Okay, this is gonna be speedy people, because suddenly and miraculously I've got things to DO! Things to do apart from doodling on my desk top. Not my computer desktop... my literal desk top.

It's a rather bland Ikea number that is a little more wobbly than it should be and has a white melamine top which is perfect for drawing on. Last week sometime, I drew this really gorgeous man creature with a strong chisled jawline and a sexy cupid's bow and a strong steady gaze and I'm trying to preserve him by placing my keyboard over him but I keep smudging off his chin with my elbow and having to redraw him.

I tried reproducing him on a sheet of paper, but i can't get the angles just right again. I guess I'm going to have to go find a sheet of tracing paper and copy him so I can comfortably manouver around here without risking Mr. Thing's bold and beautiful chin.

Okay, so yeah... things to do, Mel. Get to the point of this entry already.

Well, there isn't really a point. I was going to write about how unkewl I am. Because I really, really am. Uncool. Despite all my best efforts.

Now, I'm not saying this so you'll mob my guestbook, clamouring all over each other to assure me that i am in fact, extremely cool. Uber cool. Ultra Fonzie cool.

Because I'm not. Not only am I not cool in the traditional sense of the word, I'm not cool in the geeky sense in which one is so uncool as to be, you know, KEWL! And i'm completely okay with it. Really.

Well most of the time. Thing is, last Friday I got a call from one of my dear friends saying she was going to be in town at the end of the month and she wanted to get together and hang. And I was totally thrilled to hear from her and even more thrilled that I was going to get to see her again after not having seen her in almost two years.

But then my heart froze in terror and I thought, oh my god! I have NOTHING to wear.

Because the thing is, while I'm not cool...she totally is. In every way imaginable. She's one of those people who rolls out of bed looking like she ought to be in some art film populated by performance artists and photographers and then she just exudes cool all day long, turning up the volume for cool occasions such as pool parties and lunch at the local pizza joint.

I mean, she's got a freaking' vintage vespa, this girl. And one of a kind jewellry that she fashioned herself. And cushions casually tossed about her couch that she made from fabulously nubby bathmats. And of course, she has all manner of really cool sunglasses.

This is perhaps the trait I envy most... the ability to pick out really cool sunglasses.

And I'm not the only one who thinks she's uber kewl. every one does. Its so bloody apparent. It oozes from her every pore. It's like a signature scent she wears. And every one who knows her has at least once and secretly tried to emulate her. Because that's the kind of cool she is... the trend setting kind.

And this is the kicker.... it's all completely effortless. It comes as naturally to her as breathing.

I had hoped that design school would somehow rub off on me and give me the polished patina of cool. a thin veneer at least. Because, let's face it, you think "designer" and you immediately think cool.

But this is not so. My other friend Sarah (Hi Sarah!) is a remarkable designer. she really, really is and I haven't told her that nearly as often as I should... but she's not cool either. She's warm and funny and genuine and a riot to hang with and I utterly adore her... but she's not cool.

And my friend, Kat? It goes without saying that she is a designer extraordinaire... effortlessly cutting edge... and we met in school. It also goes without saying that she's gay... actually bisexual, or omnisexual or ambisexual or whatever the current term is. Which, of course, only amps up the cool quotient.

I thought I might be the only one who felt this way... until I told Jack.

"Hey, I almost forgot to tell you," I said to Jack as he was scraping the grill to BBQ our dinner. "Kat called this morning and she's coming to town at the end of the month and wants to get together."

"Really? yeah, cool... it'll be good to see her again. What do you want to do?"

"well, we thought we'd meet her at the hotel and go for dinner and hang out. What do you think?"

"Sounds good. Whatever you want to do," which is the usual reply in that Jack is not the event planner in this relationship. That's my scene. He's in charge of grill scraping and icky thing removal and all the heavy lifting.

Then, just as I was turning to go back into the house, he said "uh, Mel? What should I wear? When we go out with Kat?"

See what I mean?

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