Clicking my sandals three times…

Today I finally found it: the innocuous box in the attic containing my annual rite of passage, my Christmas in Springtime: opening my box of summer clothes.

These are the clothes I sullenly pack away each winter, long after I’ve had any need of them. After spending a couple months in denial, holding out hope that thirty-degree temperatures might randomly give way to sundress weather, I surrender to reality: it’ll be months before these gams or arms see the light of day, hidden instead under jeans and sweaters. In packing my cute little clothes and putting them in a box and out of sight, I hope that my winter clothes might look relatively cuter. They never do. The typical winter depression sets in: I consider cutting my hair, perhaps going a shade darker; loose sweaters become the tempting alternative to early morning trips to the gym in the cold dark; old college sweatshirts become my January through March uniform. Femininity withers.

But here comes the sun, doo-dee-doo-doo. It’s been warm in Charlotte for some time (have I mentioned how much I love the weather here?), but I couldn’t find that damn box anywhere. My summer clothes went MIA, gone when I needed them most. As other women breezed about town in adorable skirts or sundresses, I’ve moped about in jeans and tank tops, a mere blazer short of an autumn outfit. But today, armed with determination and a flashlight, I returned to the attic to find the box. Between the box of Christmas decorations and a box that hasn’t been unpacked since two houses ago, sat Box o’ Xanadu: my summer clothes.

I felt like Dorothy. No, it wasn’t a dream, it was a season. And you were there, pink mini-skirt. And you, blue sundress – and you, off-the-shoulder good-luck party shirt. And you were all there. Doesn’t anyone believe me?

Oh, but anyway, pink and orange bikini with matching sarong, we’re home. There’s no place like Spring-time, there's no place like Spring-time...

From under my bed...

I admit it. I’m afraid of more things than a normal person ought to be, earning me the nickname "Courage the Cowardly Jen" from my better half. A few of the things I spend too much time worrying about:

- Leaving the house without pants and not realizing it until I’m in public.
- Breaking my neck. If necks are so important, shouldn’t they be thicker?
- Birds. I don’t trust them.
- Germs. I'm an OCD hand washer in airports and arenas.
- Sketches of aliens. The ultimate in creepy.
- Heights. GAH!
- Any kind of wildlife.
- Spontaneity. I like plans, schedules, sucking the joy from life.
- Singing a song in my head and realizing I’m singing it out loud. Without pants.

Bush's Queen City Welcome

Who's Allowed in my Living Room?

On workdays when we simply do not care to be at work, a coworker devised a procrastination technique called “Who’s allowed in my living room?” It’s a simple concept, only naming random people and then deciding whether they're allowed in your living room, but it’s one that unites or divides a group. There are the Oprah moments of unity, when we all decide we want Oprah in our living rooms; then there the Rosie O’Donnell moments of discord, which descend into questioning a person's entire belief system and eventually “yo momma” jokes. Such is the singular power of “Who’s allowed in my living room?”

The judgment calls are split-second; one just knows. It’s not as easy as liking or disliking a person -- the living-room kind of person will grab you a beer on their way back from the kitchen, will play with the dogs, can sustain conversations on current events as well as the merits of the SpongeBob movie. And for examples, random people I would or would not want in my living room:

Allowed in my living room Jon Stewart Steve Martin Howard Dean Sarah Vowell Zach Braff Drew Barrymore Fareed Zakaria Hillary and Bill Conan O’Brien George Clooney (also allowed in bedroom) Brian Williams Sandra Bullock Steve Carrell

Not allowed in my living room Sharon Stone Joan Rivers Bill O’Reilly John Kerry TomKat Dick Cheney Meg Ryan Condi Rice Madonna Kevin Costner Ann Coulter Cameron Diaz Michael Douglas