Every Shoe, Every Color

So my daughter watches Hannah Montana. If you don't know what that is, allow me to explain: Billy Ray Cyrus (of Achy Breaky heart and mullett fame) had a child, and now she has a TV show where she's a rock star half the time, and a regular kid the rest of the time. And her dad is Billy Ray Cyrus. Except on the show, their last name is Stewart. Except when she's on stage. Then her last name is Montana. That's pretty much the gist of it.

The theme song is this poppy little number that encapsulates all this, and shows the excitement of being a rock star 50% of the time. Part of this, evidently, is being able to buy every shoe in every color. Now, while I usually disagree on principle with anything either a) on the Disney channel or b) associated with Billy Ray Cyrus, I must say I'm feeling Hannah Montana/Miley on this. Mostly because these little lovelies just walked into my life:

I ordered the black ones last week, and love, love, love them so much, that I'm ordering the brown ones tonight. Super cute, eh? Now, I'm not usually enticed to buy two different colors of the same shoe (one figures life is too short), but these are just lovely. And, even better....they were on final, final sale. Which means I got both pairs for what one pair would cost at regular price! Which makes me a smart, savvy shopper!

All of this basically alludes to the fact that now I'm going to have to start wearing heels again to work, even though it is the Land of Converse and Flop. So, stairs, students, and parents be damned, sexiness awaits!

Keeping Angelina in a Tube, and Why I Need an Intervention

So I've had this lipgloss for a while now (I actually bought it the day after I quit my job as a kind of "Get out of Jail" present), but I'm just now getting around to reviewing it, mostly because I've been a busy bee, and also because I've been a very bad blogger (see previous two posts). But today I'm proctoring a test for a bunch of 16 year olds who somehow manage to look cute in sweatpants and t-shirts at 10:00 a.m. on a Saturday. Was I like that too at 16? I believe I was--I remember well my total delight at wearing Abercrombie shorts to the Pizza Hut to make a salad and getting the glances of all the high school drop outs who routinely spat on pizzas. It was a nice feeling, but alas, it hasn't lasted. Now if I get glances, I dedicate whole blog posts to it and spend my night acting coy and declaring myself too sexy to vacuum. ANYWAY, this is just a long way of saying that because I am no longer 16 and need a little help to achieve hotness, I routinely buy lip glosses, and write about them on here. So here is my long-awaited review.

This is Bare Escentuals Buxom Lips, which is a lip plumper and gloss combo. I got the shade "Dolly" because it is kinda tawny brown, which I like, and also because it made me think of Dolly Parton and Dollywood and roast turkey legs. It's a pretty good match with my hair/eyes (brown and brown), and looks pretty natural. There is a glossy shine, and it is not sticky at all, which is nice. It also smells like vanilla, but not overly so, like some kind of Bonne Bell Lip Smacker of something. So as a gloss, it is pretty awesome. But, remember, it is a two in one product! It plumps too. To be honest, I've always been really curious about lip plumpers, especially the ones that reportedly cause pain as they plump the lips. Not curious enough to actually buy one though, that is, until I quit my job and decided to be throw caution to the wind. So I fully expected to feel something when I put this stuff on. And the truth is, you do feel something--it's like a mint cooling sensation. I have to say--I was a bit disappointed. Perhaps I'm revealing some sort of masochistic side, but I wanted to feel some PAIN. I wanted to feel my lips swell, and I definitely didn't get that with this. I think I do notice a little plumping action, but I'm definitely not morphed into Angelina Jolie (much to my chagrin). The thing is though, because of the mint and the gloss and the cooling, I'm really aware of my lips when I have this stuff on. So I think I stick them out more. Perhaps that's part of it the plumping magic. Or perhaps it's just me, doing my best Jessica Simpson post collagen impression.

So, all in all, this is a great gloss and decent plumper. The packaging is adorable, so you could buy it pretty much just based on that. Plus, it's a big ole tube, so even though the price is a little steeper than drugstore brand gloss, you get a lot of it.

Just to be completely honest, the other reason I'm writing this is because I'm trying to keep myself from buying anything on the Internet right now. There is something about starting to see "Back to School" signs (DAMN YOU TARGET!) that makes me want to buy clothes, and buy them in abundance. I get paid this Friday, and I've been tutoring a LOT, so I'm thinking I'm going to have a bit of cash. So instead of paying off the parking ticket(s) and several other things that I'm sure I should do, here is what I'm interested in procuring....

• a pair of fancy pants jeans, and by fancy pants jeans, I mean jeans that cost more than they ever should and make me feel like a total douche for owning them. I desire to feel horrible about myself. But I also desire to have my ass look nice, hence the desire for these pants.
• a pair of red croco pumps
• some silver bangle bracelets
• some of the Hanky Panky thongs that I've been hearing so much about
• a pair of cute walking shorts that I could get away with wearing to work
• a swingy black jacket that I could carry into fall (something mod-ish, with big ole buttons would be nice)
• a cute, flirty dress, perhaps a wrap, that would be super comfortable, but still look nice for meeting with parents
• a pink v-neck sweater, probably merino from J.Crew because I love them so
• a green tank top
• some black stacked flip flops like my brown ones
• some fancy new eye shadow
• some kind of blusher/bronzer combo that would make me look like I've had a restful summer, so when I visit the home of a kid who just spent his last 2 weeks in Nice, I can look like I have as well.

If I procure these items, Matt will most surely kick me out of the house, and so I will be homeless. But my grocery cart would be full of super cute stuff! Sometimes I think I have a shopping addiction. This is because I've researched it. Along with America's Got Talent, I also religiously watch Intervention (you're really thinking less of me now, aren't you?) and I can really identify with the addicts on there, except instead of being addicted to mouthwash and Oxy, I'm addicted to the rush I get when I see a great pair of shoes. To that end, sometimes I imagine myself being followed around by video cameras, and suddenly finding myself in a room with all my family and a strange dude saying "Morgan, these people are here because they love you like crazy, and they want to see you get help. By the way, those are some hot croco pumps. Did you get them at the Nordstrom Anniversary Sale?"

Sigh.

Holy Heart Failure, Batman! Morgan's Hot!

Ok, so I've had a strange day. And there are a few observations that I want to make here. Whether they are fashion related or not is debatable, but whatever. I'm a rule-breaker.

Just a nutshell of the things I will discuss:

--British men and their penchant for the plus sized among us

--fake accents and Oxford degrees

--Apu

--toothless men at the Home Depot

--Bay Area homeless people

So, to start off, I guess I have to admit that sometimes, on rare occasions, I like to watch America's Got Talent. If you've never seen this show, don't try to watch it or anything--you'll lose brain cells. It's horrible. There are these people on there who shimmy and shake and dress up as Columbian singing sensations (Yes, I'm looking at you, Boy Shakira) and consider it a talent. And there's David Hasselhoff, who has had so much Botox his face is now entirely made of botulism. And there's me, who finds it strangely entertaining, and gets all giddy when someone eats fire. But my favorite group is The Glamazons (see above), a group who call themselves the plus-sized Pussy Cat Dolls. Basically, they come out in corsets and fishnets, gyrate, and harmonize, and then they say a lot of stuff about doing it for all the ladies back home who are fat and fabu. It's all very Tyra Banks. And I eat it up, like its Pillsbury chocolate frosting on a spoon. I want to gyrate in a corset and fishnets! Well, anyway, so they do their schtick, and this British judge, Piers, (who is basically the poor man's Simon Cowell) gets all red and says something about being a normal British man who is turned on by curvy women. And by "curvy" you know he means "chubbalicious." Is anyone else surprised by this? I mean, how was I not informed that British men find chunkishness attractive? Had I known this, I would no longer drink Target Brand Diet Peach Raspberry Iced Tea, which really tastes like bottled back sweat, and I would use a Rascal as my major form of transport.

But anyway, barring any major lifestyle/transportation change, I went into work with this new knowledge, and what do I end up having to do? Well, for starters, call this guy in for an interview for an instructor position. So I call, and this LOVELY British voice answers, and tells me that yes, he'd love an interview, and he's a little groggy because he just flew in from London, and he'd love to put his OXFORD DEGREE in LITERATURE to the test. Ok. So. If there are three things that make a girl all weak in the knees, it's 1) smart dudes, 2) employed dudes, and 3) accents. So I'm charmed. I even make a point of telling everyone in the office that I'm charmed, and am looking forward to his interview.

So he comes in, and I make sure I'm front and center. Now, note here that I'm fully aware that I'm married, but you have to remember that I am from the South and there is a certain sluttiness/flirtiness that all Southern girls have and use (see Devereaux, Blanche). And yes, the accent is divine, and he's got this sort of rugged handsomeness, that while not the stuff of my daydreams, was fine enough to get me to put down the bag of Cheetos I was eating and bat my eyes a bit. ANYWAY, he takes his quiz, does lovely, and comes out to the front to chat. How's the weather, how was your drive from the city, that kind of thing. Then he goes to his interview. I'm sure he's perfect for the job.

But then my boss comes out and looks chagrinned. He's hired him, conditionally, he says. I ask what's up. Turns up the guy isn't from London at all--he's from DALY CITY. He's just kind of affected that accent, like some Bay Area Madonna. Plus, he's all douchey and is talking bad about American holidays. Shut up, dude. You're from DALY CITY. Isn't that the most pretentious thing you've ever heard? So whatever.

But now he's emailed me, and I really do think he likes me in a sort of odd way. I had a co-worker read the email, and she agrees. So I think he's trying to committ that ultimate act of Britishness and get a fatty on his arm. But it's enough to make me feel hot. And kind of good.

And then, to top things off, I stop to get gas, and this guy in the gas station who I swear to God is the living embodiment of Apu from the Simpsons (I seriously thought I was in one of those 7-11's that they've pimped to become a Kwik-E Mart or something) notes my wedding ring, and goes, "Oh, you're married. Sad, sad." And he seriously looks sad. Two options here: 1) he's trying to get out of an especially bad arranged marriage situation or 2) I am genuinely a heartbreaker.

Then, to put the cherry on the hotness sundae, I go to Home Depot. Now, granted there are not many 24 year old chicks hanging out in the Home Depot buying plumbing supplies (have I mentioned that I am quite the plummer?). But this guy in the plumbing aisle who seriously has one single, solitary tooth on his lower gum, comes over and hits on me, and then, when he makes a funny that I am forcing laughter at, touches my arm in kind of a pervy way.

But then I go outside and am accosted by a homeless woman who calls me a "rich bitch" and tries to look through my purse to see if she can find any change. Kind of takes the glamour off a trip to Home Depot to be accosted by a homeless woman, don't you agree?

But anyway, either 1) every man in the Bay Area has been eating vats of oysters today, or 2) the apocalypse is coming and we all need to mate like bunnies or 3) I really need to wear this denim skirt more often. It's weird. I wasn't feeling fashionable or cute at all today--just had on a denim skirt, a t-shirt my mom sent me from Asheville, NC (my future home), and brown stacked flops. I didn't even bother to dry my hair. But suddenly I'm sex magick.

What do you make of this, my gentle readers? I have always been the "cute" girl, the girl who gets the blue sweater instead of the pink, the girl friend rather than the girlfriend. Am I now suddenly the sex-tastic bombshell I have always wanted to be? Am I glamazon?

Or should I just shut up?

Holy Bad Blogger, Batman!

I apologize for my absence, faithful cult (all three of you....). While I could blame my not blogging on lots of things, I'm not going to feed you excuses. Yes, I've been busy. Yes, I've been depressed as my beloved A's have lost eight straight. Yes, my husband shrunk my favorite jeans. Yes, last night I turned to drinking and spent a good deal of my night laying in my bathroom floor, my arms akimbo, begging for the love of a career .300 hitting catcher. But these are no excuses. No excuses at all.

Here's another thing though: I haven't felt especially fabulous lately. You know the last time I wore heels? Cause I don't. I wore wedges two days ago, but even then I tripped over a box of binding spines whilst talking to a colleague and managed to come thisclose to hacking my hand off at the wrist with the paper slicer. And I blame it on something that has plagued me my whole life. No, not verbose-ness, or even a love of pastry.

The thought that fashion is stoopid.

It seems that any time in my life that I'm doing something I find to be intellectually stimulating, my wardrobe suffers. Case in point: my entire college career. Granted, I had no money and was basically living on the contents of the tip jar at my post at Joe Muggs Coffee. But I had really bad style knowledge then as well. My idea of hotness was an ill-fitting, snarky tee with jeans that only fit before I began my total bagel and espresso diet. I was a mess. I had one black skirt that was kind of ok, and I wore that to death. But I didn't see any problem with it--I thought that being smart and going to a fancy-pants school entitled me the power to look like a street urchin. I consoled myself with the fact that the Ph.D.'s that I aspired to be donned polyester and Birkenstocks, not Manolos and cashmere.

But when I got out of school, I started getting it together. And in ways, I still have it together. I haven't started wearing muu muus and flips flops just yet. But I find myself making different choices. I'm meeting with a parent today--should I really go with the leopard print peep toes? Will they think I'm smart if I wear my olive green shift dress, or should I just go with the jeans and v-neck sweater (again)? More often than not, I find that I'm erring on the side of caution and boringness.

And I don't like it. I really want to be more like myself again. So tomorrow, I'm making a concerted effort to wear something exciting. I just got a cute green baby doll shirt that I'm going to wear with my black pants, a big ole honkin' necklace, and my leopard print peep toes. Screw the two students I have tomorrow (well, actually, don't screw them--that's illegal). I will be cute. Because isn't being cute the smartest thing you can do? I mean, seriously, don't we all judge with our eyes first? Looking smart shouldn't mean looking dowdy, looking smart should mean looking appealing and fun, and well, like yourself.

I have some lip gloss to review, so I'll be doing that soon. I promise to be a better blogger. And a better dresser. And a better person, dammit! No more late night puking shenanigans! No more scrawling "Bobby Crosby Must Die" on Bay Area landmarks!

Make that Joe Kennedy Must Die. He just made an error and two runs scored. I'm going to go drink something now.