Well, it’s finally happened, folks. Liz and I have officially come full circle.
It all started this morning, on a particularly chilly end-of-March walk to work. Of course, it was made even chillier due to the fact that when I pulled into my parking lot, not one space was empty, which then forced me to cruise adjacent lots until I finally ended up pulling in directly behind the “adult bookstore” and all-around general porn palace. This forced me to not only walk farther in the cold, but also to not want to make eye contact with anyone.
So I was walking — trying to will my short out-of-shape legs to move faster toward the heated building — when I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of a storefront window . . . and did a double-take. Yes, I realized I was dressed just like Liz Lemon. And not in a good way. Nope. Instead, I was dressed in that Jack-Donaghy-tells-Liz-Lemon-“don’t-dress-like-a-small-town-lesbian” kind of way. Not that there’s anything wrong with the look; Ellen Degeneres looks adorable in it. But I just don’t pull it off like Ellen can. Instead of “hip and with it,” my look said “gender-neutral and confused.”
I hadn’t realized it when I left the house because I hadn’t looked in the mirror again after grabbing a coat and heading out the door. The coat . . . it pulled it all together. Without the coat, the outfit wasn’t too bad. A little on the manly side, but fitted enough to show a few curves: button-up chambray-colored cotton Converse shirt with a white tank underneath and sleeves rolled up; stone-colored jeans, straight-legged; silver Converse sneakers. But the snow this morning had caught me by surprise, and I had to make a quick coat decision . . . one I made a little too quick, I learned only too late.
Here I have to back up once again (plot sequence is so not my forté) and explain why I couldn’t just wear my regular winter coat. You see, a few weeks back I was pumping gas, and I locked the trigger on the gas pump like I normally do, because, well, I’m lazy and holding it for three minutes just seems way too hard. So the pump finally stopped, and as I was gawking at the near-$60 price my pump had racked up, I proceeded to pull the nozzle out of my gas tank.
And that’s where it went all kinds of wrong.
Before I knew what had hit me (which was, of course, gasoline), the nozzle flew out of my hand, and the hose whipped around like an angry snake, gas spewing everywhere. I mean EVERYWHERE. The trigger hadn’t unlocked like it normally does after removing the nozzle from my gas tank. And the gas decided it wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity to make a run for it, so it kept shooting out as I fumbled around trying to catch the nozzle and shut it off before I owed Kum & Go $120.
Needless to say, when I finally shut the beast down, I was $10 poorer and highly flammable. And my coat is dry-clean only. But being March and all, I didn’t feel the need to rush right out to the dry-cleaners. I’d just wear a jacket.
And then it snowed again. So this morning I grabbed one of my son’s warm in-between coats to wear (Being 13 and all, he doesn’t believe in the ritual of coat-wearing.) . . . A plaid Timberland flannel with a quilted lining. Yeah, nothing too feminine about that. Add to it the androgynous shirt and pants, bi-curious shoes and nerdy plastic glasses . . . and I was Liz Lemon.
So where does the “full circle” part come in? I’m getting there, hang with me.
All day I kept giggling to myself as I thought about how only Liz Lemon and I would unwittingly dress like lesbians. And since I’ve been so neglectful of my blog, I wanted to make sure to preserve this in the blogosphere before I forgot about it. So I started Googling “Liz Lemon,” pairing it with keywords like “wardrobe” and “dresses like lesbian” and “flannel shirt.” I wanted to find a photo of the specific look I was thinking of in case you weren’t familiar with Liz’s style. And I found a few.
But it was when I Googled “Liz Lemon” and “spinster” that the worlds of Paula Reece and Liz Lemon collided. Here, I took a screen shot for you:
Notice anything? Look closely in the bottom right-hand corner…
This is either a sign Liz/Tina and I were meant to be BFF’s — or that I’m a stalker.
Until the restraining order is issued, I’ll go with “BFF’s.”