I'm just a girl

Tonight's the opening night of Ballo, the first show of the season. It's not my show, but I'm going to watch and then I'm attending the fancy schmancy after-party as The New Oregonian's date. There's one of these after every opening night, but the opening night of the season is the fanciest and the schmanciest of the year. I'll be wearing my new green dress for the first time!

I started off the day with a fantastic massage (my birthday gift from my co-workers). It was just what I needed. I'm pretty picky when it comes to massages, even though I don't get them very often. I like a lot of pressure (it's not a real massage if I don't have bruises the next day), and I don't like it when the massage therapist talks too much. I like warmed sheets and the scent of lavender. Today's massage had all of the above plus a cushy robe and slippers they gave me to wear to and from the massage room.

Because of aforementioned schmanciness, much of the day has to be spent primping, so I don't have much time to write. There's far too much to do. Skin to moisturize, toenails to paint, heels to pumice, nails to file, eyebrows to pluck, makeup to apply, hair to curl, and perfume to spritz, all with the ultimate girly movie on in the background. (What? You thought I just woke up every day looking like this? It takes work, people.)

But I will leave you with an amusing conversation I had today with a friend about a girl he likes.

Me: What does she do?
Him: She's a claims analysist.
Me: Analysist?
Him: Yes, an analysist.
Me: Or maybe, analyst?
Pause
Him: Oh.