Thursday, July 29, 2010

Because nothing says "safety" like a monkey spewing stars.


Yup. That's the helmet that I decided to buy so that my noggin doesn't get crushed while I'm scootin' around town. I had this dream of buying a sleek, beautiful helmet that would look like I wasn't wearing a helmet, until I realized this: helmets are always going to look like helmets.

Yes, some are better than others, but rather than wasting time trying to find the one decent-looking helmet in the world, I should probably just admit that I'm not attempting to look good; I'm just trying to prevent a head trauma. So, that's why I'm soon going to be sporting a teal Paul Frank helmet. And probably sing along to "Safety Dance."

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

This is it.

Please don't think I'm referencing the Michael Jackson biopic. I assure you, I'm not. I'm referencing something far more important.

THE HOLY GRAIL.

Of shirts, that is. First of all, it was discovered at House of Vintage. Yup, I can't stop talking about that place. However, I discovered this shirt upon my last visit in February. AND IT WAS STILL THERE. Isn't that a sign? Yes. Yes it is. So, I clutched it to my chest like a mother saving her baby from a shipwreck, and wandered around the store attempting to rationalize spending $25 on a shirt. I mean, fate is a good enough rationalization, right? That's what I thought. Until I realized that the whole "not having a steady job" and "enjoying the ability to buy food" meant that this was out of my meager budget. So, I'm back to dreaming about it. And hoping that if I go back in three months (which, by that time, I'll certainly have found a WILDLY fulfilling and well-paying job, right?), it'll still be there, waiting for me to clutch it and finally bring it home.

Because mere words do absolutely nothing for it, here is a mathmatical/visual representation. A bunch of these + some of these (except in silver) + this going up the back of the shirt + this shape = HEAVEN IN MY CLOSET (someday).

Monday, July 19, 2010

Rhinestone stretch rings are for (non-committal) lovers.

Or for people who have fingers that swell periodically throughout the day. It's safe to say that I love rings, but more often than not, I FREAK OUT when I'm wearing them. Because for whatever reason, I really, really like knowing that when I put a ring on, I can take it off easily.

What can I say? I despise sparkly commitment.

Anyway, because my finger sizes range from svelte little digits to pork sausages over the course of a 24-hour-period, the ring that was barely hanging on to my middle finger this morning has cemented itself in that exact spot by lunchtime. Cue freak-out, and a frantic desire to butter up my hand and GET IT OFF.

So, when I found this HUGE (and man, it's huge. Like, strangers look around to see where the light it coming from when I wear it on a sunny day and initiate its mega-prism effect) rhinestone ring at Target, I had to buy it for two reasons. 1) At the risk of repeating myself, it's blindingly large, and 2) It's got a stretchy band! That's right. It's a metal stretch band that's keeping that baby on, so unless I gain 50 pounds in two hours, I can whip this thang off whenever I feel like it! Finally, I can return to my "use 'em and lose 'em" accessorizing strategy.

Sunday, July 18, 2010

My skinnies done gone and saved my life.

OK, so one of the recent changes in my life that has accompanied my reclocation to Portland is my lack of a car. It's a conscious choice--this city is insanely bike-friendly, and cars cost lots of money that could be better spent on pretty dresses and rent. So, I Craigslisted it up, snatched me a bike, and now I scoot around town on it.


Now, believe it or not, my current fancy aesthetic doesn't really lend itself all that well to bike-riding. I've yet to master a ladylike dismount, so basically, all of NE Portland will see my bits if I dress how I normally do.


Enter the (stretchy) skinny jeans and hipster boyfriend shorts.


I have a love-hate relationship with skinny jeans, like most women who aren't shaped like 10-year-old boys tend to. Pros: Stretch pairs are so malleable! And I look like Olivia Newton-John during her Grease days! Cons: FINDING A PAIR THAT FITS IS IMPOSSIBLE. The waists on all of my gape terribly, and some of them have the saggiest knees ever. I know. I have such huge problems. However, I've learned that skinny jeans are simply the best for bike riding. They're tight enough so that the fabric won't get caught in the bike chain, and have enough give to let my legs do their thangs.


When it gets hot though, skinny jeans are the pits. So, I throw on shorts--not of the booty variety, but of the "cut off right above the knee" variety. Are they flattering? Nope. Does my boyfriend have a pair that he wears all the time? Affirmative. But there's a reason why you see every person on a bike (it seems) wearing this short length. It keeps your upper thighs protected from seat chafing, but lets your shins go crazy!


While I certainly haven't hung up my dresses and skirts yet, I'm still trying to figure out how to best include them in my day-to-day wardrobe that now requires some flexibility for commuting purposes. I'll keep you all posted on the THRILLING developments!

Thursday, July 15, 2010

Back in the habit.

Don't judge, Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit is one of my favorite movies.

So, I'm finally settled in my new city/apartment--well, sort of settled. We still don't have a light in the kitchen, which makes cooking midnight snacks downright comical, but I think it's getting fixed soon. It's funny, because while I'm very quick to try and settle myself, I'm realizing more and more that "settling" is actually a super-long process, and it's not something that can be wrapped up in the course of a week and a half.

Now, since I didn't have internet, but my mind was SIMPLY BURSTING with all sorts of fashionable thoughts, I wrote all these fun posts in Microsoft Word and was all "oh man, I'll just copy, paste, and be on my way!" UM, NO. I cannot paste anything in here. So, for now, my most fashionable musings are inacessible. In lieu of me waxing philosophic about the photographic stylings of Mario Testino, you'll soon be getting posts all about how skinny jeans are going to save my life and limbs, the wonder of stretch rhinestone rings, and the shirt that got away/will haunt my dreams until the day I die. Get ready.