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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'm a 10!

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

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

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

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

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

In Defense of The Gap

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nirvana in the Target Clearance Aisle

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'll leave you with this.

Third Time is the Charm

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's a Blogapoolaza!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When Something You Love Doesn't Love You Back

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

New Year, New Shopping, New Posts

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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