I'm Not Dead. Ho ho ho!

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

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.

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

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...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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

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