The Will to My Grace

October 26, 2011

It's hard to believe it's been 26 years since I met my first male true love. Not often does one meet their man in preschool, and admittedly at first I was skeptical of you. You ate Play-Doh during playtime and proudly exclaimed that you were "Peter Carl Franklin Carl Franklin" Eichler during our preschool program. You couldn't tie your shoes, so you exclaimed "good grief". I found your use of Charlie Brown's catch-phrase melodramatic and cliche. I thought you, like the other boys, had cooties.

As I grew older, I came to realize you had the best boy cooties of all: the natural, noncontagious kind that are born of love, part of you and, while they can't be prayed away contrary to popular belief, these special cooties make you irresistible to women. My grandmother called you "the hunk" in our teen years. You took me to restaurants and the elders in our community called you my boyfriend. I never corrected them because I knew you would indeed be mine forever and never break my heart like the other cootie-infested boys. You chased away my bullies with your glittery flair and one glimpse of you in that Lycra color guard outfit dancing to Madonna's "Vogue" and I was your groupie forever.

Sixteen years ago today should have been your birthday party. There was cake, ice cream, games of 'spoons', and pizza with buttered crust. Lots of kids were invited, but you rescheduled the party for one guest: me. I had my third major spinal cord surgery six days prior, and you waited until I was better to have your birthday party. While my medical anguish continued through the year, you pushed my wheelchair in the school halls and even over cobbled sidewalks during our school trip to DC, determined not to let me fall behind. How many 14 year old boys do that? That's true love.

So happy BIG 3-0 to you, my man. May this milestone be as special to you as the milestones you marked for me: the first man to send me flowers, the first man to walk me down an aisle...albeit at graduation....and the first man to steal my heart. May all women be as blessed to meet a true love during their tenure at preschool.

(The year was 2003. You said let's brave that hometown bar to get $3 White Russians. Again, I was skeptical, but I learned a valuable lesson. Never doubt a homosexual who says he knows where to find $3 White Russians. We braved the townies and even stomached the beer-and-hockey decor behind us to consume enough White Russians to make you sing R. Kelly to me. Your hair weave, was indeed, lookin' kinda purdy. We had to detour to your parents' farmhouse to empty my bladder because I couldn't wait another four miles to get home. All in all, just another notch in our belt of fun.)

wanderlust

The word wanderlust came up today. It was kind of jarring, because I forgot that I have it. Not that I don't daydream constantly about the next big adventure or place I could be, but I forgot about it...like an affliction one has that they forget about until they have to maintain it. Like I forgot this nagging feeling had a name. It's such a funny thing. Always wanting to be somewhere else, but loving where you are. 

(Carmel-by-the-Sea is one of my favorite places on earth. It's my retirement plan.)

I once was lost...

I'm not quite sure how I overlooked this one, being the rabid Janet Jackson fan that I am. Truth be told, I overlooked the Discipline album. Some of her newest stuff didn't grab me right away, so it is my own fault that I've gone 3 years without knowing this song existed.
As a friend pointed out, it's not lyrical genius, but mash up 2 Jacksons and I'm content. (Or, in the case of Scream, more than content.)
This song came to me in a pretty poignant time in my life. I was lost. Truly, I took a wrong turn in the car. That's a rare occasion, but there I was in the middle of Newark (Cali) having missed my turn to the Dumbarton Bridge, back to the sanctuary of the Peninsula. I was too busy navigating to be doing my usual frenzied flipping of the channels (with my new radio controls ON the steering wheel, thank you. I've joined the 2000s.) when I heard the familiar tune of "Rock With You". I sighed at first, thinking this was a new, butchered remake until the familiarity of that sultry voice registered as I took the turn I had missed earlier onto the bridge. The moment couldn't have been scripted better: the lightbulb in my head going on as I turned the right way toward home.
Don't you love radio treasure? Songs you wonder where they've been your whole life. Songs you've forgotten about...songs you wish would go away because you can't stop singing them. Delicious. My radio has been so good to me lately. Soon I will actually, you know, learn all of the media outlets in our new car. I've used the CD player once to play the Mamas and the Papas, and an attempt to use the Mp3s on my Blackberry didn't turn out so well. (Had some issues with skipping...wonder if it's the cord I used?) If my radio keeps spitting out the delicious guilty pleasures at this rate, I'll use Mp3s in my car when the next new format of music rolls out...

Dance Party! Where? My Car. Entertainment Line Up: At least I have upgraded to HD radio.

what are you wearing?

I liked my outfit today, and my new layered cut, so I just thought I'd share. This may be a good outfit for the upcoming Stevie Nicks/Rod Stewart concert I'll be going to in a few weeks' time. Plaid for Rod, ruffles for Stevie. (Since I don't think the leather unitard with flannel and lace coordinates my friend suggested will pan out...) I could stand to use something other than Photo Booth in the future, but this will do for now.

The updated Cobain

Mr. Popper's Penguins

Who didn't love this book?

A Single Man

Recently my husband and I were watching a rerun of the Oprah show in which Tom Ford and Colin Firth were promoting their movie, A Single Man. My husband turned to me and said "I wish I could dress like that everyday." And I replied, "why not?" One of the things I love about my husband is his sense of style. This is not something a lot of (American) women say, nor is it something I thought I'd ever be able to say. Working as a chemist, he doesn't dress up every day, but when he gets the opportunity he seizes it. Those opportunities have been increasing as of late, and his appetite for stylish clothes has increased accordingly.

I've always loved clothes and fashion, even if from afar in my pajamas, so I feel incredibly lucky to have married a man who not only encourages, but participates in, looking stylish and enjoying some of the finer things in life. I can take him to a dressing room and he actually has the ability to give me solid advice on what looks good on me. He really does have impeccable taste, so this post is to celebrate him and kick off some future posts on menswear inspiration.

While we have yet to watch the movie together, I can already predict that I will like it based on these themes alone: period piece, 1960s, directed by a man credited with reinventing GUCCI, set in California, Colin Firth. Finally, there is this quote from Tom Ford's interview with Oprah on his switch from fashion to movies: "Fashion is a reflection of where we are in contemporary culture, but it moves, moves, moves. It doesn't last," he says. "In film, you create a world that's forever sealed. It lasts forever. You can put in an old movie from the '30s and you're emoting and living and breathing with these people. And if you're someone who likes to design things, build things, create things, that's as close as you get to, you know, being God in our world, and it's permanent."


How many fashion designers could make that leap so successfully? Not many.

 If only I could get my hair like this without a Bumpit...

(Image: Gentryman.com)

 (Image: Zimbio.com)

 Color-blocked deliciousness 

(Image: Flix66.com)

 How I picture my future-professor husband will someday dress on the job.

(Image: BrandsandFilms.com)

(Image: Zimbio.com)

 (Image: FilmmakerMagazine.com)

(Image: Londonoa.com)

Send in the Gowns - LA Times Magazine

I love this article from LA Times Magazine on some of the greatest gowns in film--complete with video links. 

Send in the Gowns - LA Times Magazine

I believe my favorite goes without saying...

The Runaways

A good friend of mine has been pestering me to watch "The Runaways". With good reason, since I have a thing for period pieces and 70s rock, not to mention chick rock. However, this film was also recommended to me due to my complaints about Kristen Stewart's acting. I don't often complain about actors/actresses. I generally don't complain about movies as I am pretty easily entertained. While I'm at it, I may as well contradict myself and say I will never get back the 2 hours I wasted on "Prince of Persia" recently. I digress, as is usual.

The verdict is in: while her acting wasn't as bad as it was in Twilight...it wasn't that great, either. It's official: I'm just not a Kristen Stewart fan. The Twilight movies were pretty pitiful and only redeemed in my eyes by a British man with lovely locks. (Did he have lines? I didn't notice.)

Right, this is to review "The Runaways".

Even though I had to endure Kristen Stewart (who did an OK job playing Joan Jett) this film was amazing thanks in large part to Dakota Fanning, whom I've never really liked or disliked. Since children should be seen and not heard in my world, she was always in the background of movies I watched. (Side note, second contradiction of the day: don't watch "Hounddog" with Dakota Fanning. That was too gritty a film even for me.) While both actresses were the spitting images of their characters, and while Joan Jett is the more recognized of the two, this film focused largely on Cherie Currie, the lead singer of The Runaways and was based on Currie's biography, Neon Angel. And thank god for that, since it gave Fanning the lead in this movie.

If there's anyone that can play "runaway teen gone wrong", it's someone wise enough to break out of the child actor stereotype without audiences realizing it. She seems to be someone who has sidestepped the Lohan-Cyrus-Spears pitfalls of Hollywood and just does her job without catering to the "any publicity is good publicity" stunts. I think this foresight allowed her to play the role as well as she did, and will make her transition into adult roles more believable.

One of the best scenes in the movie highlights the band's popularity in Japan. Japanese society, and Japanese women in general, are often thought of as conformist, even prudish or buttoned up in a way, so that the band's popularity was more widespread in Japan than in the US is one of the most striking pieces of the their story, one that was likened to America's "Beatlemania". This is also the scene in which we see the completion of Dakota Fanning's metamorphosis into Cherie Currie. Just YouTube the movie scene and compare it to the footage from 1977's live show. 

All in all, that I love movies about music, the 1970s, and rock and roll isn't news. There's plenty more on that subject where this came from. However, the level of acting, at least by one actress in this film, was an added bonus to a film I already knew I would like. In the spirit of the film, I give it two middle fingers up.

(Image: http://www.ear.fm/Encyclopedia%20C/Currie_Cherie.htm)

British Invasion as Sung by a Choir

Tonight, I saw a fabulous concert put on by San Mateo's Masterworks Chorale featuring music by Gordon Sumner, Farrokh Bulsarah, and Paul David Hewson. You may also know them by their stage names: Sting, Freddie Mercury, and Bono. Masterwork's "BRITISH INVASION!" concert celebrated twentieth century tunes that made their way across the pond and into the hearts of Americans. Sweetening the deal was the fact that this concert was put on in a Lutheran church. I can't remember the last time I heard bass guitar in a church, let alone to the tune of Bohemian Rhapsody.

The crowd favorite soloist was the much accoladed Woodrow Thompson, who performed popular tunes like John Lennon's "Imagine" and Elton John's "Your Song", but the stand-out performer for me this evening was Nicholas Carlozzi singing the timelessly beautiful "Something", written by George Harrison...incidentally my favorite Beatle. When the tunes of the Fab Four weren't being belted out by these talented performers, they were being sung by the audience in the evening's sing-a-long portion.

Aside from the Beatles, Sting, Elton John, U2, and Queen, the performance also contained music that was not of the rock and roll persuasion. I will admit, tonight was the first time I have ever heard British music from early twentieth century composers like Roger Quilter and Geoffrey Bush. I was grateful for the informative program put together by the group which gave biographies of the artists, as well as detailed information about the songs being sung. I learned things about the composers I'd never heard of and even learned things about the artists I thought I knew everything about. Somehow, the fantastical previous life of Freddie Mercury didn't make it to my memory bank. Born in Zanzibar to Parsi parents...moved to India before emigrating to England...whole family practiced Zoroastrian religion. These are the things Magical Mystery Tours are made of, people. Now I am REALLY raring for that Sacha Baron Cohen as Freddie Mercury MOVIE! Also, how did I never know that Sarah Brightman was married to Andrew Lloyd Webber?

Aside from adding "Zanzibar" to my to-do list, I've also penciled in Masterworks Chorale's April 17th performance "Love Songs & Chocolate". My husband and I decided this evening that seeing choir performances is "our thing" since our date tonight was reminiscent of a performance we saw on our honeymoon in the church in Prague pictured below. It was an excursion he talked me into and it ended up being one of the things we remember most fondly, seeing a concert under a roof that adds to the moniker "City of a Thousand Spires." Tonight was yet another reminder of how enriched my life feels when I listen to good music, and that even the rock and roll tunes we sing in the car can be sang in the houses of the Holy.

Editor's Note: Yup, I'm well aware that the inclusion of Bono in a "British" Invasion concert was inaccurate. However, the inclusion of U2's tune "MLK" in an evening that celebrated music from "across the pond" and its impact on America also demonstrated our reverse impact.

She's Climbin' in Your Windows...

A couple of weekends ago, I made an impulse purchase or two on a Friday night before bed. Coincidentally, my husband was out of town. (While the cat's away...) And in the morning when I rolled over to read my Blackberry, I had an "I bought what?" moment. Let's ignore the fact for a moment that I may need rehab and rejoice in the fact that I bought a hot Kate Spade purse via the sample sale for $145. That is with tax and shipping my friends. Its sticker price was $325. Pretty sure this is what Diana Ross meant when she was singing about her Love Hangover.

Normally, I don't impulse shop. You can ask anyone that's shopped with me. I'm a hem-hawer and I usually have to make many trips to the mall because I find myself saying "why didn't I buy that?" But I've wanted a Kate Spade for YEARS, so I'm happy to finally have one. Anyone remember her boxy Sam bags? Those were also in the sample sale, and I was tempted, but I feel I've outgrown them...oh, if only I'd gotten one in 1995.

But regardless, she's here...and she's hiding under my side of the bed. She's a little to fall/winter to make her debut, though I should take advantage of using her during this rainy west coast weather. However, she's quite large, so I'm not sure the "this old thing" line will work. Hide your cards, hide your wallets...UPS, is coming for YOU! (I had this shipped to work...sneaky trick I learned from my best friend's mom who was my high school teacher.)

So, aside from this rehash on old news (to some of you), I wanted to mention that katespade.com is AWESOME and has free (or super low) shipping. I usually get free shipping, but for the sample sale, they charged $5 shipping.

That's kate, hiding at my job.

I made a Facebook fanpage.

I am doing a trial run to see if this is a useful way to interact with my friends. I don't have a wares to peddle, but I do often find myself sending links over and over to people, or forwarding sales or juggling the two. I want to funnel a lot of the consumerism through the "fan" page, especially for short blurbs, get more friends interacting, and get more two way traffic going from here to FB and vice versa. So while I put myself in the "products" category, it's because that's what I'll be discussing a lot.

I'll try to be diligent about keeping the content from going too stagnant. I also feel Facebook will help me to keep things more brief. I get so wordy with my blogs and I get so wrapped up I have to drop it to do something else before I finish...

I would ask if you think the page is useful, but it remains to be seen, doesn't it?

Regardless, I do a lot of online shopping, a lot of shop talk with my ladies, and get an obscene amount of sale alerts and it need to be shared!

Plus, if you're reading this with Google reader or similar, I highly suggest you mosey on over to the actual blog and check out the pretty new background.

Best Christmas Present

This is a hands-down, no contest answer. The best Christmas gift I ever received was my Samantha Parkington American Girl doll in the sixth grade. This was around the same time I had stopped believing in the flesh-and-blood existence of Santa Claus (Santa is about the spirit of the season, so yes I believe in Santa.) I had begged my mother for one of these (expensive) dolls for years. I also was skilled in the art of snooping for my gifts, so I pretty much knew what the line-up was going to be each holiday. However, in the sixth grade at Christmas, low and behold Santa brought me my SAMANTHA PARKINGTON DOLL complete with school desk, school accessories and lunch box!! This was one of the more fanciful gifts Santa had brought me...probably ever. So the fact that I didn't find the item in advance when I'd pretty much sniffed out the rest of my gift line up was...suspicious. It made me really start to second guess myself on this not believing in Santa business. I'm not sure when my mom finally divulged that she sent it to my grandparents' house (why on earth would she do THAT?) but it had me going for a second.
For a couple of reasons, Samantha reigns supreme on the best Christmas gifts EVA! One, she made me believe in the magic of Christmas. (Macy's helps keep this spirit alive in me, but Samantha started it!) Second, you are never, NEVER too old for these wonderful dolls. I'm not a doll or toy collector, but I could take each one of these home and have a high old time brushing their hair and reading their corresponding stories. They are fabulous toys for any child and serve to educate children on important points in America's history by bringing it to life in their homes.
I am sad to report that they have since "retired" Samantha, as well as my other favorite, Felicity, from their doll line up. (HOW can you retire your Revolutionary War doll, American Girl?!) I had long planned on getting Felicity for my unborn daughter because she had the prettiest outfits...and is educational!!...and has red hair. Which, on a side note, I always thought I'd have a red-headed child. The retirement of Felicity as well as my marriage to a man of Indian descent has brought me to the realization that this probably is not going to happen...
On a final note, if you are ever looking for an (expensive) gift for me, may I suggest the Julie Albright doll? Around the time I received my Samantha doll, I had also pined for American Girl (then Pleasant Company) to make a 60s/70s inspired doll. So inspired, I wrote them a note detailing why it was an important time in American history and letting them know that their fan base (a 12 year old me) would like a hippy doll in the line up. I got my wish, now I need the doll!! To top it all off, she's from San Francisco and has a Chinese best friend. She was made for me!!

A visit to American Girl Place in Los Angeles for my 27th birthday.
You are never too old for American Girl dolls!

Photo of Yourself Without Makeup

Well, this is cruel and unusual punishment. I have flat hair (the price one pays for not needing a flat iron and the ability to wash and go), dark circles around my eyes (not just under them, and the circles coupled with the bags are an inherited trait), and really blonde lashes. Really long, but really light unless I'm wearing mascara, which I don't need a lot of. If I put on mascara, I get stopped on the street by women who tell me I have beautiful lashes, so it's an even trade. On the plus side, I don't color my hair. I don't have to, it's a decent color on its own and has some natural highlights to it. I also (finally) have decent skin. I also won't be having children because my skin is all to the credit of my oral contraceptive. And I like my eyes. I play them up the most when I get made up. I am also OK with my giant schnoz. Overall, I'm pretty happy with my looks. 

Talent I Wish I Had

I wish I had a couple of the talents my husband possesses: the ability to argue/debate and the ability to absorb information as quickly as he can. I have a decent memory, and I am an intelligent person, but he's one of those people that knows everything about everything because he read it once. He's also a fast reader, which makes me even sicker that he can absorb information that quickly. I'm a pore-over-every-word-and-puncutation-mark person.

He can also argue until he's blue in the face...only he never turns blue, he just keeps yakking. He doesn't care that he's wrong, he just wants to take the opposite stance and argue for it. My favorite example of this was when we were with a friend of his who can really get him debating. They're colleagues, so they argue over everything at work. This guy is really laid back, and my husband is always wired. This friend and I liken these arguments to shaking up the baby and handing it back to the parents...he always presses my husband's buttons and then leaves me with him, continuing to spout his arguments. My problem is that I just don't care enough to argue with people. I have my views and I could give two hoots what you think of them...I also hate arguing over anything remotely factual for fear that don't know all the facts. I like to think before I speak...this puts me in a minority of the population. Anyway, this friend was saying that so-and-so at Stanford should have won a Nobel Prize. My husband's immediate response was "well they did!" The friend, knowing that this was completely false, said "they did?" My husband, realizing that there was no way to argue this incorrect fact tried to backpedal by saying "well, no, but they should have!" His friend and I laughed so hard, I nearly had to pull the car over. My husband was completely sour grapes about it, saying that it wasn't that funny, but it was! I wish I had half the guts he did to argue with people. As you can see, it just comes naturally for him.

And if you'll indulge my wild fantasies: time travel, the ability to be in two places at once, and anything supernatural portrayed on I Dream of Jeannie and Bewitched.

Meaning Behind My Blog Name

Clearly, my blog name is a play on the word blasphemous.

When I started this blog, I was inspired by blogs on fashion, beauty, shopping, etc. by females (and sometimes males!) with full-time jobs and lives. It was inspirational to me that these people had careers in fields unrelated to their blogging topics and wanted to look good when they showed up to the job. I went through a long slump post-grad school and post-major health issue where I didn't care about my looks anymore. I didn't think that was "allowed" if I wanted to be taken seriously. Nor did I feel like caring when I was sick. However, after reading these blogs and finding out how many of my Facebook friends (from all walks of my life) shop at the same stores I do and are investing in their wardrobes now more than any other point before in their lives, I realized my weekly trips to Sephora didn't need to be my dirty little secret. Everyone else really was doing it, too!

I don't intend for this blog to be as large-scale as some of the great blogs I read. It's basically a place to socialize among my friends and serve as a catch-all for my superficial mental diarrhea. (Once, twice, three times a LADY.) Plus, I enjoy writing and they always say to pursue what you would do for free. If this had to become my part-time job like it seems to be for other prolific bloggers, I probably wouldn't enjoy it as much. However, I'm grateful for those out there who do put in the time because they really have revolutionized the 'fashion world' for real people. It's fun to see REAL people wearing the trends (and setting them) or swatching make up colors so we can see how these things look without having to rely on the magazines. Plus, I'm not happy with my body type, which is a constant battle, but for the first time, thanks to these blogs, I am happy with my wardrobe and have figured out what my individual 'style' is, eclectic as it may be. (Again, I live on Eclectic Avenue.)

So, as for how I came up with blasFEMMEous, it was a way to blaspheme, if you will, at those who naysay any of these topics and or write them, or me, off as trivial. Giving a damn about what "people" thought (short-lived as it was) didn't work for me. It fed into the NOT giving a damn about myself, which REALLY didn't work for me. Rock bottom? Going to work in a Chester Cheeto tshirt...more than once. Covered by a ripping hoodie with OLD NAVY emblazoned across the chest. Call me frivolous, but that's no way to represent myself or my employer. Nor was it any way to pull myself up by my bootstraps after a round with my chronic medical condition. But most of all the name serves as a little reminder to myself that not caring about what other people think really is flattering on me.

The Last Item You Purchased

Well, I'm supposed to say "shoes". With the way I walk, I wear holes in the toes of my shoes. I just wear shoes out, period, into an unrepairable state. The last time I purchased everyday shoes (tennis shoes and shoes that qualify as something I can wear to work) was October 2009. I wore holes into the tennis shoes by the following September (I did a charity walk and trained for it pretty hard) and by the time winter started, I had worn out the work shoes pretty badly as well...and I'm still wearing them and it's spring. Lord forbid it rains. I still wear the tennis shoes to walk the dog. I may keep them to do that, so I don't ruin the next new pair.

I have found the exact same work shoes online, all I need to do is reorder them. As for the tennis shoes, I'd like to get something slightly more stylish than these ones that I had, though they actually gave my foot the support it needs. Which means in order to (hopefully) blend these 2 requirements, I'll have to shop around.

My husband asked me yesterday (after purchasing himself a pair of Italian leather loafers) if I'd bought my new shoes yet. No, but I did take the paycheck on a small Etsy and make up run. Priorities! Shoe buying isn't fun for me...it's just a reminder of what I can't have. Jesus help our credit if bionic legs ever become a viable solution for me, because I'm thinking I am owed at LEAST $50K in back stylish footwear. Imelda Marcos will have nothing on me. (When my mom told me about her when I was a kid, I was instantly fascinated, in a train wreck sort of way. Guilty as charged.)

What did I purchase as of late? Some eyeshadows from Lily Lolo in the UK (a set for a friend, and 1 jar of Miami Taupe for me...I'm trying to pace myself on the shadow addiction.) A BUNCH of goodies from my latest obsession, the Etsy shop Epically Epic Soap Co. Their scent Basmati Rice is my fave. I have it in the solid lotion, and I also just ordered it in the hydrating hair/body mist and perfume. Then I got it in a custom lotion with mango scent, like mango and sticky rice. And I bought a lip balm for a friend for St. Patrick's Day (shamrock shake flavor) and the Bullfrog (peach/cherry flavor) for me. (I also have their Turkish coffee lip tint. Love it.) And finally, since they're known for soap, I got a lychee scented bar soap. All in all, very Asian goodies! And then this other blog I love, Phyrra, did a review on Original Moxie hair products and gave a coupon code. I'm on my last bottle of conditioner, so I got the Featherweight conditioner and a sample of the Get Fresh shampoo. I need squeaky clean shampoo that clarifies and conditioner that is light and detangles. Plus, this company is Ypsilanti, MI based. Go figure! (Check out the review and coupon code here.)

So that is exactly how much time I can waste perusing for products. I'm hoping by having shiny hair and a made-up face, that it will draw the attention up from the holes in my shoes. Seriously, I will rectify it soon...I have to, or I'll look like a hobo next to my Italian leather loafer man.

The Last Book I Read

Books are an occupational hazard for me. I work with them, so many migrate home with me and clutter up my shelves. I constantly have to purge. They clutter my desk at work. I can't purge there, I have to work with them. I spend a majority of my day with books, and spent the majority of the last decade hitting them in college and graduate school. So to say that I have very little mental capacity for pleasure reading is an understatement.
Because I work with books, I get a million book suggestions for my pleasure reading list. I have simply been unable to keep up with what other people want me to read. Granted, I don't mind getting book suggestions for work (makes my day easier!) nor do I mind getting books as gifts. What I do mind is when people brashly suggest that "you don't read" or "you won't read it" or "you don't have time to read it anyway" because I haven't read what they want me to. For this reason, I have stopped discussing books and swapping titles in general. I have enough mental clutter when it comes to pleasure reading thanks to my job, I don't need to get it elsewhere.
I will say that grad school and the nature of my job feed into this mental block as well, as both required me to be detail oriented. Read: OCD. I don't read as fast as I want to (I live with a Stanford PhD student and the rate at which he devours boring-to-me-information literally puts me to shame) and I constantly find myself stalling out halfway through books. I hate doing anything halfway and letting info get stale. I just rewatched an entire season of the Tudors to refresh my brain before proceeding. In addition, I always pick up books I "should" be reading rather than what I WANT to be reading. I feel guilty if I actually get enjoyment out of a book. It means I'm not working hard or slaving over it.
So, to not leave you completely hanging, I will say that I love biographies and memoirs. I like books that take me back in time (and I also love films that are period pieces.) I don't read a whole lot of fiction, but when I do it tends to be a bit on the macabre side. I loved learning about Edgar Allan Poe and Sylvia Plath in high school English. I revisit them now and again. I like a lot of things from the New York Times Bestseller lists (celeb tell-alls, current events, hot new fiction titles hitting the book club circuits.) I love it when books are turned into movies, even if the movies aren't as good as the books. (I'm looking at you, Twilight.) And, like most aspects of my life, there isn't a whole lot of cohesion to my bookshelf...what can I say, I live on Eclectic Avenue.
With the debut of the iPad 2, which I'm pretty sure I'll be purchasing as an even-more portable alternative to traveling with my laptop, I hope to find the enjoyment in reading again. For now, I'm mum on the last book I read, the current book I am reading, and what I plan to read next.

Something I refuse to do.

I thought long and hard about this one. There's not a lot I outright 'refuse' to do. I'm open-minded and I generally try anything once. I have a long list of dislikes, but I've generally done the science to conclude why I dislike something. However, the issue of conformity comes to mind.

 

With the exception of being a law abiding citizen, save for a few instances with my speedometer, I don't really conform well to social norms. Or any norms for that matter. I distinctly remember an elementary or middle school assignment in which we had to come up with an adjective that described us for each letter of our name. After playing around with my dictionary, I decided that N was for Non-conformist and aptly described me. When you're a mini-adult, there's not much you can wish you knew then what you know now. It seems I knew myself well even then.

 

When you grow up in a town of hundreds of people (and I guess it's not really a town then) conformity can kind of be expected. One would think that being born different is what gave me my natural affinity for doing the unexpected, but it was my mom's no bullshit, no nonsense attitude that really shaped my independent nature. There are a lot of families who spend time caring about their public image (say, political families) or conforming to social laws they subject themselves to for a bevy of reasons (say, religion). With the things I went through growing up (which, at this point, you're probably sick of hearing me detail, or in fact even sick of hearing that be the root cause of why I am the way I am) we simply didn't have the time to care what people thought. We had a day to get through, and following societal rules (religious, political, or whatever) just had no place in our lives.

 

I suppose in the eyes of some, this makes us lawless athiests. We're actually Catholic Democrats. Politics and religion are just two examples I used of things I don't conform to, or adhere to strict definitions of. They're 2 out of 3 things you're not supposed to talk about at the dinner table, so I found them to be useful examples. I suppose to complete the trifecta, I will say that I believe homosexuals should be allowed to get married, and that conformity is the reason why we have to talk in terms like "allow" and "believe" when talking about this issue.

 

Unsolicited advice is also part of this post. It seems a sudden jump, but for example, that I take birth control and "believe" in gay marriage and also consider myself Catholic really throws people. They then feel the need to tell me what Catholics en masse believe, or Christians, or the Pope. Advice really pisses me off. So does being told what I am, or am not, in terms of a definition that is used to describe a mass of people, much like a cultural stereotype. It's an insult to both my intelligence and individuality. 

So, in short, I don't conform well. I don't do what's "expected" of me on a societal level. I'm a free-thinker and I don't ascribe to every point on the spectrum of a belief system just because I am "supposed" to. I think before I speak, I don't do what I'm told (unless you sign my paycheck) and I think for myself. 

 

The Best Part of My Day: A Love Letter to My Dog

I really screwed up this Blog-A-Day thing last week. Well, back on the horse I go.

Today's (last week's) topic is: the best part of your day.

The best part of my day is simple, really, and anyone who has a dog will agree. The best part of my day is going home and opening the front door to see my doggy wagging her tail. It's rare that Molly isn't waiting for me at the door. If she's in the bedroom, she knows the sound of our car being parked in the carport below. If she's near the front door, she knows the jingle of our keys. And, in the rare instance that she's sleeping too deeply, I simply call out to my welcoming committee and she emerges from the bedroom, stretching and wagging her tail.

 

My dog has taught me a tremendous deal about the simple things in life. I bought her fancy dog toys her first Christmas. She prefers the $5 item from the clearance rack. We bought her a dog bed (she has multiple beds in fact), and she rescued an Ikea pillow on its way to the trash to use as her kitchen pillow. Her favorite treat's ingredient list consists of one item: dehydrated chicken breast. Dogs are a simple animal that live by the Moulin Rouge philosophy: all they want is to love and be loved in return.

 

Going home to Molly is the best part of my day. I watch the clock at work not in anticipation of giving my brain a rest, but rather in anticipation of racing home to my (8 year old) puppy who will kiss me with her stinky breath, chase her bought-on-clearance-chicken toy (now sans stuffing), and sit on the couch to watch Oprah with me. Dogs are the keepers of the schedule. I can't just go out after work without going home to take care of her first. Molly knows I am coming home based upon her internal clock. So long as I stick to the schedule, she will be waiting for me at that front door. Dogs are a commitment.

 

That said, Molly is the one constant in our lives. She is the glue that holds us together and is a source of unconditional love. When we adopted Molly, we didn't realize that she would teach us a lesson about the vows that we had said three months earlier. That we learned what unconditional love really means from our dog is no exaggeration. There is not a mean, vengeful or grudge-holding bone in her body. Her biggest faults are those bad breath kisses and squeezing in between us on the couch. And, OK, she's a food thief. But regardless of what she steals off of our plates, Molly always keeps up her end of the commitment, and as an imperfect human, it can be difficult to feel worthy of how much loves she gives to us, her family.  That our dog's biggest faults are love-based demonstrates the perfect character and nature of dogs. I believe a great majority of dogs are born having already attained enlightenment.

 

For proof, just spell "dog" backwards.

 

 

Style+Stereotypes

I was turned on to the Minneapolis-based blog, alreadypretty.com, by a friend who has an upcoming style session with the author, Sally. I've really been enjoying the blog, but today's guest post from writer and vintage clothing enthusiast Andrea Eames was a good one. We always hear that we are judged, whether or not we like it, based upon our appearance. We usually take this to mean that we will be judged negatively if we don't put effort into our appearance, but what happens when we are judged for actually putting forth a lot of effort? I think this quote sums it up nicely: 
"I found that, almost exclusively, vintage and style bloggers are strong, thinking women who use clothing as just one more way in which to express that strength and those thoughts."


Since I've been struggling with preemptive fears of judgery, this post was a great reminder to say eff the critics.


Check it out!

Treats from India

My husband and mother-in-law brought me some treats from India. This neem tulsi (Indian lilac and holy basil) soap is strongly scented (I can smell it here in my bedroom, and it's in my shower). They also gave me REAL Indian Kajal! I have been playing with black eyeliner the past few weeks and have come to realize that I can wear it without looking like a drag queen. A poorly dressed one, rather, because there are some beautiful DQs out there! I'll post pictures in a later related post. They also brought this Colgate toothpaste which I really got a kick out of. First, it's "super shakti," or super strength, and it's approved by the IDA, Indian Dental Association, just like our ADA. Oh, and it's "100%  Vegetarian." (I heart localization.) 

 The kajal packing says that this doesn't require sharpening...not sure how that's going to work, but nevertheless it looked really good!

plaid

Plaid is a nostalgic print for me. For most people, a scent will trigger a memory, but my memories lie with clothes. I can often tell you what I was wearing when I recall times in the past. When I saw this picture in The Chris Farley Show, it totally reminded me of an outfit my late great aunt would have worn, my grandmother's plaid Christmas tablecloths, and my red plaid SKORT in third grade. 

Those pants are bad ass. No lie, I'd wear that outfit.

I was also reading Suzy Gershman's Born to Shop London the other day (wishful me) and discovered that there is a difference between plaids and tartans. In the US, plaid has come to mean a pattern of alternating colors in a set sequence, whereas in Scotland it is a piece of clothing worn as part of a Scottish dress uniform. A tartan is a pattern of fabric, with alternate colors in the warp and weft in which the colors repeat themselves in a set order. A tartan is not a plaid. I'm pretty sure I'm mangling this argument, so I should head on over to the UK to figure this out.

I think I need more plaid in my wardrobe. 

The Workspace

In an attempt to blog more, I have stolen an idea from a friend (an idea which she stole as well) with daily suggested writing topics. Said friend and I decided to make this a five day a week occurrence on any given topic. Said friend also chose the most boring topic to start. I'm going to refrain from reposting the list of topics and just go with it. Thanks a lot, S, for choosing "your workspace."

My workspace sucks. There has been a long pause since I typed that. Where to begin? Probably with the positive. I have a great sized cube, an L shaped desk that's a decent size, and cube neighbors who are usually working from home. I'm shoved back in the back corner of the office where there is little traffic. I am usually by myself. I enjoy blasting music in my headphones. It really keeps me going. I love my new Betty White calendar for the year, and I have a photo of my husband and dog, one of my best friend's daughter, and a photo of my best friend's store. I have a map of Europe that I drool over on a regular basis, willing myself there. I have photos of Kyrgyz soldiers. Yes, that's right. 1. I want to go to Kyrgyzstan. 2. I like military uniforms of the wintery wool variety. I have a few cards from a vendor we work with in Kenya.

Since I work with books, they pile up. There is no avoiding this...this is what we do, we all have piles of books. I am also a post-it freak. I won't remember anything unless I write it down. I leave cryptic notes to myself, and there are piles of reminders around me at all times. Should I become old and senile, I will already be used to writing notes to myself. I have always been like this, since I'm a visual person.

So, I'm generally elbows high in things that are made of paper.

The L shaped desk is annoying. I can never decide where to place my dual monitors. For years, I sat in the corner of the L. Since I have a tendency to suffer in silence, it never occurred to me to move my monitor and get myself out of the corner until my shoulder started to bother me from all of the neck craning. I am the type of person (is there a type of person?) that can sit uncomfortably and be so distracted I don't notice it until minutes later. A high pain threshold is to blame. It sounds outrageous, but I can literally sit uncomfortably for a long time.

I'm starting to see the merits of furniture and flat working surfaces as I age. Sitting on the floor is also a habit of mine (outside of work) that I have started calling myself out for in the past few months. When your 15 pound weenie dog is sitting stretched out on the couch while you're on the floor, you realize something is out of balance. My disability kind of feeds into all of this, since I have a delayed sense of feeling, sometimes, in knowing when I'm uncomfortable or should be sitting another way, and since sprawling out on the floor was easier for me when I was a kid with casts on my legs. I could put everything I needed around me and crawl to get whatever else I wanted to use at the time in my room without having to hobble around my bed on crutches. Doing stuff on the floor was a habit that never really went away and was comfortable (I think?) up until recently.

Calling yourself out in your head for these things feels as ridiculous as it sounds. "Why are you sitting on the floor? Why are you sitting like this? Wouldn't your arm stop hurting if you moved your mouse pad?" Sometimes, since I don't have feeling, I don't realize the restrictions of a human body. I always stumble when I try to bend sideways to move around things. (No one's knee moves out to the side...why should mine?) A few times in the past few years, I have thrown out my back for sitting ridiculously. It always happens when I bend my leg out to the side and make a sudden movement the other way to reach for something. The last time I hurt my back for sitting this way was the last straw and the beginning of constant assessment of the way I am sitting. It's annoying. It's also for my own safety. It's also because I came to the realization that this is not an indicator of my inability. The knee-bending was a literal light bulb moment. I'm always asking my husband "does this happen to you in your normal body?" It's a strange place to be after almost 3 decades on the planet. I always made the assumption that my body was to blame, and that there "everybody else was doing it", which was not always the case.

But since getting out of the corner, it has helped some of the neck and shoulder pain I've been having since a stressful holiday travel season. It also helped for me to raise my chair a few inches. I'm always the one in the conference room who sits in the chair and goes rolling because my feet don't touch the ground. I've found I don't always have to be at the lowest setting, and it's more comfortable. Using the side of the L for my mouse keeps my arm upright and on the desk. I still fiddle with the monitors. It could stand to be decluttered in the near future, but I think I'm learning how to sit.

So, in my normal fashion, I have taken a topic and managed to talk about something else entirely. 

Let them eat cake.

I have an obsession with monarchs. Hey, I grew up in the 80s, and Princess Diana was my hero. (I'll get to my anglophilia and Prince William obsession at a later time. Official Royal Wedding 2011 watch here! Geez, maybe I should put a counter up on the side! Digression...)

I have an obsession with monarchs. Mostly of the British variety, but when I learned French in high school, my mom bought me a book on Marie Antoinette. I realize there isn't much truth to the "let them eat cake" phrase that is attributed to Marie (we're on a first name basis) and thank dieu for that. The great biographer, Antoina Fraser, pointed out that the phrase was said 100 years before Marie by the wife of Louis XIV. "It was a callous and ignorant statement," Fraser writes, "and she, Marie Antoinette, was neither."

Well stated.

Recently, I acquired this adorable cosmetic bag by Too Faced. I tried to tell myself I didn't need it, but the graphic beckoned me...the cake in hand, the Eiffel Tower in the background, the beautiful roses.

It reminded me so much of the (awesome) Kirsten Dunst portrayal of Marie. (I don't give a toot about historically accurate, that movie was an eye pleaser, a colorful feast for the eyes.)

And, as an added bonus, it's going to look great with my Marie ring.

Qu’ils mangent de la brioche.

Let's try this again, shall we?

I'm such a bad blogger.

Many things factor into this issue. First, I am a voracious reader of other blogs. Second, the blogs I love most revolve around clothing, cosmetics and travel, and the first of these two blog categories I love are always ones that trigger the "guilty pleasures" part of my brain. Things the other half of my brain scold me for reading. I waste hours reading about other peoples' clothing and make up, all the while thinking that if I did the same, I would at least make some use of my time and put myself out there. However, the devil on my shoulder always seems to say "who would want to read that?" And I've come to the realization that, I don't really care if you want to read it...that's what that little X at the top of your screen is for.

I've also come to realize my most favorite blogs (style ones) are written by everyday women. (Hey, I'm one of those!) There are a ton out there. Maybe the blog "revolution" will usher in a new era in fashion...one that shows you what real people look like. The best part of some of the cosmetic blogs out there is to see what products really look like when you use them, and not what a computer can generate.

I also write a lot and save the posts, but never publish them. I have writer's remorse syndrome. Apparently, all good writers have it, as I learned in my writing class last semester. You know, where you write something and when you write it, you think you're a genius, but when you actually publish it, you wonder when the fluff police are coming. Yeah, I pretty much cringe reading anything I've written. I also think that anything that my fingers type need to be worthy of a Pulitzer. Let's make a mountain out of this here mole hill!

I always think I "should" be doing other things, and that I "shouldn't" be so involved with clothing, make up, etc. But it never ceases to amaze me how many women out there are. Every last one of you!

But, I've been watching everyday women, and close friends, blog with reckless abandon, and it's time I join the party. Since I have been enjoying your blogs without judgement, I'm pretty sure most people will enjoy mine the same.

I was going to delete this, but let's break a bad habit, shall we. I'm going to press publish without further editing! Living on the edge!!