Bringin' tha sexay

I know some of you have been wanting to see me in my historical clothes. Today I corralled my roommate and had her snap a photo of me out on our porch. Pretty sexay, huh? Men's breeches have a lot of gathering in the back, so you get a bubble-butt effect, but they're so comfortable I could wear them all day long. Stockings--not so much. What you don't see is the elastic "garters" I'm wearing to hold them up. The hat is definitely my favourite part: a black felt hat cocked up on one side with a black cockade...and it actually fits my huge head. My shoes are also pretty comfortable, except there's no arch support. They are made on period designs, but the shoes are soled with a thin layer of recycled rubber...how do I know it's recycled? It says "Goodyear" on my right foot.

The reason for getting into these clothes (it only takes me about ten minutes now--used to take me more than fifteen) was because I had militia again today. The bus doesn't run on Sundays, however, so I decided to take my bike. I live about four miles from CW--four hilly miles. But I feel guilty using my friends as my personal taxi service, and I wanted to start biking in earnest again, so I suited up and biked over. It was about 85 degrees when I set out, with humidity hovering around ninety percent--the storms that had been heading right towards us split it two and spared Williamsburg, but at least it was overcast with a steady breeze. It's amazing how quickly one learns to appreciate a heavy breeze. Not only does it cool, it also blows the smoke away.

My gun misfired twice because of the humidity, but I still had fun. And the ride home, while arduous, wasn't agonising. My legs are a little cranky though. I feel like saying "remember this?" I selfishly admit part of the reason I want to bike more is to keep my legs in shape...after all, breeches are designed to show off those sexay calves, and while mine are pretty sexay, they could be sexayier.

I did not, however, bike to church this morning. Arriving at militia hot and panting for breath is acceptable when you're surrounded by sweaty, dirty military guys. Not so much when you're going to a genteel Southern Methodist church. But I hate asking people to go out of their way to pick me up and give me rides. I want to be more self-reliant. Maybe the time has come for me to finally go over totally into militant bike-rider. Salon had an interesting article this morning about a man who has a "SUB"--a sports utility bike, a heavy-duty road bike he uses to take his kids to school and go grocery shopping. My bike is pretty reliable, it's just the woman-power that's a little lacking. But it only takes me twenty minutes to get to work, ten minutes to get to the grocery store. That's doable.

Church was a lot of fun this morning...the choir is done now until September, so we had "family choir" instead of just the sanctuary choir. The kids were pretty well-behaved, except for the two boys in front of me who were talking loudly during the introit...it was kinda hard to discipline them though, since they were reading from the Bible. After babysitting yesterday, and now seeing the kids running around in church, I feel like I've been poked repeatedly in my biological clock.

Although, watching some of the screaming kids in the historical area will cure that pretty quick. Let's just hit "snooze" shall we?