And then you end up at like, a Chili's, havin a bloomin' onion with a buncha secretaries

So, Chili's has come back into my life -- or, perhaps, I have come back into its.

The very same outlet I wrote about in 2011 (on what turned out to be just ten days before Danger Secondgrader's birth), in fact. And I've learned, finally, how to properly access its wares: A couple times a month, my friends and I will go directly from our workout at the trendy HIIT gym, cross the SUV-and-Tesla-filled parking lot, and skip the dining room for the bar area. We order chips (which are always delivered fresh and hot, if not salty enough, but that's what the shaker's for) & salsa, one small adult beverage each, and something off their $8 lunch menu -- the cup of soup and half a turkey/bacon/avocado sandwich is quite edible. It's a good time, the servers are always happy to see us, and we tip really really well (which maybe is why they're happy to see us? also we're nice and not the kind of middle-aged suburban women who Speak to the Manager). We avoid the rest of the insanely-long menu, and there's not a Chickie Nob in sight. It's actually kinda like when I was a teenager, except I don't get carded anymore -- just a fun, cheap hang with friends.

So like, this is not exactly an Endorsement, but it is a reflection on revisiting things and allowing them to have a different place in your life at different times in your life. Plus also, anyplace that can serve me a beer THAT cold is to be applauded, whenever and wherever it may be.

Florals, for spring. Groundbreaking.

OK so the Fashion silhouette of the moment is: Bad.

Got those high, high, HIGH-waisted pants paired with boxy crop-toppy things, often with sad 70s Office Working Girl ruffles (even if the top in question is a SWEATER, y'all) and weird flaps and tiebacks and shit. I mean -- not me, I'm personally not wearing it, but like. If it doesn't look good on teenagers, and ya can't make it look good on professional clothing models, then I just. Don't hold out a lot of hope for us Normals. Especially not for me, personally, who has a literal inch between hipbone and bottom-most rib. At 46, I'm in the best fucking shape of my life, my bod is ROCKIN, but I look like the most amazingly misguided/overmedicated child's drawing of a girl in those outfits -- it's truly an abomination unto the Lord who Made Me. Thank christ I'm old enough not to fall for that shit again, midway through my fifth decade on this boiling blue marble, right?

And if it's not that, it's Dresses. Why god why. I don't wear dresses, except on very formal occasions, for reasons I may yet detail here (where the fuck else would I, right?), but -- ok. Look. I like dresses in theory, they look really good on y'all, and DAMN I have the legs for a dress but I cannot and will not wear dresses as a regular thing, so all these cute dresses that like, fucking Gap and Boden and whoever the fuckall Kim France is loving at the moment (and don't get me wrong, I fucking LOVE Kim France, I just have no idea who she's talking about, designer-wise, at any given moment, on account of having lived an entire life of thinking $80 is a real lot to spend on a shirt) are just -- not gonna happen for me.

And so: Here we are again, with me in distressed black jeans, band T-shirts, a flannel as a stand-in for the Northern-California-Perpetual-Light-Jacket-Item, and whatever footwear is at the axis of my personal assessment of Cool vs. Comfortable that particular day. I have Fly London, and Frye, but also I have fleece-lined Cons. So ...

Fuck, man. My Birks -- yes ok I have them, this is who I am now -- need to be tightened after a winter of wearing them (IN THE HOUSE ONLY, I SWEAR) with socks. And y'all tryna get me to wear dresses, or Skinny Jeans with a gotdamn 11-inch rise and a shirt with the lines of a Chinese takeout box. [siiiiiiiiiiiiigh] Whatever.

I am WITH. HER.

Oh lord help me ... I'm gonna do a GOTV canvass for my girl Elizabeth Warren. You guys, this is SOFA KING FAR out of my comfort zone ... but I think that tossing $10 her way every once in awhile is not enough to beat back the Anxiety Monster that tells me at 3:12 in the fuckshit a.m. I'm not doing enough to fight back in this shitshow, and I'm gonna actually have to do the work. Fuuuuuuuuuck. OK. Imma do this. godDAMMIT.