I fell off the face of the earth while wearing booty shorts.

Heyyyyy brother!

Reader(s?), please tell me that you watch Arrested Development. Because if you don't, "heyyy brother" and this ensuing post will mean nothing to you. If you're a fan, then this next paragraph will probably rock your world. Not really, but a gal can dream.

So, it's summa-sum-summatime, right? Right. It's been hot as Hades in the Chicagoland area, and for some reason, I want to dress even trashier than I normally do when it's hot. This is a recent development, I swear. I used to HATE shorts with the passion of a thousand burning suns. Now I'm all "I wanna be like the girl on the Nair commercials!"

I wear short shorts, and I'm damn proud of it. My favorite (and so far only) pair are paint-stained cutoffs. I like to think that I resemble Tobias in all his never-nude glory. To ensure that I don't wear out my beloved colorful cutoffs, I think I may have to buy some cheap Goodwill jeans and start hacking.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go yell at the children that have apparently decided to camp out underneath my bedroom window and scream bloody murder about the rules of every single game known to man. Yup. It's summer.

SO BOMB.

It's mah b-day today! I'm officially 23, the only age more pointless than 14 (seriously, think about it. 13 was cool because you were finally a "teen," and 15 meant that you were only a year away from possibly starring on MTV in My Super Sweet Sixteen. Yeah. 14's lookin' pretty stupid.)

What really matters about today isn't age, though. What matters is listening to this song and being gifted with glorious things. Yes, things! Things are great. Unlike that song, which is sort of crappy. Even for me.

Yesterday, my sister, brother-in-law, and nephew all came over to celebrate the fact that I got born. I opened up a card from my sis and b-i-l (God, I'm lazy), and saw a picture of the NO SLEEP TILL BROOKLYN BANGLE.

That's right. Let that sink in for a moment.

Waves of happiness were experienced. Wave 1: Aww, my sister reads my blog! That's so neat/nice!

Wave 2: HOLY SHIT THIS IS THE ONLY THING I'VE EVER WANTED TO OWN. Obviously, I exagerrate, but not as much as you're thinking.

Wave 3: Aww, she took time to wade through all of the ridiculous things that I post and choose the one thing that's gotten me more excited than even a parade of trannies could.

Love, love, love.

And now for the most pressing query of all

Why are the most adorable rain booties only made for little girls? Grown women who love cartoon cats have to walk around in rainy weather too, ya know.

(go to Nordstrom.com to buy these if you're under the age of 12. Or if you're lucky enough to have baby feet and an adult age.)

The Alchemist

Oh, Paulo Coelho. Your mystical book astounds me on so many levels! And I don't even like magical realism all that much. Anywho, this has nothing to do with that book and everything to do with this necklace and my middle school social studies class.

I'm not sure why, but for some reason, I had to pretend that I was an alchemist in 6th grade. I want to say it was during our "medieval" unit, but that still seems like a far stretch. Then again, this was the same grade in which I decided that the best way to get an A+ on a group project about Jane Goodall was to make monkey masks out of paper plates and have each group member wear them while discussing their portion/simultaneously saying "oo! oo! ah! ah! We love Jane!"

Spoiler alert: we got an A+.

So, back to alchemy. For yet another reason, I thought that the main thing an alchemist should carry is a full perfume bottle with glitter mixed in it. You know, because alchemists turned stuff into gold...and perfume. After a short (yet compelling) presentation, and after spritzing the air no less than 20 times with glittery Calvin Klein perfume, I took my seat and wished that I could always magically scent and sparkle the air around me--just like a real alchemist. Yes, I'm aware that this medieval unit taught me absolutely nothing.

However, it turns out that all I had to do was wait approximately 9 years, go to Modcloth.com and buy this "Apothecutie" thing, which will apparently allow me to "simply spread a sense of wonder!"

Whatever. Everyone knows an apothecary is just a poor man's alchemist.

The New (Hustlin') Style

So, since yesterday, I haven't thought about much else besides that No Sleep Till Brooklyn bangle.

I mean, sure, I thrifted royal blue culottes for $3 and caught up on Gossip Girl, but Beastie Boys-inspired jewelry has occupied most of my brain space. I try to realistic about most things in life in an attempt to avoid disappointment, so I'm already trying to find a replacement for this lovely bracelet that will almost surely sell out hours after its late summer debut. Out of curiousity, I went to Etsy and typed in "no sleep till brooklyn" to see what I could find.

Um, this pillowcase necklace will not cut it.

However, I am looking for things to decorate the apartment/house/tent I'll soon be living in. This totally makes the cut.

The New Style

Cannot stop looking at this.

I don't care that I'm about to be knee-deep (I'm hoping for just shin-deep, to be honest) in student loans. I will stop buying two-ply toilet paper and brand-name cereal so that I can afford this bangle. Why do I love it so? LET ME COUNT THE WAYS, SUCKAS.

1) I say "No sleep till Brooklyn" all the time, unironically. Whether I'm trying to keep my 1-year-old nephew awake, psyching myself to stay up until the ungodly hour of 11 pm, or taking a red eye to Brooklyn, you better believe I'm uttering those words. Now, instead of wasting my precious breath, I can just hold up my wrist.

2) The fact that it's made by Kate Spade--the most adorable Crayola-colored princess in existence--tickles my fancy.

3) I love when people ask me questions about my joolz, and now I'll be able to throw a "MIC CHECK!" into my response. Success.

August/fall 2010, you cannot come quickly enough. When it sells out and I'm left in the cold, Imma be super pissed.

Eating crow and wearing short skirts

Bonus points to anyone who wants to research and explain to me why "eating crow" is akin to "sticking foot in mouth." I think both are fairly vile sayings, but both would be apt to describe this novel-length post. READ IT, KIDS.

Short skirts. How do we feel about them? Do we laugh at and judge girls that have to bend over in a special way so as to not reveal their ladybits? Do we silently point and giggle, while cursing the societal images that supposedly encourage dressing like a "whore," and questioning who the hell decided what a "whore" looked like? Or do we say "Damn, bitch! Where'd you get that awesome thing? I WANT IT IN THREE DIFFERENT COLORS."

I'm asking these questions after a particularly interesting Facebook exchange (yes, those do exist) I had this morning with a friend of mine. In a very thoughtful way, she called me out on yesterday's post, pointing out how she was caught off guard by my comment that the model should use her hair bow as a chastity belt, because it didn't sound like something I would say.

The best thing she said though was that it almost seemed like I was siding with bros who say ridiculous things like "well, with a skirt that short, she's totally asking for it."

Oh, shit.

It's interesting how many times I find my third-wave feminist beliefs (distilled down to: sex is awesome, girls should be able to act however they want, yay rah!) both clashing with and complementing my fashion sense. Even though I wear skirts and dresses that are far shorter than the Minnie Mouse model's, I tell myself that I'm doing it "ironically," as if that makes me more clever than a girl who wears a short skirt out to a bar because she likes her legs, and thinks guys (or girls) will like them too. Judging women (sorry guys, I don't feel like you get as harshly judged as the ladies do) by their clothing choices is one of the easiest things one can do, and yet it can be one of the most damaging things to do.

People act like making comments about too much clevage or leg showing is nothing, but in a very obvious way, these comments are another way to keep women from gaining too much confidence and in turn, power. It's truly not that far of a leap from the 19th century sentiment of "oh, Beatrice, your ankles are showing! Whatever will your husband say about your loose morals!" to the 21st century blame game of "Oh, sorry, whore. Did your tiny skirt get in the way of having sex with my boyfriend?? God, of course he can't keep his pants on when your crotch is in his face."

What I've tried to drive home all along on my blog is this: the way we choose to clothe ourselves says a whole lot more than just "well, I can't be naked, so I guess I need to have clothes." These choices can destroy or build up the confidence level of the dresser, say more about a person's personality than any acutal interaction with them, and cause a hell of a lot of controversy.

Frankly, I'd like to delete my last post. I'm disappointed and uncomfortable with how quickly I chose to make a snarky comment about a length of skirt that I wear on a near-weekly basis, especially when I think about how "pro-women making their own sartorial choices" I consider myself to be. My discomfort is magnified when especially when I read stuff like this. I invite you to read the whole article, but in case your eyes are tired from this post, I'll highlight one crucial point.

"According to the Daily Mail, 24 percent of women aged 18 to 24 believe that "wearing a short skirt, accepting a drink or having a conversation with the rapist made victims partly responsible [for their rapes]" (emphasis mine).

Wowzers. Here's to silently hanging out in bars while sipping water and wearing burlap sacks, I guess! While I think it's important to have a sense of humor about fashion as well, it's far more important to have discussions about why moral judgments (whether they're meant to be funny or not) are so quickly made on women who are just trying to wear what they want.

Prom is just as special for Minnie Mouse, OK?

I reference Forever 21 SO DAMN MUCH, but when they offer up a "prom look" like this, how can I not post it on here?

Girlfriend. Turn that bow atop your head into a swaddled chastity belt of some sort. Not to be all conservative, but the length of your dress practically demands that kind of precaution.

You are so beautiful to me.

Yes you are.

Peacock motifs make me intensely happy. My love for the gaudiest of animals was sparked thanks to a gender & art seminar I took during my last year of college. It was basically the best class in the history of ever, because a bunch of my favorite people were in it, it was taught by a glorious professor, and we got to point out clitorises (clitori?) on paintings after analyzing Katy Perry's music videos.

Somtimes, I miss college.

Also, I learned a bunch of interesting things, like how peacock feathers often symbolize penises. Well, they technically symbolize power, but THE DICK IS EVERYTHING, so those two words are interchangeable. Anyway, because I like being secretly (and nerdily) subversive, I try to wear/procure peacock things whenever I can.

Yup. Some people fight the patriarchy by marching for abortion rights and lobbying Congress for fair wages for women. I pretend I'm subverting it by wearing extravagant accessories that scream PENIS! to art history majors. And somehow, I still manage to sleep at night.