Dress, I Guess

Preparations for my move in full swing: furniture on Craigslist, boxes piling up in the livingroom, last minute fights with St. Vitus, who is supportive but sad. I told him I was going to start an Alaska blog and he groaned. St. V is already so over the need to have a blog, having come of age hand in hand with friendster and livejournal. In our first months together I used to love googling him for traces of his old online personas-- V as emo poster boy, V as bloggy goth, V as car enthusiast or digital artist, V on message boards (he knows of my search habits, so it's only just a little bit creepy.) For me, as a 30 year old fogey and partial-luddite, the concept is new; for him, old hat.

Sparklemotion was a trouper at the Oakland SPCA yesterday, which I would recommend to any East Bayians looking for affordable vet options. They're great, quick and cheap. She was probed, pawed, petted and vaccinated and only once emitted that low yet ear-shattering yowl she reserves for being Outside of her normal universal. She has her official travel certification! I don't know how she'll adjust to Alaska (and Alaskan cats, all brawny and bullying) but since I'm dragging her up there with me, she has the right to keep me up for as many nights as it takes to convince her that the crunchies are just as tasty and sunbeams just as prime for the napping as down here. That's our deal.

My first entry, and all I want to do is talk about dresses. Since I made the decision to move well after I quit my job and just as I ran out of money, I've had to take advantage of La Sirena's head buyer position at (well-known second hand clothing chain) and unload my closet through her. At first I was taking in conservative bags of things I wouldn't really miss-- thrift shirts never worn, skirts with safety pinned hems, work clothes I won't need ever again. Moving is expensive, though, and my budgetary needs expand daily, so I'm now down to selling my most prized possessions-- the Dresses.

Between 30 and 35 dresses is just the right amount, I think. That way, you have enough to gloat over but not enough to warrant installing another pole in the ceiling of your closet to create a third rack. I've had over 50 dresses before, and that felt ostentatious. I was embarrassed by 50 dresses. But 35 is perfect. They range in era from the '30s to the '80s, in color the whole spectrum, in print from palm trees to polkadots, in fabric from polyester to taffeta. And I love them like I love babies, only more so because they are mine. I found them, peeking out between muumuus and crinolines, unloved by the general public (except when briefly trendy, and then discarded again immediately). If they were smelly I gave them gentle Woolite baths, if they had threads poking out or buttons missing or particularly unfortunate sleeves I mended them. And now I must sell them to fund my exit. Their numbers are dwindling; last night, after I realized I will definitely need to travel by small plane rather than ferry on the final leg of my trip ($100 extra), I laid several of my favorites to rest in a plastic bag, and will take them in on Sunday. It's for a good cause.

I'm going home!