one happy, sorry, wistful sunday morning

Sunday, may. 4, 2008   |   0 comments

Things that make me happy this morning:

1. Using the very last of my less-than-optimal hair oil defrizzer, I LOVE getting to the end of any bottle (unless, of course, that bottle is a bottle of vanilla, and I’m trying to bake something that needs more). Probably it’s my internal revolt against growing up with packrats, but it gives me such great thrill of pleasure to clear out that 1.5-diameter of shelf space. Pow!

2. The perfect, miraculous ringlet that I created by doing nothing more than sleeping on my hair wet.

Thing that I am very sorry for this morning:

Waking up in a freakout at 6:30 this morning and asking Marco why he hadn’t left for work yet. Long, quite pause. And then, “Because it’s Sunday?”

I barely remember this exchange because I guess I went right back to sleep. But when I rolled out of bed two hours later, the coffee was already long-ago made, the paper in a neat stack of already-read-ness. Me: “What time did you get out of bed this morning?!” Marco: “Right about when you put the fear of work in me at 6:30.” Me: “Oh.”

Thing that make me wish I was rich this morning:

So cute! And yet so $528! DAMN YOU ORLA KIELY!!!

And now I brunch.

a little sartorialost

Friday, may. 2, 2008   |   0 comments

At what age, do you think, should a person start dressing her age? And if that age is so close to 38 it might as well be 40, what kind of clothing, exactly, should that age-appropriate dressing entail?

I’m a huge fan of the clothes I own now. The rainbow of pinks and turquoises and spring greens of my closet really does make me very happy! But—and maybe it’s the recent move toward the East and West, and also South, that my ass is taking, thanks to my slowing metabolism and/or my ever-growing love of hamburgers—not all of it is fitting quite as awesomely as it once did? This recent expansion has prompted many a gleeful shopping spree at Forever 21, and H&M, and Nordsrom Rack, and, and, and…from which I return lugging bags full of more of the turquoise and orange and red and green things I love, only in slightly larger sizes.

But late at night, when I’m watching through the DVR backlog of What Not to Wear, sometimes a small peep of hmm starts to chirp at the back of my brain, wondering what point do the whimsical tops and the theme dresses and the zany necklaces stop being cute and quirky and instead become weird and even a little bit sad?

The way I see it, this could all end in one (or all!) of three unpleasant ways:

The Docent Crazy
Easily recognized by her conversation-starter of a brooch or necklace or poncho or whatever, the Docent Crazy is always eager to tell you all about this “wonderful” piece of wearable art she found in some out-of-the-way store or Etsy shop.

The Big Top Nightmare
Worshiping comfort and convenience above all, the Big Top Nightmare can start with something as innocent as one pretty, loose-fitting blouse. So accommodating and requiring so little thought, it becomes uniform. Soon, tenty tops are all the Big Top Nightmare ever buys. And once that uniform-wearing headspace sets in, it isn’t long before the BTN finds herself wearing pajamas to work, and also diapers.

The Aging “That Girl”
About five years ago, I asked my friend Sophia how long I had before I became “That Girl with All the Hair Who Drives Around the Crazy Vintage Car?” And without hesitating (meaning she’d been thinking on it), she said, “About a year.” I’ve since sold the car, but all the other “That Girl” traits—the technicolor tights and the horn-rimmed glasses and the wacky purses—are all still well in play. So really I’m teetering on the edge of this one. All I need is the Manic Panic hair (with mental patient bangs) and I’ll fall all the way in.

And then there’s my makeup! The same standby 30-second routine of sunblock with a haphazard dusting of bare essentuality that I’ve been using for the past years also somehow isn’t working as well as it once did? What with my new not-so-fine lines and droopy dog jowls for all the powder to collect in? And my hair! With the encroaching grays making things all sprongy and strange? Plus I continue to suspect that the long, long, long is no longer doing me any favors. Maybe it’s time for bangs? A tight perm? Hats, lots of hats?

Which all goes to say, I’ve been thinking for awhile now that it could really be time for a makeover. Maybe? Sometime within the next month or five, ten years?

But before Trinny and Susannah come bum-rushing in on me and my age-inappropriate togs as we innocently sit at our special booth in our favorite restaurant (the Red Robin in Concord), we’ve actually been enjoying each other quite a bit. Inspired by my new favorite internet, the Wardrobe Remix pool on Flickr, these past weeks I’ve been having deep fun shaking up my office-attire rut and taking some of my favorite old and new dresses and skirts out for an airing. You know, while they still fit?

Nine Days of Faves
1. Thursday’s “a tree grows in oakland” outfit
2. Wednesday’s “hooray for pockets!” outfit
3. Tuesday’s “crabby van crampthoven” outfit
4. Monday’s “making their 2008 debut: MY TOES!” outfit
5. Sunday’s “to the art opening! and then also a wine bar! in a heatwave!” outfit
6. Saturday’s “in search of toast” outfit
7. Friday’s “PTA meeting circa 1973” outfit
8. Thursday’s zany “please don’t pick me for jury duty” outfit
9. Wednesday’s “to work then to dinner then to rock show” outfit

an early morning of updates and invention

Thursday, may. 1, 2008   |   0 comments

It’s Thursday! And for some reason I’m wide awake at 5am! And to celebrate, I’m think I’m going to share my latest breakthrough with you: Frozen lemons! Sounds like a state of sexual anxiety, I know, but I’m not actually speaking metaphorically (it’s so early). I really am just talking about…frozen lemons!

The problem: I love, love, love water brightened with a squeeze of fresh lemon, I think it’s so exponentially better than plain water, and it always makes me feel like I’ve done something truly nice for myself. The first slice out of a new lemon is always the best, all tart and twangy, but as I slowly work my way through the lemon, sometimes it’s days and days before I make it down to the last, eighth slice, and it’s always a little shopworn, either depressingly dry and wizened (if I’ve just left the lemon sitting out) or (if I’ve managed to wrap up the lemon and get it into the refrigerator) disturbingly too-wet and fermented yuck-tasting.

So then this solution-based brainfreeze came out of my brain: What would happen if I sliced the lemons in bulk and just stuck them in the freezer?

Roaring success! Not only are the lemon slices fresh-tasting every time, but they contribute to the overall cold-ness of the fluid they float within, pulling the weight of an additional ice cube. They also work very nicely with my favorite iced tea (pictured here), which I’ve been making quite a lot of these sunny days. I even put them in the Nalgene bottle of water I take with me on my semiannual trip to the gym!

I am almost concerned by how absurdly happy this whole lemon business makes me.

Also I wanted to let you know that I’ve updated my call for bedside table paint-color suggestions with photos of what we finally ended up doing with them. And also I added a 14 and 15 to my Evany Rules to Live By. And also I updated my quick note from me to me to achieve something in life to sound less complain-y!

And now I get dressed.

what was I inking?

Saturday, apr. 26, 2008   |   0 comments

When I turned 30 (way back in 2000 eek!), I decided to permanently mark the occasion with a tattoo. I thought long and hard about what to get, and finally settled on a knife and fork, crossed just like Liz Dunn’s racing flags. And just like Liz Dunn, and actually Jill too, I decided on a lower-back placement. No, a little lower that that…a little lower…exactly: right there at the top of the ass crack, the tender real estate that has since come to be know as the land of the “tramp stamp,” something that many people over the years have taken great delights in pointing out to me. Titillated Giggler to me: “You know what people call that, don’t you?” Me to Titillated Giggler: “I sure do.”

I reverse-engineered a whole bunch of meaningful excuses for why I needed this knife and fork, like how it was nod to my family (I chose the silver pattern I’d grown with) and also lady-power (the hearty, steak-knife eating it represents being the antithesis of bird-like, weight-watching Cosmo girls, take that society, POW!) and even practicality (I already had a piece of cake tattooed on my middle, halfway between my stomach and my heart, and now here was a way to finally eat said cake!). But like many people who get tattoos, the real and true reason I got it was that I just kinda liked the way it looked.

So I went back to the same nice man in LA who did my first tattoo (you know you’re old when you forget the name of your tattooist), and just as he was snapping off his gloves after putting the last finishing touches on my tattoo, the other tattooist in the shop came over to admire (the new tattoo on) my ass. “What’s that,” she said to me, “like, ‘Eat Shit’ or something?” Me, suddenly picturing a life full of fending off ass-eaters stretching out before me, weakly: “Nooo…?”

Not only did I not really think that tattoo through beforehand, but I also idiotically decided to go and get it done as part of the first leg of a long cross-country road trip (with my awesome friend Todd Levin, whom I’d met only once before we decided on a whim to take the trip…man, that was truly the funnest vacation ever, full of BBQ pork and great get-to-know-you stories and also, weirdly, strip clubs). And let my me tell your you: There’s nothing quite like having a healing wound on your ass whilst sitting in a car, day after day, for 10 hours at a stretch…my ending was sad indeed.

And the tattoo just keeps on giving! A few years ago, my glorious friend Sunny joined a band called kNIFE & fORK, what are the chances, and while I was leaning over the bar buying a drink at one of their shows, someone came up behind me and said, “Wow, you must be a REALLy big fan.” And I just just nodded a tired I-give-up nod.

Now whenever someone spots those little tines and the pointy sharpness poking up over the edge of my pants (as happens more often that I ever could have ever imagined, yay) and asks, “Hey, what’s that tattoo of?” I just sigh and say, “Oh, you know…Regret.”

This is a "if you’re close enough to read this, we’re basically having sex" pick of the tattoo, wrapped in an insane, barely there pair of message-able underwear, a gift from the one, only Jill (they came with their own alphabet of beads, which you can string on to formulate whatever message you please). I ordered the photo as a greeting card from Kodak (née ofoto) and sent them out as thank you cards.

sometimes marco makes me mad

Tuesday, apr. 22, 2008   |   0 comments

Things that make me irrationally irritated:

1. When Marco sneezes, which he always does very loudly and repeatedly, and which always reminds me of the allergy problem that he refuses to visit an allergy doctor to see if he can get medicine to fix.

2. The snortling and throat-clicking, also allergy-related.

3. When Marco’s screws the lid on too tight, which obviously means he’s trying to save all the good soda and pickles for HIMSELF.

4. When Marco Early Parks, sometimes parking entire blocks and blocks shy of our destination.

5. When Marco leaves used Q-tips in places other than the trash.

6. When Marco insists on wearing his weird baggy elephant vagina jeans.

7. When Marco says “a little sumpum sumpum” or “check it out, dog.”

8. When Marco doesn’t hear me the first time.

And…that’s it. On the flip side, he almost never snores, and he gets genuinely sad whenever he hears about someone dying even celebrities that noone likes, and he does all our laundry, and he guitar-plays Jesse’s Girl on demand, and if he spots a garage sale sign that’s come unpinned, he stops and carefully rights it. And, best of all, this morning I discovered that his weird baggy elephant vagina pants fit ME to a yay!