New Job, New Look, New Problems

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.