, and so you can't beat Superfine jeans. Round about then however, I might have been in maternity dungarees - having met someone I just kind of know would've worked, in that context, with birth being different. Is that just me? I just know. Bittersweet huh!
So good looking, and a connection that was there in an intangible sense, but didn't work. At least not drunk and on drugs. He's Russian - he ran out of money during his degree, I sent him to a friend of mine who ran male escorts. He made enough, and I didn't ask for commission. And he tried to sleep with a friend of mine, who refused, for my sake. Very sweet, but as I said to her then, I wouldn't have refused.
My happiness today is going for a big Mexican lunch with a lady from Ghana, and having a fantastic laugh about studies, work, sunglasses, laser treatments, and everyone on our course that we hate. It's nice to get confirmation, even though you know, that many ciswomen have the facial hair problem too.
Her sunglasses are amazing. Kanye West would turn them down for being too much.
