Cult of the Black Sweater

"Go get your own." Oh, suck it, Jessica Alba.

2008-03-14T12:18:00.000-07:00

Normally, I would start this post off talking about how horrible I am for not blogging recently, and how I implore you for forgiveness, and yada yada yada. But you know what? I'm turning over a new leaf. Yeah, I didn't blog for a while. What you got to say about it? Let's leave it at that.

Ok, so in the whole cosmic order of celebrity, I definitely have a pecking order of coolness and stylish awesomeness. At the very top of that illustrious list is Dita von Teese, whose pencil skirts make me weak in the knees. For totally different and perhaps less shallow reasons, I also love Drew Barrymore's quirkiness and fun "Let's go to Sephora and try on all the eyeshadows and then hang out near the arcade and flirt with all the nerds!" attitude (I am clearly just imagining what Drew is like--maybe she's not into this stuff, but in my mind, this is what we do on a random Saturday night together). However, on the other side of that spectrum, we have Miss Jessica Alba. I don't like her. She always looks like she's sucking on a big ole lemon. And yeah, I know I probably wouldn't be the picture of happiness if someone was trying to snap my picture while I bought my groceries, but seriously, Jessica. Don't you think you can slap on a smile while you're on the red carpet? I don't know. I just don't like her. Call me a bitch, call me mean, but whatevs. I'm not a fan.

So I should have known not to buy Revlon's sorta kinda new Custom Creations foundation given that Jessica Alba is the star of the commercial and ends it with a rather grouchy sounding, "I've got my shade. Now go get your own." I know the tone is supposed to be all, "Alright ladies! Go get you some of this awesome stuff," but with Jessica's overall sourpuss attitude (and maybe I'm just looking waaaaaaay too much into this), it comes across as "Hands off, whore. Get your own or I'll cut you." That should have been the point where I said, "Ok, I'm not going to buy that stuff, at least until someone really comes and gives me a really good reason to do so."

But of course you know what happened. I saw it in InStyle, and I bought it because it was supposed to "revolutionary" and because I'm gullible and somewhat stupid. I brought it home with all the highest hopes that it would revolutionize how I do my make up. I (at least for the last 6 months or so) have been using BareMinerals, and while I kinda like the effect it has on my skin, sometimes I feel like I don't have enough on, and it's really really messy for someone like me who stumbles into her bathroom in the morning and knocks all the crap around whilst yelling at her family to "GET READY! WE'RE GOING TO BE LATE!," knowing all the while that I'm the only reason that we would really end up being late. A liquid foundation seemed more like what I would need for those mornings--easy to blend, not spillable, able to be put on in the car if that was necessitated. I was especially excited about the customization of this foundation as well because we are happening up onto spring, the time of year when due to baseball and outdoor beer drinking of many kinds, my face morphs from paper white to slightly ecru. I can buy one bottle and save myself from having to buy another one in a couple of months! Score!

I'm just going to come out and say that this is not what happened. Yes, this foundation is customizable, and yes, that is a fairly easy process that feels fun--you're picking your own skintone! How posh! But this foundation BLOWS. Like seriously. When I first thought about writing this (like the first time I put this on), I thought I would write that the customization process is fun, but that the actual foundation, while matching perfectly, is pretty much just a cheap foundation. It's just pretty meh. Nothing really special, just a servicable foundation on the cheap. Cause that's pretty much what it is. It's probably equivalent to whatever CoverGirl is shilling these days. If you're going for drugstore beauty, it's an ok option, but probably doesn't live up to the sheer spreadability (God, that sounds like either a butter ad or a porno, and I'm disturbed that it could be both) of L'Oreal True Match. Ok, so that is what I was going to say, before I wore this stuff for a couple of weeks. This is what I have to say now:

THIS STUFF TURNED ME INTO A TICKETY TACK TRANNY MESS WITH AN ACNE PROBLEM. EMPHASIS ON THE ACNE PROBLEM.

Seriously. About a couple of weeks after I started using this, I noticed that the bumps I had on my chin from what I though were female hormone monthly issues were not going away when they should have been. In fact, they were just getting worse. Like 14 year old boy worse. Like I had nasty zits with white stuff in them on my chin. FOR REALS. Now, I haven't had those in a while, at least not long term, and definitely not in a cluster. These were clustering. It was bad. I , of course, at first blamed myself. I had gone to bed a couple of nights without taking my make up off, and while this isn't totally unusual for me, I figured it was finally starting to catch up with me. I made an extra special plan to wash up really well for the next little bit and get rid of the things. I stopped using my moisturizer on my chin. I spritzed the absolute hell out of my face with Bioelements Equalizer. I used my favorite Queen Helene Mint Julep masque. But nothing seemed to phase these little beasts. The ones I got rid of came right back. I was about to fully freak out and go to the doctor about them. Some of the little buggers HURT. Seriously.

And then I remembered that I had changed foundations right before they started. I still didn't finger the foundation as the culprit, but I gave myself a couple of days using only Neutrogena Healthy Skin tinted moisturizer. The bumps started to dissipate. I went back to using BareMinerals. They were gone. Now, I'm no scientist, but I'm thinking it was the foundation. Wouldn't you come to the same conclusion?

Now, I don't want to just blast this product which may in fact be wonderful for any other woman. Maybe I had some sort of allergic reaction? I kinda doubt it--these were full on zits--but if you want to read it that way, that's fine too. But, at least from my experience, I'd save my money and put it towards a higher priced foundation if I were a foundation seeking shopper. Foundation is one thing that I have always felt the need to splurge a bit on, and this right here (along with availability of shades) is the main reason why I would do it. Even if you're looking for a foundation on the cheap, I've found that L'Oreal is a much better option.

Think of it as sticking it to Jessica Alba, and it kinda makes the whole thing a bit more fun. Don't you think?

I'm a 10!

2008-02-26T21:34:00.000-08:00

So....all you bitches know that I'm classy, right? I like beer, I cheer like a redneck for the crappiest baseball team in the whole damn American League (let's not discuss that), I like nothing more on a rainy day than an US magazine and a grilled cheese made with Velveeta cheese....and I color my hair with boxed hair color. This is not really so unclassy, I guess. There are many people who dye their hair with boxed hair color, and they are upstanding, wonderful citizens who drink cab and have good credit. It's just when I was younger, I remember riding in the back of the car on a trip from the mall, listening to my mom and grandmom talk. They thought I was asleep, as they usually did, so they really started dishing the good stuff (by the way, this is how I learned about sex, drugs, and Jack Daniels--God bless those midnight car rides!). On one particular evening, they were discussing a woman who had (presumably) once been a prostitute and once beat up her husband before getting on a bus bound for Indiana and the waiting arms of a truck driver. I remember their voices getting extra hushed and my grandmother saying, "Well, she dyes her hair that awful red...that Clairol red. Buys it at the drugstore every month." For some reason, that just really stuck with me. I imagined a sad and lonely woman, trekking out to the drugstore, her streaked red hair hanging loose and whore-like around her drawn face, only to see my ethereal grandmother behind the counter, doling out presecriptions and advice like candy. My grandmother's hair was naturally and beautifully gray, and it laid around her head like a halo--totally the opposite of "Clairol red." So I guess, accompanied with this image of old age done gracefully and the washed up (albeit imagined) old age of the town slut, I decided right then and there that I would never dye my hair "Clairol red."

I guess it is telling that when I first decided to try dying my hair at home that I went for the much more buttoned up L'Oreal Natural Match. No sluts here! However, as it usually does, In Style magazine tempted me toward whoredom. In a feature they did in the March issue, they talk extensively about new products and how they have "revolutionized" the beauty industry. I don't know about that....but anyway, Clairol Perfect 10 hair color was one of them. So, well, if you read this blog regularly, you know that I have no self-control and am horribly gullible and you of course know what I did next. Yup, I bought the stuff, not even really knowing if I would like it, if I even really needed it....I'm really a quite horrible person. I bought it at Target and brought the crap home, along with $70 of other stuff that I neither needed nor know if I truly wanted. Ah, such is the way of the Target. Now, if you don't want to think that I'm a horrible consumerist person, go read that post that I wrote about being a good bargain hunter. Or for that matter, find a new blog. Perhaps something written by a nun?

ANYWAY...so the haircolor...the big hook is that it takes...10 minutes. That's pretty much the selling point. Yup...10 minutes rather than 25 or whatever the other was. That's what sent me panting to Target IN THE RAIN. 10 minute hair color. Hmmmm.... But hold up--I actually really like the stuff. Once I got it on, I determined that it really is more than the fact that it can just be done in 10 minutes. This stuff feels much more gentle than the other L'Oreal stuff. The L'Oreal stuff made my head feel like it was being devoured by an angry troop of fire ants. This...not so much. It was just there. And it just took 10 minutes. So, if you're like me, that's 10 minutes to read In Style magazine and plot the demise of Eva Longoria Parker. Or to make 1/3 of a 30 minute meal. Or to do the last writing section on the SAT. Or to ponder the meaningless of existence. You know, whatever.

And when I was done....pretty damn nice, if I do say so myself. Not only is the color shiny and shimmery and all the things that a good out of the box hair color should be, but it also gives my hair some body. Which, with all the other stuff giving my hair body right now (again, see that other post about cheap stuff), I'm a regular Monica Lewinsky. And yes, that's a dated reference, but didn't you just love her hair? I remember my hair stylist telling me that if I used Redken Body and Bounce, I could have that "Lewinsky bounce." Which sounds like something that you'd find in the Starr report, but whatever. Yeah, it didn't work (the Redken stuff), but THIS DOES. My hair just feels thicker.

So the 10 minute hair color doesn't make you a whore (unless, of course, you want it to, and in that case, I would defs. go with the red). It will just give you lots of body, and you will like it. And it will only take 10 minutes. So that's 15 minutes you don't have to spend dying your hair--15 minutes you can prepare half of a 30 minute meal, 15 minutes to save the world from itself, 15 minutes to go to Target and buy more shit. But ultimately, it's 15 minutes to just bitch about Eva Longoria Parker, because isn't that what you want to be doing anyway?

In Defense of The Gap

2008-02-20T14:08:00.000-08:00

So I'm fully aware that The Gap is having financial problems or existential problems or probably a combination of the two. My mom is an accounting professor, and over the past few years or so, she has assailed me (more than once) with threats and tales of how one of my favorite stores is struggling to keep its head above water. A quick glance at the Gap website affirms this. In the past year or so, gap.com has become a strange mix of funky little movies, ugly outfits and fashion advice from Patrick Robinson, who remains better known to me for his Go! International Line at Target and the mega cute shirt I bought from said line. Gap does seem to be playing the role of the Jan Brady of the fashion world, its expensive celebrity models and flashy video begging for just one look while the whole of our culture stares complacently at the competitors' shiny, well-loved hair.

Today, on one of my favorite websites (jezebel.com), there is a post about The Gap, and the general consensus among the readers is that it sucks. Lots of readers have commented about how they have long since left the Gap behind for the greener pastures of H&M and Forever 21. I, however, sat reading the comments, feeling left out. I still like The Gap! In fact, I have a coupon from there that I fully intend on using before it expires on Saturday. To me, The Gap is STILL the number one place for denim (I can find the Curvy kinds I like in the petite size I need), and lately, I have found some really cute dresses there as well. I am just filled with Gap love!

My love for The Gap started when I was in the 7th grade. I'll never forget it. I had just made the giant leap from the kids department (at the time we didn't have "tween" shops like Justice or Limited II where I currently spend more money than I care to think about) to the juniors. My wardrobe was hurting. I remember having one pair of Levi's jeans that were a size 3 in an extra slim fit (it's been awhile....) that I wore with these uber heavy turtleneck tunics and Sam and Libby white leather ballet flats. I believe that the turtleneck tunics had roses embroidered on them. Anyway, my mom noticed my scant wardrobe one weekend and told me to get ready...we were going to Johnson City!!!! I remember just being so amazed; I think she was just sick of having to wash out my jeans three times a week. Growing up in southwest VA, Johnson City represented a sort of fashion mecca. It was about an hour and a half away, and it was the home of East Tennesse State University, where my mom had gotten her bachelors. To me, it was madly metropolitan. Hells bells--they even had an Olive Garden. So we packed up and drove over. I remember my mom parking near the Ruby Tuesday and telling me that we would eat there and that they kept the plates for their salad in some sort of chiller so that everything tasted fresh....I couldn't imagine anything more classy. After our Ruby Tuesday meal, we walked down the glittering hall of the Johnson City mall. On the right there was (and there still is--I bought a dress there when I was home for Christmas) a Gap. I had heard of the Gap from the beloved Seventeen, YM, and Sassy magazines I subscribed to. We went in. I remember it being like love at first sight. Everything looked so...perfect. I tried on everything. This ended up being our only stop because I was able to find so many things. I remember my favorite outfits being a pair of pallazzo pants with tiny flowers on them, paired with an olive green short sleeved sweater, a black jacket, and (gasp) a black hat, not so unlike the one Blossom wore on her regular Monday night 8:30 slots. I also managed to find a pair of low-rise jeans that broke the bank at $50 and that I paired with a white long sleeved t-shirt with a picture of San Francisco on the front (I never imagined that I would live near the city immortalized on my favorite tee!). I was in heaven.

And through the years, there have been many perfect pieces found at the Gap. I've had two denim jackets from there, and probably should be looking at buying a third. The outfit I was wearing when I first caught my husband checking out my ass was from the Gap. I got through the bulk of my college career with one wool skirt, a pair of wool pants and a few oxford shirts from the Gap. And although now it is not always my first stop fashion-wise, I always make a point to check it out.

Many argue that the Gap cannot find its target audience and that it is constantly toeing the everpresent tight rope between wanting to appeal to teenagers or their mothers. Possibly this is one reason why I find the Gap so damn appealing--because I am toeing that line myself. As a very young mom, I like things that grasp my "young maturity." Maybe this is why it works for me... Plus, it sure doesn't hurt that I can pick up stuff for my kids next door at Gap Kids. With its mix of well-made basics and cute foundations, the Gap totally fits into my current life, just as it did when I was a smart assed 7th grader.

So what are your feelings about the Gap? Do you shop there? Do you feel their look fits your life? Or is it just a remnant of the bygone past before the days of H&M and its ilk?

Nirvana in the Target Clearance Aisle

2008-02-18T12:45:00.000-08:00

Ok. So you know that time I said that in the new year ('08 is still relatively new) I would post more. Yeah. Well. So I'm not great about keeping up with resolutions. Whatever. Also, it's the start of a very busy time of year for those of us in the test prep world, so I've let the ole blog slide while I got started with new students. But everyone is started now, and it's all good, so here I am. Ready to talk fashion and beauty and all those things that people think don't matter, but in reality, matter a whole hell of a lot? Yeah, me too.

So, also in the new year, I have tried to make better purchases. I am quite known, both in my family and amongst my friends, for being able to justify any purchase. A 40 gallon tub of mayonnaise? I make a lot of potato salad. A new Michael Kors bag with the tags still attached? Ebay, and a good deal--now watch me get out those ink marks using dishwashing liquid and the power of prayer. One major place where I overspend is Target (but doesn't everyone? Isn't that Target's raison d'etre?), and I get a lot of flack for this from my husband, who sometimes threatens to let the air out of my tires and tie me down to keep me from going there and buying more (useless) stuff. And of course this all devolves until he says (and I'm quoting here), "If you love Target so much, why don't you go marry it?" Ah, maturity. Anyway, so I overspend at Target. And I'm trying to correct that. One way I'm doing that is just not going there as much. Gone are the days where I would stop there after work without telling anyone and just show up on the doorstep with a cadre of new dinnerware. Sadly, I use this to justify purchases in other arenas, but we won't discuss that. Let's just say it's a resounding success, my Target abstinence.

But I have had to go there, for you know, that stuff that you really can't get anywhere else. I recently ran out of shampoo, conditioner, root boost, soap, and then broke a belt all in the same, stinky, flat-haired day. So I stopped by my favorite store. Remembering all the great reasons why I should be saving money, I hightailed it past the clothes and cosmetics and went back to the necessities sections. In the shampoo aisle, I found all the familiar brands. I was about to pick up another bottle of Pantene, when I saw L'Oreal Vive Pro out of the corner of my eye. I had heard good things about this brand, but it was on the other side of the aisle, where they stock the "better" "salon" shampoo. Too rich for my blood, I thought, reminding myself of the Micheal Kors bag incident above (I had just bought it that day--I bet you thought I was making up that story. I wasn't! But I did make up that 40 gallon tub of mayonnaise. I hate mayo. I do, however, have an institutional size jug of apple cider vinegar in my cabinet, purchased when my husband and I thought we would make NC style BBQ all summer. Yeah, we didn't. God, this is a big tangent. Sorry about this.). But then I saw the bright red sticker on the L'Oreal Vive Pro bottles! Score! It was on clearance! For what reason, I had no idea. Random botulism contamination? Could be. Older than either of my children? Also a possibility. Who cares? It was cheap and on the other side of the aisle--I slammed it in my cart. Now for root boost...and what do I see before my wandering eyes? A humongo bottle of Umberto brand Bodifier Root Building Spray with a red sticker. Was this stuff good? No clue. Who is Umberto? Again, I'm clueless (a quick google search proved that he is a "hairdresser to the stars" and makes a line exclusively for these salons...and Target). But it was on the other side of the aisle, and on clearance, so it went into my cart. I went to the check out line feeling like the most amazing shopper on the planet earth. I even brought the bottles out of my bag at home and showed my husband the receipt, something that 2007 Morgan would never do (2007 Morgan would often rip up Target receipts and leave them in the parking lot, away from my husband's frugal stare). I am awesome.

But the next morning, the cold slap of realization hit me square in the face: What if this stuff sucks? What if my shopping habits make me look like a dumbass? I got into the shower reluctantly. However, I soon found that the Vive stuff had not gone rotten on the Target shelves. It smelled nice. Nice lather. No complaints. I got out and went to blow dry my hair-here was the proof. Sprayed on the root boost, which actually kind of felt good coming out all concentrated like. And I blow dryed. I was almost scared to see the results. But then I brushed the hair out of my eyes, and VOILA. I believe my exact words were, "Shit the bed, Fred. I'm a SEXY BITCH." I had Victoria's Secret model hair, that is, if VS models had bangs and a chin length bob (that's totes me at right). It was all tousled, and full of body, and shiny, and like I had just had amazing sex with Ewan MacGregor in Moulin Rouge (before he got all hairy and motorcycly--you know what I'm talking about). I was awesome. And, to make things even more awesome, I got all this on the cheap.

I got a little bit bolder when I went to Target this last Friday night with my family. We had all just eaten a big sushi dinner, and were looking for some mindless consumerism for dessert. Plus, I had promised my kids a gift (action figure for Sam and cd for Gab) in lieu of Valentine's stuffed animals that would just be forgotten as soon as the holiday was over. I walked past the clothing section, and didn't pay it much mind. But then I saw the clearance rack! Oh, great clearance goddess, will you look upon me favorably a second time? I went over. And there, folks, was the navy blue dress that Allie from My Wardrobe Today found on her Target clearance rack. IN MY SIZE. Now this, folks, is just pure magic. For one thing, it was on the end, so I didn't have look through the whole rack. Second, Target clearance racks are never the same on both coasts. My mom and I have tried this, and know it to be a fact. But there it was. It looked awesome on her, so I grabbed it. I would not tempt fate--I threw it in the cart along with my kids stuff and some clearance racked Valentine's candy. AND, my husband found a bottle of wine with a red sticker on it, and while this really seems like something you wouldn't want to do, the $10 Chard was pretty good.

And the dress...it is damn cute. I'm wearing it right now, actually. I layered a gray long sleeved tee underneath, since it was cold this morning, and I'm wearing tan riding boots (I have to tell you about that too, I realize). I am cute. And it is super comfortable and I spent...$14.98 on it. That's a steal that even my husband can enjoy.

So check out the little red stickers at Target...beauty Nirvana awaits.

Coming soon (hopefully), I will discuss (in no particular order), wide-calf boots, and my 3 (!) new pairs of them, Clairol Perfect 10 hair color, Revlon Color Something or other that is that foundation that lets you pick your perfect shade and that Jessica Alba promotes in a somewhat grouchy sounding voice, and the great fashion shit storm that is Hannah Montana. And yes, I saw the movie. And yes it made me think of Blanche Devereaux of GG fame. Take from that what you may.

I'll leave you with this.

Third Time is the Charm

2008-01-16T16:11:00.000-08:00

So I, like most women, have a bitch of a time finding jeans that fit. Everything is either digging into my hips and leaving these grotesque marks on my midsection or falling down and giving me a plumber's rear view every time I sit down. Not a pretty state of affairs. This struggle turns into a full fledged war when I am forced to factor in price. Cheap jeans are THE WORST. Absolutely nothing makes me feel worse than a cheap pair of jeans. I am serious--I would much rather try on bathing suits than cheap jeans.

And to tell you the truth, until recently, nothing put the "ass" in cheap ass like the jeans from Old Navy. I would put those jeans on, sit down, and WHOOPSIE DAISY! Is someone listening to Baby Got Back because you just saw my entire ass! I just flat didn't buy the things, even though they were cheap, even though I often heard their siren call as I shopped for jeans for everyone else in my family (and wow, did that make me feel like a jerk--stocking up on kids pants at Old Navy and then stalking off to the Gap to buy my own).

Then things changed. Old Navy changed their denim line, and I heard some good things on the blogosphere. People with asses...people like me...were buying jeans at Old Navy...and they looked good! I almost couldn't believe the luck. I needed some jeans (the Gap curvy flares that I have babied and hand washed for so long weren't going to last forever) so I placed an order. I found a pair that I thought was hella cute, and waited patiently. I thought my denim problems were over.

WRONG!!!!!!! They arrived, and I knew I was in trouble when I opened the package. The jeans were super dark, and the leg looked...small. Even worse, there was some kind of front pocket detailing (a snap or something) that screamed out to my hips and said, "Ha ha! I'm going to make you look like Idaho." Nevertheless, I tried them on. Surprisingly, they fit my hips and were comfortable in the waist. To bad they made me look like a fat hooker. They went down in to a skinny leg, although I had ordered (and the label said) boot cut. They were also really long, even though I had ordered (and the label said) short. I threw them on the bed in disgust. Why didn't they fit me? What the hell? The next morning, desperately, I wore them with a short dress over the top. This covered up the strange pocket situation and ginormo hips, and actually flattered the skinniness of them. I put on some big ole heels. Even better. My husband told me I looked like a Fly Girl (do they even have Fly Girls anymore?), but whatever. It worked. Mildly. My dress ended up getting wrinkled and looking less than fresh, and the jeans sagged after a while. Ok, well, it didn't really work. But really, neither did J. Lo's outfits when she was a Fly Girl. So there.

So the day after Thanksgiving they had Old Navy jeans for $15 for both men and women. Ok, now that's a good deal. I scooped up a couple of pairs for my husband, and sure enough, was tempted with the siren call of the INSANELY CHEAP JEANS. I went and got a pair, a lighter colored pair this time, that I thought might be looser. I threw them in my bag and didn't think about it. Should I have tried them on? Sure. But I was caught up in shopping fervor, and I tried to forget they were there. I brought them home. They would work, I thought. No weird pocket snaps, no strange skinny legs. These would be fine.

Not so much. The next day, I flirtatiously told my husband something in bed and then went to go get the house ready for Christmas. Being the naughty wife I am, I put on a pair of cute Christmas themed undies and the jeans. The fit was ok, although the leg was still a bit tight. But it was all ok for sitting around the house. Again, not so much. About halfway through the day I stretched myself out on the couch to read a wholesome Christmas themed Southern Living article. Too bad that in the process I had managed to show my Christmas themed ass to my entire family. That, my friends, is not wholesome, nor is it something that any four year old boy should have to experience. Once again, the Old Navy jeans had come down, and now my kids are not going to ever look at Santa's red suit the same again. Thanks Old Navy.

So I had learned my lesson. No more Old Navy jeans for me. I'm a Gap girl, I decided. But, of course, I'm writing this for a reason. My mom had not gotten the "Gap girl" memo, so when I fly home, what is sitting under the tree ready for me? Oh, a cashmere sweater...some pajamas...some cookbooks...and a pair of Old Navy jeans. My mom gets this big smile on her face when I open them, and says "I read online about how many people like them. I assumed you read the same things." I love this about my mom--that she's started reading fashion blogs now--so I smile and promise to love them.

And guess what...I actually do. I put them on the next day to run out to the grocery store, and sure enough...they fit. Amazingly well. There is no sagging, no digging. They just...fit. Perfectly. It is the absolute weirdest thing EVER. They actually even fit better than my Gap Curvy Boot Cuts, although the Gap ones have been worn to death. The length is even perfect on these jeans. I don't know. I'm excited to have new jeans, but I'm kind of freaked out by it too.

So here's the deal: if you're going to buy these things, and you should at least try, TRY THEM ON. Try on 15 pairs. I don't want to guarantee, because I don't do that, but you will find a pair to fit you. There may be one pair in the world, but if you have the patience, you'll find them.

Or you could just have your mom get you a pair. Mom's have a magic touch to fix boo-boo's and fit jeans. Oh, and to know what you're up to without even being in the same zip code as you. Yeah, Gabby, that means you. Clean your room like your daddy said.

It's a Blogapoolaza!

2008-01-15T15:31:00.000-08:00

Ok, so I posted earlier (you better read that post too...isn't it nice to be bullied by someone that you don't know?), and I was tagged by Allie at Wardrobe Oxygen, so I'm posting again. It's a lot for someone who doesn't post nearly as much as she should. Well, my lovely readers, you can credit one of my coworkers who is usually peering over my shoulder at everything I do, but has today decided to take an afternoon sojourn to Staples and then to a lesson. God bless him! May my blog runneth over!

Anywhoodle, here is a blog meme that I was tagged for. Mine is nowhere near as interesting as Allie's, but you can make do with my paltry answers, I suppose.

1. What is the Story Behind the Name of Your Blog?
Ok, well, it's kind of stupid actually. I wanted to start a blog about fashion, and I knew right off that naming it was going to be the hardest part. I have a really hard time naming things--even my kids both have three names (instead of the two regular first and middle) because I couldn't decide what name to go with. So I started thinking about things that I wear a lot and what kind of stuff I would recommend people to wear. I realized that in the week up to the blog's creation I had worn a black sweater four out of the five days (a different one each of course). It isn't really something that I do that often--I regularly wear colors--but I realized that I do like black sweaters, and I always have, even as a kid. I started trying to think of things that went with black sweaters, and for some reason I thought of that Heaven's Gate cult that wore the all black and the Nikes and then drank the Kool Aid so they could catch a ride on the Hale Bopp comet. I know that sounds insane. ANYWAY, I thought about finding a group of people (not so unlike the Heaven's Gate dudes) that also liked black sweaters and that I could force to drink my fashion Kool Aid. It kind of just came to me.

And I know you're probably staring at the computer screen right now, afraid that my particular brand of crazy is going to infect you just because you read this, but I promise, it didn't sound that insane before I put that down. Ok, I'm embarrassed now.

2. Why Did You Start Blogging in the First Place?
This is actually not my first blog. I wrote my first blog, Confessions of a Southern Belle, when I was in college. I started it because several of my friends had Livejournals, and I like to follow trends. It was also this way of getting back at my now husband. We were having some problems--he had just graduated college and going through a bit of that "What the hell do I do now?" thing and I was going through a bit of the "I am really cute and fun and have a bitching job at a coffeehouse!" thing--and we decided to take a break from each other. I really wanted to chronicle my life as a single lady, or at least, what I thought my life as a single lady was going to be. I really did like the blog, so even when Matt and I got our lives straightened out, I kept it up. It was a nice way to sort through the weird ass feelings I had as an undergraduate--what to do, where to go, etc.

I started this blog when I was at my old job. It was just the most boring ass job in the world. I was an assistant to a university president at this for-profit university that was, seriously, in this nasty ass warehouse. Classy job, let me tell you. So we had outgrown our space at the warehouse, and the only place for me to sit was out in the middle of the building. Because of this, my desk was routinely covered with people trying to get me to do things for them, mostly because I was just there. I decided that a good way to keep them away was to look busy...really, really busy. So I started typing shit. I brought old short stories from home and retyped them, I wrote long emails detailing daily minutiae to my husband (he saved these, and some of them are HILARIOUS), I composed detailed shopping lists of things I thought were cute in Lucky Magazine, and that if I were suddenly given $100,000 would like to buy. The blog was just part of that. I also wanted to get in on it because I saw folks like Allie demystifying fashion and making it something that all women, no matter their size or budget could enjoy. Again, I was just following a trend.

3. What is Your Best Blogging Experience? Your Worst?
My best blogging experience has been getting told by folks that they like my writing. The fashion stuff is fun, but I really do this because I like to write, and I have been writing since 3rd grade when I won a contest with a diary entry I wrote as an orangutan. Someday I would like to support myself with it, but until that time comes, this is a great way to fill up my time. My mom is my super supporter (which, you know, she kind of has to be), and shows people the blog and then tells me that I made someone laugh or that a friend of hers printed out my post about what I would wear to Jerry Falwell's funeral and hung it on her door. That stuff makes me feel great.

My worst blogging experience is just not having the time to do this thing up right. Since I have changed jobs, it is increasingly hard for me to have time to post. I feel really bad about that. One of my worst characteristics is how hard I am on myself, and while it seems really silly, I sometimes feel really guilty when it's been awhile since I've posted.

4. What Do You Think Will Happen to Your Blog in 2008?
Realistically, I think what will happen is that I will post more. I am planning a move away from the Bay Area back to the South where I will start my own business and buy a house and live out the American dream (I say this only somewhat snarkily--scarily, it is time for me to settle down a bit). This will probably happen during the summer. While this will probably take me away from the blog a little, ultimately, it will afford me a much better lifestyle where I will have much more time to write and do things for myself. And I'll be around my mother, who despite her superfandom, is a HORRIBLE influence on my shopping habits (as I am to her), so that means much more shopping, and many more bad purchases that I will lament online. I hope this brings more opportunities to this humble blog (more readers, more attention), but if it doesn't, I'm fine with that. This is the one part of my life that I'm not completely Type A about, so I'm cool if it stays small.

So here's to 2008--the Year of the Morg--a year that will see me writing and living it up, Southern style!

When Something You Love Doesn't Love You Back

2008-01-15T14:36:00.000-08:00

Ok, so remember that time that I wrote that post about that lovely little hooded cardi that I picked up at American Eagle right after Christmas? (Of course you do, and if you don't, skip down a post, and you can read all about it.) Ok, here's the thing. I love that damn thing, as I do all cardigans, but folks, this week I learned that cardigans just don't love me back.

So I wore that cardigan the day after I wrote that post. I put it on that morning with some jeans and a white scoopneck tee from the Gap. I thought I looked sporty, and just perfect for making binders, which is what I had to do that day (this requires me to sit on the floor and stuff things, and it's something you just don't wear heels to do). I left my house feeling sassy. However, about halfway through the day, I made my regular journey to the ladies' room. The person I saw in the mirror was NOT what I expected. The person I saw in the mirror weighed a good 10-15 pounds more than me. This person looked sloppy--her t-shirt looked, well, defeated, and the cardigan just hung open, sadlike, exposing a soft, Buddha belly that I really didn't know I had. I think my exact words upon seeing this image were, "Oh my STARS!" Anyway, I did the best I could to remedy the situation--I put on some lip gloss, I fluffed my hair, and I situated the cardigan just so. Suddenly I looked like myself again. I skipped on down the hall, happy with the fact that I had averted crisis.

But here's the thing. Lip gloss doesn't stay on forever, and cardigans that are situated just so are not apt to stay that way. As I left the building that afternoon, I caught a glimpse of myself in a glass doorway. Holy shit--did I shrink? How are my legs getting shorter? I got in the car and rode home listening to the Moz and feeling sorry for myself. It didn't help that it was raining like crazy. My life suddenly felt like a bad Lifetime movie with lots of hit you over the head metaphors. The world seemed to be wilting...like my sweater (shit, that's a simile, isn't it? Damn.).

I was pretty sure of what was up, but of course I blamed everything else. My jeans must have been wrong--maybe that fondue I ate was finally making its appearance--that t-shirt is getting a little long in the tooth, isn't it? The next morning I got up and put on my black corduroy pencil skirt (one of my faves) and a slimming black tank. On top I put on my berry cardigan from J. Crew. I love this thing--the color makes me look well-rested and spritely and it's pearl buttons make me feel all classy. Surely this ensemble would not disappoint.

But yeah, well, I'm guessing you know what happened. Midday bathroom break, and there I stand, wondering again how I've managed to get so fat in the middle of the day. And not even that--my weight has redistributed. Instead of being the hippy girl that I normally am, I suddenly see myself with this ginormous gut. I quickly figure out that it, indeed, is the cardigan. I just don't look good in them. In fact, the results are downright abysmal. If they are situated just right, I look fine--put together, cute, and well-dressed. If they are not, I look a lot like my dad. In a skirt. No offense to my dad of course.

But here's the bitch of it: I can't say that I really care that much. I really like cardigans, especially these two. They make me happy when I see them hanging in my closet--hells bells, I'm even currently watching another J. Crew one on ebay right now. Sure, they don't look stellar on me, but I'm willing to overlook that. How effed up is that? It's kind of like childbirth--you never remember just how bad it is, and that's why you're willing to hop back into bed with your significant other in six weeks. If you remembered, he would sleep on the couch and make do with a porno flick and bottle of Lubriderm for the REST OF HIS LIFE. It's just like that. I see the sweaters in my closet and I think, "Oh wow, that would be great. Let me put that on and feel hot!" only to find out at lunch time that I've been walking around all day disguised as a plumber.

So ladies, I want to know: Is there any item of clothing that you love so much that you don't give a damn what it looks like on you? Do you wear it often? Do you go out and look for others?

As you can see, I've picked out two cardigans here--the top is from J. Crew and is what I currently have (it's great--if you like this things and look good in them, you should buy it), and the bottom is from Banana Republic and is an outfit that I would love to have. See how classy and wonderful cardigans are? Body be damned, I'm sticking with them.

New Year, New Shopping, New Posts

2008-01-08T19:30:00.000-08:00

Ok, so I know I'm a horrible blogger. Sorry. So many of you have emailed me or commented or sent me evil mind rays asking me why I haven't posted, when indeed, the holidays are a ways behind us. Here's the thing, though. In the House of the Black Sweater, we hold on to holidays as long as we possibly can. I didn't return to the Bay Area, and thus, Life as We Know It, until last Saturday, and then promptly went to sleep and didn't wake up until Monday (yesterday). Then I've had two crazy days at work and the BCS game was on last night, and I was there with 35 chicken wings...ok, ok, just color me apologetic. Anyway, let's get down to the clothes, which, as you know, is always the most important thing.

So I actually have a lot to write about because my mom and I did a lot of shopping while I was at home. Plus, I got TWO new pairs of boots! Yea! I have a black leather pair and a brown suede pair, and here's the thing--they actually fit my fat calves!!!! I feel like I can die a happy woman. This is actually just a precursor to the post I hope to author in a couple of days detailing my whole torrid relationship with said boots. If that doesn't give you something to wake up for in the morning, I don't know what does.

But the subject of this post is actually quite a bit different. It concerns being a snob. Or rather, judging a book by its cover. Or even, falling into a fashion rut and not seeing the here nor the there. Anyway, as many of you know, I have a few favorite stores that I almost exclusively shop at. If you see the list in the following post, you know what they are. Pieces from J. Crew, Banana Republic, Gap, Nordstrom (every once in a while), Old Navy, and Target make up my entire wardrobe. I seriously don't think I own a single piece that didn't come from one of those stores (well, I can think of two right now--a dress from Land's End and a dress from H&M--, so there are probably more, but you get the idea). It's not that I don't like things from other stores--it's just that these stores seem to fit me well without me really thinking about it, I can order pieces from their websites, they have good return policies, I could go on and on. Because I do very little shopping in malls, it's easy to lull myself into a world where not only are these the only stores that I shop at, these are the only stores that exist. This is not necessarily a bad thing--I have merely found things that fit my personal style--but I have started even thinking certain things about other stores (and in some naughty cases--the people that shop there). Forever 21 is for slutty party girls whose skin doesn't recoil at the sight of polyester (mine seems to break out in a rash at polyester and that's no lie), Abercrombie and Fitch is for genetically blessed teenagers, Chico's is for English professors and their ilk, J. Jill is for giants (seriously, have you ever tried on anything in there? I'm pretty sure Shaquille O'Neal buys his drag outfits in there)...I could go on and on.

And that is a bad thing. Just as with people, you shouldn't judge. I'm sure that if I tried, and actually looked, I could find something I like at every one of the stores mentioned. Case in point: I am now wearing a fantabulous new hooded cardigan from American Eagle. Now, if you grew up with me in the late 90's, you are probably well aware of American Eagle. I LOVED American Eagle when I was in high school. I got a gift card from there every year for Christmas, and I would trek out to spend it on the day after, sometimes in the midst of blinding snowstorms. I remember I had this one outfit--a pair of wide legged carpenter pants, a gray striped cotton cardigan and a white lace topped camisole--that I ADORED and paired with a chunky Claire's necklace and a pair of steel-toed brown Doc Martens. Obviously, American Eagle played a large part in my adolescence. The thing is, I haven't even been in there since I turned 17 or so. No real obvious reason--I just felt older. More refined.

That is, until my trip. My mom and I were sauntering through the mall when I saw a perfect navy cardigan hoodie with cute detailing. I told my mom that I liked it, and she points out that I should go in and try it on. "Oh, no, I can't," I say. My mom asks why not. I tell her that it is in American Eagle and I don't shop there. She looks at me like my head is on fire, and like all mothers who have been put through more shit than they care to acknowledge, just grabs my arm and leads me into the store, her head shaking. We find the sweater, and I take it to try on. Sure enough, it is cute. Really cute (you can see it at the side and see if you agree, although the details that you can't see are what set it off--it ties in the back, and the pockets in front are adorable). I'm standing in the dressing room, knowing that I like it, and still finding crap to say. "I shouldn't get it--it's for teenagers," I think. "What if one of my students has the same one?" Once again, my mother sets me straight. All she has to say to answer my question are the gentle words, "Shit, Morgan," and then she grabs the sweater and makes for the door, leaving me standing in my camisole and coral bra. She ends up buying it for me, which is nice, and reminds me of why I should live near my mom year round. I reciprocate by buying her a Diet Lemonade at Chick Fil-A and talking her into buying a pair of boots like my own. Who said motherhood is a thankless job?

Anyway, that should be the end of the story with the "Don't judge a book by its cover" moral rightly learned, but then I went shopping again at a different mall, this one bigger and better, and happen to visit the store Aerie, which is the lingerie side of American Eagle. I have never been there, as when I was a slutty teenager, we had to buy (or shoplift, depending on just how rebellious you were) our lingerie at Parks Belk like everyone else (I will admit to a few five fingered discounts of Guess lingerie, since I'm pretty sure that the statute of limitations on that kind of thing ran out many years ago). Ok, so Aerie is every slutty teenagers' wet dream--there are lots of cute, frilly things, and pictures of young models wearing them on the wall (including Vanessa from Gossip Girl who I kinda hate, but who was wearing the panties I ended up buying). They also have cute basics--pajama pants, yoga pants, and cotton undies to name a few. As one can deduce from reading my snarky Vanessa comment, I went with the cute cotton undies in the boy brief style which have earned me rave reviews, both from my hindparts for their comfort and from my husband who seems to ADORE them. They are seriously about the best undies I have had. Seriously. Really comfy, really cute, and in lots of great colors. Plus they are 4 for $20, which beats the pants off the 3 for $25 VS ones I was buying.

I only feel slightly pervy because in the end, Aerie is definitely for younger girls who probably shouldn't be buying the stuff they are buying for the reasons they are buying it for. I shiver when I think of the day my daughter discoves Aerie and my son discovers girls who shop at Aerie. And then I went on their website to find a picture for this blog, and also to buy more undies, and I find this picture of this girl above, and she looks well under the age of consent (kind of like Jamie Lynn Spears, come to think of it), and the whole thing makes me feel like I should be named Chester and spending a great deal of time in chat rooms talking to Chris Hanson. But whatever. I like Aerie. So screw the moral consequences.

Speaking of morals....this is long, but I hope it comes across that I want you, my lovely little croquembouches, to go out and try new stores in 2008. I certainly will. Seeing the success of my cardigan, I may hit up A&F next. My only fear is that I will emerge after shopping there, slightly deaf and bitching about the young people and their music. Oy.

I'm Not Dead. Ho ho ho!

2007-12-19T12:48:00.000-08:00

I haven't posted in a while, mostly because it's the holiday season, and if you're a mom (or know a mom, or well, technically, are a human being who lives in the Western world and has some understanding of holiday norms and such) you know that now is not the time that one has a lot of extra time for snarking on other people's clothes. Thus, my absence. Don't get me wrong--I love the holidays. My house is the brightest on the block (for reals) and I have a plethora of baked goods at any given time (today I have a huge bag of hazelnut crinkles on my desk, which I have been snacking on when no one is looking). But all the gifting and merriment can get a little...tiring. Thus, again, my outward appearance is somewhat lacking and not befitting of someone who write about this kind of stuff. I actually have on a full face of make-up today, for the first time in a week. Yes, folks, it's gotten that bad.

But I am excited to report that I am....going home for 10 days after the holidays! YEA!!!!!!! I haven't been home in a year, and I have been getting a little homesick the last little bit. Of course, this unlocks a whole ton of questions, the most important of which is...what will I wear? As soon as I made the flight reservations, I went to my closet to contemplate. What were my absolute favorite things that I have to have with me? If you haven't done this in a while, I invite you to do it. Even if you are not going on a trip, it can be an eye opening experience just to look at your closet, and pick out the few items you wear regularly, and don't feel you can do without. Not only does it show you where the gaps are in your closet (I realized that I had little practical footwear to wear with skirts and tights), it can tell you a little about your personal style, and ultimately, yourself.

Here is my list of things in my closet I love. I really want to pack them all, but I'll probably have to have my husband do the actual packing, as he is somewhat of a master at this kind of thing, and I, sadly, am not.
--J. Crew trouser jeans (you knew this was on here)
--my Gap curvy bootcuts and my new Gap long and leans (should be here today (!) and will hopefully replace the old Long and Leans that I have worn to death)
--J. Crew purple merino (lightweight, slim fit)
--J. Crew purple dream sweater (a bit heavier and a bit blousier--what can I say? Purple is my signature color!)
--J. Crew berry cardigan
--J. Crew black cord pencil skirt
--Ann Taylor black turtleneck
--Maggy London red wrap dress (my husband and I are going to go on dates while we are home due to the introduction of free, happy babysitting, and this has to be the dress--it is both of our favorites, and joy of all joys, doesn't not wrinkle)
--Gap black henley sweater dress (again, should be here today--I put it on here preemptively because I love it, got it for a good price, and bought it for the trip)
--J. Crew purple puff sleeve t-shirt (cute with jackets and really comfy)
--Gap black velvet jacket (had it for years, and only wear it at the holidays)
--Isaac Mizrahi cord zebra skirt (this skirt is how I knew Allie at My Wardrobe Today was my fashion sister--I bought this skirt eons ago and it got buried in my closet, despite my love for it. When I saw her rock it (I think the first day I saw her blog), I knew I had to dig it out and check her blog everyday!)
--Banana Republic black shawl collar sweater
--Banana Republic blue bateau neck sweater (when it comes in....)
--my W&M hooded sweatshirt (sorry! Totally a fashionista don't, but I do love it so!)

When I created this list, I ran my eyes over it and realized that I can make a lot of outfits with these things. And frankly, I pretty much do. While I do have other items in my closet (especially when I include work-out clothes and that kind of thing), these are the items I reach for day in and day out, so even when I'm feeling uninspired, I manage not to look that bad. And it's funny--just now as I was typing each of these, I felt myself smile at the thought of each item. These are all items I feel proud to own and take home to show my parents.

As far as shoes go, I basically love all of my shoes (he he!), but have to think of practicality. Since I'm from a place with lots of gravel roads and cold temperatures, I will only be taking one pair of heels when I venture back home. The rest of my shoe wardrobe will depend on how my two newest purchases turn out--I finally bit the bullet and ordered two pairs of tall boots! One pair is black leather, and the other is brown suede. When they come in, I'll have to make some decisions about what to take, as boots can be bulky in the bags, and I don't like to think about my husband's face when I tell him I need him to squeeze not one, but two pairs of boots into my bag. I will also be taking my Merrell mary jane-inspired sneakers, as they are comfy and cute, and my grandmother will not hound me about wearing uncomfortable shoes if I'm wearing them.

I will try to post more (holiday and child permitting) about my newest purchases, and also about my packing. Seriously, I'm not sure if anyone else out there is taking a holiday vacay (I'm sure someone probably is), but packing can be an eye opening experience. Embrace it (and then leave the hard stuff to the fellas)!

What Not to Wear to an Informal Job Interview

2007-12-06T13:52:00.000-08:00

Ladies, I'm putting my foot down. I have been thinking of writing this post for a while, but I thought that perhaps I'm just being mean and ranty, and you guys know how I feel about a lot of these things already, so I held it all in. NO MORE! Today someone came to our office for an interview in....low rise jeans and a cropped shirt. NO NO A THOUSAND WORLDS OF NO. It's like God looked down from his post on high and said, "I will send this girl into the midst of the Morgan, and I will force Morgan to write something about this craziness! Let it be so!" And before you fire off an angry missive letting me know that the creator of man has better things to do than to care about me making fun of other people's clothes, I submit that if God didn't care about what we look like, he would not have made cashmere. So there.

So, because I want to please both deities and humans alike, I've created a handy dandy list of things you mustn't ever do if invited to a personal interview with either our company or another informal place. The reason I think this is important is because more and more companies are doing informal interviews--I have seen countless interviews taking place at the Starbucks across the street where both parties are dressed in jeans, and seem relaxed. Most companies who do this kind of thing let you know ahead of time that suits are not required--we send out emails explicitly telling people to dress as they would for a tutoring appointment, that we are not a formal kind of place. The strange thing about informal interviews, however, is that everyone has a different, slightly nuanced idea of what informal is. To some it means "not a suit" and to others it may mean "jeans are ok." I have tried to keep this in mind, and create nothing but big flaming "DO NOT DO'S" that are do not do's no matter where you interview. I will save the "Please Do's" for another time and place.

1. Do not wear a t-shirt with a logo or a slogan on it. We all have these shirts--you know, the witty ones that you wear around the house that say something biting or something cute or tell the world what brand of pants you have on. I've seen fashion blogs that say to not buy these things, that they are the devil, and while I agree that shirts that spell out "BEBE" across your ta-tas are a bit tasteless, I would not give up my "Good Grammar Doesn't Cost a Thing" or my "Ain't No Party Like a Scranton Party" tshirts for love nor money. However, an interview of any kind is not the time to break out your tee. You want to show us your personality through your answers--not have us read it on your chest. Further, you don't want to risk offending someone if they don't particularly get your sense of humor or like the brand of clothes you are pimping. A couple of weeks ago, we had an interviewee show up in a tight t-shirt that promoted some fake beach--it was one of those Abercrombie things that says something funny but is supposed to look vintage. To this day, I can't remember a damn thing about her except that she was the "beach" girl. Plus, a t-shirt is a bit casual for even the most casual of interviews. Find something else.

2. Same goes for your ripped, faded "weekend jeans." Yeah, it's informal, and yeah, jeans are fine in a lot of cases. But if you wear them to be comfortable or you could feasibly have once seen something similar on Bret Michaels, they're not for the interview. Darker is always better, and your jeans should be crisp and fit you well. Also, check the hems--there should be no holes or loose threads or any of that. I don't think I have to tell you why this is a bad idea--ripped, soiled jeans say a lot of things to me, and not one of them has anything to do with trustworthiness. Plus, this is not a good look on anyone (except for maybe Bret).

3. I do not want to see your stomach. If there is any possible way that I could see any bit of your midsection due to either too low pants or too short of a shirt, you had better get your ass back in your room and change. Nothing is worse than someone trying to be all professional and then giving me a glimpse of a belly button. There is nothing about your stomach that is classy. Make sure you are covered. Seriously, a girl came in for her interview today, and not only was her shirt riding up under a zipped up hoodie, but she had jeans on that I'm sure she had to get a Brazilian wax before she put on. They were that freaking low. That, my friends, is nasty. She's standing there, telling me about this wonderful work she's done in Latin America and all I can think of is whether my daughter knows where babies come from or not, and you know, I really don't want to be thinking of that. Keep it covered. And for that matter, that goes for you too, Fergie. I know I will never interview you ever, but for God's sake. There, I said it. Another thing to cross off my to-do list.

4. Don't wear all black. This may sound strange, coming from someone who is writing on a blog called Cult of the Black Sweater, but it is good advice none the less. At an interview, we're looking for your personality, to see if you could related to kids and if you are fun. Frankly, a little color gives us that idea and black does not. Although black is lovely in most situations, use the interview time to show us your "signature color." Not only will we see part of your personality, but we'll also see you at your most comfortable--a favorite color has been proven to make you feel more at ease (and no, I don't know by who, and if you asked, I'm going to say "Your Mom!" Oooo...don't you feel served?). We had a girl come in last week, and she was wearing simple jeans, a simple long-sleeved top in a dark purple, and had a lovely paisley print scarf around her neck. I immediately felt drawn to her--I could feel her personality come alive as soon as she walked in. She got the job.

5. If the invitation says, "informal," don't think that formality will get you the job. We have turned down people who showed up in suits because we didn't feel they fit the culture here. If someone bothers to give you a clue as to what you should wear to get the job, heed their advice.

I've totally lost all fashion credibility.

2007-12-05T15:49:00.000-08:00

I mean, it's not like I had much to start out with. But for the SECOND day in a row, I have somehow come to the office in stained pants. Ok, say it with me now: CLASSY.

Yesterday I kinda knew what I was getting myself into because it started out as a crappulous day. My family is sick right now (my husband got something at school and brought it home to incubate--thus infecting everyone in a 10 mile radius of my front door), and so I rushed around yesterday morning, doling out Tylenol Cold and washing dried snot off of cheeks as I got ready for work. I felt so lucky when I found my favorite jeans laying in the floor--hey, at least I didn't have to look for them. I put them on, put on a cashmere sweater that makes me feel better (because nothing goes with stains quite like cashmere), snapped on some hoop earrings and left. I realized on the way to work that there was a humungo stain right on the shin. Like just a bunch of white stuff. I tried to pick it off, but it wasn't coming. I have no idea what it was/is. My best bet is some kind of food detritus, but again, no clue. My husband thinks it looks like a stain of the Monica Lewinsky variety (now there's a dated reference!). Anyway, it stayed on my shin all freaking day. I tried to ignore it.

Then today, I put on The Holy Denim Trousers, actually pulling them off of the hanger in my closet where they had been lovingly hung. I put them on with a purple Dream sweater from J Crew that I just got in the mail yesterday (yea!) and my dark red peep toes. I looped a teal pashmina around my neck. I liked it--the colors didn't match but they did "go". I came to work feeling sassy. However, wouldn't you know that as soon as I stepped out of my car this morning I discovered that this time, there was a skinny, oblong stain on my thigh. Probably just coffee I thought. But no. It's an actual stain. And it's there. Calling out for the world to see. Now I'm going to have to hand wash my pants when I get home, which I'm not really cool with, but seriously, I would do anything short of sell off a kidney to keep these things in running order.

And here's the piece of fashion wisdom I'm going to impart to you. Keep your hair trimmed and in good fashion. Seems unrelated, but hear me out. I need a haircut--hella bad actually. My hair looks rough. And I haven't gotten a cut, the chief reason being that I just haven't gotten around to getting an appointment and there always seems to be something better to do, and whatever. If my hair were looking fine, it probably wouldn't matter one damn bit about my pants--I might not even notice. But because my hair isn't right, and looks overgrown and sad and underappreciated suburban mom (which I guess I am, but damn if I want to look like one), everything just seems a little bit worse. Does that make sense?

I think I'll make an appointment this weekend.

An Open Letter to Miley Cyrus

2007-12-01T08:23:00.000-08:00

Dear Miley,

First off, let me say congratulations. You have reached your 15th birthday, and despite being somewhat of an "It girl" on the Disney scene, you've managed to not have a sex tape put on the internet or been photographed vacuuming up strawberry Quik tinged coke whilst "DJ ing" a party with Tom Sizemore on your arm. That warrants a hearty congratulations from me. Because my daughter admires you so very much and because I have thus spent a minor fortune on t-shirts, cd's, posters, even wigs with your face emblazoned on them, I just can't be happy enough that you have managed to avoid rehab for another year. Thank you.

And I say that kind of tongue in cheek, but really Miley, I really appreciate that you do seem to be a rather wholesome girl and that you're giving lip service to the whole "staying pure" issue. Good for you.

But Miley, we really need to talk about the signals you're putting out there.

Now, normally when I see a picture like that, I say something to the effect of "Yowza! Those legs just will not quit!" because I seriously do talk like that. And I would be right. Miley, I would do anything (save strenuous excercise) to get some gams like those. Like the dress, love the shoes, and you "Who, me?" pose is adorable. But here's the thing Miley: you're 15. And pure. That's a mighty short skirt for a girl who is waiting for a Disney Princess theme wedding to open up the family business. And strapless? And orange? Yeah, I like it, and honey if I had the body, you know I'd be strapping this thing on--but I'm in my mid 20's. This doesn't make you look like a pure Disney sweetheart. This makes you look like a girl on the one way expressway to Lohanville.

And honey, I understand that your hormones are probably raging and that this all seemed like a good idea when you saw yourself in the mirror. But the thing this picture is portraying--you don't want that. Let me take you on a little trip. Picture it: southwest VA, the late 90's (and if you're getting vibes of Sophia Petrillo from The Golden Girls here, good for you--I like you more already). A young 14 year old girl is also feeling the mighty power of hormones. And she's succumbing to them. She's 14 and here are the things she has: an 18 year old, pot smoking boyfriend, obvious daddy issues, a wardrobe full of wide leg jeans (it was the mid 90's) paired with skimpy tops, and a dirty mouth. She acts like she knows everything because she does. She's bored out of her mind, and looking for some sort of escape--even of the temporary, back seat variety. That girl--I--would have loved this dress (although probably in black). I would have wanted this dress and all the things that come with it.

Miley, you don't need that. And I'm not just saying that because you're my daughter's idol. I'm speaking purely as one hormone addled teen to another. It sounds old fashioned, but seriously honey. Lengthen the hemline. Wait a little bit. You'll be older soon enough. I got lucky, Miley. I met a guy who calmed me down and we tackled this hormone crazed shit together, one book at a time, making a kind of cool teenage normality in a chaotic world. Not everyone gets so lucky. Hell, look at Britney. Seriously though. You seem to have a nice family, a killer body, a sweet disposition, and marketing geniuses that are going to make sure your great-grandchildren have Louboutinson their feet when they pop out of the womb. Don't fuck it up.

And I know I'm kind of coming down on you hard for what could have been an innocuous little dress, but there's also this photo:

Girl, I have seen that look. I know what a girl probably said right before she made that look, and honey it's something I still have in my arsenal for a quiet day when the kids are occupied. And I swear to God, if you get my daughter started doing that, I will hunt you down, slap a chastity belt on you, and make you do SAT critical reading passages on a Friday night. Do not make me do that.

By the way, if you or someone you know is taking the SAT, call me. If you think my life lessons are good, my standardized test talk is better.

Love,

Morgan

Seven Things...

2007-11-28T15:18:00.000-08:00

I was tagged by Allie at My Wardrobe Today to do a meme about seven things that no one knows about me. As I am pretty open, I figure you know most things about me--hell, you know my size, my favorite stores, what I do, that I like to pole dance, and that I perhaps spend a little too much time thinking about Britney Spears. However, I have been racking my brain over the last little bit and came up with some things about myself that someone might find interesting...

1) One of my very favorite bands is Bon Jovi. And not even in an ironic, "Oh ha ha, they're so bad they're good" way. I freaking love them. I have all the songs on my ipod, and I know every word to most of them. When I'm feeling poor and broke down, it takes one chorus of Livin' On a Prayer to perk me up. I still think that if Matt did something totally horrible to me, all he would have to do is turn on Always and I'd be putty in his hands (lord, I hope he doesn't read this). I adore them. And nothing they ever do will change that.

2) Another guilty pleasure...I love "bad" food. And by "bad," I don't necessarily mean fatty foods, although I can always go for a few Cheetos. By bad, I mean processed, day-glo food that comes from the interior of the regular grocery store, and that any self-respecting chef wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole. This is strange, because if you know me, you know that one of the two things I pride myself on is my cooking ability. I love cookbooks, and I often will read a good one like a novel. But still--I need little more than a white trash casserole, some canned peas and a grape soda to make me happy. In fact, I made a particularly nice white trash casserole out of my leftover Thanksgiving turkey (three cans of condensed soup!) that I am dying to have a bite of when I get home. Now, another reason why this is something that few people know about me is that I don't indulge in it very often. Mostly I shop at a small organic market or at the farmer's market. We often only pick up a few naughty essentials at Target, and even then I buy things that my kids like and that I won't touch. However, sometimes I do it on the down low. Hence my "turkey tetrazzini" made with cream of chicken, cream of mushroom, and cream of celery and topped with a layer of cheddar cheese. Oh, and my favorite Jello salad with blueberries!!!! YUMMM. Also, I LOVE me some Chef Boyardee ravioli. I could eat it for every meal. And now I want some more...

3. I am double jointed. I can do all kinds of weird things--make my arms and legs look like they are broken by popping out my joints, bend my thumb back to touch my forearm, arch my back to strange shapes. Interestingly, this is one thing that brought my husband and me together. I flirtingly told him when we were "talking" on the phone one night that I was a human pretzel (told ya I was a teenage slut). He had some friends at his house, and as soon as he got off the phone he told them. One of his friends goes, "Dude, you've got to hit that! Ask her out!" He did, and he hit it, and the rest is history.

4. Intervention is probably my favorite show. I don't think I've told anyone that. I love my junkies! And who could forget the awesome catch phrases from that show--from "I WANT MY BAYBEEZZZ!" to "BURL!"--it's just a whole bunch of awesome.

5. I am a sorry ass housekeeper. Which is weird, because dirty houses freak me out, and I get all anxiety filled when mine is dirty, but at the same time, I am just not that good at keeping it from getting that way. I have even bought books about cleaning, but I just can't really do it. I'm just not that organized, I guess.

6. As a kid, I was once stalked. Fo rizzle. Unbeknownst to my mom, I sent my picture and a brief description of myself into Tiger Beat magazine for the purpose of procuring pen pals, and because of my charming wit, it got published. I got a ton of people writing me--and they weren't all 12 year old girls with an unrequited love of JTT. I got one letter from a mental institution in New York that talked about wanting to "poo poo and pee pee" with me. I got a picture of a 35 year old man holding a teddy bear and making a pouty face. Then on Valentine's Day, I got this humongo Vermont Teddy Bear complete with petit fours and truffles. My mom assumed that my dad got it for me (my dad is a fan of the exorbitant gift every now and again), so she picked it up at the post office and let me eat the candy. My dad called the next day and I thanked him for the bear...only to find out he didn't send it. Some investigation proved that it was sent by an anonymous guy with the inscription "Because I Love You." Freaky.... I wonder if that guy still pines for me.... If he comes back and murders me soon, that would be a great Law and Order SVU. But it would suck if I died and I didn't get to see Chris Melon's face any more.

7. I once had a crush on a balding midget. Let's not go into that one.

Hope you enjoyed this! I'll post something fashiony soon.

Back with a Rush

2007-11-19T14:37:00.001-08:00

First off, I want to thank everyone who commented or emailed me tips on how to get out of my funk. I definitely took some time to rest, eat salads, and flush out my system with a bunch of water. I also became friendly with the Comcast On Demand Yoga selections--really fun (thanks, Ally, for the yoga recommendation--I think I'm going to keep it up). I don't feel perfect now, but it is a great improvement. And I can zip my jeans! Yea! Again, thank you to everyone. You guys rock!

Anyway, I'm back with a vengeance today, wearing a cord pencil skirt and my 4 inch platform heels (they just have a little platform--no 70's style shoes). And I'm doing a product review. Today I'll be talking about Benefit's Rush Hour which is a stick of product that works for both cheeks and lips. I'm normally not taken in by multifunctioners, but I read about this in Working Mother magazine, and it seemed like a good bet. I've actually had it for a little while now, but sadly, it got thrown in the bottom of my make-up case, and I only unearthed it fairly recently. And a good thing too! Because of a change in my family's schedule (my husband has a new job), our mornings have gotten increasingly crazy. Now, instead of leisurely driving my daughter to school, and then heading off to work, I find myself dressing both kids, finding shoes/socks/library books/toothbrushes for each, walking my son to preschool, then walking back and driving my daughter to school. Then I drive myself to work, battling traffic and the urge to take a Starbucks break all the way. It's tough, especially since my husband and I often linger in bed, taking advantage of the quietness and lack of stress before heading off to the shower. So I've been doing my make up in the car. Now, this isn't as dangerous/horrible as it sounds. My daughter's school has the single most idiotic traffic situation in the world, mostly because whoever designed the school thought that we were going to fly our children in on hovercraft. There is one tiny road leading to the school, with one tiny little circle for parents to utilize to drop kids off or pick them up. Since there are no buses or mass transportation, every single parent who has a kid there is there every morning. What's worse, the thing leads out to a busy thoroughfare with no stop light, so getting out is a hassle to say the least. Needless to say, I'm usually stuck there for quiet a while, so I can do my face pretty efficiently in the time I have. Plus, my car has a very nice lighted mirror, and the natural light is nice. So there you have it folks--buy a Volkswagen--the ultimate beauty machine!

Anyway, Benefit's Rush Hour fits into all of this because it takes the place of two products in the bottom of my crazy purse. It is a mauve-y plum color, and comes in a thin gold tube. The product is rounded at the top, and my husband thinks it looks like a penis. I'm being serious. When I first bought it, he thought it was something that he had read about in some kind of men's magazine for the "discreet" lady. ANYWAY, all this aside, I'm pretty happy with it. Granted, I like it much better as blush than as lipstick. As lipstick, it's a little too much for me--too matte, too dark, too much like my grandmom's Mary Kay--but keep in mind I almost exclusively wear gloss. I have found, however, that just a touch of it, blotted well, looks really lovely under nearly any gloss (my favorite being MAC Viva Glam IV Lipglass), and wears well throughout the day (I once checked it at work after coffee, and found that I looked like I had just bitten into a plum--very wholesome and J. Crew catalog-ish). As a blush, it is especially fine--it blends well, and doesn't burden you with messy powders. The color is see-through, and kind of "like my cheeks only better." I especially like it for winter with a stronger eye and pinkish lips.

All in all, I would consider this product a near "must" for working mom's. It's great because it's in one tube, and you can keep it in your purse for when you need a little pick me up. Plus, it looks like a big adult crayon (unless, of course, your mind is in the gutter). What could be more fun than that?

Uninspired

2007-11-13T11:14:00.000-08:00

Forgive me for not being so incredibly fashion-y in my posting, but I have been feeling very uninspired lately. Really very blah. There are many culprits: 1) I'm trying not to spend much money right now with the holidays coming and some domestic projects I want to complete (a new green bathroom!), so I'm not getting any new clothes or a much, much, much needed haircut, 2) I think I have gained some weight, 3) Baseball season is over, 4) It rains a lot now, and 5) I just don't feel that well lately. Kind of achy, kind of old, kind of fat, and definitely not like myself. I don't know. It's weird. I left work early yesterday (we all came in to put up this huge map of the US with every college and university in the country on it, and then went home since it was Veteran's Day--I will probably post something about this on my Myspace blog when I get a chance as it was freaking hilarious), and I went home and just...laid in bed. I watched two American Justice's and one Law and Order before uprooting myself, only then realizing that I had eaten one frozen quesadilla, a bowl of guacamole with chips, a leftover ramekin of black and white creme brulee (which, if I do say so myself, was amazing) and two chunks of Monterey Jack cheese. I felt awful. And it didn't get any better. I ended up moving over to the couch and watching Atlantis Squarepantis with my kids, eating more junk and feeling more awful along the way.

Today I got up and tried to make myself do a bit more with myself than I had done yesterday (I went to work yesterday in jeans, a merino that I realized later has a hole in it, a tank top, and no make-up). I put on my Fat Girl Uniform: black pants, black v-neck merino and black city boots. Feeling desperate, I wrapped my teal pashmina around my neck and put on a long necklace. I put my makeup on in the car (thank god for a back up at the toll plaza, or I would have never gotten my eyeliner straight!). I still don't really feel myself, but it's a bit better. I've also put myself on a bit of a detox diet--I've been drinking water at my desk, trying to make the puffiness subside from my fingers. I am going to go out and fix myself a nice salad from the gourmet store down the street for lunch.

So I ask, gentle readers: how do you get yourself out a funk? Any cheap tips you have? Does anyone living in the Bay Area want to come and take me to a gym so that I can breathe in my favorite jeans again? Any suggestions would be very much appreciated!

Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman

2007-11-07T14:58:00.000-08:00

This morning I read a fantastic post about age appropriate dressing on Faking Good Breeding, one of my favorite blogs. The post discussed the new Sex and the City movie and the cartoonish get-ups that the women are wearing--costumes that do not agree with their ages or levels of sophistication. I agree with everything Meg said, and found it interesting that this is a conversation that my mother and I often have (my mom is a 52 year old Ph.D. student and is constantly working that line between young hipness and mature style). However, as I read the post, I was reminded of an issue that I think is just as pertinent with age appropriateness--how to dress when one feels like a kid but suddenly finds herself saddled with adult responsibilities. In other words, making the tough transition away from the juniors department.

We have all seen the girl who hasn't quite made the transition yet. Just last week, a young lady came into our office for an interview. I had spoken with her on the phone ahead of time, and she seemed friendly and bright. She was working on her dissertation and needed some extra income so she had applied for the job. I invited her in for a personal interview right away, and sent her a confirmation email, noting that she should dress as she would for a tutoring appointment--we were not a formal interview kind of place. She emailed me back a couple of times, asking questions about the job, and how she should prepare for the quiz we give to applicants. We developed a nice relationship. And then she came to the interview. She was wearing no make-up and had gargantuan dark circles under her eyes. Her skin was rather pallid--almost to the point that I wanted to ask her if she was ok. Her hair had been thrown up into a hasty ponytail, with chunks of it hanging loose on the nape of neck. However, knowing that she was a Ph.D. student, I figured she was just tired--the "Prisoner of War look" as my husband calls it, is one of the main reasons he is taking a break from his Ph.D. program now.

But then she walked away from me and I got view of the whole ensemble. She was wearing a pair of ultra low rise stonewashed jeans. They were super, super tight and flared on the bottom. She was also wearing a tight black shirt that was basically a tank top with a mesh overlay. On top of that, she had put a very fitted black panne velvet blazer. The whole thing looked like it had been very hastily purchased from the sale rack at Forever 21 (do they even have a sale rack?). At first, I thought, "Well, she's very busy, so I guess she has no time to shop and hasn't since she was...16." But then I realized--these clothes looked relatively new, and I knew they were such bad quality that they could not have held up over the years. Interestingly, this girl was not big--probably a size 6 or8--but she looked bloated in the get up. And worst of all, with the run down appearance coupled with the crazy choice of clothing, she looked like a runaway teenage prostitute from an old episode of Law and Order. With a crack problem.

So I sat at my desk and thought about just how evil I was for thinking these things. I imagined that she would do well on her interview and that I would see her again, and I would feel worse and worse as she proved to be a nice person and a wonderful tutor. I fixed her a training binder, betting on the fact that she would be invited back. However, when my coworker finished the interview, he shook her hand and sent her away without getting the binder. I did a double take and asked him what was up. "I don't know...she's nice enough, but she just looked run down. And I didn't like the outfit either." Seriously. My jaw hit the table. Of course, the first thing I thought was just what a divine effect I'm having on my little test prep buddies. Then I realized just how much my basketball shoe and Wranger jean wearing co-worker had been correct in not hiring her. I can't imagine a parent alive who would be especially jazzed seeing this person come to their house to teach their kid a lesson.

Now, I'm not writing this post just to come down hard on this girl. She's probably much smarter than I will ever be, and that's what counts. But seriously, ladies. It can be hard to give up the velour sweatsuits, the Forever 21 ensembles, the glittery t-shirts of one's youth. If we're still taking classes, if we still watch cartoons in our PJ's and laugh at fart jokes, we must be still kids, right? Well, maybe, but we can't dress like them anymore. Your 20's, at least what I have experienced of them, are a time for new things. Some new things are good (money, new jobs, beer) and some new things are bad (lack of money, assistant jobs, girly drinks). I think it is very important that 20 somethings embrace their new look as a good new thing--we're older yeah, and Forever 21 just doesn't do it anymore, but so what? Your 20's can be a great time to experiment and build a personal style that will last you well into your glamorous later years.

And just think of it this way--if you don't do it, imagine the look of disdain you are going to get from Detective Benson when you don that mesh ensemble, you wanna be harlot.

Bringing the Boys to the Yard The Sequel

2007-11-06T07:33:00.000-08:00

I think I have established that I don't work in a very erm...formal environment. I have one coworker who coaches basketball after work and wears his basketball shoes and championship t-shirts all day. We usually don't see anyone during the day (save our own students), so I guess I can understand the desire for comfort. Hell, sometimes I give in myself. Yesterday, I sported my Gap curvy bootcuts, a J.Crew puff sleeve featherweight tee, and my William and Mary hooded sweatshirt. But most days I try to do it up right. I think this is seen as some sort of oddity amongst my coworkers--and I wonder if they have discussions about it.

Anyway, the other day when I wore my new blessed denim trousers with a pair of black peep toe pumps. My two female coworkers were commenting me on the look, and of course I was revelling in it, knowing that I looked lovely. Then they began discussing my shoes. "I don't know how you wear such high heels," one said. "I wonder about that every day." I asserted that I just could, that I had worn them so much they felt natural, and that I always make sure to buy the correct size. Then, my coworker said, "Well, I guess you keep Matt happy. Isn't that why you do it?" I smiled, but I kind of prickled at that comment. Why is it that we as women assume that because a woman looks nice, she is looking for attention from men? It seems that anytime a woman bothers to put on something that isn't stained and fits correctly, someone somewhere says "Well, who is she trying to impress?" In some ways, this is the same argument that is used against rape victims--"She was asking for it, dressed like that." Why is this something that we as women both subject each other to and put up with?

I think I have established that my husband does not always agree with my fashion choices. I think he likes it, and he does compliment me on them, but if I were dressing for Matt's sake, I would be wearing a whole lot more casual things. I dress for myself. If I want to wear heels, I wear them. If I want to wear jeans, I wear them. Why do you dress the way you do? Have you ever dressed for a man? How did that turn out?

The Love Song of J. Alfred Crew

2007-11-01T10:59:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday, I took my kids to our favorite burger and pie joint to eat sinfully delicious things. We had just finished our burgers and were starting on our whipped cream covered pies when my son's eyes lit up and he looked at my husband and said, "Daddy, I see a boo-tiful girl. She's boo-tiful!" Keep in mind that my son is four. Matt and I both turned around to see a hardcore rocker chick carrying a a tray of burgers back to her table. She was wearing a short black skirt with a black t-shirt, black tights and huge black boots. Her hair was a dark burgundy/purple and she had studs all over her ears. She sat down in a booth, slammed the tray down and then threw her feet up into the seat in front of her, whilst concentrating on taking a gargantuan bite of the burger in front of her. Sam looked on, mesmerized, not touching the pie in front of him. "I see a boo-tiful girl," he kept saying. My husband sat in his seat, seemingly ecstatic that his son had checked out his first girl. I concentrated on eating my pie, and tried to forget that I was no longer the only lady in my son's life.

However, it wasn't something a mother can easily forget. While we ran errands, I looked down at my black henley sweater, twill chinos (that are kind of big in the waist--the perfect burger eating pants) and red ballet flats and thought just how staid and ordinary I must look. When we got home, I jumped at the computer to look up fun, exciting clothes that still showed how hard I still rocked. I ordered an ACDC t-shirt to cut up. I took a denim skirt that I no longer wear and cut it off, producing a mini with threadbare spots and holes. I decided I would need new websites to replace the Gap, Banana Republic and J. Crew shopping portals I frequented.

But then these pants came along:
I had ordered these pants back in early September when I was looking to update my denim wardrobe. They had been backordered, and I pretty much forgot about them. But yesterday they arrived at my door. I was pretty excited to start with because there is basically nothing I love more than trouser jeans and wrap dresses, but I didn't try them on, and I had a sneaking feeling that they might not fit (J. Crew jeans fit oddly sometimes). But today when I put them on--sheer magic. These things are very nearly perfect. Not only do they fit extraordinarily well (they're even the perfect length--granted, with heels, but I would only wear trousers with heels, so no problem there) but they look...perfect. Moreover, they are comfortable. Really comfortable. No waist digging, no crotch sagging, so yank 'em up before they fall...Did I mention they're perfect?

So this leads me to this simple thought: I am a J. Crew girl. Yes, they have gone up in price since I first ordered my wool toggle coat back in the 11th grade (my first J. Crew purchase, and interestingly, still my winter coat). But their clothes just fit me without tailoring or marks left on my tummy. Yes, I've had some problems with some of the jeans, but I'll take the blame for that (I should start considering laying back on the pie). Seriously. Our love remains strong and true. When I feel bad, what do I reach for? My J. Crew merinos (and now these trouser jeans--seriously, I think I"ll sleep in these tonight). When I feel good, what do I reach for? My black J. Crew jersey dress.

So no matter who my son decides to love, and no matter how that makes me feel, I'll be sticking with my favorite store. And Jack Daniels. Sticking to that too.

Idol Hands

2007-10-29T08:16:00.000-07:00

Last night I did something that I'm still not exactly sure of why I did it. I think mostly because I was bored and because I wanted to avoid watching another scary movie with my husband. Keep in mind that I did this, not because I don't enjoy my husband's company and not because I don't like scary movies, but because he Netflixed a TON of them, and there's just so many nights one can spend with their guts in a bind, watching some poor bloody person try to exact revenge for the murder of their whole family at the hands of crazy mutants.

Last night I colored my hair. At home. With a drugstore brand hair color. Classy.

I have to admit that my life has been relatively free of hair color, on all levels. The last time I colored my hair, I was about 14 or so. My mother knew that I had this desire for technicolor hair in me, so she found Mickey, which was probably the best thing she could have done as the mother of a wayward teenager. Mickey was the best hairdresser a 15 year old could ask for: he listened to what I wanted, smiled and nodded, told me what a great idea it was and then did something totally different, and thus, socially acceptable. But the best thing was that it actually looked great when he was done. I'm not sure how he managed this, but whatever. It worked. After a few tries with color, he got it to be a very dark red with one very chunky blonde streak in the front. Ok, this sounds horrible here, but I thought it was AWESOME. And it was the mid nineties you see, so it was pretty awesome. Very angsty, with a side of fashion.

However, one day when I was at practice for the academic team I was on (yes, I was a nerd. I was totally That kid. I work in SAT test prep now--what did you expect?), I decided not to ever color my hair again. I was sitting in the floor of the auditorium, reading about World War II, when all of a sudden this conversation transpired:

Tom: Exactly, what color is your hair?

Me: Ummm....I'm not sure. It's just...red.

Tom: That color is not found in nature, you know. No one's hair is really that color.

Me: I know. That's kinda the point.

Tom: Isn't that kinda dumb?

And with that, it all came crashing down. I desperately wanted to impress Tom, he being the bastion of high school academic team excellence that he was. I didn't want to be dumb. I wanted for us to watch Monty Python together and make witty comments and then talk about Winston Churchill and that whole Yalta thing and then go to a nice restaurant together and maybe make out?!?! That's what I wanted. I didn't want to be the dumb girl. So I looked down, memorized a bunch of crap about WWII and decided to never color my hair again. I never told Mickey why, and we made do with some fun asymmetrical cuts and a few updos that garnered me a lot of attention at various proms and dances. But no color.

Last night I went back on that. I went to Target yesterday, and I bought a box of L'Oreal Natural Match hair color in Dark Brown. First off, finding this stuff is pretty trying. Who knew there are so many ways to become another person? I sifted through all the different colors and formulas, deciding that if this went well, I'd go with the hardcore dark ash brown later. I ended up buying the one I did because...wait for it...this formula was the most expensive. And obviously it's going to harder to ruin my hair with something costs $10.94 than another box priced at seven bucks. So, with all my loot, I settled my husband on the couch, dared him to come and bother me and spread all the crap out on the bathroom counter. It actually didn't look too hard. So I got started. My main fear was that I would end up with Dark Brown polka dots in my medium brown hair, so I covered the HELL out of my hair. It was dripping everywhere. I imagine this is what the bathtub looked like when they finished filming the shower scene on Psycho. So, while I waited for the crap to sink in, I feverishly rubbed at the splotches on the floor. And on my face. And my whole body.

And the result? Well, pretty damn good if I say so myself. It's just my regular haircolor...with punch. It is quite a bit darker, but also very shiny and multifaceted. I feel very cool with it. Of course, I don't have much to compare it with, having not done this before. But I did achieve the look that I wanted, which is darker for fall, and a bit more mysterious.

So for that, I invite Tom to come out to SF and see what he thinks. Perhaps while he's here we can watch some Monty Python, eat some Thai food and talk history. And I can kick him in the shin for making 14 year old me feel bad (no, really, Tom. If you want to come, that's cool. I promise not to kick--maybe).

WWTS?

2007-10-25T19:20:00.000-07:00

If you're like me, you spend the bulk of your days pretending you're on America's Next Top Model. You endeavor to not lose your neck while you're typing blog entries and talking to 16 year olds. You think of passive aggressive things to say to your co-workers, such as "Is that make-up making you break out?" (genius, I say). You regularly turn shoots out. Sometimes you talk to little orange men.

But most of all, you spend time wondering what Tyra Banks would say about any and all of your daily happenings. Would Tyra put cinnamon in her coffee? Probably, and she'd probably throw in BBQ rib or two. Would Tyra like the new jeans that I wore today that I'm a little on the fence about? Maybe, but she would ask me to pair it with a tank top and next time pull my hair back from my face. Model basics! Would Tyra recycle this frappucino bottle? Definitely! It's all about going green (and undoing the massive damage that eight seasons of top models riding around in gas guzzling stretch Hummers has done to Mother Earth).

When I saw these pictures, I put all my wondering to rest. I know exactly what Tyra would say.

Tyra: Let's see your best shot. Ok, Jenny, this is a little strange. You look a little uncomfortable here. The face is ok, but you really need to work on the body. Maybe try some poses in the mirror. This is a little men's magazine-ish. For a shot for women, I like to hunch my shoulders. See how I do this?

Jenny: Well, I was a little uncomfortable. I was afraid you could see my va-jay-jay. See, this dress is really short--it should really be a shirt, but instead they're marketing it as a dress. And they're charging $298 for it. That's kind of insane, don't you think?

Tyra: EXCUSES! You have not earned the ability to make excuses. You pay your dues, you can make excuses. I have paid my dues, so when I make excuses about why the button flew off my too-tight, sausage skin of a dress and blinded Twiggy, it is ok. We believed in you! I belived in you! Don't make these excuses. Thank you, Jenny.

Tyra: Let's see your best shot. Melissa. This is probably one of the worst shots in the bunch. Remember your face, Melissa. Your eyes are dead. You have to smile with your eyes. See? I'm smiling with my eyes. Now I'm not. See the difference.

Melissa: Yes, I see the difference. You are so wise.

Tyra: Melissa, Mr. Jay said that at the shoot you were uninspired and speaking Latin in a deep voice. He said you were incredibly hard to manage, and spit a slurry of green fluids at Sutan.

Melissa: I'm pretty sure that I was possessed by the devil at the time. Just look at my eyes! It all started when I put on that hideous red sack dress, that probably should also just be a really loose tunic, but is instead being marketing as a dress.

Tyra: Melissa, I did the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue when I had mononucleosis and scurvy simultaneously. I felt awful, but I turned it out. That's what this industry is. You have to work no matter how bad you feel. Dead eyes, Melissa. Don't let it happen again. Thank you, Melissa.

*If you would like to purchase either of these abominations, they are available at dillards.com. I would recommend some tights, a rosary and perhaps Ken Paves created sub-par weave to finish the look. Fierce!

Ghouls and Goblins and Booties, Oh My!

2007-10-23T21:23:00.000-07:00

Here in the Home of the Black Sweater, we are getting ready for Halloween. We have tombstones in the yard, Target brand cobwebs dotting the trees, and a talking witch hanging on our door. My children are obsessed with all things "scary": my daughter has been dutifully watching Goosebumps and other tween horror, and my son is putting in his time with old Scooby Doo DVD's, and declaring himself too scared for sleep. Matt and I have gotten into the act as well--we have some Netflixed horror flicks, and have indulged our sweet teeth (sweet tooth's?) with jack o'lantern shaped sugar cookies and (my favorite) chocolate dipped coconut macarroons.

But this is by far is the scariest thing I've seen this season:

This looks like something Peter Jackson thought up for Lord of the Rings 4: Fellowship with the Kind of Nerds Who Like these Kind of Movies (and I'll fully admit that my husband is one of those nerds). Yes, that's a bad joke. But this shoe is worse. I'll just say here and now: I hate ankle booties. They have to be the stupidest thing ever conceived. No only are they hideous looking, but they make anyone who wears them look about a foot shorter than they are because they cut off the leg line.

So in the spirit of a movie that I love that is not a horror movie, but rather, probably my very favorite John Cusack movie of all time, I give you

Morgan's Top Five Worst Fashions of All Time

1. Ankle booties. Not just these. All of them.

2. Pleated front khakis, and their evil step daughter, pleated front capris.

3. Those really long crochet vests. I used to have one when I was 17 and worked at JC Penney. It caught on everything. What was funny about it is that my mom had one at 17 as well, and everytime I put mine on, she would remark about how much she hated them. I didn't understand them, but now I do. Fuck crochet.

4. Crocs. You had to know that was coming.

5. Velour tracksuits, especially brightly colored ones. And the ones with writing across the ass keep me up at night, screaming into the night wind.

Consider yourself scared. Happy Halloween!

Stripper Style

2007-10-22T08:30:00.000-07:00

Today is kind of an odd day--my grandmother (who lives across the country from me) is not feeling well, and thus, I have a bad feeling about the whole thing. I talked to her yesterday, and she couldn't finish sentences, faded in and out of conversation...it was bad. So today I am waiting around the house to hear from my dad who is supposed to call me and let me know if and when she is going to be admitted to the hospital. I am not stylish at all--wearing Old Navy yoga pants and a Mark Ellis A's t-shirt (and with that I say this: Suck it Dustin Pedroia. Just suck it.) Anyway, if this post comes off sounding weird, it's because I'm worried about my grandma, and am just trying to think of things to do until my dad calls me.

However, I have been wanting to write this post for a while now, and on Friday was spurred even further to action by an article I found on Jezebel. The article focuses on strippercise, which if you're a frequent reader of this blog, you know I do as my major form of excercise. In the article (just in case you want the Sparknotes version), the author talks about attending a pole dancing/strippercise class, an event that I don't think she found useful or fun. I want to provide the opposition to that. Keep in mind that I have only attended two actual classes--all the other strippercise I do is in my living room early in the morning, guided by the book The S Factor by Sheila Kelley. So while my experiences do not totally replicate the author's experience, I do know where she is coming from.

I started stripping out of nowhere really--I'm not sure where I got the idea. My husband was in Russia at the time, and I knew we were going to take a trip to Tahoe when he got back, so I wanted to unveil tricks that showed just what an independant, cool chick I was when he was not around (interestingly, I also painted my bathroom, redecorated my living room, and learned to use a drill). So I bought the Carmen Electra DVD's off Amazon (I was a bit too shy to buy them at Target) and waited. I got the DVD's in, practiced them, and perfected the routine. It was fun. The exercises were not hard, and instead of making me feel like an idiot, bouncing in her bedroom, I felt sexy. However, after he got home, and I had completed my initial performances, I got a little bored of the few routines Carmen offered me. So I ordered The S Factor, again off of Amazon (you can imagine what the books Amazon recommends to me now are like--you would think I was Jenna Jameson or something). When it first came in, I started thinking that I had probably wasted my money--this was after all, a book--not something fun and interactive that I could pop into the DVD player and allow to titillate me and teach me. I actually had to interact with it. I let it hang out on my bookshelf for a few days, and then forgot about it. It was too much work, I thought, and I would probably do it wrong anyway.

Wrong. When I pulled the book off my shelf a week or two later, I realized just what was waiting for me. The S Factor works you through all the moves, tells you what you are going to feel, and spells everything out. There is no guessing about whether you are doing something right--you know if you are from the descriptions and pictures. I remember doing it the first time, and being amazed that my hips would jut out that far. That's what this book does--it reminds you of what your body can do. You can do the moves because even though your mind doesn't understand what to do (yet), your body does. Unlike a lot of work outs I've done where the moves don't feel natural (hello, pilates), your body knows this stuff. You just have to remind your mind that it does.

But the best thing about The S Factor is that it allows you to step away from yourself. In my everyday life, I am (and always have been) a bookish, glasses wearing chick who is more Velma than Daphne, more "cute sidekick" than "bombshell main character." I am the Jenny Humphrey to the country's collective Serena Van Der Woodsen. However, when I do my exercise, I step away from that. I adopt a new persona, a persona that is not a sweet Southern girl, but an all-out bitch, who would rather stomp your heart with a 6-inch heel than read another book about Whitman's poetry. It's damn fun. And I am damn fun doing it. I put on my music, and I'm me--not the "me" that everyone expects, but a fun, dynamic side of me that is strong and unattached and above all, absolutely frickin' gorgeous.

So I would recommend doing it. You don't have to take classes, although they are fun, but definitely try it. And since this is in some ways a shopping blog, here are my recommendations for the must-haves. The book is understood, I hope.

Morgan's Must-Haves for Prospective Strippers

1. a good soundtrack. The staples for me are Back In Black (for obvious reasons) and Cold Hard Bitch by Jet, but I use other songs as I find them.

2. cotton short shorts that are a little loose so you can get them off easily. I like the Prospirit ones at Target that fold at the waist. Kind of sexy.

3. a good pair of stripper shoes. Sfactor.com actually has a good selection. I have a pair but also use my regular heels if I want to break them in.

4. supportive, sexy bras. I know this sounds slutty, but I have found some really fabu bras at Frederick's. These get the job done. I generally wear a tank top with my shorts, and I like if the bra has a little "visual interest" to peek out of my tank top.

5. A good attitude. If you can't laugh at yourself as you're doing this, you're going to hate it. You're not going to be a bombshell on the first move. But you will be. Just wait, and laugh while you do it.

6. There are actually some pretty entertaining memoirs and books by ex strippers that can give you some inside info about the industry. I especially like Candy Girl by Diablo Cody.

The Uniform

2007-10-17T21:10:00.001-07:00

I think the only thing worse than actually being sick is being repeatedly asked, "Are you sick? You look sick." Well meaning people suck, if you know what I mean. If you read my last post, you know I've been a bit under the weather lately. Yesterday was my gross day--I came home from work, put on my pj's and absolutely refused to move. However, when I got up this morning, I knew I needed to venture out and meet with students. After all, rescheduling five lessons is much more painful than actually doing the lessons while sick. But what to do? I didn't feel like dressing up, or even wearing jeans, which can dig into my waist. But I knew that if I didn't look halfway decent, I'd get the brunt of my passive aggressive co-worker's well-wishes, plus, I'd feel like crap for the rest of the day. Well, rather, even crappier.

Luckily, I have a uniform of sorts--a group of seperates that I can mix and match to create looks that are comfortable, alluring, and pretty thoughtless. They are all things that I know look nice on me, won't wrinkle during the day, and can stand up to the day's torments. Of course, it changes by the season. In the summer, it consists of a knit dress of some sort (usually a black one), wedge flip flops, fun jewelery, and my denim jacket. But for fall, my uniform is a sweater (usually merino and v-neck, and most often from J. Crew, but I do have a black cashmere turtleneck that gets into play quite a bit), opaque tights, a skirt (tweed, corduroy, wool, or even denim), and cute low-heeled shoes. I've determined that I can wear this outfit anywhere, from errands to lessons, and feel confident that I look nice and well, not sick. This morning I got up, and instead of reaching for sweats or something equally as horrible, I pulled out black tights, an ivory wool skirt with a cute trim that I bought at the J.Crew Outlet ages ago, a black cami, my purple merino v-neck, and red ballerina flats. I took my freshly washed hair and pushed it back in a black leather headband. I then added tinted moisturizer, Nars Orgasm blush, DiorShow, and some Bare Escentuals lip gloss. Now, I'm not saying that I looked perfect, but I made it to work without anyone giving me sad looks or asking me if I was ok. This helped me get through the day. What's better is that I can wear something incredibly similar tomorrow and because I have enough things to mix and match, no one will be any the wiser.

What's your uniform? Do you have something you can turn to day after day, no matter how you feel? Let me know in the comments.

Sick Days

2007-10-17T07:46:00.000-07:00

After a very unrelaxing, crappy weekend (I worked both days), I seem to have fallen prey to some kind of weird stomach/whole body ailment. I am just completely exhausted, and I have a nasty stomach issue that is nagging at me. Therefore, I haven't really been up to posting the last couple of days. Mostly because it's hard to feel fabulous when one is wearing an old gown from JC Penney, huge granny panties, and a Cars throw wrapped around the shoulders. ANYWAY, I am going to venture out and see students today, which may help me feel better (very doubtful actually), and I'll see if I can post later.

But for the time being, here are the things I learned after coming home from work at 1:30 yesterday and spending the rest of the day in bed, watching TV:
1. I have even worse TV tastes than I previously thought.
2. The Red Sox really kind of suck.
3. There is a legless torso that seems to hover on the balcony of the Jerry Springer show, watching the stories of false teeth and drunken debauchery play out. Something tells me I hallucinated it. No offense to the handicapped out there, but that freaked the hell out of me.
4. Law and Order: SVU just doesn't get old.

Knockin' Boots

2007-10-11T22:10:00.000-07:00

You think this post is going to be about sex don't you? He he. It's not, but it's about something almost as good....new boots! I got a coupon in the mail yesterday for PiperLime, so I figured now is as good a time as any to order these beauties.I have wanted a pair of riding boots for as long as I can remember. I wanted a pair in high school so much that my mom finally ordered me a pair for Christmas, only to find out that my legs were too big to fit into them. Blessed with the Scott family big legs I am! Even when I was a size 8, I couldn't fit my legs into a pair of boots. Interestingly, my mom, who is a size 4 on a fat day cannot fit her calves in boots either. We're cursed. I'm convinced generations of Scott women were rampant shin kickers thus garnering all kinds of bad leg karma and forcing my mom and me to accept a sad fate of chubby calves. At any rate, I ended up settling for a cute pair of city boots that I wore for the majority of my college career, but I never quite got away from my desire for a pair.

But it is the memory of trying to slide my chubby calves into my dream boots that one Christmas that keeps me from ordering these right now. See, I've been wanting to get these boots on Piperlime for 2 or 3 weeks now. And I haven't bought them. Even though the website promises me that they are extended calf and that I can get free shipping and returns on them, I'm gun shy. So I'm opening this up to you, my little cream puffs. How many of you ladies also are blessed with the hefty legs and have found awesome boots? Where did you get them? How hot are your legs in them? Does anyone have experience with Naturalizers specifically?

If I do end up ordering these, I'll post pictures of my hot legs in them, for better or worse. You either get to see me busting the zippers (WHOOPS!) or flaunting my cuteness. Either/or.

And if worse comes to worst, I can just write a post about REALLY knockin' boots. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge (and judging from the comments from the last post, you ladies know a few things about getting the men to the sack).

Bringing the Boys to the Yard

2007-10-09T21:28:00.000-07:00

Ok, so I know how you guys feel about leggings...the answer to last week's great legging debate was a resounding "YUGH!! They suck!" with a side of vitriolic hatred. Now what I want to know is this...what do you wear when you want your significant other or the men or women on the street to take notice? It's an important question. We as women, no matter how successful we are, define ourselves in some ways by our ability to attract sexual partners. No matter how many women's studies courses you take, no matter how many copies of Our Bodies, Ourselves you have on your bookshelf, you know (or think you know) what you have to put on to get a rise out of your chosen party.

But here's the thing: it isn't always what you expect. This point was made clear to me this weekend. After the tutoring induced trauma that was the prep for the October 6 test, I decided to take Sunday and Monday totally off. As in, I didn't do anything of any substance. At all. On Monday, I did manage to run some errands, taking some books and DVD's to Telegraph Ave. to trade in for cold hard cash and then stopping for groceries. Knowing that I was going to be running these errands, I got up, and before taking Gabby to school, I put on a new green crewneck sweater from Target (cheap sweater, but a really cute color--I almost feel like going back to get the v-neck), old Old Navy jeans, and pushed my hair back in a floral silk hairband from J.Crew. I did my make-up part way (just some powder, mascara, and Neutrogena lipbalm). I checked myself in the mirror, and I thought I looked casual, but really nothing to write home about. However, while Matt and I were taking our recycling to the recycling center (I'm telling you--it was an exciting Monday!), I kept noticing him look at me. He would then just smile and look away. Finally, after putting up with this for a while, I asked him what was up. "You just look so good," he said. WTF? It's not that I didn't enjoy the compliment, but seriously. For someone who feels like I'm wearing house shoes if I'm not wearing heels, this came as such a shock. Granted, this is my husband:

Not the most driven guy on the planet, especially fashion wise. But still. It amazed me. I get up every morning and plan outfits around heels and pencil skirts but he finds me more attractive in my beat up jeans, Merrell mary janes, and $17.49 sweater.

So what gives? Is this specific to my beer swilling, classic rock dancing, Cal football adoring, Russian major dude, or does your man prefer a dressed down look? Or do you have to vamp it up Rock of Love style to get attention?

Reader Question and a Reference to La Bouche All in One Lovely Package

2007-10-06T12:00:00.000-07:00

This morning I received this inquiry in my email:
I was wondering if you could give me some advice. I am visiting a friend in NYC in November. I am having a really hard time finding a top to wear for when we go out dancing. Like I said, I'm young and have a baby so I think the last time I went dancing I still had braces and La Bouche was playing in the school gym. I do 99.9% of my shopping online since I live in the Northwoods of Wisconsin. I am looking for something cute and fun but something I can wear again. Any suggestions would be greatly appreciated.

Does anyone want to guess just how happy this email made me? This morning, I am proctoring a test for a bunch of 16 year olds, and let me tell you, I am about done with today's 16 year olds with their iPhones and their carefully choreographed hipster tunics and leggings. But getting this email reminded me of my own teenage experience, and made me so happy. Believe me, I needed it today.

That said, I'm not much a source for this question. When most folks were grooving to Montel Jordan on the gym floor, I was hanging in the bleachers, talking shit about everyone's clothes and debating on whether to let that special someone touch my boob. Some things never change I guess. On the same token, I don't think I've ever been out dancing in a non-school function related way. It's just not really my scene. Now, eating mass quantities of bar food while throwing back some overpriced martini's--totally my scene. Actually having to move after doing it--decidedly not.

So I could be totally off on this, but I'm giving advice anyway, which is probably tantamount to something bad, but whatever. Dance styles could totally involve spandex and day glo socks--I don't know. I do know, however, that when I go out for whatever reason, I want to be comfortable and show some cleavage. So that's what I tried to do with my choices for our friend, who is probably grooving to Be My Lover as we speak.

My first choice is this lovely teal kimono top from BCBGirls. It fulfills my requirements, plus it is a lovely, lovely color that would be sure to get you noticed from across the room. The best thing about this cut? It's terribly forgiving--in fact, my own going out top is a kimono top, and gets me a lot of compliments wherever I wear it. The other thing I love is that you can wear a regular bra under this, and be totally fine (I would probably invest in some fashion tape to make sure the neckline doesn't shimmy along with you). Finally, this is totally wearable again--slap a cami under it and some black trousers, and you can wear it to an office party, or dress up your denim and cami for a night out with your family. The cons on this one? Well, the price for one. It is $98, which is justifiable if you are dedicated to including it in more than one facet in your wardrobe, but is a bit steeper than the other things I found. Also, if you pick this one, make sure to pick up some extra anti-perspirant. Sweat+satin=dancer without a partner.

My next choice is this plunge v-neck (left). Ok, I'm obsessed with this cut. Sorry. This one has the same pluses (nice cut, regular bra), but it is a tad cheaper, and is made of cotton which will breathe with you as you shake it (hence getting rid of the need for industrial size anti-perspirant purchases). This one also goes well with jeans and can work with you in your everyday life. That said, it's a bit more casual so if you're heading to Hyde, I'd go with the satin.

Ok, so enough with these shirts, huh? Sorry...I just thought this one is extra cute (right), and is a good price. It's $42 at Urban Outfitters. And nothing says young hip New York dancer like Urban Outfitters, right? I think it would look excellent with some sparkly gold shoes, creased denim and a long gold chain. And again, you can wear this out with your son and look totally fine.

And on that same note, if you don't have to worry about wearing a regular bra, this cami is a beautiful color and would look great on the dance floor. It is substantial enough so that you don't look like you are wearing your underwear, but bare enough to attract the attention of the folks who buy the drinks. After the dancing, you could wear a blazer over this (I'm thinking a nice black velvet blazer...) and jeans and take it to the movies, or pair it with a cardigan and skirt for a look that's sweet but not too much.

I really hope that helps. I now have the urge to get my groove on. Which is problematic, given that I need to grade PSAT's. Hmmmm.... If you have any advice for our friend, leave em in the comments!

Getting My Life Back

2007-10-05T07:15:00.001-07:00

Tomorrow is the October 6 SAT, i.e., the biggest test date of the year for stressed out seniors. Would you like to guess how that makes me feel?

Yes, folks, that's what you get when you Google image search the words "crazy happy." I feel like a midget (I'm pretty sure that's a little person) jumping in a hayfield encompasses my emotions pretty darn well. No more 14 hour days, no more talking a kid down from the ledge with witticisms about how this is not the biggest thing in their life, which may or may not be true. I mean, come on, that's really easy for me to say, given that I did pretty well on the SAT without prep or bothering to take a calculator (seriously, nobody told me. I ended up borrowing one from the guy sitting next to me who had three, and now that I think about it, was probably just doing that to pick up dumb broads). But not one of my students has called bullshit on me this year, which is a victory. A resounding one.

Things Morgan Will Do with the Scads of Extra Time She Has After this Test Date:

1. Watch hella TV.

2. Make this blog even more fantabulous.

3. Make some food that doesn't include a pre-made sauce from Trader Joe's.

4. Be even more fantabulous!

It's interesting though. This test has taught me quite a few things about myself. Numero Uno is that I'm quite a bit more Type A than I thought I was. Numero two is that it is possible to look cute even under scads of pressure and time restraints. The key is to have a comfortable, mix and match wardrobe that you can throw on the back of a chair and put on again without worries. The final thing I've learned is to keep a tube of mascara and some eye makeup remover pads in your purse at all times. Eye makeup that looked lovely at 7:30 in the morning can look like ass at 9:00 at night. Swipe it off, layer it full of mascara (I've been using Benefit Bad Gal), and you look fresh in about one minute flat!

Finally, the last thing I've learned is not from my life as a stressed out tutor, but rather from Rock of Love, which I somehow managed to watch, despite my hectic schedule. The fact that I learned will guide my life and all future decisions I make. The girl with the big hair and the stripper dress does not always get the man. Isn't that something that we should all remember?

Two Things I'm Unhealthily Obsessed With

2007-10-03T21:47:00.000-07:00

One thing you should know about me is that I get OBSESSED with something for a few short days (or weeks), and then quickly forget about it and go on with my life in a way that never pays homage to whatever I was obsessed with. For example, I was once really obsessed with becoming a high school English teacher in the inner city. I think this came from seeing the Gangsta's Paradise video one night on VH1 while I was try to read The Areopagitica. It all seemed to make sense in some Miltonian way. Whatever. This caused me to quickly apply for the education program, have an interview, get in, and then a week later decide that it wasn't such a good idea and beg to be let out again, a request I was only granted when I had cried in two different faculty members' offices. Another time, as a kid, I got obsessed with days of the week underwear and hair bands. I spent two weeks painfully matching every outfit to my panties and hair accessories (or, rather, getting my mom to painfully match every outfit to my panties and hair accessories), and then, just when I had procured enough magenta and turquoise clothing to get me through a couple of weeks, forgot about it.

Well, I'm sure these two obsessions will totally NOT be that way, because my love for them is true and fine. It is the kind of love that Romeo had for Juliet, that Joanie had for Chachi, that Bret Michaels has for bandanas (seriously, what is under that thing? My money is on a third nipple or a rogue extra penis, but I really can't be sure). I love them with every fiber of my being.

The first thing is this Gap dress. I bought a vamp red (that's Gap's name for it--it's really more like a burgundy) version in my local Gap when I went to buy my son some shoes. It was super on sale--down to $29.99. Of course, I couldn't pass it up. And of course, my husband was not feeling my new Gap induced hotness, so I resorted to the old standby-- Woops! How'd that get in the back of the car, honey? I surely wouldn't be buying new clothes! Anyway, I wore it the next day to The Jungle, which is this Norcal version of Chuckie Cheese where I took Sam for his birthday. I was super comfortable, and looked hella better than all of the other mom's there trolling around in nasty khakis and polo shirts. After I came home, I took off the dress, threw it on the back of my desk chair, and forgot about it. Then, this morning, I had a 7:30 lesson, followed soon by four more lessons, so I reached for the dress again. Even after being left on the back of my chair for a few days, it was unwrinkled and looked fabu. I put it on with a cami underneath, a long necklace, and peep toe pumps. It was totally cute, and I got all kinds of compliments. So now I'm ordering the grey one. Grey is not usually a color I turn to, but I'm thinking with some cabeled tights and boots... I'm pretty stoked about it. Even if it turns out to be not as awesome as my red one, it will still be a comfortable and classy choice for busy days.

The second thing I'm obsessed with is MAC Viva Glam IV Lipglass. Now, I've been meaning to buy this stuff for a while because the ads are cool (I love me some good marketing!) and the cause is better (every cent goes to AIDS research). But I had no idea it would look this awesome on me. Viva Glam IV is a warm plum shade with a pearl finish that is perfect for fall. Granted, I'm not Dita Von Teese...but seriously, folks. I love this stuff. I usually oscillate between the 47 or so random lip glosses that live in the bottom of my purse, but these last few days, I've been dipping into my Viva Glam exclusively.

So what are you currently obsessed with? Anything monopolizing all of your time/thoughts/love?

The Great Legging Debate

2007-10-02T07:07:00.000-07:00

Ok, it is 7:08 here, and I'm up blogging. I'm always up at this time, but usually I'm doing my strippercise and eating mass quantities of yogurt. Not typing missives on my super loud keyboard that will probably wake up every child within a 100 yards. So why am I up patiently tapping away? Because I want to know what you, my loyal readers, think about leggings. And footless tights. Because they're basically the same--the second is just a marketing ploy for people who have bad coke flashbacks about the 80's (note: can one have a coke flashback? Probably need to get Lohan on this one.) ANYWAY, I am going to admit here that I absolutely, wholeheartedly love them. In fact, I think I'm going to wear them today with a red shirtdress and gold flats. I think they are fresh, cute, and stylish. And I would sell away a child to have this outfit (and have it look good on me):

I adore that. Absolutely love it. You can't tell from this picture, but the necklace is actually this bomb diggity fleur de lis, and if you know me in real life, you know that I'm a big fan of Marie Antoinette (not the movie--the historical figure) and all things vaguely French revolution. So this outfit is perfect for me on many stands. That said, it would probably make me look like a potato. A potato that's been left in the bin too long and has those really long stalks coming out of it. And when I buy an outfit, I tend to think, "If this makes me look like produce, I'm not all about it." So this is most likely out. But I still love it, and part of that is because of the leggings.

However, on the flip side of this argument are these lovely outfits my mother used to buy me at the Parks Belk in Norton that were basically comprised of hugely floral printed cotton leggings with an enormous, heavy cotton cabeled turtleneck sweater with matching rose print. I had two of them, and they were the first things that I got out of the junior's department. I thought they were the most damn fashionable things in the world. I wore them to a dance competition in Nashville, and walked around with a look of smug superiority that clearly said, "All you bitches better STEP." Interestingly enough, they were pretty much the same premise as this outfit that I love now. It leaves me in a bit of an fashionable existential quandry: Leggings--should they be or not be? Isn't that the question?

So what do you think? Do you heart the footless tights? Or do you despise them? Feel free to rant/rave or just show your blatant love for me either in an email or in the comments.

Show Me Your Raging Love!

2007-09-30T08:13:00.001-07:00

A commenter has brought it to my attention that I now have 4.7 readers rather than 3.7. Awesome! Because I want to be conscious of just how mindblowingly popular I'm really getting, I have created two new ways to get in touch with me. One is a new email address where you may send all of your fashion related questions: cultoftheblacksweater@gmail.com. You can also now click on the Myspace link below and go directly to my profile, where you can ask me to be your friend. Do that. I want more friends. I would also like to know if my 4.7 readers are people I might soon see on To Catch a Predator. To make it even easier, here's that link now: Morgan's profile.

Have a good day, my little truffles. I have to tutor today, but I'll be back tomorrow (hopefully) with a couple of product reviews (recent trip to MAC!) and more of the fashion stuff you've grown to love. Admit it: you love it a little. Just a little? Just an eensy weensy bit?

An Open Letter to Old Navy from Morgan's Ass

2007-09-29T21:27:00.000-07:00

Dear Old Navy,

I know you probably don't get many letters from butts, so I'll try to make this as clear and concise as possible. Here's the thing: what's up with your pants, Old Navy? Morgan has this black pair of cropped pants in a trouser material with a very faint pintstripe that she thinks are totally adorable on her, and I guess in some way they are. They are the only cropped pants I've seen on her that actually end where they are supposed to--i.e., they do not scrape her ankle (Morgan is very short, you see). Plus, the legs are kind of narrow, in a cigarette style way, but they are not tight, and they manage to make her legs look really nice. Maybe it's the pinstriping? I don't know; I digress. The thing is, Old Navy, these pants are super cute. But the problem is, she can't seem to remember that every time she wears them she ends up exposing me to all the world, including the 17 year old boys she spends her days catering to. Isn't that sad, Old Navy? She puts them on, we're both happy, and then half way through the day, the bottom falls out (pun intended). She spends the rest of the day yanking them up, and I spend the rest of the day hiding from the sideways glances from said 17 year old boys.

I write you, Old Navy, because I want you to do something about it. I'm imagining that I am not the only ass betrayed by your pants. I imagine this is a problem that exists, in part, because you refuse to believe that we asses exist. You see, women's asses suffer a sad plight in American fashion. All of you clothing manufacturers seem to think we are more akin to the Loch Ness monster than any other part of the body--one guy spotted one of us once, snapped a picture, but it's been debatable whether we're actually out there or not. I'm writing this letter to tell you that we are out here. Women have butts. Women have nice curvy butts that jut out of the back of their jeans, and entice men (it's one of the myriad ways Morgan attracted her husband, and she has a black Gap skirt suit to thank for it). Sienna Miller may not have a butt, Paris Hilton may not be blessed with an ass, but Real Women do. And I think it's about time you bitches started accounting for that. We, the asses of the world, demand pants that cover us, love us, and define us. We want to be loved, appreciated and flattered, not shoved into the corner like a hideous fairisle sweater (natch). We demand it.

Oh, and Morgan said to tell you that she's actually quite impressed with your new denim line--she's heard lots of things about it. She hasn't bought anything from you (save some tank tops) in quite a while. Clean up your act, and I'll think about letting her go there and buy some more.

Best regards,

Jeanie P. Winchester

aka, Morgan's Butt

A Little About Me...

2007-09-27T12:57:00.000-07:00

I just received a comment to my Britney post, and while I felt like some of it was pretty spot on (I agree that both in the post and in my personal life, I fall into some of the same stereotypical thinking and skewed assumptions that fueled my vitriol about Britney's situation), I realized there are some things/misconceptions that I should probably speak a bit about on here. And because I'm trying to stay away from all sorts of work at the moment (like, say, lesson notes for the past week), here you have it: all kinds of things you probably never wanted to know about me.

1. I am a working mom, with kids aged 8 and (almost) 4. My daughter is a very active third grader who plays soccer, is on student council, and takes creative writing classes. My son is...a typical four year old boy. He makes a mess just about everywhere he goes, he is constantly on the go, and has the ability to stay up for incredibly long hours before finally conking out in a pool of blankets and sweat. Did I mention how much this kid eats? No? It's uncanny. I work for a small company that does test prep (SAT, ACT, SAT II's, etc.); I work in the office during the days and teach one on one lessons at night. I generally start work at 9:00 after dropping the kids off, and have lessons until 7:00 (unless, of course, it's tonight when I'll be going until 10:30! Lord, I can't wait until the October 6 SAT!). I am a very busy girl, but I like being like that--I don't think I would change it if I could. Because of this rather harried lifestyle, I hardly ever go shopping "in person" unless I'm heading to GapKids or Old Navy or something. Most, if not all, of my shopping is done online. I am lucky in that I know what size I am, and am pretty good about returning things if they don't fit the way I like.

2. I am not small. I am between a 12 and 14 (probably more towards the 14 side), depending on where I shop. That said, I don't despise my body. In fact, I think I'm pretty sexy about 80% of the time. My body is what it is. Yeah, I'd probably like to be smaller, but I'm not, so I don't care. I love to cook and eat a range of yummy foods, and I wouldn't change that for anything. My son and I share quality time baking together, so in my eyes, the extra pounds are well worth it. I do work out mostly every morning, and feel like I am in pretty good shape for my size and age. (My work outs are all strippercise and from The S Factor by Sheila Kelly-- I would recommend this to anyone. My husband recently bought me a pole, and let me tell you, nothing works your upper arm wobblies like pole work!). Anytime I talk about clothing that I like or have bought, you should imagine it on my body--a real woman's body.

3. I do not have a ton of money. Yes, I work hard, and make good money for what I do. But I live in the Bay Area, and honey, it ain't cheap. Plus, I did mention how much my son eats.... I do not spend a lot of money on clothes--in fact, I probably spend less than a lot of women I know. I scope out sales, I use hella coupon codes, and yes, I do focus on quality rather than on quantity. No, that doesn't mean that I'll drop $800 on heels because I think they are good quality. To me, quality can come from lots of places, but it's all in the texture, the stitching, the way a garment hangs. I have bought quality items at Target, and I have bought quality items at Nordstrom. I buy very few trends, and I research items before I buy them to make sure I'm getting what I want. That's not to say that I'm a perfect shopping robot--I do make some big mistakes. Case number 1: the frilly front shirt I bought (on sale) from J.Crew last year. I put it on, and my husband said "Oh, so are we dressing as our favorite Seinfeld episodes today? Because I have that "Master of My Domain" shirt." Seriously. But overall, I do quite well for what I have.

All that is part of the reason I write this blog. I am tired of looking at fashion magazines and feeling like shit because I'm chubby and don't have $400 sitting around that I can spend on a scarf. I like reading other blogs (like the ones on the side of this page) that are about women who are in similar predicaments and who are, above all, real. I want to live in a world where fashion is fun for everyone, not just a select few who have spent the last year smoking a cigarette for lunch and squeezing the buttons shut on a Rachel Roy dress.

Further, another reason I write this blog is because I believe that we can all do better with ourselves, myself included. Sometimes, before I buy something, I think about this blog and what my 3.7 readers would have to say about me buying another black long-sleeved t-shirt. Boring, they would say. For God's sake, Morgan, they would yell, eyes rolling. I want my readers to have that voice inside their head too. Maybe it could be...my voice (if it is my voice, make sure it has a drawl...I have a decidedly Southern twang). Maybe when you get up in the morning, and reach for those misshapen khakis, you could say to yourself, "Wow... I could really feel better about myself today if I took the 3.2 extra seconds and put on a skirt." And maybe it could be because you read this blog. I don't know. Like I said, I'm not perfect, I'm not even a good fashion role model. But I do think that we all deserve, no matter what size we are, no matter how much money we have in the bank (or don't have, in my case--thank god for payday tomorrow) to participate in fashion and let ourselves look as good as possible. Really, there's no good excuse for not looking your best. And I hope that if I do anything with this blog (other than waste my own time), it's to get you to think about that.

I was tagged!

2007-09-27T11:28:00.000-07:00

Allie at My Wardrobe Today tagged me for this survey, which is only the bestest thing evah, since I have lessons tonight until 10:30, and am currently holded up in the office, trying my damnedest not to do any work. Seriously. 14 hour work days can suck it, as can most things in my life right now. Whatever. I'm thrilled to do this survey.

Four Jobs I Have Had In My Life
1. barrista at Joe Muggs inside of Books A Million
2. wedding photography assistant
3. server/hostess at a whole bunch of places (and sometimes, strangely enough, I wish I could do it again)
4. jewelry associate at J.C. Penney's (can't hate on the JCP)

Four Movies I Can Watch Over and Over and Over
1. Manhattan
2. Annie Hall
3. Office Space
4. Ghost World

Four TV Shows I Like to Watch
1. America's Next Top Model (guilty pleasure!--me too, Allie. Love Tyra and all those crazy bitches!)
2. Prison Break
3. The Office
4. Grey's Anatomy

Four Places I Have Vacationed
1. Carolina Beach, NC (this has to be first because this is where I spent every summer vacation from my birth until I went to college)
2. New York, NY (the first family vacation Matt and I ever took our kids on--damn did we have some good food!)
3. Lake Tahoe
4. this great country of ours! (Matt and I have spent a couple of vacay's driving across country--by far on of the most fun things I have ever done.)

Four Of My Favorite Dishes
1. BBQ ribs with baked beans and potato salad (to me, this comes all together--can't have one without the others)
2. my mom's Chinese meal--Chinese chicken nuggets, stir-fry, homemade egg rolls, fried rice...YUM!
3. the bento box at Suzhou (I recently got my daughter hooked on sushi, so we're eating at Suzhou quite frequently lately...this is what I always get, and I always love it).
4. my roasted chicken with all the fixings, both because I like to eat and because I love to make it

Four Websites I Visit Daily
1. Gmail
2. Facebook
3. My Wardrobe Today
4. Television Without Pity

Four Places I Would Rather be
1. at home, in my bed with the hubster
2. Stinson Beach so I could finally finish my book
3. Paris
4. shopping with friends

Four Bloggers I am Tagging:
1. Mara at A Photo A Day

2. Winona at Daddy Likey

3. Emily at EmilyStyle
4. Meg at Faking Good Breeding

PG&E Can Suck It, and More About Fall

2007-09-22T10:26:00.000-07:00

Ok, so I am seriously jonesing for some new clothes. Seriously. I have the shakes. I'm half expecting Matt to take me to a Super 8 where I'll find assorted family and friends who'll give me the whole "We love you, but we're not going to love you to death" routine (oooo....Intervention reference--tune in on Friday's bitches! I don't want to be the only one!). Every morning I get up and almost cry at the clothes that are in my closet. I. Have. Nothing. To. Wear. Nothing. My clothes are hideous, the jeans I thought I loved give me some degree of muffin top (even though I seem to be the only one noticing this muffin top), my sweaters have balls on them. I have one semi-ok outfit going on, but you can't wear a corduroy pencil skirt and leopard print heels everyday.

So, I'm sure you're saying, "Well, shut it and go buy some new clothes." But here's the thing. I got no cash. Why? PG&E took it all. For some reason, my husband forgot to pay the electric bill last month or something, and then our house is literally falling apart at the seams, so we ended up with a $731 electric bill this month. For some people this may be normal, but well, it breaks the ole budget for us. Evidently we have to make some repairs on some things in our house so that we're not using so much power. So the rest of my discretionary income has gone for CFL bulbs and weather stripping and little trolls that hop out of the wall and remind my 3 year old to "TURN OFF THAT FREAKING LIGHT!!!" Plus, said 3 year old has a birthday coming up next weekend, so there goes the rest of Morgan's clothes fund. Here's the thing I don't understand: shouldn't I be getting the presents anyway? Sam literally did nothing 4 years ago this coming Saturday, but I managed to give birth to him without pain medication and be nice to all the people who showed up at my house to wish him well AND finish reading and analyzing The Wasteland for class the next week. Shouldn't I get a prize? Like a majestic purple cashmere hoodie from J. Crew? But I digress. (On that note, while I'm doling out the grouchiness, T.S. Eliot can also suck it. He knows why.)

But a girl can dream. I have already decided what I would buy, were I to have scads of discretionary income at my fingertips.

I love this jacket. Do you know what I would do for this jacket? Lots of things. Lots of bad, bad things. Imagine how cute this jacket would be with a brightly colored tee and creased denim? Love it, love it.

I don't need wool trousers. My job and life station are such that I can wear jeans everyday, and don't really need to do anything else. But these just say "Fall" to me. And I want them. Bad.

I want this dress with a turtleneck, dark green tights and boots. I want to wear it with grey sweater tights and my red peep toe pumps with the cone heel. I want to wear it with a big graphic necklace and a purple turtleneck. I want it. I love it.

You know, I thought this would help, but it is in fact making things worse. I'm thisclose to going to find the credit card that we only use for bonafide emergencies (my husband reminds me that this is for food and stuff, not for dresses) and getting the dress. At least. And maybe the jacket.... I'm rethinking my stance on credit cards in general (I have none, and have always strived to keep it that way).

All work and no clothes makes Morg a dull girl.

Fashion Memories--8th Grade Style

2007-09-13T21:15:00.000-07:00

So Winona at Daddy Likey had this contest for the best description of adolescent fashion debauchery. And I was totally gonna enter. I totally felt like I could rack up the prize--which is something as divine as a Boyz II Men cd--and confess to my fashion sins at the same time. But here's the thing: I sat down to write the entry, and then my husband said something about needing the computer, and I got mad and stomped off to the bedroom (I'm a very dramatic wife) where I ate a plate of hot wings, watched Law and Order and fell asleep. And I forgot about it. So this brings us to now. The contest is over. I lost by default. I'm pissed. Mostly because I've never won anything (save a $28 raffle at a showing of The Princess Bride at W&M), but also because I wanted to talk about my fashion sins. And, honey, there are a lot of them.

So, without further adieu, I give you my favorite outfit as a 14 year old, and yes, the one I met my future husband in:

I call it Gothic Preppy Hillbilly with a Dream.

I guess I should explain. My dream as a kid was to be an actress. In New York. Or really anyway that wasn't southwest VA. I thought I looked the part, and by "looked the part" looked appropriately sullen and dangerous. Especially when I wore this ensemble:

Coral pique polo from the Gap that I literally stole out of my stepsister's closet. Seriously. I hated her at the time (I actually hated most people, come to think of it. Except for Billy Joe Armstrong. My future husband.). So I went over to my Dad's one Sunday when she wasn't home, and helped myself to a few polos and a few choice other items (more about that in a bit). So anyway, there was this polo. It was a size large. I was decidedly not large.

I wore this TUCKED IN and BLOUSED OUT into a pair of khaki JNCO pants. These things were skin tight at the top (I actually tucked the shirt into my underwear, which were velvet and from the clearance bins at Victoria's Secret--shoplifted those too) and flared out to a HUGE leg. I could seriously fit my waist into it, and did this as some kind of parlor trick (did I mention that I was slutty too?). I made my mom buy them for me at the Gadzooks in the West Towne Mall in Knoxville. I shopped there because I thought I was badass for getting my mom to drive me three hours to a mall. My mom didn't think I was badass. She thought I'd end up in military school, probably after committing a few misdemeanors.

With this, I wore a pair of Dr. Marten sandals that weighed in at about 2 lbs. each. I know this because my dad weighed them one Sunday in the middle of a Nascar race, and then proceeded to laugh it up with his buddies about my "clodhoppers." And you wonder why I was shoplifting and slutty....whatever. They were brown and made of braided leather. Hot.

Now to make up and hair. Despite my decidedly "New York actress" look, I couldn't get away from the Southern "big hair" thing. I hot rolled my hair every morning into sausage curls. Then I would flip my hair over, shove an accordian band into it while upside down, and then flip my head back up real fast so that everything flew back into a volumized torrent of fuzz and fluff. I would then coat it in half a can of LA Looks aerosol spray. I seriously wore a rats nest for about two years and considered it a style. God bless the South.

As for make-up, this was nothing too bad. My favorite lip gloss was Clinique Black Honey, and this was something my mother actually approved of. I also wore Urban Decay blue nail polish. I kept my nails painted with dark polish for so long that they got deprived of oxygen and turned yellow. Didn't know that can happen? Now you do.

As for jewelry, this was all stolen from my stepsister too. My favorite thing was a sterling silver dolphin ring that looked like it was literally wrapped around my finger. It was too tight, so when I took it off at night it left a red mark shaped like dolphin on my finger. I suffered for my art.

And this is the look that made my husband look at me one day at a PACE match and say, "I'm going to marry that girl." Actually, I think what he said was more like, "Dude, that chick has a nice rack." Because I did. And I still do. Some things, unlike bad fashion choices, never change.

Just Another Blogger Writing About Britney

2007-09-11T20:24:00.000-07:00

Do you see this woman? This is a woman who, in the last two years, has given birth twice, been to rehab, been through a divorce, had her love of Cheetos publicly documented, been investigated by Child Protective Services, broken a relationship with her mother, been through countless assistants/manny's/security folk, gobbed up her set of falsies while crying to Matt Lauer, and countless other things that you or I cannot even begin to imagine. Is it her fault? Partly yes. Is she a smart, talented, amazing person, worthy of fascination and adulation? No, not really. You can say lots of things about Britney Spears, but one thing you cannot say is that she is fat. Had I been through all that she has been through in the past two years, I would have to use a crane as my major mode of transport. Hell, I've just been through the "having two kids" part (and even that I've stretched out over 9 years) and I would love to have the body that Britney displayed at the VMA's. Yet when I logged on to my computer this afternoon, ready to read about the news of the world, I was confronted by an article in the San Francisco Chronicle detailing how fat Britney Spears has become, and how this giant, flabby beast has ruined her career, life, and the life of those who happened to see her performance just for being so darn chubby. (Ok, so that's a bit of an exaggeration, but that's the general feeling I get reading the countless articles on the internet written about Ms. Spears' love handles. )

Now, I'll be the first to agree that Britney's outfit was a bit...unforgiving. However, Britney has never been a bastion of class. This is the same girl who writhed around in a chiffon bikini with a snake around her neck. Not exactly Jackie O. So, really, nothing's changed. If you thought she was slutty before she had two children, well, newsflash, folks...she still is. However, if you thought she was hot before she had two children, here's the thing: she still is. I'll admit here for the first time ever: I would give my two eye teeth to look like her. Britney is just hot in a different way now: hot in a decidedly un-17-year-old, grown-up, I-just-had-two-kids-but-I-still-work-out-a-lot-and-have-genes-you-peons-only-dream-about way.

Normally, this kind of thing would not spur me to be angry and write long blog posts in which I defend people who really don't deserve my defense, but tonight I went to a Pizza in the Park event at my daughter's school. This is a yearly event where every kid brings their parents to the park where we sit like some kind of bizarre show and tell and watch our children play. It's excruciating. Perhaps because I am a good 10 years younger than most of the parents there (in some cases, it's more like 20-25), perhaps because I'm very set in my ways as far as how I like to look, work, and raise my children, whatever the reason, I very nearly despise having to sit on a cold blanket in the park, eating greasy pizza and trying to make conversation with some PTA denizen who just spent the workday ironing her son's name into the collar of his polo shirt. Perhaps that sounds cruel, but seriously people, you haven't spent any time with the parents at my daughter's school. Ick. Anyway, tonight, however, I took a good look at the women around me. I was one of the very few working mother's in attendance (we live in a very WASP-y, domestic neighborhood--especially for Norcal). I was also one of the few who had brushed her hair in the last week. Women sat around me wearing misshapen khaki capris (the piece of clothing I'm sure Satan's wife wears in Hell), sweatpants, and Keds (and not the kind you see Mischa Barton modeling--the white canvas ones that God forgot). Normally I would come home and make snide comments about these women to my husband whilst thumbing through Glamour, secretly wishing I had their kind of time, their lack of worries. Tonight, I'm just not in the mood.

And mostly because of Britney. I sat there looking at those women, thinking that their husbands were maybe still in the city, screwing the secretary, and wishing that they didn't have to come home to their white bread life of khaki capris and minivans. Maybe their husbands want someone sexier to return home to. Maybe these wives want to be sexy too, to go to the mall and buy something that fits and model it while feeding their children transfats and throwing caution to the wind. But why would they? Someone who is thinner than them, younger than them, richer than them was on TV last night in a sexy get-up, and everyone calls her fat now. Why would they (why would any of us) want to suffer a similar fate? Through Britney, our society has reminded all the mothers, all the girls, all of us that we're never really going to be good enough. No matter how rich you are, no matter how much weight you lose, no matter how many bags of Cheetos you eschew for rice cakes--you may still be that girl, teetering in her high heels, looking for love and getting a facefull of fat jokes in return.

That sucks. I have no solution to offer, no witty life lesson to share. Our society is telling women horrible things about our bodies, about ourselves, about our fellow women. And it sucks. I hope you think it sucks too.

Cheap Thrills

2007-09-06T21:48:00.000-07:00

So for someone who doesn't have a lot of cash, I sure have expensive tastes. Luckily, make-up is the only place where I indulge these exorbitant tastes. In fact, I never miss an opportunity to indulge them. And I justify every purchase like a champ...I once told my husband that DiorShow mascara cures cancer, AIDS and the common cold, and the only reason he hadn't had cancer/AIDS/recent colds is because I wear it. And that's not an out and out lie...in my eyes DiorShow does cure many of the world's wrongs, and if everyone in the world wore DiorShow, life would be much more manageable. I feel the same way about most of the things that Benefit makes and J.Crew featherweight merino v-neck sweaters (note: I just got a divine purple one. I put it on and feel like the totally awesome love child of Prince and J. Peterman--mostly because he's the only person I can think of who I feel would love merino wool as much as me).

That said, it should come as no surprise that I don't dabble that much in drugstore make-up. I will pick up a lipgloss now and again because I chronically lose lipglosses, but I hardly ever buy anything else. This is not necessarily because I'm a horrible, materialistic label whore of a person. Growing up, I had very, very pale skin, and just couldn't find foundation in cheap brands. Or, rather, I guess I could, but they all made me look like an Oompah Loompah. So, because she did not want to live with someone who regularly swims in chocolate rivers, my mother would take me on a monthly pilgrimage to the Prescriptives counter to buy my foundation. And the Clinique counter. And then the Lancome. What can I say? We both love make-up. I have very fond memories of visiting the Kingsport mall Proffitts with nothing but an empty afternoon spreading before us, getting free make-overs from the bored salesladies, and indulging in moisturizers and this and that. It was a treat. At age 13, I remember thinking that real rebellion was more about Maybelline Ultraliner and Great Lash Mascara than my pot smoking, Nirvana worshipping 18 year old boyfriend (a fact that I'm sure my mother sorely disagreed with).

So imagine my surprise that I have revisited the Maybelline counter, and have had some pretty damn fine results. It has actually happened on three seperate occasions, thus you're getting three product reviews tonight (rock on!). Our first product.....

Maybelline Superstay Foundation--Alright my little pelmenis, let it be said that I have a hard time with foundation. And I'm also the kiss of death when it comes to one that I like--I decide that I love it, can't live without it, and then two weeks later it is discontinued. The funny thing about this one is, I don't know quite why I bought it. I don't even really remember buying it. I think I got it at Target...maybe I was drunk? Just kidding--I don't get drunk very often (despite the rather authoritative voice I used in the last post...). Whatever. I bought this stuff with a near full thing of BareMinerals at home, as well as a nearly 1/4 full bottle of MAC Mineralsomethingorother Liquid Foundation. So I didn't need foundation. But for whatever reason, I bought this. And it is actually nice. Really nice. First off, it matches my skin tone, which is not the miraculous happening it used to be--my skin has wisened with age and is a bit darker since I moved to CA and determined that books don't necessarily have to be read in a dark room whilst listening to Nirvana's Unplugged in New York and sobbing. And it lasts. That Superstay thing? Not a marketing ploy. This stuff does last. Perhaps it's the attached primer like substance? Perhaps its the fact that its probably made of carcinogens and the powder of ground up horse bones (I'm a real make-up elitist, aren't I)? Whatever reason, this stuff is damn fine. And it costs something like $8 or so. A good deal.

An even better deal? This little pot of blush I bought off the clearance end cap at Long's for about $2.49. Maybelline Dream Mousse Blush is a cute little cream blush that comes in standard blush colors and provides an airy touch to your makeup. Of course, you can't find the color I bought anymore--it's strawberry something if you want to rebel and look for it anyway--because it is discontinued (thus my rock bottom price). The thing is though, this is good blush. It provides a sheer wash of color that is very translucent, and "like your cheeks, only better." So it's probably good even in a non-discontinued color (and not a whole ton more expensive). Just make sure that you're only using a bit. I'm betting this stuff could take you from zero to Baby Jane in 3.2 seconds flat. Not that I've tried. But as long as you're careful, try it out. Just steer clear of this foundation (the Dream Mousse kind). My mom bought some when she was hungry once (it's called a mousse, you see, and we're big French dessert lovers, my mom and I) and it made her look like a drag queen. A cheap one. With a make-up line. Yugh.

Finally, we come to my newest (ok, probably not newest...I'd be embarassed to admit how many lipglosses I've bought since I bought this one) lipgloss purchase....Maybelline Shine Seduction Something or Other. I actually bought this when my mom was in town and I was at Long's getting medication for my kidney infection. TMI? Maybe. Anyway, I saw it and thought it looked like the poorer girl's version of Revlon LipGlide, a cheap thrill that I also have in my arsenal. And I bought it. In the color Pink Whisper. And here's the cool thing...it totally eradicates the one thing I dislike about Revlon Lipglide--the little white fuzzy thing at the top that the lip stuff shoots out of. You know that thing? I hate it. Why? Because when you buy it, it's all pure and white and cute, and then the lipgloss comes squirting out of the little holes in the top, and it's such a good junxtaposition between the lipgloss and the white...and then you smush it on your lips, and it is never white again. Maybelline Shine Seduction takes that problem away because your lipgloss comes shooting out of a clear plastic applicator. And that's not all...I would consider this a light lipgloss in that it is not sticky or heavy, and feels pretty natural on the lips. And the color is pretty. Pink Whisper is a "like your lips only prettier" shade that is just a bit shiny, not overwhelmingly I-just-put-on-lipgloss obvious. I like it. My only complaint is that for some reason, the smell reminds me of this anti-bug oil that my grandmother used to put on me when it was summer and we went to visit my aunt at Boone Lake. Not a good smell. I mean, it's not blatantly obvious, and it could just be me. In fact, it is most likely just me, because this afternoon when I got home from work, my lips still full of Maybelline (and probably botulism), my husband gave me a big kiss, and then commented that my lips tasted nice. Which is totally unlike him. You know how much I love lipgloss? Yeah, Matt hates it just about the same amount. Which makes for an interesting marriage, let me tell you.

So that's that. Maybelline products are good. They are not made out of horse hooves and infectious disease. You should buy some. More product reviews later, of more expensive things that make me feel like a douche for owning them.

How to Cure a Hangover in ___ Easy Steps

2007-09-03T10:50:00.000-07:00

So this morning I am a bit hungover, which is neither fashionable nor sexy, unless of course you are Lindsey Lohan, and then it's just fine. Don't change, Lindsey! We love your nasty coke-addled ways! Anyway, I have a bit of a hangover, which is totally my fault. I am a very, very stupid drinker, but while I am doing it, I think I'm being very smart/responsible. Take last night for instance. I went to my friend Lisa's party (more on that later), and I drank her delicious white wine sangria and ate myself into a rather Bacchian revelry. However, knowing that I had to drive home, and I was in my husband's car, and thus should not abandon it beside the Oakland street where I had parked it in order to take a cab, I stopped my drinking at a responsible time, opting to stuff my face with chocolate cake and cold carne asada instead. I made it home ok, which was a minor miracle, and then proceeded to be an idiot. See, when I got home, I was sneezing because of a mixture of smoke and cat hair inhalation, so I had to take a Claritin, and sometimes Claritin makes me giddy, so I decided to wash it down with beer. Lots of beer. So I basically stayed up, watching Hogan Knows Best and drinking by myself, until I just passed out/fell asleep. If that doesn't sound like a premise for a bad episode of Intervention, I don't know what does. So anyway, all things aside, I'm feeling gross today.

Or rather, I was feeling gross until I enacted my awesome hangover cure that I am going to write about here, and that will almost certainly make me a millionaire before nightfall! Below are the steps I used to make myself feel like a functioning member of society.

1. If you are hungover, endeavor to get up before everyone else in your family so that you can prepare yourself and look sorta alive before they get up. It's for the children, you see. This is relatively easy for me, as Matt and I are raising a couple of vampires whose skin sizzles if they manage to get out of bed before 10:30. My son, Sam, is especially prone to this. If you get up before everyone else does, you have the house to yourself for a little while, and you can operate with the blessed silence that so eludes a mother of two. Plus, the first thing you hear in the morning doesn't have to be "Why does Mommy smell like feet?" and the first thing you smell doesn't have to be urine soaked pajama cotton.

2. Get yourself to the bathroom. You stink, and your hair looks like shit. Congratulations. You now know what Kevin Federline woke up to for two years. Don't you think he should get a bit more money for his time and suffering? Run a bath, and put in two capfuls of Boots Mediterranean Bergamot Orange & Olive Bath Cream (I thought this would be a great spot for a link or a picture, but Target doesn't sell this online. It's now time for me to write my Congressman about this injustice). This stuff is awesome. First off, it smells really nice, but in a fresh, herby way, not a way that is going to make you revisit the mounds of carne asada you had the night before. It also makes bubbles. Bubbles make you clean. Even if your entire body is covered in cocaine and feces, and you look like a teenage prostitute from an old episode of Law and Order, this will make you clean. You will emerge smelling fresh, and this uplifts your mood. So instead of wishing that the entire Hogan family would be wiped out in a catastrophic, Miami bound tsunami, you will only consider them mildly annoying. See how that works?

3. Prepare two important items: a cold, wet wash cloth for your head, and a stack of magazines. The wash cloth helps with the ensuing headache, plus, if you're like me and run your bath water at near boiling temperatures, it will cool you down. For magazines, I like Real Simple because it is wholesome and the pictures are pretty. It kind of eases me back into my nice, debauchery free life. However, if you're still feeling a bit dirty, you have to have Cosmo. And you know you have an old copy somewhere. Everyone does.

4. Get in the tub, and soak until you get pruney. Watch the nastiness go down the drain. Stay where you are. If worse comes to worst and you have to puke, you're closer to the toilet in the bath than you are anywhere else.

5. Get out and dry off. Coat yourself in some kind of body butter. Again, this is just about bringing yourself back to life. Try to pick one that is the opposite of whatever you drank the night before. For example, since I drank about half of Lisa's pitcher of white wine sangria, a fruity, light beverage, I coated myself in The Body Shop's Coconut Body Butter, a rich, softening cream. This distanced me from my night-time activities, and made me smell good.

6. Put on something comfortable and wholesome looking. You'll feel better if no one is asking you about the night before. Put that out of their minds. I am wearing yoga pants with a white lace trimmed Banana Republic t-shirt. It's so sweet! I could be Little Bo Peep who lost her sheep while drinking with the boy shepherds!

Ok, that's all I can think of, and that's all I've actually done today. I still feel a bit crappy, but it could be worse. I could look like Linda Hogan. No matter how drunk I am, that woman just gets uglier and uglier.

And if you were at the party last night and managed to make it here after Lisa drunkenly advised everyone to go to "Morgan's blog called Cult of the Black Hole," congratulations. You're obviously very dedicated to reading crap. Also, you have too much time on your hands. Want to come over here and clean my living room? It's nasty, and I've got some Guitar Hero to deal with.

Finally, thanks to Allie at My Wardrobe Today (if that link doesn't work, just try to overlook it. I'm hungover. Don't judge.) who linked me to her wonderful site. I get a ton of inspiration from Allie, so to be linked there is a huge honor. When I read her comment this morning, I seriously got all choked up. Again, I'm hungover. Don't judge.

A Product Review a Day Keeps the Ugliness Away

2007-09-02T10:22:00.000-07:00

If you only knew how bad I have been lately, you would probably ask me to seek professional help. I have bought a PILE of make-up lately. A PILE. I'm not really sure why--I'm going to blame it on the marketing folks who shove "Back to School Shopping" down our throats--but for some reason, I have just wanted new make-up lately. So I've gotten it. A lot of it. That means that in order to justify my purchases (journalistic integrity! a desire to inform the uninformed!), I'm going to be on here a lot talking about the things I've bought. So expect it, my little mini quiches! Nothing but the best for my 3.5 readers!

Today I'm talking about "That Gal" Brightening Face Primer, which was actually the first thing I bought a couple of weeks ago. I bought That Gal after my mom came out to visit, and showed me how awesome it is. She had bought some, and found that it made her "mature" skin (her word, not mine--when I think mature skin, I think of skin that is now allowed to watch NC-17 movies) look better both while wearing make-up and not wearing it. When I first tried hers, I wasn't sure that I thought it was that great, but she kept commenting me on my skin, so I assumed it must look nice. But I think they put meth in this stuff or something, because it is rather addictive (and it made my teeth fall out!--just kidding). After trying it that one day, I took my time layering it on the next, and notice that even without a veil of Bare Minerals, my skin looked nice. Kind of bright, and well, young. I decided to go without make-up that day, and while I ordinarily go next to nowhere without make-up, I looked nice that day. So I ordered my own tube.

Now, ordering from Benefit is absolutely awesome. First off, their packaging is so cute and cheeky that I love leaving the products out on my vanity for all to admire (and by "all", I mean "Matt"). Their website is just that cute. Plus, when you sign up for their email alerts, you get all of these cute emails that start of with a greeting of "Hello Gorgeous!" or something equally as cute. Now, I know I'm gullible and totally taken with this stuff, but you try to tell me that getting an email with "Hello Gorgeous!" written on the top on a Monday morning when you're dealing with wealthy, overindulged parents and their catatonic offspring is not a little awesome/uplifting. Finally, when Benefit gives promotions, they give PROMOTIONS. This month in Lucky (yes, I read Lucky. Shut up.), there was a coupon for them and if you ordered anything, you got a free Bluff Dust (review pending). Full size. Free. I got a bottle of High Beam this way, so I was on this crap. I ordered my That Gal, and prepared for gorgeousness.

And, I can't complain. It does give your skin a nice, youthful glow, and despite the fact that the stuff is pink (like Calamine lotion) it does not make your face look red or gross or anything. I have been wearing it sans make-up, as it has been hot here, and I can't imagine putting on another layer of anything, even Bare Minerals, but when I have worn it with make-up, I've noticed that it does keep your make-up around longer.

My only complaint is the way it is packaged. It's in this twist-up tube, like some sort of cosmetic push up. You roll the bottom wheel, and a little bit of lotion pops up at the top. You wipe it off the top, and then slather it on. That's all fine, but being the dumb ass that I am, I totally roll it the wrong way everytime. And then it goes down even farther in the tube, which means I have to roll it the right way for a hella long time to get the product back up. That's kind of blow-y.

But all in all, this stuff rocks. I actually like it better than Smashbox Primer, which admittedly, I've only used 4-5 times (when I've gotten it as a free sample from Sephora). This stuff is good, even without make-up, and I never noticed that with the Smashbox (which again, may relate to my not using it that much). I'm also very partial to Benefit cosmetics, so that probably plays into it too.

Ok, this is the first of many, so prepare yourself. It's a Cosmetics-apalooza at the Cult!

I'm Half the Fashionista I Used to Be

2007-08-21T22:12:00.000-07:00

Today I did something that I thought I would never do. I did something that makes me a hypocrite in the worst way, something that makes me question my devotion to everything I hold dear to me, something that I might never get over.

Today, I wore a dress over a pair of pants.

That is not me, by the way. That is a picture of some starlet that I found over at Go Fug Yourself.

Up until today, I felt the same away as the Fug Girls about wearing dresses over pants. I thought it was at best stupid and at worst unhinged. But then Allie at My Wardrobe Today (I am trying to link that, but the links are being weird--it's making my whole paragraph blue. It's my technical stupidity, I'm sure. So if the link doesn't work...sorry.) wore a dress over jeans while on vacation and it also looked a lot cuter than what we see above, so this morning when I couldn't find anything to match the new headband I got on the clearance rack at Target last night, I went for my green shift. The thing is, I had four students today, and if I wear the shift by itself, I have to wear heels. I knew my legs could not take both the students and the heels all day. I also knew that I had a kind of sheltered, pervy kid today, and a shorter dress is probably more of a "Don't threaten me with a good time" look rather than a look that says, "If the subject is plural, the verb had to be plural too!". So I put on my Gap Curvy Bootcuts, some big ole gold hoops, a bunch of bangles and my brown stacked flops from J.Crew. I checked the mirror. Like I said, the dress is kind of short--if I'm not careful and am not wearing the jeans you can be my gynecologist if you so desire. It kind of looked worldly, especially with my brown and ivory zebra print headband. I could be a hip globetrotting writer...or a standardized test tutor. I smacked on some lipgloss and headed out the door.

The day went well. No one commented, although what can you expect from a group who thinks the white Chuck Taylors count as dress shoes? Then I got home from my last lesson, came home and stretched out on my bed, and gazed at the husband. This is our conversation, as verbatim as I can remember it:

Matt: What are you wearing? Is that a dress over pants?

Me: Yeah, well....it's a short dress. Over pants.

Matt: I thought you hate that.

Me: Well, I do, I guess (pretend to be interested in American Justice).

Matt: Then why are you wearing it? It looks kind of weird.

Me: What do you mean "weird"?

Matt: You know that girl we knew who lived in the French house and smoked clove cigarettes? That girl who used to write weird things on her boobs? The one that wore the fur boots and said the word "existential" a lot. You look like her.

Me: (sigh, evil look, the sound of sudden acquisition of horrible headache for the next five nights)

Matt: Just so you know, that's not a good thing. (Looks at me). I'll be quiet now.

Back to American Justice. I really think Mumia killed that dude.

Anyway, I guess I'm not wearing this outfit again. It's a shame too, because it was really comfortable.

I guess that brings us to fashion rule numero uno: looking good doesn't necessarily feel good. And fashion rule numero two: husbands suck.

A Trip to The Village

2007-08-19T21:03:00.000-07:00

First off, before I talk about my trip to a fancy-dancy mall, let me say that, growing up, my house, was right behind a motel called "The Village." It was a classy place, mostly catering to the men who worked for the power company, and pastors sleeping with the more dedicated members of their congregations. The thing I remember most about it is the sign in the front that never failed to have at least one light burned out, so it was always "T e V ll g ote" or somethng else as vague. When I learned to read, I would always very cleverly point out the missing letters, and what I thought the sign now said, punctuating things with a loud guffaw at my own humor. My mom would always purse her lips, and probably curse The Village under her breath. At the time, I thought she thought I was witty. Now that I'm older and a mother myself, I'm surprised she didn't call more babysitters.

Anyway, that is what I think of when I think "The Village," not a fancy mall. But today, because I had a student cancel on me, and because I can think of nothing I would rather do than sashay around a fancy mall whilst charging a hefty missed lesson fee, I visited the second Village, the one "at Corte Madera." Now, let me explain something: I work in Marin County, and I do all of my tutoring there, but I don't live there. There's one reason for that: I'm much, much too poor. Marin County is the place good yuppies go when Daddy dies. And, were I to have a rich relative who decided to kick it in the next two years or so, it is where I would most certainly buy a place. So, because of my poorness, I like to gaze at Marin Co. from afar, and once in awhile, pretend that I am cool enough to live there. That was my plan today. I walked into The Village, wearing my totally awesome leopard print flats (no one can tell they are from Target), and stalked around like it was for sale and the rent was due tonight. I either looked totally awesome, or like a raving idiot. But my hair looked damn good, so let's say "awesome."

There are a few things to think about when visiting a fancy mall. First off, there's no Auntie Anne's, and that blows. Second, you can't buy a freaking Philly cheesesteak anywhere. Third, (and I promise this is not about food), there are no Spencer's Gifts or any of those stores that sell nothing but athletic shoes and purple suits. It's something to get used to. But the good news is, you get Nordstrom instead. And, friends, there are no amounts of black light posters, incense, or fatty sandwiches that can equal the majesty that is a Nordstrom. More about that in a bit.

Here are the things that I don't like about fancy malls: 1) the sale section in Anthropologie, 2) the lack of food, 3) the fact that these people seem have eschewed air conditioners and fountains in favor of an outdoor "village feel," 4) the fact that no matter what I have on, I feel under dressed. Since most of those are self-explanatory, allow me to rant briefly on #1.

I have been to two Anthropologie's now--the one in Berkeley and the one in Corte Madera. I have bought quite a few things at the one in Berkeley, and most of them have been on sale. The sale section there is in a closet sized room, but the workers there are mostly students at UC, and are pretty nice and helpful. You can go in, find something, tell them what size you need, and they get it, show you something that will match, and then escort you out and to a dressing room. It's a nice experience. Not so at the Corte Madera store. First off, the sale section is again in a closet sized room, but I felt better of it because a few sale items had spilled out into the store at large, so things looked nice. That's before I stepped into The Room. The Room was roughly two degrees less than the surface of the sun. I don't know how it got so hot--maybe it was the lack of windows and the yards and yards of unwanted fabric lining the walls and floors in haphazard heaps. Maybe it was the sweaty, unwashed bodies of the poor being forced in like cattle. Inside The Room, girls worked elbow to elbow pulling out skirts and holding them up like silks at a bazaar. And because this is a great melting pot of a country, and an even greater melting pot of a region, no one in The Room spoke the same language. I definitely heard Spanish, German, and something that sounded Scandinavian while looking for a kimono dress. I know you're thinking that that's a misapproximation, but I'm being totally serious. This, with the heat and the many tongues, was like the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory of shopping. I finally found a dress in my size, and for the lovely, lovely price of $49.95, and fought my way out to take it to the dressing room. Once I got out, I looked for any available salesperson to perhaps show me to the dressing room. There were none. I finally saw one girl, but when I walked over to her, she turned around and started talking to someone else. I must have stood there for 10 minutes, my body heavy with the scent of The Room and poorness. Finally, I gave up, went back into The Room, where I shoved the dress onto a rack, and got the hell out. That kind of pisses me off. There's a shirt that I want from the Anthropologie website (and it's full price, natch), but something about the whole experience left me a little....hmmm...I don't know.

I didn't feel so poor and unwashed, however, when I stepped into Nordstrom. Nordstrom is the store I go to to wash off every bad shopping experience I've ever had. I luff me some Nordstrom. And I found my mod little jacket with the big buttons! I am so excited. Of course, it is still in the car, because I'm going to need to show my husband how cute I am in it before I tell him how much I paid for it....anyway, I may take a picture of it, as I am so happy with it.

My trip to The Village ended up a caesar salad and an iced tea at Boudin. It was a nice day, as most days are that end up with iced tea.

More Blatant Evidence That the Universe Does Not Want Me to Be Sexy

2007-08-07T11:40:00.000-07:00

The world evidently has no use for sexy standardized test extraordinnaires, because once again, cosmic intervention is showing me that it's not meant for me to be sexy.

My mom is coming to town, so this morning I got up a whole hour before I had to go to work, took a nice long shower, BLOW DRIED MY FREAKING HAIR, and did my make up with appropriate amounts of blush so that I will not be deemed "pale" by said mom. I then put on the snakeskin pumps that you see about two posts down, a cute top, the only jeans that fit, and jangly earrings. I felt that I totally looked the part of successful, bicoastal daughter.

Except for the fact that I'm not.

Yes, the universe reminded me of that. The heels on these shoes are freaking thin. No sooner had I walked out the door that I started to tumble down the porch. Nice. I recovered, and walked down the walk to my car, where I totally wiped out on the sidewalk, scraping my ankle all to hell and dumping several key items out of my purse in the process. Now, I'm not going to claim that I'm the world's best at wearing heels, but I've done it enough to where falling twice in about a 30 second span of time is not normal.

So I get in the car, and put on my Ipod, as I figure that I need to pep myself back up into sexy fighting form. I sing to a mixture of Jet, Peaches, and Christina Aguilera on the way over the bridge. I am back. I am again fierce. I keep the Ipod on, and walk into the building, trying to imagine that I am on a catwalk with Ms. Jay from ANTM and he is wearing something appropriately ridiculous and probably involving feathers. I am walking like it is for sale and the rent is due tonight. Again, feeling good.

Yeah, but then, there's this work thing. And there are two of us in the office today. So it's busy (and yes, I know I shouldn't be taking out the time to type this, SHUT UP). To make matters worse, I started feeling weird. So now I'm quite sure that I have a urinary tract infection, which is about the most unsexy thing that one could get, except for maybe genital herpes, but even that has those commercials where good looking people talk about having outbreaks and crap, and hell, even Paris Hilton has freaking herpes. So I'm sitting here, twitching in my office chair, and twitching is not sexy.

I would growl, but I don't think that is sexy either.

To this, I only these words to say: What the hell, universe? What the hell? What do I have to do for you, you fickle bitch? Is it because I watch Rock of Love? Should I be spending my time in a soup kitchen instead? Goddammit, I spend way too much of my time with teenagers, don't I deserve to have a little adult fun?

I'm going to the bathroom now. On the way there, I'm going to try to be sexy. Which means I will fall. Most likely in front of some janitors or something.

Va Va Voom Lips, and Why I'm Hopelessly Unsexy

2007-08-03T10:16:00.000-07:00

So anyone who knows me personally knows at least two things about me. 1) I'm gullible enough to be taken into just about any marketing ploy and 2) I'm a slut at heart. Not that I'm promiscuous or anything--I'm married to my high school sweetheart, and prefer to keep it that way, but I definitely have a predilection towards the sluttier looks and actions in life. I think it is because my hero is one Blanche Devereaux. Whatever. But anyway, with me, it's always the more cleavage the better, and I love to pine away looking at black pencil skirts and back seam fishnet hose.

Part of this look is, of course, red lips. I, however, have never owned a tube of red lipstick, and have always felt hopelessly scared by the stuff. Even though I have read countless fashion magazine articles about how to pull it off, I've always imagined myself buying it, putting it on, and then wham bam thank you ma'am--I'm transformed into Baby Jane. Although playing the part of Baby Jane won me some high school accolades in a drama competition (I went all out, bitches--you should have seen my hair), this is not a look I would like to revisit.

So imagine my excitement at finding Cover Girl's Tru Shine lipcolor collection, a collection that promises to match my skin tone and flatter my lips with any shade. It promises! It even says something about flattering 97% of skin tones. Now, if they had said 100%, I would have called bullshit, and perhaps I wouldn't have bought the product. But 97% sounds scientific, like this was all done in a lab, and out of their 100 models, three looked like ass, so they called it a day and slapped this 97% guarantee on it. It seems honest. Of course, I snap up Valentine Shine, which is a red lipstick. Hey, it promised! Va va va voom lips for the Morgan McSluttygirl!

So I buy the product, and on a day when I'm wearing all black, and thus need a pop, I pull it out. First off, putting lipstick on is a lot harder than I thought it was. To be quite honest, I never buy it--I always buy gloss, but I didn't think there was any huge change. Here's the deal though--you can't put lipstick on while hurdling toward the Richmond bridge at 70 mph. It requires precise detail--it requires for you to be stopped, and in front of a mirror, and possibly, with some sort of degree in lipstick application technology. So, while in line at the toll plaza, I pull out the tube and put it on, as carefully as possible. I mean, I'm not an expert, and I could tell I messed up a little at the top because my lips no longer had that little dip at the top center (what is that called?), but overall, it looked pretty good. And my lips were red!!! Really, really, red. I thought it looked fantastic. I handed my $4 over to the toll dude, smiled at him perhaps a little more than usual, and drove into Marin Co. knowing that I was sluttastically gorgeous.

And everything was going fine--I had a little spring in my step all that morning. I had an early morning student, and after meeting with her, went to the bathroom, and that's when I realized that my lips were no longer red. They were more like magenta. I kind of looked like one of those old women at the nursing home who is left to her own devices perhaps a bit more than she should be, and keeps layering on that one tube of Estee Lauder lipstick she bought in in 1984. Yes, that was me. The magenta was not cool. And not slutty.

So here are my theories: 1) Cover Girl knows that I am a pretender to the Devereaux throne, and feels that I can't handle red, so they downgraded me to magenta for my own good, 2) I'm one of the 3% of people who look like ass in this stuff or 3) I just really don't understand this lipstick thing. Perhaps if I had spent more time in applying it? I'm not sure. I mean, the product is actually nice--it's creamy, and has a nice shine to it, and the little silver tube is cute enough. But the color is just not for me. I think I'll try it a couple more times, and if it still doesn't work, well, there goes my hopes and dreams for sluttiness.

Oh well. I guess there is a place out there for bookish looking SAT tutors who aspire to red lips and back seam hose. I'm still holding on to the dream though!

Every Shoe, Every Color

2007-07-30T23:37:00.000-07:00

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

2007-07-28T11:38:00.000-07:00

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!

2007-07-20T20:08:00.001-07:00

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!

2007-07-17T21:07:00.000-07:00

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.

New Job, New Look, New Problems

2007-06-26T06:39:00.000-07:00

So, here's the thing: I quit my job. I got stressed, which is tres unfashionable, and I realized that something had to give. I picked the thing that I liked least (which was obviously not this blog--wonderful for you, gentle reader), and I quit it. I suppose I was rather dramatic about it. But what do you expect for someone who writes an unread fashion blog and plots her outfits like an assassin?

Lest you think I'm sitting around the house eating bonbons and wearing stretch pants, never fear, I have a new, fabulous job at the tutoring agency I have worked with for a while now. I totally lucked into the job--I keep thinking that in a minute I'm going to wake up and be unemployed, and well, wearing stretch pants. Hopefully, that won't happen. But until it does, I, of course, have to dress for the new job.

Those of you who knew me at my previous post know that I spent just about everyday trying to be as fabulous as possible. Picking out my clothes was basically the most cerebral thing I did all day. Plus, the job necessitated a nice look. However, now my situation is most definitely changed. The place I work is casual to say the least. Moreover, it is upstairs, which doesn't sound like much, but if you are used to wearing 4 inch heels, you notice things like this. It's the kind of place where stilettos are more than a little out of place.

Take yesterday for example. Yesterday was my first day. Given that I've worked there for a while, just in another capacity, I knew to be casual. Casual to me was my black J. Crew jersey tank dress, a green J. Crew cardigan, heeled flip flops, and a black and white scarf tied in my hair. To me, that says casual yet cute, with a touch of je ne sais quoi. I walk in and my fellow co-workers are wearing corduroys, a hooded tee and Chuck Taylors and a polo, jeans and flip flops respectively. So I'm looking a bit odd, comparatively.

Hence my quandry: what does one wear that is casual, comfortable, and well, not fancy? I am utterly stumped. However, I like being stumped like this because it requires me to go shopping....he he. I have already called and lamented my case to my mother, who thought it imperative that I go out and buy something lovely ASAP.

What do you think? Any ideas about what I should wear? Obviously, I am very open to suggestions!

I'm On a Conference Call, So I Guess It's Time for Another Post

2007-06-14T12:38:00.000-07:00

Every month, I go on a PR call, a call that I lovingly refer to as "The biggest one hour waste of my life I have ever encountered." Why? Because it's basically just 30-60 minutes of people trying to disguise their really, really dumb ideas with corporate pseudo-talk. It sucks.

So, in order to keep from actually falling asleep at my desk, I will update. Again, I have been called away from regular updates by Gabby's end of school excitements plus a whole crapload of work that I could choose to rant about here, but I won't. I also have been rather called away from looking fashionable at all. I've not been sleeping well lately, so perhaps that is why, and also, my three year old washed my contacts down the drain in a misguided effort to "wash dishes" in the bathroom sink. Therefore, I have not been at my most fashionable lately.

The penultimate degree of this nastiness was on Tuesday. I wasn't feeling fashionable on Tuesday. Not. At. All. Luckily, I have a closet full of things that I can mix and match easily, and that are easy care and do not require a lot of turmoil to wear. I jacked around that morning, watching a TiVoed episode of Grey's Anatomy and that kind of thing, but managed to slip into a denim pencil skirt, a blue v-neck sweater, and an eyelet cami before slipping on my brown wedges and running out the door. The thing was, however, was that my make up consisted of some tinted moisturizer, a swipe of Dallas blush, and some Burt's Bees lip balm, and my hair was actually still wet from a quick shower. I really didn't mind all of this--I have come to work looking way worse--but when I got here, I realized that our national PR guy (actually the guy who runs this hateful call every month) was in town visiting. And who does he want to meet with? Why, besides my boss, little old me, of course. All of a sudden I felt like an absolute troll. Although I only ended up having a short 15 minute or so meeting with him, I spent my day feeling uncomfortable, grouchy, and a little unhinged. Moreover, I wasn't confident with myself at all, and I think this affected the way I interacted with him.

Still feeling tired yesterday, I wore what I consider to be "The Chunky Girl Uniform." To me, that means, black jersey shirt, black trousers, and black heeled flip flops. To be a little interesting, I added a red scarf in my hair, but I was still more or less rocking the head to toe black. I went through the day feeling unimaginative and a bit dour.

This morning was a wonderful departure from that. I got up, and despite having blisters on my toes from a walk yesterday (I am fit and fabulous, despite making a poor judgement call as to what to wear to be fit and fabulous!), I decided to be my usual self. I put on a cute little dress (perfect for today's heat), a chunky turquoise necklace, and my leopard print peep toes. I got out earlier, went to the bank, and then stopped by Long's and bought a tube of mascara to last me until I reorder my DiorShow. When I walked into Long's, I saw the security guy look at my legs. Nice.

So the moral of this story is that it feels good to look nice, and really, it takes equal to or less time to look nice than it does to look crappy. I was surprised, being a person who feels like she knows the importance of looking good, at how much my clothes affected my mood. I'm not saying that this is the case for everyone. But I do wonder at how many women could be happier if they just took a few more minutes in the morning, and just saw a security guard check them out a bit more frequently.

The Ten Commandments of Summer Styling

2007-06-08T11:53:00.000-07:00

Frankly I have no reason to be writing this guide, other than the fact that it is Friday, and all I have been doing today is looking at food blogs and watching my boss make funny faces as she tries to read the fineprint on some architectural renderings of our new campus. After all, it is freaking cold in the Bay Area this time of year, not hot as it is in the rest of the country. Today I am wearing a black boatneck sweater (surprise, surprise), denim trousers, and just because I am wishing for VA summer, black leather heeled flops. Definitely not your typical summer attire.

But I remember well the humidity of the east coast, the way that my hair would curl like a Hasidic Jew's right about my temples, the way that my clothes would hang after just a few moments of sweat inducing pseudo-air. So of course I'm an authority on all of this. And also because some co-workers of mine are going to be forced to go to Dallas, TX in July where they will have to perform musical numbers and listen to people talk about uninteresting things. So I'm feeling they probably need my input. Most everyone does.

So here you have it:

1) Thou shalt not wear spaghetti straps without thine strapless bra, unless of course thine is a 32A. Thine peers do not want to see thine nips. Further, thou shalt never wear spaghetti straps to work, nor to a conference in which thou is supposed to look professional.

2) Thou should not style thine hair with intricate bangs if going to a humid environment. It. Will. Look. Like. Crap. within about 5 seconds of contact with humid air. And thou will look like a fool. Thou shalt let the hair relax, and do what it pleases. Most importantly, thou shalt get a cut that allows this. Then thou shalt visit the oracle of Frederic Fekkai.

3) Thou shalt embrace the t-shirt dress, and thou shalt wear it often, even while performing Aretha Franklin's "Respect" with thine overweight boss.

4) Thou shalt not refuse to wear the white pants, even if thine behind is larger than thou would like. Nothing looks fresher in the summer than the white pants. Just make sure that thine pants are made of a sturdy material (twill, denim, tropical wool), and that thou cannot see thine thong.

5) Thou shalt wear a swimsuit, even if thou is a curvy lady. Don't wear clothes to the beach--even if thou uses a crane as thine major mode of transport. When thine loyal blog writer sees a lady in clothing at the beach and no swimsuit, thine loyal blog writer feels sorry for the fat lady. Thine loyal blog writer does not notice ladies at the beach in swimsuits, especially if they look to be having fun, and are not showing the ta-ta's. Do however, invest in a swimsuit. If thine is chubby, the triangle tops at Target just won't cut thine mustard.

6) Thou shalt not wear the denim shorts. Not. Ever.

7) Thou husband/boyfriend shalt not ever wear the short sleeved dress shirt or the pleated khaki shorts. That's a divorceable offense.

8) Thou shalt not wear a white button up shirt on a hot day. Thou will sweat, and thine peers will see. And thine peers will cry for you.

9) Thou shalt wear the accessories, for they add style without adding heat.

10) Thou shalt not wear anything skin-tight. Those are hot clothes, and by hot clothes I don't mean the sexy clothes. I mean hot-flaming-I-am-sweating-like-a-Trojan-get-this-thing-off-of me clothes. Thou shalt also not wear the synthetic fabrics. It's called cotton people--look it up. Loose, flowy things, when paired with more structured things makes thine look cool, refreshed and not like a cheap whore. And that's important. Dost thou agree?

Big Skinny: Nicole Richie in a Tube

2007-06-06T15:10:00.000-07:00

Ok, so I thought this was going to be this really short little post where I just say something like, I bought this stuff, and I like it, and oh, look at my skinny little ankles! But it's not that at all. Why? Because I have a lot of pent up feelings about self-tanners and bronzers and that kind of thing.

First off, let me say that I am pale. You see the color of your address bar at the top of the screen? Yeah, that's me. I have grown to embrace my paleness and to love it, and to even get past saying the word pale, instead opting for words such as "ivory" and "creamy." But I was not always this way. Especially when I lived in my little hick hometown. Yes, in my hovel in hicksville, folks have tanning beds in their bedrooms (in fact, my mother in law does). Skin cancer be damned, those ladies are going to be tan. Me? If I laid out in the sun until my skin rotted off, I would not be tan. My skin knows three colors--white, off-white, and lobster red. As one can imagine, this made the ages of 12-13 very traumatic for me.

This was also right around the time that self-tanners first made their appearance at make up counters in my area. I seriously thought they were a gift from God. One Saturday, my mom took me to to the Lancome counter at the Kingsport Mall, where we bought our first bottle of self-tanning mousse. Then, I went home, put on a bikini, and my mom helped me with the stuff. What we didn't know is that our combined effort would turn me into an orange zebra that smelled like ass. Moreover, my mom's hands were newly Oompa Loompa orange. But we were not discouraged! The next day, my mom went to her job, which was as a controller at a home health agency, got a box of surgical gloves and we tried it allover again. Better results this time, or at least I thought. I was no longer Whitey McWhiteykins! I was so proud of my new tan that I decided to never wash my legs again. Instead, I would lay in the bathtub, my legs propped on either side of the tub, doing everything as delicately as possible to make sure that my tan was not disturbed. So not only did I smell like DHA, which I think I've established smells like ass, I smelled like unwashed DHA. Ahhh....I was sexy. I spent the summer watching MTV, talking on the phone, and admiring myself.

Fortunately for both myself and the olfactory senses of those around me, I went through a gothy stage right after this, and decided that tans were for "posers" and "preppies" and that my heart was full of too much black to support a self-tanned exterior. So the self-tanner went away for awhile. That's not to say that I didn't dally every once in a while with a product or two--I've used Clarins, Neutrogena, and Coppertone all to minimal success--but it wasn't an obsession.

Which is why I'm still not a complete lover of self-tanners. However, when I saw a product that was entitled "Big Skinny" that promised to make me thin and give me a tan and didn't smell like total crap, I decided to buy it (it helped that I had a fabulous one-day coupon and a bunch of drugstore.com bucks reserved from buying some allergy relief products, and ended up getting the stuff for about $10). It came in yesterday, and even from all those years ago, I remembered the drill. I exfoliated in the shower, taking a lot of time to really slough the skin off, and then I got out and started the routine. I squirted a little on my leg--AND HOLY SHIT, I PUT ON TOO MUCH--and started rubbing it in. Let me tell you, ladies, it takes a while to rub this crap in. And you will get some streaks if you don't. The good news is that it is a bronzer, not a self-tanner, so you know where it is going and where it is not. And the color, despite looking like shiny mud when I first put it on, dissipates to give a nice tan. A tinge orange, but not wretched.

Warning, though, this stuff does rub off, and you have to stay completely still for a 5-10 minutes to give it time to dry. I was almost totally late for work because I was letting my tan sink in and ignoring the glares from my husband as he tried to make sure the white comforter didn't come into contact with my legs. I think he forgot though, because when he got back home after running some errands this morning, he called me and said, "HOLY CRAP, MORGAN! DID YOU STAB SOMEONE? BECAUSE THERE'S ALL THIS STUFF ON A TOWEL AT THE FOOT OF THE BED!!!" Yeah, well. So just be forewarned--you'll look skinny, but you'll look like a skinny murderess.

More on that--I'm not sure if I look any thinner. Yes, I guess having a tan makes you look a bit thinner. But I don't think it makes that big of a difference. Moreover, the capris I thought I would wear today to show off the tan ended up being much longer than I remember, so all anyone could see was my ankles. And while my ankles look absolutely dashing, I wonder what the response would have been had I opted for a shorter skirt.

So here's the Cliff Notes for this long post of memories and self-tanning: 1) Big Skinny is ok, 2) Don't get it on your bedding, 3) I don't stink.

Why I'm Glad the Maternity Look is In Right Now

2007-06-05T14:59:00.000-07:00

Ok, so my health craze lasted all of about 2 minutes (well, actually, if I'm completely honest with myself, it's still going on in some way, at least on the work out front). I still want to go work out so I can work myself up to cute workout clothing and well, avoid bed sores and imminent death, but I'm kind of softening on my stance of prohibiting sugar. Mostly because there are things like this in the world: Have I mentioned that I am quite the baker? Well, I am. I baked my wedding cupcakes, and I can make a perfect pie crust with my bare hands. So I've been sitting here looking at food porn (basically because when my body knew I was taking it off unnecessary sugars, my subconscious reacted and sent me to my favorite food blogs), and promising myself an indulgence in not only eating something luscious, but baking it as well. I have more time on my hands now, you see, as my second job is winding down until the end of the month. So, if baking and making myself fulfilled means not being skinny, I can handle it. I'll just have to work out to keep from getting to bedbound status. Moreover, I'm going to avoid The Learning Channel at all costs.

That's why I love this dress by Diane Von Furstenberg:

Wouldn't I be adorable in this, standing in my kitchen, turning out cupcakes? Yes, I know it would get covered in flour, and sugar, and mascarpone cream, but let me fantasize for a moment...can't you just imagine? I would be the perfect house frau in this dress. I would bake beautiful cupcakes, covered with perfect swirls of frosting and little sugar bees that I make myself. Moreover, if I develop a kind of cupcake gut, the empire waist on this sucker would cover it right up! Ahhh...the trends are finally starting to go my way.

Diane Von Furstenberg Corina Empire Dress--$365, nordstrom.com

Fit Fashion, and a Short Anniversary Shout Out to My Favorite Accessory, Matt

2007-06-04T12:23:00.000-07:00

I have so many things to write about, not the least of which is the fact that today is my second wedding anniversary! Yea for me! Yea for Matt! Yea for the fact that he hasn't murdered me with a stiletto heel yet! Not that my husband would ever read this (when I mention that I have a fashion blog, he usually rolls his eyes and grumbles), but if by some miracle he does (or, more likely, I instruct him to read it), HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, MATT! I have very few of the clothes that I had two years ago, but I still have you, and you're always in style! Well, sort of. When you're wearing pants that fasten at the waist--no, wait, that's not how I meant this. I meant this a I'll have you forever and ever, and our love is always fashionable! Yea! And your hair is always cool too! Love you! (In honor of my anniversary, I am wearing a 50's house-frau dress that is dotted with swiss dots and a navy blue cardigan. I'll bet Matt is wearing his pajamas.)

Ok, now that I've forced any single readers that I may have to go heave up their mid-morning snack, I will get to the less ooey-gooey subject of my post. I need to get fit. I would say "lose weight" there, because I need to do that too, but mostly, I don't want to lose weight so much as I don't want to DIE. Last night, I was going through my routine of painting my toenails, applying hand cream and dousing myself with body oil, and I happened to flip away from Fast Times at Ridgemont High during a commercial and I found myself face to face with this: a TV series entitled "Inside Brookehaven Obesity Clinic." Holy sweet mother of god, Jesus, all the saints and James Bond. I'm not sure why I kept watching it, but I did. Well, I guess watching is not the correct word--it was more like me sitting there with my mouth wide open, not moving, and breathing funnily. There were all these people who were bed bound because of their weight. Bedbound (which kinda sounds like a cute movie featuring a couple of dogs who are trying to find the bed their owner threw out during a cleaning marathon, but it's so, so, so not)!!! So, being as how I would never in a million years consider myself to be a fit person and, moreover, love fried foods and sugar as much as the next person AND there is a history of diabetes and chubbiness in my family, I immediately wanted to take a handful of laxatives, stick a hanger down my throat, and listen to The Carpenters while I wait on the fatness to subside.

But instead of resorting to such Lohan-esque tactics, I have decided to be a bit more sane about the whole process. A friend has offered me a 7 day trial at her gym (where they have DirectTV on the treadmills---oooooo, appealing to my lazy ass!), I have found a whole bunch of Shape magazines that were hiding under my bed beside some body butter and a three lost earrings, and I am eating lunch that I brought from home, not one of the super burritos from El Mocajete. In order to inspire myself further (which I mean, really, what more do I need after seeing someone hold up their fat rolls so their lady parts can be cleaned?), I am looking at fashionable gym wear.

Step in lululemon.com...

This stuff is actually cute, and no, I can't afford fancy gym clothes when a) I've never even been to the gym and b) I have plenty of yoga pants and David Bowie t-shirts to wear if I ever go, but if I could afford it and had no David Bowie t-shirts, I would buy these. Even despite my inability to pay for it, it is inspiring just to know that fashionable gym clothes exist, and were I rich but still chubby, these would be available. Perhaps it is something to shoot for--if I become a gym maven, I may indulge myself with something similar.

And if I don't, I can just wear a bed sheet as they bust out the walls to take my enlarged 700 pound frame to the doctor.

But just know, that even if that happens, and I am carried with a crane to a clinic where I will be poked, prodded, and put on The Learning Channel for all to see, I will still be wearing lipgloss, and making fun of all the nurses' clothes.

Fashion I Effing Hate: Hipsters

2007-06-01T15:48:00.000-07:00

I'm not really sure why there's so much vitriol pulsing from my very being today. I'm wearing one of my favoritest black sweaters (and my leopard print peep toes!), I had Mongolian BBQ for lunch, and I might possibly have it for supper, Mark Kotsay is coming off of the DL and it is Friday. Really, I should be quite happy. And that's not to say that I'm not. But, after scrolling through some Myspace pages I now feel that I could chew my way through 10 nails. Why?

HIPSTERS, THAT'S WHY.

I am going to make a blanket statement, however it is pretty damn on target: Every hipster should be punched in the face. Right now, you should be imagining the delightful crunch that those goddamn white plastic glasses will make when they all get simultaneously sucker punched. Delicious sound that would be. Yummy.

Anyway, I don't want to get sidetracked thinking about violence. It is not the answer, after all. My problem with hipsters, at least for the purpose of this blog, is their influence on the fashion world. You can see this everywhere: the "ironic" wearing of leggings, the trucker hat, friendship bracelets. It's just all so damn bad. And retailers everywhere took notice--Ann Taylor Loft, a suburban mom mainstay, started selling leggings and mini-skirts last fall (ick!), Target lined their walls with cheap replica "concert" tees. God, it's enough to make you throw up a little in your mouth.

But when you start considering the whole stores that cater to these folks--that makes you full on upchuck up your Mongolian BBQ. Yeah, I'm looking at you, Urban Outfitters. But I'm especially looking at my good friend, American Apparel. American Apparel is like hipster heaven. They. Sell. White. Leggings. Who would appreciate that but a bunch of unwashed kids who just spent the last five days applying eyeliner, drinking Pabst and cutting themselves? But their t-shirts fit me well, and they are cheap, so I have bought things from them via their online store. It's always a slightly scary experience, because I always happen to find myself on the unitard page, but I make it through ok.

But their real un-online stores? They make me both violent and violently ill. Just remembering it today forced me to write this post. See how touchy a subject this is for me?

Anyway, I went there to look at t-shirt dresses. Seems sane enough, huh? I get one, and I go to try it on. First off, all the people that work in there are (you guessed it) hipsters, so they are all staring at me because obviously I am from another planet given that I am not a size 2 and not currently smoking clove cigarettes. These people's parents must have been absolute tree stomps--wolves could raise a more sentient being than a hipster. Whatever. So I go to the dressing room, and it is a cement box. A cement box with pictures on the walls. And the pictures look like this:

All I could think of is "It puts the lotion on its skin, or else it gets the hose again." Why are hipsters in love with making one feel as if they are about to get an icepick to the temple? Is the pain ironic? Does it go better if I drink a lot of Pabst? Did I mention that the lighting was bright and garish and made me look even paler and fatter? Holy sweet jesus. I threw the dress down on the floor and ran the hell out. Then I joined my family at Naan and Curry. I seriously felt like I had been let loose from a serial killer's lair.

So this is strange and disjointed, but here's the Cliff Notes--1) Hipsters make me sad. 2) They make me remember going to American Apparel. 3) The dressing rooms there are to be avoided at all costs. 4) I need a shower.

Update: Shorts, and Why You Should Buy this Pair Right Here

2007-05-29T14:51:00.000-07:00

These are awesome shorts. If you are a faithful reader, you know that I freaking hate shorts, and have coddled this hate for a long time. These shorts are enough to bring me out of it. I bought these on Friday while on a trip to Old Navy with the fam. I didn't bother trying them on, which breaks all matter of fashion rules, but I figured I could take them back if I needed to. Or I could just punish myself for looking horrible in them by cutting myself and listening to Fall Out Boy until I lost feeling in my hateful, deformed legs. Either/or. It's a good thing I didn't have to do that because a) I hate Fall Out Boy and b) Cutting doesn't sound that fun either. I'm telling you: these shorts are GREAT. I wore them on Saturday even though it was teeth chatteringly cold because I happened to try them on and my husband looked at me with this look he once gave me when we went to the prom and we were both 15 (he skipped a grade in school) and I had picked out a dress that was cut almost down to my navel (looking back at the pictures, I look like an extra from an old episode of Law and Order: SVU about child porn, but I thought I looked sogrownup! OMG!!!). His eyes got freaking huge. And he goes, "Your outfit looks really good today." Now, for my husband to comment on my outfit, either hell has frozen over or I look damn good. Usually the only comments he makes are about how much something I am wearing costs, and he had already given me looks of derision when I bought the shorts the night before. So I was so tickled, I just kept them on all day. They are so comfortable, and did I mention that I am hot in them?

I also love that they are camo and just a little butch. I felt all GI Jane in them. I paired them with a fitted American Apparel t-shirt and J.Crew wedge flip flops to sweeten up the package. God, I can't believe I said "sweeten the package."

Well, anyway, I'm happy, and I have new shorts, and I love them so much that I did laundry on Saturday night just so I could see them in my closet again within a day. If something can inspire me to do laundry, it's worth its weight in gold.

Go get your own pair at Old Navy. They're $26.50 which is a small price to pay for utopia.

I went and saw Vivienne Westwood's exhibit and all I got was an overheating car.

2007-05-29T13:45:00.000-07:00

So. This past Saturday I grabbed the family, filled them up with naan and curry and we went to the big bad city to catch the Vivienne Westwood exhibit at San Francisco's DeYoung Museum. It is a limited time offering, and I was dying to go. The family looked a little bedraggled, but we went anyway (I don't think they understood that you should look fashionable to see a fashion exhibit. Sometimes I wonder how we became family in the first place). I was hoping to be able to show my daughter the beauty of fashion, and to get her to lay off the light washed jeans for a while. Not sure if that worked, but I know she had a good time.

The bad news is that I wasn't able to take pictures inside the exhibit. I wanted to take pictures to post on here, preferably ones with me in them because I want to redeem myself from the deformed face/Long John's hat pic a few posts back. But they wouldn't let me, so you'll just have to rely on my own personal takeaways from the exhibit. Overall, it was a lot of fun, very informative, and the clothes were breathtaking. I actually got more from it than an overheating car, but that was definitely part of my day. More about that later.

Here are my takeaways from the exhibit. Although Westwood's designs are unattainable by most of us, the ideas that guide these designs are viable and can enhance anyone's wardrobe.

1. Fashion should be fun.
Many of Westwood's early collections contained cheeky items meant to draw attention to not only the wearer, but also societal ironies at large. While I wouldn't recommend donning your own nude breeches with a fig leaf sewn over the crotch to work (this was an item included in the exhibit, and also something Westwood herself wore to run errands and such), I would recommend having fun with your look. One thing that I own that always makes me feel a bit cheeky and ironic is a pair of red and pink high heels. These heels are designed to look like men's wingtips, but the colors and heel make them decidedly feminine. I like pairing them with a suit or with cropped trousers and a sweater vest for a look that bends gender in a cheeky kind of way. Another thing to try is to play with a certain look that you're curious about by mixing them with some of your everyday pieces. For example, I love retro slutty looking clothes--tight pencil skirts, fishnet hose, corsets, all of those kind of things. While I wouldn't go full on slut for work, a denim pencil skirt and knee high boots approaches this look without going overboard.

2. Mix trends with tradition for a look that is always of the moment.
This is one thing Westwood is known for, but I had no idea how historical her pieces were until I went to the exhibit. Even the afforementioned nude breeches were drawn from an 18th century trend in men's wear (seriously...). If you want to do one of the metallics that are so hot right now, do it on a classic ballet flat or a chic clutch with a standard black dress.

3. You. Must. Wear. Heels.
Shut up about your feet hurting. Seriously. Sack up ladies. Westwood loves heels (and we're talking MEGA HEELS) because it puts a woman "on a pedestal." Doesn't that make you want to strap on a pair? If it doesn't, I don't care, put them on anyway. Nothing makes you look slimmer, more put together, and happier than a dyno-mite pair of heels. And if they fit you right, you shouldn't feel any pain.

4. You don't have to have a standard "personal style" for eva and eva.
Although one could argue that Westwood's overarching theme is a combination of tradition and trend, the way she interpreted this theme has evolved a lot since she began designing. Just because you like mod now doesn't mean that you will be wearing a black and white mini dress when you're 60. Go with what you like, and if it evolves over time, then that's fine. Even if you consider yourself to be a classic style, allow yourself to experiment outside of your comfort zone.

5. Never underestimate the beauty of a well-tailored, perfect suit.
I think this was the thing that surprised me the most--I always thought of Westwood as a kind of punk goddess, so I never imagined that so many of her designs would be suits. However, the exhibit showcased a bunch of her suits, all together. They were gorgeous, and each unique in their own way. If I could have taken it all home, I would have gladly forsaken the gorgeous ballgowns just for one suit. Those things were a work of art all by themselves.

So on the way home from seeing this, our car overheated. That was not fun. Thus, now, whenever I think of Vivienne Westwood, I'm going to think of my husband, dancing in the steam at the front of the car, and playing mechanic. So it's probably a good thing that I can't afford Vivienne Westwood. At least that's what I'm going to remind myself of whenever I think of those suits.

Let's Talk About Shorts, Baby

2007-05-24T12:39:00.000-07:00

Ever since I was a small child, I have had a hatred for shorts. This was, of course, in direct opposition to my mother who LOVES shorts, and probably wants to be buried in the things. She would always beg me to wear them, would buy them for me when I caved, and then would lecture me endlessly when I refused to wear them. Why didn't I like them, she would ask. "You have such "shapely" legs," she would say.

Sorry Mom, but I believe the word you are looking for to replace shapely would be "ginormous." Partly because of hereditary (thanks, family) and partly because I took dance classes for more than a decade, I have some hefty legs. That's not to say that my legs are not strong--I don't know if I could break boards with them, but I'm sure I'm pretty damn close. Even to this day with my office job and other signs of an at-times sedentary lifestyle, my calves still have a nice, defined muscle. That tickles me in some ways. However, it does not make my desire for shorts any stronger. I still hate them.

However, this summer has made me start looking at them and saying "Well, maybe. But only maybe." I have been looking at a pair of cargo bermuda shorts and seeing them as a ballgame alternative. And thus, strangely, I have become quite enamored with them. However, it lays in the back of my mind that I will probably buy them and then decide I hate both them and my calves and then decide to spend the rest of the summer in bed, wearing only a white dressing gown and eating only chicken broth that I sip out of a gravy boat.

So in that spirit, I have decided to talk about shorts, because really, it's the only thing I'm thinking about I WANT TO BUY THEM THAT BAD. Here's what you need to know:

1. If you are thin and under the age of 25, please, by all means, wear shorts. Wear short shorts, wear long shorts, wear bikini bottoms, wear nothing. You have a great body so you can get away with it. But by all means, try to remember that you are over the age of 13. Sometimes short shorts paired with a t-shirt or another simple style shirt can make you look a bit young. So unless you're the decoy for To Catch a Predator, it's probably not the look you are going for. Pair your shorts with a nice blazer, or at least a shirt in a refined knit. I'm always really jealous of those folks in the J.Crew catalog with the short white shorts and the jewel-toned v-neck sweaters. Rock that look, not the Bobby-and-I-kissed-under-the-bleachers-and-he-tastes-like-dirt look.

2. Never wear high heels with really short shorts. That's a look of a different kind altogether. However, cute wedges worn with bermudas looks really fresh right now.

3. If you have a bit more meat on your bones, be willing to try on a few pairs. You may love the look of bermudas, but if they hit you at the widest part of your leg, you may be out of luck. However, another pair might hit you in a more flattering way. Try them all out, and if they don't work, well, they just don't work. Be prepared to sweat, baby.

4. Finally, remember this important rule with denim shorts:

You may think you look like this:

But you really look like this:

Step away from the denim shorts, folks. Step away.

What I Would Wear To Jerry Falwell's Funeral

2007-05-21T23:40:00.001-07:00

If I could go to Jerry Falwell's funeral and I was graced overnight with perfect legs, I would wear this dress. Mostly because it is purple, and thus the color of pride and pure tote carrying evil. Because I believe that we find in First Corinthians in Paul's letter to the sluts "Let you go unto others and show a little leg for Jesus. And it will be good."

RIP Jerry. I hope your heaven is full of unwed teenage mothers and drag queens named Lola.

Summer Essentials #1

2007-05-21T23:10:00.000-07:00

Let it be known that summer is not my favorite season, although I do like it much more in CA than I did in VA. Yes, I know that the weather is nice, and all of that, but if there is a more unstylish time of the year, I don't know of it. In summer, it is hot and sticky, and folks seem to use that to justify wearing denim shorts and short sleeve dress shirts, which I'm sure is what the devil wears to all the cook-outs that Hitler hosts in Hell. Summer is the seasonal equivalent to your cousin who has a mullett and drinks beer out of a can--its tacky, unrefined, and flouts the laws of civilization in our faces. Goddamn summer.

So as a public service, I bring to you items of clothing that are comfortable, and manage to help you distance yourself from Cousin Earl and his Yosemite Sam mudflaps. This will be a recurring segment, and it will recur as many times as I see fit. Because it's my blog. Yeah.

So without further adieu, I give you numero uno: The T-shirt Dress:

The t-shirt dress may just be the most perfect summer outfit, because it is just that: an outfit. And it is so freaking versatile. You can wear it to work with a necklace and heels (just as I did today), you can wear it over your swimsuit to the pool, you can wear it on errands with flats and a more irreverant necklace. And when you're done, you toss it in the washer, and go on with your life. It's just that simple. Nothing is cooler, nothing looks cuter in more situations, nothing can flow more seamlessly through the many facets of your life. Plus, they can be pretty damn cheap: the one above is $29 from Land's End.

The key with all of this is to find one that fits. You don't want anything too tight, because, well, that's hideous. You don't want to look like you're wearing a tent either. I will advise that if you buy the dress above from Land's End, you go with a size down. The sizes seem to be made a bit big. So you get an ego boost, and a great fitting dress. What's not to love?

Stay tuned for future posts in which I will tackle the important summer topics of shorts and why I never want to see your thighs again (it's not me, it's them), and the cheeky graphic tee, or rather, why I don't care if your boyfriend is out of town, and why I don't want to read this on your boobs.

A Tale of Two Scrubs

2007-05-21T22:18:00.000-07:00

It's a sucky life when work gets in the way of your blogging. Well, that's my excuse. For the last few days, I've been really busy with actual work, and it hasn't been stuff that I could ignore because I was on a "conference call" with "Poopy McAnal Play, younger brother of Jewington McAnal Play." (That, my loyal readers, is what happens when one steps away from their computer, and leaves their normally politically correct and erudite blog in the clutches of their witty, unemployed husband. Ahem.) Anyway, I'll endeavor not to let it happen again, because, bitches, I've got lots to say. This is evidenced by tonight's marathon of posting. Let's just see how much I can pump out there before I retire to my pj's and Margaret Atwood.

So, yeah, folks, that's me, in my bathroom. Yes, I look slightly deranged, and no, my nose is not normally that oddly proportioned. Oh, and yes, I'm wearing a Long John Silver's hat. You will notice that I am holding two scrubs (if you can get past my choice of headwear that is). The smaller tub holds C.O. Bigelow's Lemon Sugar Body Scrub, and the larger tub holds my previously reviewed Boots Mediterranean Orange Chamomile and Honey Body Scrub.

So here's the thing: I went to Target and bought the Boots stuff, totally forgetting that I had earlier in the week used a Bath and Body Works gift card to order the Lemon Sugar Body scrub. Whooops! So now I've got two scrubs. And because I value the journalistic integrity of this blog, I have to compare them. For you to see. Anything less would just be yellow journalism at best.

Here's the details on the Boots scrub, if you remember from last time: somewhat creamy, awesome scent, fat little tub with a strangely hard to remove screw-off lid. About an 8.5 on the scale from 1 to 10. Since reviewing, I have used it many times, and have enjoyed it.

First let me tell you about the ordering situation of the Bath and Body Works scrub. If you've never ordered anything from Bath and Body Works, let me tell you that it is not for the faint of heart. The internet site is fine and dandy I guess, and they give you lots of good deals if you sign up for their updates on the website (I've gotten two free tubes of C.O Bigelow Mentha Lip Shine, which I love, along with some great discounts. In fact, when I ordered this stuff, I got $10 off my order, plus free shipping. Shabang.). The bad thing is, the stuff takes forever to get to you, and arrives in a hot mess. Oh, and unless you get free shipping (which is admittedly not hard to do) the shipping is pretty steep. This time was no different. In fact, when I opened my box, I found that lid for my body scrub was already cracked, and when I opened the stuff, it just fell apart. Nice. I kinda wonder who packs the stuff at B&BW HQ--homeless men with Tourette's? It's a possibility. But whatever. They consistently get my money, so I shouldn't complain too much.

So moving on to the scrub. I was really jazzed about it because a) I love the smell of lemons, and b) I have read good things about this scrub. I got in the tub and opened it up, which was much easier to do than with the Boots scrub, but this could have been because the lid was in two distinct pieces. The first thing I thought of was: lemon Pledge. Now, I've got no problem with lemon Pledge. But I was expecting something a little...fresher. A little less artificial, and perhaps a bit less sacharine. Especially since it says it is a 100% natural fragrance. Flipping it over, I saw that there is a whole bunch of stuff on the label that I can't pronounce. Hmmm...natural. Yeah. Not to be deterred, I slathered it on. I have to say--this is a good scrub. It's a sugar scrub, but it's not packed in that slimey oil. In fact, it's just...scrub particles suspended in some kind of gelly/glue like substance. And truthfully, it works really well. My legs were soft, moisturized, and had no redness, even after using it after shaving. I really like it. But there is that smell...

And the price. C.O. Bigelow scrub is $19.50, which is a little steep, given that my big ole tub of Boots was $9.99. And I have to say, for sheer creativity and naturalness of scent, I like the Boots better. That's not to say that I won't finish off my C.O. Bigelow scrub, and perhaps even yearn for more of the items in the collection--maybe just in a different scent. But, I believe that in a battle to the death, the Boots scrub would probably jackhammer the C.O. Bigelow scrub, and then hold its writhing body to the floor while it screams in vain for mercy.

So rock on Boots. I look forward to new products that I will most surely buy when I tell my husband that I'm going to Target to buy trash bags.

Stayin' Sexy in the City

2007-05-15T16:37:00.000-07:00

Ok, I'll admit it. I'm a country girl. I grew up in a small town with a population of 1,007, I have a southern accent (Aye thank that it sounds goo-ud!), and I have sung many renditions of "I'll Fly Away" from the top of a hay bale. I'm country and proud.

However, I now live near a major city, and I love it. I love riding the BART (although last time I did this, I hurt my ankle) and emerging on the other side of the bay, amongst the big buildings and the bustle. Every time I'm there, I wonder why I don't move and stay there forever. I hope that I never lose that country girl inside myself who finds it all so terribly interesting. Recently, however, I was talking with a friend about going over to the city, and she mentioned that she feels intimidated by it, and always wonders if the SF residents look down on her style. I hadn't really thought of this recently, but as soon as she said it, I remembered the first time I went to New York when I was a junior in high school. I was scared out of my mind, not about the typical big city worries that a smalltown girl might have ("Will I get mugged? Will I see someone unlike those people I normally see everyday?), but rather about what I was going to wear. I bought so many things for the trip, and then the whole time I was there, I was self-conscious about what I was wearing. Did I look like a bumpkin? Could they tell where I was from? Even after the trip, on the plane ride home, I was conscious of it--I remember making a list of what I would wear next time I visited the city, deciding that I would then opt for more black pants and a pair of black city boots (which is a staple of mine to this day).

So, in an attempt to keep others from suffering this sad fate, and forcing legions of unhappy suburban/country girls to feel unwelcome within the big buildings and bright lights of the city, I give you The Cult's Guide to Bein' Hot in the City. If you are a city dweller, you can stop reading now. Go eat some street meat, city chick. This is a guide for those of us who grew up around more cows than people, but who still want to spend some days getting our culture on (did I really just type that?).

1. Invest in a good pair of boots. They call em "city boots" for a reason. These boots are comfortable and durable, yet they look nice poking out of the bottom of your jeans. The best thing about these? You can invest now, and in five years, these will still look damn good. I had a great pair of black J.Crew boots, which actually looked a lot like these my freshman year in college. I wore them until they literally started falling apart. Now, I have a pointy toed pair with a thinner heel. Whatever the style, black city boots are the perfect choice because they protect your feet from whatever is lurking on the city streets, whether it be rain, sleet, snow or bum urine.

2. Stick with structured, crisp fabrics. You may love linen, but leave it at your organic farm. Nothing looks worse than someone getting off the BART in something that has wrinkled itself on the way over. A perfect outfit would a structured pair of jeans (ones with a bit of stretch made of a nice, thick denim), a top made of a substantial knit, and a structured jacket. Make sure that you're wearing things that will wear well throughout the day, and better yet can transition from a museum during the day to a restaurant at night (it helps to keep a bit of sparkly jewelry in your bag for this very reason). Also, this is probably not the time to wear white. Cities are dirty, and you don't want the remains of your burrito and the splashes of a puddle on your pants.

3. Make sure your bag is a neutral color, is large enough to carry all your shit, and doesn't weigh you down. A woman steps off of the bus--she's wearing nice black trousers, a jewel toned v-neck knit shirt, and a denim blazer. She looks great. Until you notice that she's caring a stained canvas bag in last season's colors from the Target clearance rack. Seriously, if you're going to be schlepping your stuff around all day, find something decent to put it in. You're going to go into restaurants, museums, shops, and that bag is going to be there. Don't let it give away that you're not a bonafide stylish woman from wherever, be it the city, the country, the East Bay, whatever.

4. Be comfortable in your clothes. If you're going to be pulling on your shirt all day, you're going to look the opposite of stylish, no matter how much your stuff cost or what pricey city boutique you bought it in. Make sure everything fits, and nothing chafes or imprints your skin with the red mark of illfitting death. Further, if it gives you a muffin top, don't wear it to the country, don't wear it to the city, don't wear it. I don't care if you're paying city rent and can't afford anything else, IT DON'T MATTER--get thine self to a Target or an H&M immediately. Bitch, please.

5. Turn on your Ipod when you walk, and honey, stomp it out like you're walking through hell in gasoline soaked pajamas. If you walk like a confident city dweller, you could be wearing a trash bag on your body and condoms on your feet (is it sad that that's the first thing that came to my mind?). I have a stripper mix on my Ipod (hey, bitches, I do strippercise...what of it?), and that's the first thing I turn on when I go to SF. It makes me feel confident, hot, and just a little bitchy.

And the boots help too.

What I Could Spend My Rent Money On

2007-05-14T09:07:00.000-07:00

It's that time of month again...I just paid my rent, which totally depresses me. So, to make myself feel better (and also because it's a monthly feature on this blog, and I'm kind of indebted to do it), I have culled together some cute items that I would much rather have spent my rent money on. This month, as a theme, I picked an upgrade of a couple of beloved items that are already in my wardrobe--an H&M trench coat, and a pair of wide legged navy Gap pants. I added a cute shirt that I would buy, if I didn't think it would look wretched on my short, large chested frame. Hey, a girl can dream, huh?

Chloe Wide Leg Pants--$720--net-a-porter.com

J. Crew Emmeline Blouse--$78--jcrew.com (I belive the green may be sold out, but it is still available in black and white.)

Burberry London Goodworth Double Breasted Jacket--$995--net-a-porter.com

Five Minute Faces

2007-05-09T13:16:00.000-07:00

Alright, retail people, here's a quick resource guide on how to get my money. 1) Feature a TV show that I like and respect, 2) Give me a handy buying list of things that I absolutely must have to be fashionable/cute/well-groomed/successful, 3) Give me something for free. If you fulfill all these requirements, I will seriously be putty in your hands. I will buy anything--jail striped pajamas that somehow reference Prison Break, Tyra Banks brand sausage casings from ANTM, ANYTHING. Luckily for me, the company that did this most recently and got my money was Benefit cosmetics, a company that I already love and use regularly. And even more lucky for me, I ordered stuff, it came in, and I look super cute today.

Last week, I got an email from Benefit promoting a "Five Minute Face" done by Carmindy, the make-up artist from my Friday night mainstay, What Not to Wear. I guess Carmindy wrote a book, so as promotion, she is using Benefit cosmetics and issuing a guide to show you how to create your own look. I know about Carmindy's five minute face from watching the show, and I have to say that I've always wanted to figure out how to do it just the way she does. That's not to say that my current make-up routine lasts longer than five minutes. It doesn't. But Carmindy's look always looks so effortless, like you could wear it to work and feel good about yourself, and then vamp it up with just a few quick tricks, just like in a Gap ad or something. And lord knows I live my life in constant pursuit of Gap ad perfection. Anyway, so when I got the email saying that I was going to learn how to do it, I said, YIPPEEE! and completely ignored the growing pile of work on my desk in favor of some retail therapy. (Unfortunately, the thing is no longer up on Benefit's website, so you'll just have to take my word for all of this). Then, I dug a little deeper and discovered that if I bought two products from the line, I would get a FREE BOTTLE OF HIGH BEAM, Benefit's highlighting potion. I actually have been known to rock the Highbeam on occasion, and my tiny bottle from my Fake-It kit was looking depressed. So, I was completely and utterly sunk. I logged on and bought Carmindy's chosen eyeshadow (Towne Car) and lipstick (Sugar Rush) so fast that it made my head spin. And just that quickly, it arrived, fresh from UPS.

So I wore it this morning. I tried to go through Carmindy's routine: first I applied foundation (here I use MAC Mineral Something or Other), then powder (I use Chanel in Porcelain), and then dabbed the High Beam (the FREE High Beam) on my cheekbones. Cuteness already.

Then, I did my eyes. I used the new Towne Car shadow as a liner, just as Carmindy does. In fact, in the Benefit "Five Minute Face" this all you do on your eyes, save mascara. No shadows, no blending, no nothing. The interesting thing about Towne Car (and all the rest of the creaseless cream shadows that Benefit has now) is that they are...creamy. I wasn't really expecting that. Probably because I ordered it so damn fast that I didn't bother to read anything about it. My bad. But I really, really like it. The black is inky and deep, and has a LOT of pigment. I just barely dabbed my brush on it, and it was ready to go. That said, the Carmindy method (using this as a liner) was a little hard for me to grasp. Possibly because the stuff has so much pigment, it would be better to start with something lighter in color than Towne Car. I did get it figured out, and managed to somewhat smush it into the lash line, like Carmindy recommends on the show. I think it looks good, but I'm probably not going to look into any magnifying mirrors today. I'm little distressed as to what I might see if I look close enough. I'm sure I'll get better with it though, and I can't wait to try it as an eyeshadow base. I'm looking to make myself all sooty eyed and Bridget Bardot-esque. But back to today: since I was doing the Benefit thing, I put on double coats of Bad Gal lash. Bad Gal is a good mascara--I only have half a tube because my mom gave it to me after it didn't work on her (she has loads of eye irritations and after a while, she started tearing up after putting it on). It plumped up my lashes, and made me look just enough like a drag queen to make it worthwhile.

I topped this off with my Dallas blush (which I love, and deserves its own post, so I'll do that later), and the lipstick in Sugar Rush. Sugar Rush is a "Silky Finish lipstick" and I love it. It's not very heavy like a lot of lipsticks (I actually rarely wear a lipstick, preferring a light gloss or something similar),and does have a silky finish. When I first put it on, I thought that it looked a little darker than what I imagined it would be, but I think that was just the light or something. It's actually a pretty, light caramel color. I wouldn't say the color is dynamic or anything--it's a pretty standard medium neutral. But it does feel nice, and the color complements the Dallas blush well. So overall, it's a very good fit with the whole look.

Overall, ordering from Benefit was a very nice experience. I have never actually ordered from them directly--most of the time when I got their products before, I visited their store in Berkeley or went through Sephora. I got a heavy discount beforehand, so that was nice, and the order was shipped very quickly and arrived in four business days. Moreover, when I opened the box, it was wrapped in cute, Benefit themed tissue paper and sealed with a sticker. Of course, the packaging for all Benefit items is adorable. I will definitely use their website the next time I need something from them.

So try out the "Five Minute Face" with Benefit. It's Carmindy-licious.

A Stressful Rant and a Stress Free Product Review

2007-05-08T13:02:00.000-07:00

Dear Students who are Near My Desk,

Ok ladies. It is only the second day of summer classes, and already you guys have forced me to write a blog entry addressing your crimes against my eyes. Yes, I know it is hot in the Bay Area, and it's not usually hot in the Bay Area and you're not quite sure how to handle it. I'm hot too, and last night I had to sleep with the windows open, and now my allergies are horrible. So I look doubly bad. But the difference between me and you is the fact that I HAVE ON CLOTHES. You, my lovely, lovely students, have somehow managed to mistake swimsuit cover ups for actual clothing. I know it's hard to tell the difference between the two. However, there are other things, besides shopping somewhere outside the beach/resort department, that you can do to help us all out there. Allow me to elucidate some handy dandy tips for making sure that you don't send me back into a migraine induced rage:

1. Horizontal stripes are not your friend. Especially not on a tube dress.

2. Do not wear those flouncy micro-mini things with the ruffles. Those are hideous, and were basically popular while I was in college. Which was a while ago. And by popular, I mean, to people under the age of 16. Clinton Kelly said it best when he said (and he actually said it in regards to one of these skirts), "Don't try to compete with the 16 year olds, because the 16 year olds always win." That's a valuable lesson. And if you are going to wear one, please don't grab your ass while running up the stairs and screaming "Don't look up my skirt! I'm wearing a thong!" Ah, nothing says future doctor like a visible thong under a ruffled mini-skirt.

3. If something is made of very thin cotton or linen, please wear a cami or tank underneath. Your bra may be pretty, but not all of us want to look at its intricacies all day, nor do we want to see the underside of your boob because you bought the wrong size in your afforementioned intricate bra.

4. Flip flops are for the shower, the beach and for slipping on to take the trash out. When you wear flat shoes with no support, and you have just a teensy bit more weight on you than, say, Barbie, you're going to look fatter. It's a fact of nature. I believe Einstein proved it. Moreover, an intricate floral print haltar dress paired with flip flops does not make you look romantic or stylish or any of the things that made you buy that abomination of a dress in the first place. It makes you look like a fat person who needs to go shoe shopping. And it also makes my eyes bleed.

5. Please see my post about matte jersey gauchos.

If you follow these tips, I'll let you use my stapler. And you know how you're always wanting to use my stapler. If you don't, no stapler for you.

Thanks,

P.S. Bras are not optional.

Ok--now that that is out of the way...a product review. On my trip to Target, I also bought Johnson's Softoil Melt Away Stress Massaging Moisturizer, mostly because I knew this was the first week of school, and my life was going to suck this week. I got it home, and while I was sneaking my new bevvy of products into the bathroom and away from the watchful eye of my frugal husband, he noticed the bottle. Fortunately for me, he thought it was "that" kind of massage oil. Then he got excited. Really excited. Enough not to realize that I had a bunch of scented goodies in my arms (besides the things I reviewed yesterday, I also got some nail polish in my favorite color, some shampoo and conditioner, and some hand cream, but those were all needed items, and thus, not worthy of review). But alas, it is not that kind of massage oil (although my husband doesn't know that yet). It is actually a massage oil that you can use solo, and is like a baby oil. It does smell WONDERFUL however. It has a lavender scent that is not too heavy. And yes, it does "melt away stress." Or at least, it worked on me. Keep in mind, however, that I am not that bright, and am quite taken by advertising campaigns, marketing tools, and the placebo effect. But whatever the reason, after taking a bath and slathering this on my self, I was totally zenned out, and ready to veg. Moreover, it is a great moisturizer. My skin looked all glistening and porn-y after using it. The especially good news about this is that it is not heavy, and easy to use if you are usually not a big fan of oils and things. I didn't feel sticky or wet, nor did I feel greasy. I just felt at peace. And sleepy. And kinda stoned, actually. So put down the pipe and go buy this. Enjoy.

Product Reviews: Honey Do!

2007-05-07T11:01:00.000-07:00

I had planned on writing this post all weekend after a Saturday trip to Target but then this morning I witnessed so many crimes of fashion perpretrated by our summer student body that I thought I should write about that. I mean, we're talking no bras, pajama pants, pareos tied over the body with no swimsuit underneath--basically anything you can think of that might make one's eyes bleed. I even started a post about this very special topic, and then realized that it was making my head hurt to be so angsty. So instead, you get my product review post of all the goodies I bought this weekend. All items are from Target, as that's the only place I went (aside from Trader Joe's, and seriously, I could write a post about their new Organic Strawberry Lemonade because it is damn good, but this isn't that type of blog). You should know that right now it is bloody hot in the Bay Area, and it is not usually hot here, so that tells you something about why I bought the products I bought, and why I went to Target in the first place (they have air conditioners, and I don't).

The first item is Boots Body Scrub in Orange, Chamomile and Honey. Unfortunately, Target's website doesn't have a picture of this item, and I'm not at home to take a picture of my tub of it, so you get no illustrations. Sorry. Anyway, I wanted to wear a skirt and heeled flops today, so I knew I needed to get the ole gams in fighting shape. Also, I wanted to try out something from this line since I'd heard that it is big in the UK, and I (like most other Americans) am enthused with items that are big there (except the Beckhams. I'm really quite over that). So I went straight to the bath aisle at Target to stock up. Let me just say now: the bath aisle at Target is now the bomb diggity. They have everything now--lots of cool looking boutique brands, a large selection of Burt's Bees, a ton of Boots items, and (gasp, gasp) KIEHL'S. AT TARGET. I was so excited that I did a little dance in the aisle, much to the chagrin of my 8 year old who rolled her eyes and declared that she didn't know me or my 3 year old son who was, at the time, walking around with the bottom of his shirt in his mouth and yelling about being naked. Unfortunately, the Kiehl's is still the same price as what you would pay at a Kiehl's shop, but it's there. At Target. This excites me.

But anyway...the scrub. First off, I smelled it in the store, and it is great. The honey, despite being the last listed item, is especially prevalent. It's a sweet smell, but not too sweet. I like it because it's a little different, and there is a certain naturalness to the smell. I liked the smell even more when I tried it in the shower. The consistency is nice too. I'm not a big fan of sugar or salt scrubs, where the scrubbing particles are packed in an oil (my mom likes those, and slathers the oil all over herself so she resembles a porn star when she's done, so I guess it's just a matter of taste), and this is not like that. It's not overly creamy either. It basically just a thin substance with small sandy particles. Kind of reminds me of a mildly creamy body wash with stuff in it. If you're looking for something creamy, I would go with one of the scrubs from The Body Shop, because this ain't it. This is just a basic scrub.

The good news is that it is gentle enough for sensitive skin and regular use. I have had a problem with scrubs in the past that were too abrasive and left me red, especially after shaving. This was not like that at all. I shaved right before I used it on Saturday night, and there were no red bumps or itchiness post bath. Then, sheerly to meet the high standards of investigative reporting that this blog necessitates, I used it again last night. I have no blotchiness, no redness, and my legs are soft, smooth, and as nice as legs that are roughly the same shade as Powder's can possibly be. I've actually been rubbing them under my desk all day because they make me happy.

The one beef I have with this product is that the tub it comes in is INSANELY hard to get open with wet hands. It's kinda fat, and you (at least, I) couldn't get a good grip on the turn off lid. It would be nice if Boots had considered that folks would be wet when trying to use it, so a wide screw off lid might not be the way to go . I struggled with it on Saturday night, finally getting it open after some wild thrashing about in the water. However, on Sunday, I just made my husband open it. He rolled his eyes, but he liked the end result, so he can't complain that much, now can he?

The second product (and actually, probably the last because this is getting so long) is Burt's Bees Honey Lip Balm. I have been using Burt's Bees lip balm since I was a freshman in college--in fact, during college, I rarely wore lipstick or lip gloss, and when I was feeling spry, would rely on this. Yes, college was a dark time for your friendly fashion blogger. But anyway, I have always been partial to the peppermint tingle given by the original lip balm. However, when I saw this at Target, having already been tempted by the honey scrub, I decided to give this a shot. And let me say--this is awesome. I love this stuff. In fact, today, I am just wearing this--no lip gloss or lipstick at all. The smell is a little more floral/perfumey than pure honey, but it is nice and not obtrusive at all. And even better--my lips look so good. This stuff is clear like other balms, but it makes my lips look so nice. I don't know why. And this feels a bit more silky than the original balm: I'm not sure if it actually is, but it feels that way. So anyway, I love it, and now I'm jonesing for more Burt's Bees stuff. The Honey body butter looks especially tempting...

Anyway, I have one more product to review, but I'm going to give it a bit more of a test tonight, and hopefully review it tomorrow. I will also get my husband's take on that product. So stay tuned--and remember, let my beauty product addiction work for you!

Californication

2007-05-04T11:34:00.000-07:00

As many of you know, I am a relatively recent arrival to California. And although I was drawn to this place like a moth to the flame in many ways and decided I wanted to move here the very second I laid eyes on the area outside of the San Francisco airport (if you ever want to hear a good California story, allow me to tell you about the first time I came here, which is another story for another time), I still have my share of...disagreements with California. First off, there's no parking, and if you grew up in VA where one can park anywhere they damn well please, you too would find this oppressive. Second off, it's a tad granola-crunchy for my taste. In VA, I was probably the most liberal person that anyone had met, however, in California I find myself leaning more toward the moderate side of things (mostly on fiscal matters, and this has more to do with seeing how much money comes out of my check than anything). But whatever. I have a harder time working myself up into a liberal fury over things than most of my fellow Californians. Mostly it's because I'm a selfish bitch. I am the Addison Shepherd to California's collective Meredith Grey. I'll admit that, and I relish in it (seriously, who doesn't want, at least deep down to be Addison?). And it's also because I love several things more than I probably should, these of course being pork products, shoes with heels, throwing stuff away (this is probably my biggest vice--I actually get a thrill out of throwing away things) and clothing not made out of hemp.

But California is slowly worming its way into my heart despite my best efforts. Not enough of course to change my diet (seriously, have we ever discussed my love for all manner of pig products?) or switch to organic beauty products or change my gas consumption habits (mostly because I can't afford a new car). Perhaps that's why I find these reusable lunch containers so damn cute:

Isn't that the cutest thing? It's a lunch...clutch! I heart it. It's $16.95, which is a small price to pay when you consider how much money you'd save not buying lunch every day, which I do, and then regret. What better way to save the world and your money than by refusing to bring a dowdy lunch bag? Here's the link for it so you can buy one for yourself. And the best part? You carry it, and it doesn't say "I brought my lunch. Wanna share a lentil?" This bag says, "I brought my lunch, bitch. And it's better than yours. Now, get your malnourished hands off my husband. Learn to use a makeup brush, Squinty McGee." See? Instant Addison.

And no enviro friendly Californian is worth her compost without a great bag to take to the farmer's market on Saturday morning. That's why I'm totally dumping my Trader Joe's canvas for one of these beauties which comes from a company called "Envirosax." Never really thought I'd buy something from a company whose name sounds so crunchy-porn like, but well, here it is. Here's the link for that one too. You know what this bag says? It says, "I write a third rate fashion blog, and I'm cuter than you. Now give me my rhubarb." It's also made of hemp, which I worked hard not to use against it. Actually, I would even be fine toting this bag around with my kids to the park or the beach. It's cute enough for that. And the best part? It's only $6.50.

So see--it is possible to be fabulous while being a friend to the environment. As with everything, though, moderation is the key. Being "green" is really in right now, but you know what's always in? Having fun and not freaking out about crap you can't control. Live your life. You're hotter that way. And for God's sake, if you're going to eat a cookie, don't eat the vegan one. I mean that literally and metaphorically.

All About My Mother

2007-05-02T11:16:00.000-07:00

It's a little early for a Mother's Day post, but I'm a-gonna do it anyway. Why? Because I'm a rule breaker. And also because my mom is a professor, and with the end of term, she's had lots of students tell her how she's influenced their lives, and helped them learn accounting (obviously, she teaches accounting, which totally doesn't jive if you know me and how sort of loopy that I am). So, because this is a fashion blog, I'm going to recount how she's influenced my life with fashion. It's all because she's awesome and rocks the house, but also because I keep hearing ads on the radio about sending your mom flowers for Mother's Day, and well, what's better than flowers? Being posted about in a third-rate blog that no one will ever read! Totally! It's the gift that keeps on giving!

So without further adieu, I give you:

My Mom Made Me Into A Fashionista, Despite Rocking the Acid Wash More than A Few Times

The first memory I have of my mother fashion-wise, is of the smell of perm-juice. Hey, it was the 80's--everyone had a perm, and my mom was no exception. Her hair was so big that it had its own force field. But she was a single mom, and a hot one at that. She had this black and white striped button front shirt that was all kind of blousy, and she would tuck it into a pair of pleated khaki pants and snap a red braided belt over the top. I loved that belt--if I think about it, I can still remember how totally awesome the 2 lbs of braided polyester felt in my hand, and how I wanted to wear it over my own jean/tunic ensemble that I imagined I would wear when I finally got to meet the cast of the Cosby Show. Mom was HOT, and with this very outfit probably spawned the love affair I have with black, white and red now. That and my obsession with bad 80's music and the song Disco Duck. Yeah. Blaming all that on her.

My mom rocked my own style because she let me do whatever I wanted fashion-wise. When I went through a phase of matching everything to my days of the week hair ribbons which she had expertly woven through my hair, she was there with outfits that matched down to the socks. When I decided to wear Mary Janes and a magenta hat with a purple flower EVERYDAY, thus making myself look like the love child of Baby Jane and The Golden Girl's Blanche DuBois, she was right there to say that I looked lovely.

This continued through mid calf length overalls that I thought were SUPER FLATTERING, through huge sweatshirts with varied color turtlenecks, and into the period when I fancied myself some sort of grunge goddess. That's when it ended. I remember her taking me aside one day, and saying exactly this: "You are currently wearing a red polyester shirt, a pair of khaki colored pants that are huge, orange socks, and your fingernails are painted green. You. Are. A....mess. You need to get it together." The look in her eye ate through my veneer of touch chick rebellion, and I endeavored to get it together. Well, sort of. If you call a profusion of black turtlenecks and JNCO jeans "together", and well, I do, because this blog is entitled "The Cult of the Black Sweater" so obviously I'm still all about the turtlenecks.

But the number one reason that my mom is awesome? She doesn't wear Mom jeans. I think she did for a short period during the early 90's, and also (regrettably) rocked the evil, mulletted brother of the mom jeans: the mom shorts, which I believe she got on sale at Goody's and wore with a sherbet colored striped polo. But besides that short, dark period in all our lives, Mom sports mid-rise normal pants. And it was so nice to be able to visit colleges, and not have the tour guide gaze sadly at my mom's gut before deciding that I would never be cool enough to attend that school.

So thanks Mom, for not wearing Mom jeans, and for being awesome. Thanks for giving me a great sense of style, and backing me up through the newsboy hats and the ball gown skirts and the bike shorts. And Mom, just know that anytime I do anything bad, I can still hear your angry voice, calling out from the bathroom where you were layering on your 47th layer of Opium lotion, saying:

"You'll deal with it, or we'll start getting all of your clothes from the J.C. Penney catalog!"

And I of course deal with it, because, to this day, I'm scared to my very core of that prospect.

Reasons to Hate Teenagers

2007-05-01T10:03:00.000-07:00

Those of you who know me know that I spend a lot of my time with teenagers. I'm an SAT tutor, so I'm constantly inundated with teenage stress, teenage angst and teenage love. And to tell you the truth, I get along well with teenagers. They seem to like me, they laugh at my jokes, and I understand (perhaps more than their tyrannical parents) how hard it can be to have the whole of your life stretching in front of you, waiting on you to begin.

The one thing I have against teenagers, however, is the way they dress. In my opinion, a lot of teenagers don't understand just how blessed they are. As a teenager, you are at the time of your life where everything is exactly where it should be, and things are clean because your mother wills it so: you haven't yet eaten yourself through freshman year, you haven't yet been forced to forego washing your hair or clothes for a day or three in order to better understand the works of John Milton. As a teenager, it is your duty to dress in a way that celebrates your body, because, well, bitches, it ain't gonna be that way for long. Velour sweatsuits just don't cut it when you look lovely with little to no effort. And no, that doesn't mean I advocate forced mini-skirts for every girl (although, if I was instantly granted the body I had when I was about 14, I would wear nothing but a bathing suit for the rest of my life). There is a tasteful way to show things off.

And my young little nubile ladies, it's name is Abercrombie and Fitch:

See these guys? They want you to pony up the $40 for the Abercrombie logo-ed sweatshirt. And you should. Because when you get to be my age, you're going to want to go to Abercrombie so bad that it freaking hurts, but you won't be able to because you're old, chubby, and your ears smart at the loud music they play. You'll be scared of the manicured, bronzed employees with their artfully torn jeans and gelled hair. But when you're a teenager, you don't have to be scared. You're their bread and butter--you can step into the softcore porn covered walls and smile at the employees and they will help you and not give you the stink eye because you're a size 10, and thus, the fattest thing in the world.

My love of Abercrombie reaches back into my own teenagerdom when I forced my mother to drive me three hours to the West Town Mall in Knoxville, TN to do my back to school shopping because no other mall had my special store. There I would spend child support check after child support check, all on things that had the word "Abercrombie" tatooed over my chest. My mother hated the catalogs and the pornish pictures, but she would stand back and let me spend the money anyway, comforting herself with a Cinnabon and Origins face cream. I remember her buying me a pair of the jeans for Christmas, and how I wore them to various high school sporting events, and felt they were my "lucky jeans" for reasons that went beyond high school sports.

And that is probably why I want this little $60 shirt so freaking much.

And I can't buy it. Because I'm not 16 any more. I'm an old fattie. Sigh.

Damn teenagers. I hope you all get 400's on the SAT.

Gifting with Myself

2007-04-30T10:36:00.000-07:00

I'll admit right off that I'm probably not at my best today, or rather, any day lately. I'm distracted, I'm kind of sad, and I'm not wearing any mascara. Therefore, I'm in prime position to want to unload lots of money in some sort of misguided attempt at retail therapy. That's why I'm spending a lot of time with my current best friends, Nordstrom and Sephora. It's sad--I'm not really indulging myself with anything right now, but if I were, oh, boy, if I were....I'd be buying one of these lovely gift sets from Sephora:

And yes, they are gift sets. And if I bought them, I would be buying them for myself. Not a gift. But it's a whole lot of stuff--in one box, for a reduced price! That's why, here and now, I am reclaiming the gift set. No more will it be used by husbands and out of town grandmothers who have no idea what you want for Christmas, and honestly, don't care that much or they would come up with something a little more original than a prepackaged gift set. No, now, it will be used only by the people who really appreciate it, people like me, who need something to get them through quarter life crises and messy kitchens. I need a gift set--the rings around my eyes scream for Smashbox, my pouty lips, chewed on lips beg for Bourjois.

God, now I'm pretty sure I'm going to plink down the cash for one of these things. Lord.

The Dilemma of New Jeans

2007-04-26T14:34:00.000-07:00

When the going gets tough, the tough buy new jeans. Let's just say that it's time for me to buy some new pants. Although they are notoriously hard to fit, and can make you feel like refried crap while going through the process of shopping for them, nothing really lifts my spirits like a new pair of go anywhere-do anything pants. Especially if they make me feel small and cute and flirty. And the best pairs definitely do.

The problem is there are so many options, and these options go beyond flare leg or boot cut leg. My main problem is whether to buy an expensive, "investment" pair that I will baby and line dry and wash in Woolite every night, or cheaper, "I'll buy another pair in a couple of months" pants. I don't wear jeans that often because I work in a non-jeans environment, however, I would like to have a pair of go-to pants.

Therefore, I have been checking one of my favorite work day distractions: nordstrom.com. Nordstrom has this bombastic jeans finder thing, where you put in all this information and it pops out your perfect pants, and if you're feeling spry and like you need entertainment, some damn funny pants. And that is, of course, when I came upon these beauties:

Now, before you come and feel my head and ask me if I'm feeling feverish, I'll tell you that I hate these pants. They're the devil. You're looking at high waisted, tapered leg, Mom jeans. It kinda makes you throw up a little in your mouth, huh? You know what's going to make you full on upchuck? These pants cost $130. These are $130 Mom jeans. This totally shocks and awes me. I mean, how rich and stupid do you have to be to be like, "Oh, ok. Perhaps I can spend $130 to look like my crotch is roughly three feet long." Lord. Generally, when you tell me that I'm looking at over $100 jeans, I expect to see flattering, dark denim boot cut things with some kind of whiskering and premium-ness. Not. This.

So after finding this, being revolted, and deciding to write a post describing my feelings upon finding these (this blog is very therapeutic, by the way), I realized that a high waist is actually kind of "the style." Glamour this month has a whole long pictorial thing about copying the style of Annie Hall, and while I'm all for it because I heart Woody Allen with all the fiber of my being, I kinda threw up in my mouth a little then, too. Especially when I saw that they had actually bothered to print that high waisted pants are flattering because they disguise your muffin top. Ok, you know that sound that they play on the Price is Right when someone uses all their chips and still only drops it in the 0 holder in the Plinko board? That "Whah whah whah..." sound? Ok, I'm making that right now. High waisted pants look good on no one. NO ONE. To prove that point, take a look at Mischa Barton, who is taller, thinner, and whinier than you:

No offense to the OC, but Mischa looks WRETCHED here. She has faux saddlebags. FAUX SADDLEBAGS. She looks like a deranged farm hand. See what these pants do? Now, imagine if she had some boobs too, and how they would lay on her waistband. God, I'm seriously making myself sick with this post...

So, all that said, here's the story: Morgan wants new pants. However, she will not be buying high waisted ones. She encourages you to do the same.

The Spoils of a Trip to Target

2007-04-25T09:48:00.000-07:00

I am blogging from home today, as we had a bit of a family emergency yesterday, and today I am spending the day recovering from it. It feels kind of strange writing for a fashion blog in my current state, as I look anything but fashionable. Currently, I am wearing a Planet Mom t-shirt and Old Navy yoga pants. Lovely. What's worse, when I went out earlier to run some errands I wore on my feet....Birkenstocks (you kinda expected me to say Crocs didn't you?). They are quiet hideous t-strap concoctions with crazy color mosaics on them. Not your typical fashion blogger attire, huh?

But I do have some interesting things to talk about because this is my first official Product Review post! Yea! I am going to try to make this a regular thing, because, well, for better or worse, I buy a bunch of crap. Especially beauty and make-up crap. And most of the time, it's pretty good stuff, but well, sometimes I buy some real stinkers. So I may as well use my idiocy to inform others. Just as I do with baseball players, I will award products with a sliding review that will range from "dead to me" to "Mark Ellis." Just a note--the sliding scale may change depending on my mood.

So the first product is Comforting Butter Body Wash from Neutrogena. For perhaps the only time ever, I'm blogging about a product that is brand spankin' new--so new that the picture I found on drugstore.com doesn't even show the new packaging. Well, the only difference is that where it says "deep moisture" on the pictured tube, the actual tube I bought says "comforting." So it's perhaps not revolutionary. ANYWAY, the product...I really like this one. I guess I should have a disclaimer here that I love body washes and soaps and things. But I am quiet picky. I like one that has a good lather, and has a scent that is not too faint nor too heavy. This one has both of those. The lather is good, however, it does not make my skin feel dry or itchy afterwards. The moisture lasts pretty much all day too. The scent is really what sells this, though. It smells exactly like the homemade icing my grandmother used to use on chocolate cakes. I love it. I take one sniff of it before I squirt it on the loofah, and I'm in heaven. And the best thing is, when I get out of the shower, I don't smell like a big plate of cookies (so if you want to smell like something edible after a shower, this probably isn't your cup of tea). The scent is not overwhelming at all. I'm sitting here sniffing my arm--God, I'm glad I'm at home--and I can detect a bit of it, just enough to remind me how good it smells. All in all, this is a great body wash, and I will probably buy it again. That's saying something, because I usually bounce around on these things.

My rating: (nearly) Gold Glove Winning Mark Ellis diving catch level

The next product is Burt's Bees Coconut Foot Creme. I should also put out a disclaimer that I love foot creams. Well, let me rephrase that. I like foot creams a lot in theory, but I'm not the best about using them. I'll buy them and use them faithfully for about a week, but then I get sick of wearing socks to bed, and I stop, or I just start falling asleep without doing it and end up breaking my nightly routine. I bought this one hoping to break that cycle. The thing that I thought would make me break the cycle is the smell of this stuff. It's really pretty great. In fact, I've used it for 3 nights now, and now whenever I walk into our bedroom, I smell coconut (and not that overly sweet fake coconut--the good stuff). That's a good thing because I like the smell of coconut. If you don't, this is not the foot cream for you. It's also not the foot cream for you if you are actually looking for a cream. This is a clear, goopy substance, not white and creamy like one would imagine of a product with the word "creme" in the title. It kinda reminds me of a thick, melty lip balm of something. This kinda threw me off when I put it on for the first time. In fact, it was a little off-putting. I actually like thick white stuff that I can slather on. The good news is, however, that unlike the thick white stuff, this is very easily absorbed. You put it on your feet, and they just kinda suck it up. I like that. There is a faint sticky feeling after putting it on, but if you follow the directions on the package and put on socks afterwards, you probably won't notice. And the good news is, it works. My heels are already feeling better, and it's just been 3 days. I am excited to see what happens to the harder calluses I have on the sides of my big toes.

All in all, I'll give this the rating of a double off the left field wall, i.e., not as good as my stellar Mark Ellis defensive plays, but pretty damn effective, and worthy of a cheer.

The last product I'll review is Revlon Super Lustrous Lip Gloss. I bought this after reading a review from Alison on My Wardrobe Today. Since she reviewed Pink Afterglow, I bought that shade as well. I do like it: it's sparkly, but not overly so. It wears well, perhaps even a bit better than more expensive lip glosses that I've tried. I especially like the feel of it--it's not sticky at all. Overall, it's a great lip gloss. I was thinking of buying another color since the formula is so nice, but when I looked at the other colors, I didn't see anything that really tickled my fancy. So if anything, I wish there were a bigger range of colors for this, perhaps something that rivals the Super Lustrous Lipstick line that Revlon also pedals.

Final review: another double off the left field wall

Meet Wally!

2007-04-23T09:50:00.000-07:00

Today's guest columnist to Cult of the Black Sweater is my good friend, Wally. Wally is a walrus, and yes, he resents his uncreative, alliterative name. But Wally is also quite the fashionista. Here are some of Wally's favorite things:

As you can see, Wally is especially fond of shapeless dresses. After all, he's a walrus. That's why he loves this dress that Kelly Clarkson recently wore to the ASCAP Awards:
(Sorry if you can't see it--I shamelessly stole it from a website where to get the bigger version, I had create an account. And I'm lazy. Just so you know, it's a potato sack.)

Take it away, Wally:

My loveliest trout sandwiches:
Don't you just love this dress? It is fabulous, is it not? I can imagine it draped on the supple flesh of a female walrus, such as my dear heart Wilhelmina. She would wear it with much style, especially having just used her at home tusk-whitening kit. Much like your darling Ms. Clarkson here, it seems. In fact, is Ms. Clarkson a walrus? I mean, judging from the shapely legs, I imagine that she is not, but I can't really tell what's underneath the loveliest of dresses. If so, is she available for a twilight romp on the beach? I make a damn good sushi surpise.

Oh, and Wilhelmina--don't hate the playa. Hate the game.

Wallace P. Walrus, Esq.

What I Would Really Want to Wear, Were I Not a Chubby Girl Living In The Burbs

2007-04-22T08:22:00.000-07:00

I've been reading a lot of things lately about the cultivation of one's own personal style. I, of course, am all for that, and feel that I have my own style rather locked in place. I would describe it as this: one part J.Crew catalog, one part business casual and two parts depressed English major, shaken and served over ice in a cheap Ikea martini glass. Oh, and with a sidecar of rabid baseball fan. Must not forget that.

Anyway, I've always seen these features in fashion magazines talking about personal style, and seriously, when those bitches talk about personal style, those bitches talk about personal style. Like X-treme personal style. As in, if you enjoy jeans, you are All-American. Nothing else. If you have a lace blouse, you're Victorian. That's it. There's no mixing of the fashion magazine personal style. You're this or you're that.

And of course I buy right into this because, well, I'm not that bright and shiny pictures of pretty women get me every time. And I always think that if I were to adopt one of these personal styles, I would definitely pick whatever the slutty offering is. It's sometimes called "bombshell," it's sometimes called "sexy," but whatever the thing is with the pencil skirts and the plunging v-neck sweaters, that's what I would go with. Mostly because I like to nurse my inner slut. But also because I love this hairstyle:

Seriously, if I didn' t work in an office or suffer from a real inability to style my hair, I would wear a bouffant every freakin' day. And also fishnet hose.

My daughter is smarter than me.

2007-04-20T11:36:00.000-07:00

So my daughter got up this morning at 6:00, 30 minutes before I got up. She comes to my side of the bed, breaking me away from a dream where I was buying a mattress with the Oakland A's 3, 4, and 5 hitters. She only said two words, and those words caused me to get up out of bed right that minute, and follow her into the living room.

Those words? "I'm dressed."

And she was. What was she wearing? Jeans in a light wash, a black High School Musical short sleeve tee, a larger, gray long sleeve High School Musical tee, a gray fleece zip front hoodie, her suede jacket with a fur trim, and an Oakland A's Kid's Club hat.

Sigh.

Anyway, I chose not to fight her on it. She promptly went back to sleep on the couch. I went over to her twice to try to wrench one of the jackets off of her small back, but she woke up both times and gave me the evil eye.

God, she's just like me, and it drives me nuts.

Whatever. Anyway, I'm not mad. I'm not troubled. Sure, if I were her, I would have worn a cute little dress with patterned tights, mary janes, and a beret. But that's me. And I'm not hip, nor am I cool with the 8 year old crowd.

But it's the opera....

I'm consoling myself, so here are more affordable, cute dress choices for those who are over 8 and able to prove their love for pubescent boys in theater productions without wearing it on their chests:

I love this dress. It's from Kenneth Cole, and you can buy it at Macy's. I believe it's $139 smackaroos, but don't quote me on that. Anyway, with the wrap styling, along with the structured shirtdress feel to the dress, this would truly flatter any figure. And you could wear it to a day performance at the opera.

This another great option from UK retailer, Boden. It is $98, and has this season's great shirtdress shape, along with polka dots, which while being very popular, are also very fun. I don't know about you, but this dress reminds me of the dress worn by Gwen Stefani in the No Doubt "Don't Speak" video. I almost feel like buying it, just to keep my 12 year old self, the one who wanted to be Gwen Stefani in every single way, happy.

Last but not least, this dress serves as a big shout out to my grandmom, who is, while being a pretty darn good cook, also the consummate J.C. Penney enthusiast. If J.C. Penney has a sale, she knows about it, and she's already bought what you were going to get. If you need a mattress pad, she's got the woman in the mattress pad department on speed dial, so if you'll just tell her what kind you want, she'll put it back for you. She loves J.C. Penney, perhaps more than she loves me. Or life itself. And being the stylish maven that she is, she would also like this dress. It fits her two requirements: 1) It's from J.C. Penney, and 2). If you wear it, you're not going to fall out of it anywhere. At least if you buy the right size. And she knows how you're always buying the wrong size. Anyway, it's $39.99 (you'll probably get 20% off if you use your Penney's charge), and it's at J.C. Penney.

Passing the Fashion Torch

2007-04-19T09:50:00.000-07:00

As some of you may know, I have an 8 year old daughter, a daughter who is opionated and style conscious, and as much as she tries to ignore it, totally like her mother. To get a better idea about my daughter, consider this discussion we had this morning as I was driving her to school:

Gabby: I don't have to wear a uniform tomorrow because we are going to the SF symphony. You don't have to wake me up--I'll pick out my clothes and get myself ready by myself.

Me: I'll do it anyway.

Gabby: No, you won't. I already know what I'm going to wear. I have to wear layers because it's windy over there (just a side note here: we live right across the bay from SF, but to hear my children and husband talk about it, it's about 5 light years away).

Me: So what is this grand outfit that you're planning?

Gabby: Jeans, a short sleeve t-shirt, a long-sleeve t-shirt, my Rubber Duckies sweatshirt, and a jacket.

Me: Jesus Christ, child! For one, you're poor body won't hold the weight of all that stuff. You're going to look like a Lucky magazine feature gone wrong! And Gabby, seriously, you're going to the symphony--don't you think you should dress it up a bit? (It should be noted here that by all accounts, I have raised my child right, yet she loves jeans and Red Lobster. Sometimes I feel like a failure as a parent.)

Gabby: My teacher says we don't need to dress up....

Me: Gabby, is your teacher married?

Gabby: No. Why does it matter?

Me: Do we really want to be getting our fashion tips from her?

And so it goes. I imagine a real scene in the morning, which I will probably lose, ending up coming to work all sulky and mad and full of fashion venom. Gabby fights much dirtier than me, but then again, I fought much dirtier than my mother. It's circle, I guess.

But were my daughter old enough to understand the beauty of both boys and internet shopping, I feel fairly certain that she would wear this:

I have this dress (in black, of course), and it is perfect. It is fabulously comfortable, yet it looks nice enough to wear to the symphony if one needed to. Plus, it is so damn versatile--I wear it on the weekends on lazy Sundays to cook and lay around outside, I've worn it to work with a camisole underneath and a cardigan, I even wore it out to dinner with the family with no camisole, a small cardigan, and glittery shoes. Gabby's teacher would be happy to know that you can layer several things with it--footless tights and a cardigan for those especially blustery SF days, perhaps even a pair of knee high riding boots. And then if you wanted to hit the beach afterwards, you can put your bathing suit underneath it as well. Perfection.

By the way, it's $88, and you can find it at jcrew.com. Just imagining how many outfits you can get out of this thing makes it worth $88, and seriously, how much would you spend on Gabby's outfit, with the jeans and the 18 t-shirts, and the vests and whatever? I clothe Gabby, so I'll tell you this: it's a hell of a lot more.

The Casualization of America

2007-04-17T11:26:00.000-07:00

Today is a day when I'm just generally bummed (mostly about recent events in my home state), so I feel like railing on a familiar topic, one that I've preached about and gotten red in the face about before. I actually thought about not posting anything, because it just seems a bit frivolous in the face of everything that is going on in Virginia, but I wanted to keep it real for all of the sane English majors out there. And then, of course, I found a picture of these beauties:

Those shoes are from Hell. That has to be the most hideous thing that I've ever seen. I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit just seeing it here, gracing my blog with its hideousness. Those of you who know me on Myspace (and if I don't know you on Myspace, let's be friends. I love friends!) have seen my crazy rantings regarding Crocs in the past, but this is just beyond the pale. I mean, lace up Crocs? Have we really sunk to that level? Seriously?

I really feel like Crocs are just a symptom of the disease. A recent fashion blog entry that I read
mentioned how on a recent trip to Canada, the blogger's boyfriend remarked that Canadians are better looking and more fit than Americans. While the more fit thing is probably true (damn you, American cheese and Anheuser Busch!), the blogger felt that folks look worse in America because they are dressed shoddier. I couldn't agree more. I look around at my fellow Americans and see us as the culture of the Elastic Waist. And no, I'm not telling you you should be cleaning your toilet in a Prada gown. But if you are going to be out, where people can see you, shouldn't you dare to put on something that fastens at the waist?

It also strikes me as odd that we are all comfortable at just looking "acceptable." I am a What Not to Wear addict, and when I watch the shows, it always comes out that the person being made over (who usually resembles The Creature from The Black Lagoon) mentions that she looked "acceptable" and thought that was ok. Is it really ok for us? Is it ok to be just acceptable at our jobs, at parenting, at our relationships? No, it's not ok. So it's not ok for us to look just acceptable either.

I think it is high time that as Americans we really started trying to change some things. We are plagued with barbaric gun laws (and a group of barbarians who keep these laws in place), obesity as a national epidemic and Crocs as a sign of our laziness and inability to slip real shoes on our feet. Obviously, the gun law thing isn't going to be overhauled overnight. But can't we get together and look like something?

Dear God people, let's do it for the children:

*Yes, folks, this is what you get when you Google Image Search "Sean Preston Federline."

A Sports Related Inquiry

2007-04-16T11:32:00.000-07:00

Some of you know this, some of you don't, but I am a RABID Oakland A's fan (holla to my man Super Marco, and also to Banjo Man, who you see above. Nothing makes a girls season tickets worthwhile like a slightly smelly, bearded man plucking out tunes on a banjo). I love the Oakland A's like a mother loves her children--I get really, really pissed off at them sometimes, I say things that I don't mean, and then I decide to love them again. But through it all, the poor Oakland A's cannot get rid of me. I'm constantly there on the third base side, eating burritos and screaming at them. I have pet names for all of them, and I use them, loudy, during games. Except for Bobby Crosby. He's a permanent fixture on the Dead to Me list. So none of this applies to him. Yeah, Bobby. You know why.

Anyway, this begs the question: What does one wear to a ballgame? I have attacked this two different ways thus far this season. The first game, I wore the following ensemble: J.Crew jeans, Mark Ellis A's t-shirt (just your standard boxy t-shirt), green sneakers, green L.L. Bean fleece. That is all well and good. I looked totally fan-like. So my husband takes pictures of the family at the game, pictures of us all rockin' out on Opening Day. I look less like a fan and more like a granny smith apple. With legs. HIDEOUS like you would not believe! I am totally embarassed that I was seen like that, especially with 35,077 people, and my beloved Mark Ellis in attendance. I decided that from now on, unless it is the end of the world, and the only people who could possibly see me are the cockroaches and Cher, I will NEVER wear fleece again. If it is freezing, I will either wear my wool coat, or I will die. That is all.

So Saturday rolls around and it's time for another game. My husband reminds me that it will be cold, and that he is wearing long underwear to prepare (note to all the marrieds out there: is the fact that I have seen my husband in long underwear, and still wish to live with him a sign that we have a good marriage?). I neither own nor wish to acquire long underwear, and the pictures of Opening Night were fresh in my mind, so I instead opted for this ensemble: Gap jeans (that are too long), raspberry Ann Taylor v-neck merino sweater, black tank top, long H&M trench coat, and black heeled city boots (had to because of the longness of the pants). I definitely looked better, and these pictures (except for the ones where I was stuffing my face with a burrito) look a lot nicer. But the thing is, I didn't feel very fan-like. Yeah, I yelled my head off, and chanted "Yankee's Suck!" until I was told to stop, but I just didn't feel like the diehard fan that I am.

My conundrum is this: look like a fan, and be hideous, or look like myself and not be fun. Therefore, I am looking for some nicer "ball game clothes." That's where you come in. Any ideas for game appropriate clothes? Remember, our colors are green and gold. And also remember that it is windy in Oakland, at least until August or so.

Either leave your ideas in the comments, or send me an email. The best idea will be awarded with my unending love and dedication.

The Horrors of Friday the 13th

2007-04-13T15:04:00.000-07:00

Since today is just a scary day, I think it is only appropriate to call out a repeat fashion offender, something that frightens even the strongest fashionistas to their very core. This is the kind of thing that forces even those of us with the strongest constitutions running in the other direction, holding our bags to our supple, heaving bosoms.

Of course, I speak of the matte jersey gaucho pant. Gaze upon it in its hideousness:

Folks, this is a professional picture, taken by someone who wants to sell you these pants (I would normally tell you who, but in this case...no). Do you see the problem here? Do you see why this is a problem (other than the fact that these are roughly the same color as the stuff that was passing through my son's colon when he was roughly four months old)?

Just in case you weren't looking in the right place, here's the issue: When you wear these pants, we. can. see. your. vulva. When you wear these pants, I KNOW where babies come from--in fact, I could demonstrate it to a group of curious 8 year olds. You see, these pants are made from matte jersey, and matte jersey can best be described as the high school best friend of the fabric world. It just hangs right on you, and lives to give up your secrets and make you look fat. Plus, with the fit of these things, you just cater right to its sick desires. The matte jersey is even laughing at you when you wear these things. Now just watch while it makes out with your boyfriend in the back of the band bus.

I know some people love these kind of pants because you can dress them up or down or whatever, and while that's true (for the segment of the population that is over 5'5" and under 160 lb--all the rest of you [myself included] should steer clear, at least in public), there are much better options. For starters, how's about choosing a pant with a waistband that will not expand when you decide to eat a whole chicken and a 5 lb. bag of taters? If that's not an option, or you just want something for those lazy VH1 marathon days, find a pair of comfy pants made out of a soft, yet substantial knit. I have a great pair from Ann Taylor Loft that is made of a comfy substantial knit that doesn't sneak into my crevices when I turn my back on it, and I would link it here, but I bought them a while ago and don't see them there any more. Shy away from anything thin or silky, as in addition the camel-toe effect, these also tend to look cheap after just a few washings. And nothing's worse than a cheap woman exposing her lady-parts. They force you into rehab for that kind of thing. Just ask Britney.

It Puts the Lotion on Its Skin Or Else It Gets the Hose Again

2007-04-12T09:33:00.000-07:00

There are two times in my life when I unabashedly look HORRIBLE. These are 1) when I'm pregnant (and that's another post for another time), and 2) when my seasonal allergies strike, rendering me into a sack of mucus, tears, and complaints. Let's just say that this is allergy time, and I look appropriately gross.

When I was in college, my allergies were even worse, because I believe the College of William and Mary is set soundly in the Pollen Capitol of the World. There was pollen everywhere: you would come out to your car, and find it swallowed in a fine yellow powder. It was like trying to study T. S. Eliot in the middle of World War I (which sounds rather romantic, if you're a Hemingway lover, but it was totally not--romance is not bred when one looks like red-nosed death). Anyway, I spent my college career trying merely to stay alive, not to look beautiful. However, I remember during my freshman year coming into the bathroom of Barrett (my freshman hall), feeling as if I would surely slough off this mortal coil within hours, hoping merely to shower the snot off of myself, and seeing a girl from my hall standing there, calmly putting lotion on her face. Probably noticing that I was wretched, she said something to the effect of "My allergies are KILLER this year. This lotion sure does help!" I stood there thinking that only a revolver would help me at this point, and then calmly went into the shower, sneezed 18 times and resolved to hate her for the rest of my natural life.

But the thing is, you don't have to hate people who still manage to look human despite debilitating allergies. You too can prevail. Especially if you don't live in Williamsburg, VA. Then you haven't a prayer, I hate to tell you. But anyway, one way of dealing with the Snotty Death is to, yes, layer on the moisture cream. Allergies bring with them a red nose, and the only way to combat this is with something rich and smooth. I like Benefit's Dear John. It is thick, and does contain oil, so a just a dab will do you. I usually do a dot on my forehead, a dot on my chin, and during allergy season, a dot on the flaming nose.

A big problem during allergy season as well is watery eyes (this is also a problem if you, like me, get teary eyed when Tyra Banks discusses her weight on ANTM). I would never recommend wearing waterproof mascara, because I have heard that it breaks your lashes over time. And I have short ass lashes, so lord knows I don't need them breaking on me. If you are having an especially bad allergy day, don't wear any at all. This seems like sacrilege, especially given the relationship I have with my DiorShow, but it's better that than risk looking like Tammy Faye at an all day, dinner on the grounds Camp Meeting (all due respect to Tammy Faye). You can wear eye shadow, however. Bourjois makes a great cream waterproof shadow--Bourjois Intensely Luminous Waterproof Cream Eyeshadow. You can find it at Sephora. It has a lot of pigment, and thus is a good deal for the $13.50. I am getting ready to order the "trendy khaki" in just a few minutes.

So all in all, you can look human during allergy season. So I can quit hating my hallmate. She really had some good advice all those years ago--moisturizing is the key to looking human. And, of course, keeping your woman suit in pliable condition.