Getting Kneecapped

So two weeks ago my brother calls me and tells me that he and his girlfriend have gotten a confirmation about marriage and that they set a date for February 28th.

*and there was much rejoicing in the land*

How excited was I?
Answer: Ecstatic!

She's a sweet girl and my brother is a king among men. They deserve every bit of happiness and all the blessings of marriage. May the confetti abound.

We started picking out centerpieces and planning the wedding cakes and debating colors etc. - all that fun stuff associated with a wedding. It was fun. Also, I have been wrapping my my mind around the concept of finally getting to have some kind of a sister in the family. That has me pretty excited. I'm not going to lie.

But I just got off the phone with the boy...

They've decided to move it up three months.

To November 29th.

Just because.

That's right -

One week before Finals.
Two weeks before my Grad School application deadlines.
One week after I get back from the East Coast.
Eight weeks from today.

I will be in a red skirt in the Bountiful temple watching my brother become a man.
Just breathe right?
Just breathe.

Wonder of Wonders!

Today is a VERY good day!
Lemme tell you why -

Background:
When I was a missionary in Washington DC my roommates (for the majority of my mission) were the Vietnamese speaking sisters. Consequently, we got to share a lot of the cultural perks that they had because of their call. Namely spring rolls, purple sticky rice, a lovely array of stuffed animals, many beautiful moon cakes they always brought home from tracting, and many fantastic stories. See - when they went knocking on doors they would rarely get in and/or effectively communicate with who they found but their call was to serve all the Asian people in the DC area but they only spoke English and efforted Viet. It's a tough language and very few people they taught were actually Vietnamese. So it was mostly a game of charades and a lot of nodding. However, all the Asian people they came across were a lovely, gracious and respectful for the most part. So even when they didn't let them in they gave the Chis a little gift. It happened a lot to us too. Hence why I still call tracting "trick or treating". There were so many different kinds of Asian people around it was a bit hard to keep track but I got a fabulous education. There were Cambodian, Laotian, Vietnamese, Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Filipino, Thai, Mongolian you name it - they all lived in DC and they all fell under the responsibilities of the Chis (pronounced like "cheese" - its Viet for "sister"). It was good times -

Anyways -
When we all got to go shopping on P-days we would go where the Chis could meet people too (cause it was kind of hard). So we landed in a lot of Asian commerce centers and found these adorable Korean doo-hicky shops that were like music/stationary/candy/insurance stores. I LOVED them. LOVE really - that is still a present tense condition. I loved everything in those little closet stores. The stationary, the pens, the gimicky candy and character erasers. I have been a HelloKittyphile since conception really. Those little spring loaded pencil boxes still bring me unbeknownst joy and there was enough cuteness combined with functionality to wipe me of my monthly stipend if I let myself go. The one luxury that I did allow myself was a few of the .99 cent pens. Your pen, as a missionary, is like your second companion. I grew to not just love these pens, but they became a part of me. They were adorable, original, had ink that instantly dried and smelled like fruit and were macro tips (0.38mm) and wrote so smoothly. For my handwriting they were my perfect pen. They made my day easier and always made me smile. I loved them. I really did.

When the time approached for me to come home I wasn't sure I'd find an adequate supply back home so I bought two cases of them in hopes that they would last me till I could find a store that had them again. I staged a valiant campaign when I got home to find a Korean stationary/children's clothing/BBQ /jewelery store but alas - to my dismay, nothing. After my first year home I ran out of pens and didn't know where to find them again and began another search for a pen that did it's job as well for me as my Korean ones. As an English major and someone who lives in their planner pens are very important - I use them all the time and they're one of those things that I am always very aware of. I don't know. I'm weird I suppose.

I settled on the RSVP (0.05mm) pens awhile back and they do an entirely adequate job - don't get me wrong. They keep my hair up nicely when I need them to too, but I still missed my super-awesome-nothing-like-it-ever-ever Korean pens.

Until today -

Right down the block from my work is this lovely Korean supermarket Vons thing. I decided to duck in on my lunch because my friend is having a bad week and has a weakness for these Japanese starburst candy things so I ventured in for the first time ever today looking for some to cheer her up. I didn't find any but all along the inside perimeter of this store were a number of these random tiny little kiosk stores just like in DC!!!

My heart stared racing and I frantically started looking around for a storefront with way too much pink and possibly overstuffed pillows. And there it was -

Happy Young Art America II

There - written in soft pink neon and adorned with puffy backpacks and water bottles in every adorable animal shape possible was my new favorite place. A taste of my DC home. I had found my new fount of functional adorableness and, most importantly, that my pens were just footsteps away.

The sweet girl at the counter, Lily, didn't speak a lick of English but I started talking her ear off anyway telling her how glad I was to see her and thank you owning this store and never to close and I will be a weekly visitor and if I could buy her lunch and pronounced blessings on her and her family and her family back home and any family she might have in the future - and where were the pens? The last part was achieved with mostly pantomime and some objects -

Picked up a random pen
pointed at tip
made the very small gesture with my fingers and pointed to black pen and she got it!

I love the universal language.

She showed me and it was all I could do to not give her a pick-you-up-off-the-floor-hug.
I promptly bought 5, dumped all my extra change in the "leave a penny take a penny" thing, and pretty much skipped out of the store and into a whole new world. One where I had my pens back.
*
Thats why today is a VERY good day.

*please forgive my not-a-scrap-of-make-up-on picture. Just focus on the pen

Confession...

There are things that I just love even though they're obtuse and/or nauseatingly popular.

One is Will and Grace* and the other is....

Jennifer Lopez's music.

I love the stuff - I think that I just love her. She is Jenny from The Block so don't be fooled by the rocks that shes got. No one has better red carpet accessories (in my opinion) and she's just fun to me. She's ridiculous in every real respect of life but Shes Real, Her Love don't Cost a Thing and frankly, I've never seen someone nail a hip-hop routine in 6" heals better. She should have a gold medal. It was epic. Savion snapped a Z for her - I saw it.

Why is this important you ask? Why is this coming out now? Well -

Today when I was dashing to my ever-so-exciting Grammar class I was trying to shake off work and my loathsome boss. I sang a bit. Didn't work. I got a text from my brother - still didn't work. So my last resort was surfing, the radio that is. And magically, from the halls of bubblegum and TRL -there it was - my exit from my burdened grown up universe-

If you had my love and I gave you all my trust would you comfort me? Tell me baby...

The windows went down and so did the hair
The sun glasses went on and I got to class with a cleared mind and a back beat in my heart.

I was ready for split infinitives and perscriptive awareness of sequencing and sytax. All was well in the world. For 3 minutes at least. If I can't have cheesecake at least I've got Jenny.

Happy Friday

*lovely cheap therapy for a youth full of one too many hi-may, manipulative, and overwhelmingly gay choreographers

Bibbity Bobbity Mommy

So this isn't the best picture in the world of my mother but I simply had to take it. I have said for a long time that I think my mother is a faerie or a witch from the Wizarding world posing as muggle for our enrichment. Principally because she warms up every room shes in, leaves every person shes ever met a better person, still has the ability to capture the attention of every man in a 5 mile radius, and knows just about everything to do with anything in the world. Ever. But I also been suspicious because sometimes she has these "I'm not really from here" fashion moments and tonight was one of them.

Its a bit hard to gather from the picture but between our Triple World Plays and "aloof"s I looked up and noticed that my mother had settled down in her queen chair wearing a white cotton under skirt and white knit top with a purple dress with random tye-dyesque flowers here and there that she had only buttoned 3 buttons of, but to polish the outfit she had found half of her Professor Sprout costume that I somehow remember as an old Christmas pageant Shepard's robe that solely consisted of very iridescent stripes of blue, purple and green with a thick gold ribbon border. A sparkly gold ribbon border at that!

And there she was - just considering her "Z's" and "J's". When I finally asked her what was her inspiration for her fashion choice she looked down and realized what she had grabbed out of the closet and we both fell into hysterics for a good 5 minutes. The fact that she had become a real live breathing disco inferno completely hadn't registered. This, for me, compounded the hilarity even more. It was a beautiful moment.

So there she is. My bohemian mom in all her awesome shiny robe glory. I think it was just perfect with her there with all her books, her mane of Celtic priestess hair, eternal smile, and fabulous fashion wonderments. I mean -How fortunate am I?

Answer: very.

And if you think this is something you should taste her cooking...

Limb, out on

So I just got off the phone with my magnificent artist/musician friend Anastasia. She writes amazing and moving music and I told her I sometimes have put pen to paper and she asked me to share some of my stuff so I did. Then she called me a few days later irate that I hadn't shared this before because "the world need to see the beauty of you poetry" (she's from Ukraine). So at her encouragement this is the poem she was talking about.
Enjoy -

Sincerely,

Sterilized plastic rooms surround
homogenized bodies and glass eyes follow
Painted they are
Regurgitations of rehearsed conversation
Mingle nibbling crackers and looming wax fruit
Climate controlled metric space
Lined black with chairs and newspapers
waiting for the next cliche to personify itself

Mouths move, necks speak
afraid of light and silence –
they sit close in their grey

I
Confused and cold
Look inside an inside’s interior
In a flushed flurry with hope and tears
There I find my fire lit room
Full of spices, flowers and laughter
Love is real, spoken, caressed and passed on
Hands serve, heal and welcome.

Life, not drama
Art, not exhibition
Thought, not reaction
Friends, not associates
Music, not noise
Conversation, not information exchange
Love, not obligation

To dream the dance
To dance the dream

Paper Snowflakes and Pipecleaner Stars

Introspection is a Hydra of a virtue.

And the meatiest food for it are times of transition. It's a scientific principle. Activity on the surface of a body of water causes all of the particles or impurities settled at the bottom of the system to surface and I feel like I'm in a wind storm.

Graduation
Grad School preparation
Realizing that I have to take the GRE in 6 short weeks
Looking at transcripts

I feel like everywhere I've tread lately I've had to look pretty intensely at myself and I have to say that I have found myself very *sigh*ordinary. This is the one thing that I've always wanted to avoid. There is very little luster and excitement in being ordinary. And its a bit of a shock because I've always thought I had a little bit of amazing tucked inside my back pocket. Some sparkly diadem that I kept in the corner of my character and that I could pull out and remind myself that I have a Queen's name and a Hero's destiny. And to a small extent I think I still do. I know there are contributions that only I can make and that I fully intend on making, I always just thought I'd be in a sparkly ball gown making them. But the more I've honestly looked around me lately I've realized that I'm not walking through life in one of Carol Channing's best, I'm in my standard by flip flops, jeans and a tee shirt and always have been.

I'm not the first person all of my friends call to hang out. I'm probably not even the second or third. I'm not the one people talk about when "who they want to be like" comes up. I'm not "statuesque" and I'm not the girl they want their brothers to marry. Not their first choice at least. There isn't someone across the room that has been hopelessly in love with me since childhood. I don't have a wild romance just waiting for me somewhere and it's just a matter of time till I find it or it finds me and I'll probably never have stories of suitors crawling underneath the doors and in the windows like mother does. I know I'm lovable and that I will settle down with someone. It just won't be on the jumbo tron with a Tiffany ring.

I used to think I was funny - like the hilarious kind. Like it was only a matter of time till people were writing down my every twist of phrase for publishing and YouTube glory. But I've come to realize I'm not. I'm not a bore but I'm not really funny. I'm not even the funniest in my group of friends. I do have downright hilarious friends though. Like, I wonder why they're all not famous and hope they'll remember me when they are. And don't even get me started on how amazingly hilarious and witty my family is. I can hang, but I'm not leading the pack.

I used to think that my life was fascinating. That if people didn't want to hear my stories then they were just too boring to understand. But as my blog has given me evidence I am not a journalist documenting my efforts for peace in Israel, I'm not an amazing mom raising a fascinating child, I'm not a vogue editor keeping a blog to satirize my insane world, I don't have a THING in my life that is so all-encompassing that I can find enough material and thought for a whole blog. I've just spent way too much time at the movie theater and in my own head to realize that, to see anything beyond the end of my nose.

I used to think that I was brilliant. And, honestly, I have had a few moments where my professors have sat down with paper and pen and asked me to repeat what I just said and told the class to do the same. But I've come to understand that it's not a general condition and it never was. It was a moment. Just a moment where I was my best and other people were there to share it with me.

Tyler Durden says that a moment is all we can ever expect from perfection and that we're not unique snowflakes and to just lose hope in everything because that's the only way to ever be free. I can't even tell you how much I don't agree with that. But I do agree with this -

"We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off. "

The boys get pissed off and they want to fight each other and bleed like Brad Pitt to vindicate that they don't feel in control of their lives and destinies. Us girls have watched the same shows and commercials and we don't want to beat up other people, just ourselves. Because, honestly, its my fault. It's my own fault that I'm ordinary.

I mean - doesn't every saucy English Major have a spot on Oprah's couch? Do I need to get through school without limbs and a weight problem to qualify? Well I'm half way there I suppose.

I think I'm a very lucky girl because I am surrounded with the extraordinary. I live in the best place in the world. I have one of the world's most brilliant and good looking families. I have magnificent friends and good books to read and tons of places to explore. I have a laptop and Google to help me find them and amazing people to take with me. I've got this blog as my own little corner of the universe to pour my brain out into. I have plenty for the B student that I am and I am fully aware of it.

Will I ever rid the ocean of trash? no - Do I still want to? Absolutely
Will I expose the true perpetrators of 9/11 and bring them to justice? Probably not - Do I still think I should? Absolutely
Will I ever be on Oprah's speed dial? Probably not. Is it still an awesome idea? Of course
Am I going to turn 30 and be everything I feared to be when I was 18? Probably. Is that necessarily a bad thing? The jury is still out.

It's still out on a lot of things and a life can change in the blink of an eye. So for tonight, right now, this is were I am. This is who I am - and frankly ordinary isn't half bad. And I hear those sequin gowns are really uncomfortable anyway.

Pavlov's Army

We've all had some insane jobs. Some we talk about, some we laugh about, and some we shamefully admit to. It's just part of growing up. On a recent trip to Target I realized how much of some of my past jobs haven't left me. Even now that I'm a supposed grown up and stuff.

Whenever I'm at the frozen yogurt machine at Souplantation I still find my 21 Choices training kicking in and my peaks are still very peaky.

I still face the bills in my wallet like the ODV (Out Door Vending) Nazi at the LA County Fair made us do before us exhausted troop of sunburned band kids could go home.

When I pick up a shirt off of a table at a store I still refold it and size it like my years working on Main Street at Disneyland indoctrinated me to do.

Most of my time served in the retail penal colony was served there. Yes - I've worked at Disneyland. Yes I still go as a guest and it still feels magical and I agree, The Disney Co. is the Great and Spacious Building.

I really liked working at Disneyland. Aside of feeling married to my availability form, being grossly underpaid, and the sore face muscles from smiling (per our instructions to be happy) it was very very fun. No day was ever the same and I adored that. One day usually felt like a week because of the variety of things that went down in 8 hours there. There were always some kind of emergency or Pass Holder Insanity (PHI on the radio) to mitigate, and all that we needed to handle "with discretion". Or the awesomely sweet moments with children who still believed and were looking for their friend Cinderella. They always got first priority and I always volunteered to take the picture. It was all amazing.

Merchandise was way more fun than almost any other division. But one thing about "being Merch" that was almost enviable was the capacity we had to put our hands on just about anything in the known universe with a few phone calls if a guest needed it.

Squirting nickels - we got em.
14k gold mickey mouse lipstick cases, check.
Velveteen pirate's cape - check.
Campfire chili and fried chicken, - yes,
Rag-Time dancing shoes - got those too.
Glow in the dark lipstick - let me check with Fantasmic
Topiary Alice in Wonderland figures - straight back and to the left
Moroccan Mint tea - across the street at Markethouse

It was amazing if you kept your eyes half shut to the frequently intoxicated management, the local gay couple having a shout out backstage (daily occurrence) and the constant smell of gun powder, ammonia and melted ice cream wherever guests weren't (IE-backstage).

But this kind of we-have-everything-in-the-world-and-you-need-to-put-it-away was strangely one of my favorite aspects of the job and I got the most battle experience in the biggest jungle of Disney memorabilia of them all - The Emporium.



My favorite part of Emporium duty was go backs. Partly because I wasn't tied to a register or to a table to keep straight, or beanie babies to straighten up over and over again. I got to put back the boxes and boxes of random stuff that collected behind the registers and scour the store for out of place items. It was like one giant, lolly pop, twisty pencil puzzle with an Aaron Copland soundtrack.

It sounds tedious but I really loved it. Not only did it pacify my slight OCD tendencies to straighten things but it allowed me to get lost in my head a little bit. When I saw something that was out of place I would wonder "Now how did that happen? Why would someone abandon a crystal Sleeping Beauty Castle figurine for an Ariel tank top? Did Ariel mean more to her growing up? Was she a red head and identify more with her? Was she clumsy and afraid she might break the castle before she got to the car?" and so on and so forth. I would imagine conversations people had with each other. Mostly made up the precious conversation snippets I would pick up from other people in the store. The funniest ones we between parents and children about appropriate souvenirs:

"I know you love Goofy - but I don't $75 love Goofy and neither should you"
"If I was Snow White I would sing a song and make every squirrel here come and bite you"
"It just seems kind of wrong to put Tinkerbell on a 3x shirt - I mean - what are people thinking?"
"You don't need a Tigger key chain. You don't even have keys."

I would politely offer help or insight when I could but most of the time I was in my own head. And today when I was picking up salad dressing and candles at Target on my lunch I noticed a pair of socks, a can opener and bar of soap on the crystal light isle. Instinct kicked in and I reminded myself that I didn't work there and it wasn't my responsibility to keep Target go-back free. But I did find myself constructing a scenario where those things being there would have made sense. How pink lemonade crystal light might have reminded that particular shopper that it was their best friend's favorite and that his can opener, navy blue socks and back up bar of Ivory were at his house so he didn't need to get them here.

And after laughing at myself for a second I realized that I did that a lot and then asked why and I found myself in my Main Street costume and oval name tag holding my box of go backs with "Meet me in St Louis" in the background. It was a pretty enlightening 45 seconds in the grocery isle of Target. And this, consequently led me to marvel at the little quirks I still have that are just residue from my past jobs and how everyone must have them. So now I'm curious - what are some of your habits, dear reader, that you've adopted (willingly or unwillingly) from your past?

A Timeless Relationship

This picture just made me laugh and laugh to the wheezing point. It has nothing to do with anything and especially with matters of today but on sober occasions I think we need hilarious pictures of legitimately frightened children and obnoxious farm animals.

Addendum:

My burly 19 year old brother said that if a horse stuck its head inside his car window and made that face he'd probably scream too. That brought on another laughing fit. I truly think this is one of my favorite pictures of all time.

Stickittodamanitus

Victory!



Well a small one at least. But one nevertheless!

So in the paperwork conundrum that is the Cal State system there are a number of applications for graduation checks, applications to pay to apply to graduate, applications for permits to stand in line to pay to stand in a different line to be told that you need to go do whatever you need to on line! Arugh! They are all carbon copied, notarized, and need to be turned in on opposite sides of campus. Its enough to make Douglas Adams create an entire space race to satirize and cope and make a girl consider the feasibility of fruit stands in Jamaica.

I have seriously entertained the idea that the system is set up like it is to keep students in it and so the school can keep leeching money from us in the name of higher education.

That all being said - I got my grad check back (90 days after I turned it in mind you...) and according to my scrupulous records and calculations I had exactly two classes to take and then B.A. in hand I would be free to pursue higher learning and more paperwork - but Ms. Thang from the big pointy building on campus came back with a list of FIVE - count them 1 - 2- 3 - 4- 5 classes left remaining to graduate.

Um - I don't think so. There is no way I could have been that off. No way.

So I began my campaign -
For the last three weeks via emails, calls, a few visits and one of my father's Law Office business cards later I finally got into talk to someone, the person who signed my Grad-check as a matter of fact, and I presented her with all of my transcripts, all of my grades, my degree progress form from when I started and all the rest of the glorious black on white luster that people like her crave. I concluded with "so you see, all I need are these classes and then I expect my degree." and to my amazement she ACQUIESCED!!!

She said I was right, apologized for the mistake and that I should go on ahead as planned and to have a marvelous quarter. I was ready for a cat fight, or a battle of power point at least, but after I finished my pitch but she just agreed.

With my mouth agape she agreed.

She even agreed to put the new requirements in writing and thanked me for my time.

Holy Freaking Cow -

Take that Mr. Man! I'm getting my piece of paper and there is nothing you can do to stop me! Buaahahahaha.

I felt like I had just won the Battle of Sterling. I got my victory neapolitan shake from In N Out and strutted back to my car. That's right

I strutted.

It's a Little Strange

I wrote this blog on MySpace (yes I have a MySpace- eye roll away. It's a great place to find bands) a while ago and I was in a particularly sober mood that day - the universe and realities were all pressing down pretty hard then, and I've strangely found myself in the same space for the last week or so. I suppose the reds come around every 4 months. Anywho - I think its a good piece of writing and its pretty reflectionary of tonight for me so I'm going to encore it.

Disfruta:
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It's a little strange but today for some reason, I am feeling very unmarried. Now don't get me wrong – this isn't a "why am I not married??!!" whinny blog. I very rarely feel like this, much less openly talk about it. Underneath whatever kind of emotional precipitation is brewing, raging, or clearing- the Liz Landscape is a very happy one. I have a long, meaty and beloved gratitude list that is categorized, color coded, by-lined and bulleted. I just, for some strange reason, really feel like writing about this right now.

There is so much emotional fore, mid, and background that goes into a conversation like this. Singleatude in Mormon World is cleverly disguised as benign but its really a very difficult state. You're a secondary citizen in the social spectrum of things. You're not any less loved or valid, but there is a social-construct that we all have to deal with that has been built up on the scaffolding of The Gospel and you just don't get to go upstairs or are truly "normal" unless you have a ring on your finger. Every 30 year old unclad left hand is scrutinized in someway and the usual and sometimes reluctant question that pops up is somewhere along the lines of "what's wrong?" Even if it's dismissed right away, never articulated or answered – its still there. And even though you know you are perfectly amicable and hygienic and a fabulous cook - you still ask it of yourself too.

That, however, is not what I really want to speak to right now -

I really don't like the term "single" anyway - its synonyms are just obtuse: solitary, singular, solo, lone, particular. It's hardly an empowering title, much less identity. It gives you this strange subconscious license to be irresponsible and apathetic to other people and ironically this usually goes in tandem with a string of guilt for being that way, and for not being married yet...

But being unmarried is different I think. That's how I feel today – like for the first time I'm really missing something. Like when you get flowers and they sit pretty for a few sweet days and their smell greets you when you get home. But after they expire and you have to throw them out and the next week you kind of sit and think – It would be nice to have some flowers again.

I've thought about what's harrowing up all of this and I've done some emotional inventorying to see if something else is bothering me and it's just manifesting itself in singletonness. Like when something is askew the solution to all problems is just over the next life step – "If I were married I wouldn't have to deal with taking the trash out all the freaking time" And when you are married it's when you buy your house. And when you buy your house it's when the house is paid for etc….

I think I figured it out. There are a few people, very close to me, that have done this "single thing" with me. They've been my wingmen for years and years. And blindsidingly, I felt in my heart today that they are getting closer and closer to marriage and that I needed to prepare.

This made me sit up a bit and 20 minutes later I found myself crying. I don't cry very often either - not out of sadness that is. Then I started laughing in confusion at myself. I felt silly for being selfish and mourning the loss of them. Because no matter what you think, things shift when someone marries – you swear things won't change, but they do. And they should. I would expect nothing else from them. But their potentially marriedness pushes my unmarriedness smack in the spotlight and wishing for some flowers. Its simplistically cyclical and pretty much scares the hell out of me. I don't know what I am going to do without them. I'm so terrified of a life of "other" – even among people that love and adore me – the people I feel the safest with.

Then there is this creeping annoyingly true feeling in my gut – that if we were all on the marriage path together that I wouldn't feel this way at all. I wouldn't feel as separated from them and - everything else really. Solitary, singular, solo, lone, particular. I suppose we all have to figure out how to fend for ourselves – even in the complex emotional realms of the universe.

There isn't a quick remedy – there isn't a flavor or Bert and Rocky's that can rectify or a pair of heals that can do much but pacify. It's a process and I welcome and accept all of that. I truly do – But I think I will sit and see the missing flowers a little more lately.

Aristotle said that "the unexamined life isn't worth living" so I'm doing my best and Heber C. Kimball said "Quit your whining and get the Spirit of the Lord – every one of you" and I'm giving that my best too – it'll be fine. But tonight – this is how I feel.

There you go -

I know - it all really is a little strange.

Mugatu!!!

So I'm a total fashion geek - I've never made a secret of it.

I've read Vogue since I was 12.

I idolize Audrey Hepburn and Coco. I love the stuff!

Being beautiful is a fabulous thing and our natural right as females.

I own it. I love it! Its a good thing I'm not slightly built and wealthy because it would a be a temptation to pay attention to little else. I enjoy anything beautiful and often that comes in a great pair of boots. :D

I've also made no secret that Fall is my FAVORITE fashion season. I just love the colors and lines and hat and scarfs. I adore it all.

AND (can this much wonderful be contained in one blog?!) anyone who has the patience to listen to me diatribe on the subject knows Marc Jacobs is, hands down, my favorite designer. I watched the Fall 2007 women's collection show last night and its made today a lovely distracted day.

These are a few of my favorites that I just have to share. Marc Jacobs has the best and cleanest lines. Hes feminine but the trimmed, non-silly kind of feminine.

See what I mean? But its still fun even though it's so serious. Maybe its the yellow shoes. But he also designs for more than the coat hanger type of body frame. This would be scrumbotious on a very curvy frame. I think so at least.

I really love the long sweater thin belt look (I would choose a pencil skirt with this combo as opposed to shorts though - and those boots probably. Don't want too many right angles). But Marc never tries too hard. He just knows that hes good and lets it go from there. Totally hot I think. And it comes out in the clothes.

I love the Spencer Jacket* line and 3/4 coats and having both of them in one piece - priceless! Can't you just imagine yourself feeling the need to channel Katherine Hepburn in this? I do.

And this just screams Thoroughly Modern Millie tap dance extravaganza to me. I mean, that's what I'd do if I found myself in it. How freaking adorable??!

So yeah - Fall Fashion Rocks. Its like dignified but energized at the same time. Kind of like Autumn in general. I think that's why it's my favorite season all around, not just in the fashion sense.

There are a bunch of others ensembles that I could ogle over but I won't. Few things make me happier and excited than Marc in the Fall.

*they call it a "cropped jacket" but anyone who's anyone and who has seen or read anything Jane Austen knows its a Spencer Jacket. So that's what I call it. Kind of like how in the 50's there were "petal pushers" but when they came back 5 years ago they were "capris". Please - petal push away!

I've Had an Apostraphe

(Yes - Yes - Two posts in the same day but this is important. )

I've amended my life plan!

Among marriage, finishing school, having a lovely and well adjusted family, writing a book or two and skydiving I think that I need to buy this house in Nova Scotia. Yes... I was looking at real estate in Nova Scotia today. Doesn't everyone?

Then I can wander my green and lovely acres with my family and a few deliriously happy dogs singing songs from The Sound of Music and shell peas on the porch.

Flacktoids and Fitness Orbs

There are some days when its all I can do to not uncontrollably laugh at myself. Well, that's most days now that I really think about it, but today is turning out to be a non-stop giggle fest. Why you ask? Well - it all started last week on a weight machine at the gym.



There I was in my coordinating yoga pants, obnoxious tee shirt, pigtail combo getting ready to lift some weights when up popped Mo. Yes- Mo. His name was Mo. He looked like a like dark Italian or Moroccan mix and his name was probably Mohamed or something equally cool. So there was Mo in all his smug-wearing-a-too-tight-trainer's-shirt glory and he started asking me "So what muscle group are you trying to work right now?" and all those other whizzbangs that they teach you in Training school apparently.


Aside:
This is the third time I've been picked off of the weight floor by a trainer at three different gyms. Either I have a cry for help on the back of my shirt or I just look utterly ridiculous when I'm on a machine. But honestly - who doesn't? I dunno. Its become a source of entertainment at this point. My cousin is a body builder and a personal trainer and my other cousin is nutritionist so its not like I don't have people that I already consult. I think I have some idea as to what I might want to do or be doing. So I knew that I was just getting sold in an elongated and slightly condescending manner.

And we're back:

So I politely stopped my work out and stood up with one hand on a hip and listened to his pitch (I've been in sales. I know how it is. Practice is precious and dealing with mean people can poison a whole day). I wanted to be nice. Plus - I mean - his name is Mo. How many people do you know named Mo?


The conversation went something like this:


Mo: Hey there! What's going on? I'm Mo.


Me: Mo?


Mo: Yeah - Mo. I'm the training manager here and I've noticed you're on this machine a lot. Do you think it's a good part of an exercise program? You've been coming for a few weeks now right?


Me: About 6 months


Mo: Oh - right. Well ... Yeah - I'm here everyday and I think I've seen you try to work this machine. So - uh- what muscle group do you think you're targeting right now?


temporarily speechless from being slightly annoyed but highly entertained. So with a raised eyebrow and deciding to play along but wanting to keep it simple having no desire to enter a biology discussion with "The Mo" -


Me: (standing up) my legs


Mo: OK - yeah - I can see that (It was a quadriceps machine)........ well if you want to come over here I can show you some other exercises that might be better


(enter Nick)


Nick: Is everything all right over here?


Me: Mo this is my brother Nick.


Mo: Good to meet you (shakes hands - but like the boy sizing each other up shake not the good-to-meet-you-shake) .......... so you guys seem pretty close. How long have you been friends?


Me: Mo this is my brother Nick -

Mo: Oh. Right ...... well do you want to come over to the mat and I can show you some stuff?


So after Nick came over with the endearingly sweet "Is there problem here?!" look and posture going on, *Gotta love protective brothers* we both got conned into letting him "work us out" for a bit. We found a few exercise balls and were reminded how out of shape we both still are and then we made appointment for a "full session" - to be further reminded. Yay and double yay. :D


That appointment was yesterday.


And today I can't walk.


Well ---- I can but its an effort and I think my legs and or abs might give out at any given time. So every muscle pain twinge I feel I just laugh. I mean, what else can you do? All we did was a bunch of different squats and leg lifts, mat work for the most part and it was only half an hour long but I feel like I got out of a 4 hour water polo practice. And then ran home.


So I've officially been "taken to the next level" and should be ready to "see some major results". Thanks Mo! It was awesome.