You used to be the queen of dress-up. You just couldn’t understand why nobody else (like your defenseless little brother and the family cat) looked pleased when you were holding court.
Dace Moore knows the feeling. But after a childhood ...
Friend asks if you noticed her zit.
You think: What, Mt. Vesuvius on your chin?
You say: “Nah. Can’t even see it.”
New flame asks if you liked his buddies.
You think: Dude. One had on a Scooby-Doo tee.
You ...
You know the local shopping scene so well, it’s almost like you have superhero skills.
Need shoes for a date? Bam! (Louboutins from Nordstrom Rack.) The perfect new necklace? Kapow! (Just $10 at vintage shop.) But a nonmall boutique in Bellevue? Holy ...
You like to think you possess natural savoir faire. You tie your scarf like a Parisian (but look more like Nana than Jeanne Moreau). And with the volume cranked on Edith Piaf, nobody can tell you’re actually fudging the lyrics ...
When: Tuesday evening
Where: Alibi Room
You: Sexy piece of work
Me: Plain unadorned lobe
Kicking Myself
Spotted you across the room. Couldn’t stop staring. You were in brilliant gold, dancing flirtatiously, outshining everything around you.
You were unassuming like ...
Ladies aaaand gentlemen, welcome to spring’s first smack down — a no-holds-barred, all-out tug-of-war. In one corner, we have lightweight tanks and jersey dresses dying to show their stuff. In the other, heavy sweaters and cable-knit tights (still the season’s ...
Here’s the story of a lovely weekend, which was bringing up five very lovely picks. (The last one trimming curls.)
HEAR
Bloc Party
What: Rocking British post-punk indie foursome.
Why: You’ve been around the Bloc.
When: Sun., 8 p.m.
Where:
Tulip fields? Check. Bikes? In critical mass. Unfortunately, ten-foot lap dances hardly constitute a red light district. And Seattle’s only over-the-counter buds come in bottles or cans.
Fine. Score one for the Netherlands. (Besides, wasn’t a certain study abroad weekend ...
