"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.

I'm Not Dead. Ho ho ho!

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

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

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

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

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

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

What Not to Wear to an Informal Job Interview

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

I've totally lost all fashion credibility.

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

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

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

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

I think I'll make an appointment this weekend.

An Open Letter to Miley Cyrus

Dear Miley,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love,

Morgan

Seven Things...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Back with a Rush

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

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

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

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

Uninspired

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

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

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

Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman

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

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

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

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

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

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