guns just don't get old

Like many females these days, I carry a bag of such a size that I will probably have recurring back problems throughout my life. However, I need such a large pocketbook, as my grandma would say, because I have some essential possessions I must carry at all times, including, but certainly not limited to:

• A sh*tty digital camera, which I sometimes use to capture grainy images of shambley activities going on around me (see below);

• A Congressional press pass, which I will use inappropriately to go all English parliament on U.S. lawmakers' asses one day, or get double use out of for toolish blogging purposes (see below);

• And a single die, which I use to aid me in important decision-making (see below). For instance, if I roll a one, two or three, I'll keep my pants on; a four, five or six and I'll pop those bad boys right off.

Turns out, yesterday I rolled a six, which meant it was a no-pants kind of day!

This trick is a great ice-breaker.

Oh, I forgot to mention the e-arsenal I carry around with me at all times, too. Unfortunately, I had to leave that in the ether yesterday afternoon when I went to what we call a "stakeout" in the reporting biz. Doesn't that sound cool? A stakeout?! Doesn't it?!

Well, it's not. Unlike what private investigators get to do, a journalistic stakeout doesn't involve stealthily observing mysterious people in the comfort of a '75 Ford Gran Torino. Instead, it involves waiting for elected officials in a frigid, overcrowded Capitol hallway with a gaggle of other tools reporters.

Secret: The smartest reporters (ahem, myself) put their recorders on the speaker's podium and gets the hell out of eye of the toolish storm, which gives them time to reflect on how to fill their blog quotas for the day.

That, e-friends, is called a hot mess. And I'm not just talking about Sen. Joe Lieberman's (I-Conn.) standing in the Democratic caucus! HIYO! (Although, actually, his standing is fine after he and Sen. Majority Leader Harry Reid (Nev.) thug-hugged it out yesterday.) No, I'm talking about the hot mess of proverbial little guys, like myself, trying to break the same news as everyone else. In other words, stakeouts are a gigantic waste of time. And they smell bad, as it usual goes with any situation that requires a mass of humans to cram into a tiny space. It's like a rock concert without the rock star, unless, of course, you're my mom, who for some unknown reason is in love with Joe Lieberman. Trust me, he ain't no Norm Coleman, who best be planning to bring sexy back to DC -- regardless of the outcome of his election results -- when the 111th Congress convenes in January, if not just to let me treat him to a grilled cheese and freedom fries in the Dirkson building. He's worth a two-and-a-half star lunch.

Wishful thinking aside, it's time to roll the single die again.

Yep.

The pants are stayin' off.

Outfit details: Dress -- matty m; Cardigan -- Kenneth Cole; Tights -- Filene's Basement; Boots -- Steven by Steve Madden (and yes, I own the exact same boots in brown...don't judge, they're effing comfortable).