Outfits: I’m a believer in the notion that every outfit should have a title and some sort of subtle attitude.

During the week I don’t have much of a choice, and I have to sport the Corporate Warrior.

But on the weekends, I can be anybody I want. Now THAT’S freedom.

One of my most famous outfits is the Urban Indian. I pull that one out in the heat of summer when I’m sun-kissed all over. I throw my long hair in two braids, toss on a huge turquoise choker and all kinds of turquoise jewelry, a sleek black shirt, jeans that make my legs look even longer, and moccasin-style boots.

I once had three wedding proposals in one night out of that outfit.

Then there’s the Sorority Girl Gone Bad — a T-shirt that’s way too tight, a jean skirt, hooker heels, and lots of pink make-up.

Another crowd pleaser is the High Society Ho — my favorite long black jacket, a black pleated skirt that the nuns from my grade school wouldn’t approve of, a red, fitted shirt, and, OF COURSE, John Fluevog CFM boots that I always pay way too much money for.

This last Saturday, I broke out one that I forgot I even had.

I’ve been listening to so much Aerosmith lately (I have the box set) that the Dirty Little Rock Star just seemed like a natural.

That’s a dingy black tank top, my jeans that have a hole in the knee from falling too often while getting drunk Janis Joplin-style, my black biker jacket, some smoky eyes, skillfully-placed eyeliner, and ambitiously-red lipstick.

I cued my Nasty Natasha on the notion, and she anted up, too. She upstaged me, just like a rock star would, but that’s what I love about her. She can pull the rocker off so much better than I, just based on the fact that she has that slippery black hair, and her leather pants and a worn-out Van Halen T. So perfect.

So where did these two rocker chicks go after the sun went down? Duh. The Swiss, to flirt with boys.

We also met up with our friends Mushroom Maven, Parker Party, and a guy we call our Allman Brother. We ran over to the Parkway, and ended the night at Hank’s.

That trio let me in an event that couldn’t be missed, and one that I’m so glad I went to: An Easter baseball smathering with the employees, friends and family of The Rock Wood Fired Pizza.

They rented out a park; at least 60 awesome people showed up; there was a ton of good food, bagpipers and one of the coolest things ever: baseball!!!

I was one of the only girls who was playing, and I did so from 2 to 6 p.m. — such great fun and it was so hilarious. There were probably 10 outfielders at any time, and very few catches were made all day. I was also accused of being heartless because in the last inning, I really wanted to secure the W, so all three outs were made by me, and they were all on little kids. In between uncontrollable laugher, I told them that there’s no mercy on Easter!

After the game, we reported to the non-players that the good guys beat the bad guys, and we polished off a keg.

When my hands started to get too cold, we headed for another quasi-sporty adventure. We went to Tower Lanes for bowling.

As the only female in attendance, I was doing pretty damn well for not having bowled in forever. But then again, I did take a bowling class in college (yes, they offered that at my school). For a second I had the boys believing that I was an undercover hustler, and it was so fun to taunt guys such as Mr. 1965 for getting beat by a girl. But Pickett has mad skills, and he beat us all every time.

When that was over, I let the good times roll, and I met up with The Husky, T, Joe and Jane. We started at Wow’s and then hit up Magoo’s. We ended up at Doyle’s where we found Dr. Phil, Darling Damon, Little Leah, LT, Awesome Andi, Handsome Howie, and Intel Kyle. We took turns buying shots, and every round that showed up was immediately deemed an Easter miracle.

Just like the Rolling Stones said, “Thank you Jesus. Thank you Lord.”



I’m Carmen, your new chameleon.  Drop me your favorite parties at permanent lipstick.