Monday, October 29, 2007

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).

Thursday, October 25, 2007

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!

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

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!

Monday, October 22, 2007

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.

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

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.

Thursday, October 11, 2007

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).

Tuesday, October 9, 2007

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?

Saturday, October 6, 2007

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!




Friday, October 5, 2007

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?

Wednesday, October 3, 2007

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?


Tuesday, October 2, 2007

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.