Style + the Starbucks Test.

Sometimes I wear weird ass outfits. As my mother would put it, I look a little like a Kindergartener who was allowed to dress herself that morning. (Apparently, this trait is genetic.) I aways know if my outfit is particularly odd if, when I walk into Starbucks, I all of the sudden feel very Weird. Clothing is situational, we all know this; so certain outfits that look au courant while I am running a boutique, can look like a bit of a faux pas while I am in line at Starbucks surrounded by businessmen and soccermoms waiting for my coffee refill. These outfits do not pass what I call (surprisingly!) The Starbucks Test. (And I have been at my boutique long enough to almost always run into someone I know -a client, their husband, their children or a combination of all three - during one of my many daily trips to get a cup o' joe. Oy.)
I was in line at Starbucks this morning, (dressed perfectly appropriate for both boutique-life and the coffeeshop queue) and the middle aged woman behind me caught my eye.  I glanced behind me, and it wasn't the twinkle in her eye that caught my attention; it was the twinkle in her nose. Pushing fifty, the pigtailed woman behind me had a nose piercing. Oh good God. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200.
I was chatting with one of my younger (she's about 22 or 23) - yet incredibly loyal - customers today, at Starbucks, & she was telling me about some haggard acquaintance of hers, when she said, "I mean, God, she looks thirty!" I looked at her, smiled, and said, "You don't know how old I am, do you?" Eekamouse.
But this got this shopgirl thinking; The spectrum of Style certainly has a sliding scale.
I see these teenagers and young women come into my store, and I hear their mother's coo, Sweetie, I like the tunic on you, it hides your hips. They turn to me, Poor thing, she got my hips. (Or worse, She got my mother-in-law's hips.) On more than one occasion, I have gone into the dressing room without the bitch mom and whispered to the poor girl, Don't listen to her. You have a beautiful body. Why do some mother's insist on making hip-insecurity as genetic as the hips themselves? Teenagers have been in my store, these gamine Laguna beauties with genetics to die for, and they're complaining that they are this or that, and I want to scream, Girl, appreciate your fantastic body now, you'll look back in pictures and wish you had! (Okay, I may or may not have said that out loud before.) Although, the 13 year old girl that stated to her friend in the shop, Oh no, I only wear bootie shorts, terrified me a little. (Where is your mother?! Probably out wearing bootie shorts and foam platform flip flops.... killmenow.) I think that the woman behind me in Starbucks should probably retire her stud. (To a Stud Farm! No? Not funny? Damn.) She, quite ovbiously does not share this opinion. And yes, the asshole in me wanted to to turn to her and say, Oh honey, let it go. Instead, I stared. Same with the woman I see almost every morning in the crop top, Lululemon spandex and (gasp!) heels... Let it go, lady. You're body is banging, but you once told me about your son's Senior Prom. Letitgoooooo. Show it off, you have every right too - but I need not see your entire torso while you wait for your Frapuccino! (Or that line where your ass meets your thighs. Really?!) I also think the preteen bootie short connoisseur should invest in - ahem - some leggings, or pants, or something!anything! without the word bootie in it. Or is it booty? I guess I have two points here; one being, Starbucks has some damn interesting customers. Secondly, style & age are a funny thing.
Starbucks may very well be the perfect example of finding the balance between 'Dressing Your Age' and 'Flaunting What Ya Got' .

Extremely Sexy
... Starbucks says style is somewhere smack dab in the center...
Extremely Sober

I want this car.

I will be honest, as I have gotten older, I have actually started to dress "younger". Well, not younger per se, but less conservatively. I have also become more comfortable (for the most part) with my body, as well as my own personal style. And being the Shopgirl I am, I tend to have a critical eye when looking at what other women are wearing - whether it be at the ole SB, the shop or my studio. I think one of the things I love most about my job is being able to 'big sister' my clients a little; they, for the most part, believe in Shopgirl Authority - so they actually listen. I try not to let them walk out in anything that doesn't look good on them, or that they are not comfortable in. I want them to pass the Starbucks Test too! Most of my clients - and friends for that matter- can tell by my most subtle nose wrinkle or grimace that I am not loving what they have put on. Shit, I have a feeling the woman with the nose piercing could tell too. And I think it is easy to spot someone in public who is obviously & outwardly not comfortable in what they are wearing.
I think it is less about 'dressing your age' (we've come a long way since the blunt shoulder-length haircuts and sweater sets for anyone over the age of 35, thank God) and more about 'flaunting what ya got' - by dressing in what flatters your figure and your proportions all the while reflecting your personality. I put a lot of weight into the importance of looking effortless & uncontrived - whether you're 16, 29 or 43. Or at Starbucks, for that matter.
I just don't ever think butt-creases should be reflective of your personality, yaknowwhatImean?

Choose Your Own Adventure; The Witches' Duel.

How is it even possible to think so much of a person in general... And I'm thinking of a girl I have only known for 3 days the whole time... And telling you I love you doesn't even feel strange.

Its words like these that can make a girl crazy. Or at the very least, they've made me Crazy, Capital C. I haven't wanted to talk at great length about it - anxiiiiettttyyyyyy - but the Dutchman arrives in 6 days. He will be here for about three weeks and we are going on two short mini-vacations. Together, in my room with a kitchen (and a Kat Moss) attached, we will spend the better part of three weeks together. OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod. Kat is taking the news well; I, however, have become absolutely Bipolar over the whole situation.



Which Witch is Which?

Close your eyes and imagine my Good Witch & my Wicked Witch engaged in some sort of dramatic Hollywood Princess Bride style fencing duel - the lunging, the swinging, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. That is my brain these days. (Okay, that is my brain most days.) Yeah, my dueling witches are at it, big time: He's gonna see you're crazy! He's going to drive you crazy! (Swipe!) You will have a wonderful time! You're not crazy, you're amazing! (Swoosh!) No, you're crazy! See how crazy you are! (Jab!) He loves you, even with all your quirks! (Swish!)
(If you aren't sure what I am talking about, skim http://stylesaturnreturn.blogspot.com/2011/05/are-you-good-witch-or-are-you-bad-witch.html .)
I am very excited, don'tgetmewrong; my heart swells and sings when I think about him, talk to him, text with him. But in all honesty, I'm absolutely terrified. My Wicked Witch has been whispering... 'What if he gets here and he comes to realize that I am not, in fact, this amazing wonderful California Girl that he thinks he is in love with? What if he steps off that plane and I no longer have those feelings for him? What if after a couple days, we cannot stand eachother? What if he regrets wasting his vacation on me? What if he takes back all his wonderful words? And then my brain goes: What if my fear of this happening turns this into some sort of self-fulfilling prophecy where I sabotage his entire trip because I am afraid of it going poorly?'
Basically I am afraid that my fear of failing to live up to my best self will ultimately wreak havoc on his entire holiday here. Hey! I am nothing if not self aware. Argh.
But then again, I am also thankful for his rose colored glasses - I do think he will get here and only see what my Good Witch tells me is inside of me. I believe that he does love the true and wonderful Me; because she does exist and is deserving of such love. I believe he sees me for the good that I am. I am thankful for the fact that, if I wanted to, I could probably tell the Dutchman all of the above fears, & he would tell me I was mad, & that he loves me for Me. And he would be telling me the truth. (Ha! Knowing me, I probably will.)
I have to remind myself of what I said earlier,

I find this voice telling me that I only have one life, and to remember to live it fully. That this may be it - I have to at least see. That if we do not explore what this is, then I will regret it for the rest of my life.
He and I have discussed the possibility of this just being what it is - a crazy yet fluke connection between two strangers for weekend, or for a summer.

*That's right folks, I have to read my own blog to be reminded of such things sometimes.

The electricity between us the when we first met; that was no accident. The honest conversation between us since that weekend has been nothing but wonderful. So, why on Earth am I so afraid? Why do I struggle with the fear of being unlovable? Why do I sometimes doubt my own worthiness of love? I don't doubt others', I don't doubt his!  When I was with him before, I felt the same sense of possibility I felt with the Aussie but none of the insecurities (Am I smart enough? Well read/traveled/spoken enough? Pretty enough?) The rejection I felt from the Englishman (which I will detail later, when I feel like meditating on yay! rejection) is (obviously) nonexistent. Why, then, do I let that damn Wicked Witch coax me into some sort of hysterical self doubt? Sheissuchabitchbytheway.
His visit may be fantastic. It may be awful. It may be so-so. We won't know until we get there. I just have to remind myself it is an Adventure & that it is my Adventure. An explorer doesn't not get on the plane for fear of it crashing; the pilot doesn't board the plane with the assumption it will crash. And without them - metaphorically, duh - there would be no adventures. Part of being a grown up is living your own, personal Choose Your Own Adventure novel, I guess. So, to my Wicked Witch - I choose to give you the finger. (Turn to page 29!) Fuckyouverymuch. I choose to stop listening to you and allow this to be an unsabotaged by Saturn visit by my Dutchman. I mean, he's coming all this way...
In 6 days.
He will be here in 6 days.
Okay, 5 days and 22 hours.
5 days and 21.5 hours.
But who's counting?

Sheer Inspiration; Trying to Unblock my Blogger's Block.



Sometimes I don't realize you can see right through me.



Sometimes we all need a super hero.

Sometimes you have to overcome whatever you're going through by sheer force.

Sometimes you're better off without the mask.



Sometimes I forget there is strength in numbers.





















I am obsessed with Fall's sheer trend. It's the Rebel Ballerina in me.
It warms my heart. It makes me happy.
Thatisall.

Ring Around the Roses.

Pocket Full of Posies.
I Heart Planet Blue.

My Big Sister Complex; otherwise known as "I'm a Total Know-It-All."

If you know me, you know I have a tip, anecdote or general thought on just about everything. You bring up Shark Week? I'll tell you about the kid in 10th grade who was bitten by a shark, saved by the Mormon boy who sat across from me in English and now writes inspirational kids books about not being afraid of sharks.
You bring up jeans, I'll remind you to ask for the orirginal hem when you get them tailored. This is very important! You bring up cheese, I tell you about my Roquefort and walnut salad recipe. Its really good.
I may have a little bit of what I like to call a Big Sister Complex. It probably has a lot to do with the fact that I am, surprise! A Big Sister. Could be worse! I could have White Trash Cousin Disorder. (She'd tell you that your lurex glitter scrunchie that matched your sparkle-tip acrylics was like totally hot. [However, if you actually have those two things, I doubt you're reading S+SR]) But with BSC, I want to share, I want to explain, I want people to learn from my foibles, and from my successes.
But to be honest most of what I know, I learned... well, from my Mom, being a Shopgirl since I was 19, & from well... Emily Post. (Okay, and Michael Kors - but only the things about flowers & self tanning).
Know me long enough, and you will in some way or another, hear me say most of the things below. These are my tricks & these are my beliefs - and yes, I'm a Damn Bossy Big Sister. But hey! It's my blog, I can boss all I want! I mean, if you really think about my blog as a whole, it's just one big aesthetically pleasing example of my BSC.

The Big Sister in me wants to tell you*:
* For the record, this is for no one in particular - I was simply ruminating on what the Know It All in me does tell my friends, mom, sisters & clients ad nauseum.
It's a long drive home.

Learn how to take a compliment.
Without following it with something self deprecating.
By simply saying, Thank you.

That no one sounds confident while complaining how fat they are.
Even when you feel really puffy.

Stand up straight.
No, seriously. Stand up straight.

The days you have nothing to wear in your closet are not - I repeat not - the days to go shopping.
You won't find a thing. It's the Shopgirl equivalent to grocery shopping on a full stomach.
Go clothes shopping on a day where you feel skinny, love your outfit & feel good about yourself. Everything will look good, and you'll have a pleasant experience attached to whatever you bought. Halo Effect!

You know, most wines tell you what they're best paired with on the back. Some are as simple as chicken & fish, some are descriptive enough to tell you that they're great paired with Thai.

To give hostess gifts.
Even if it is just a bottle of wine or a $3 bouquet of flowers.
Send thank you notes.

Ranunculus (Buttercups)
aka My 2nd Favorite Flower

That Michael Kors was right.
Every woman should know at least 5 flowers.
And no, roses & carnations don't count.

Don't wear things that are ill fitting.
Oversized is one thing... but with poor fit you'll look like you're in Borrowed Clothing.
And if you're borrowing clothing, make sure it fits.

If you feel like you can't walk gracefully in a pair of heels,
you're probably right.
Nothing worse than a girl clomping down the street. We're not Clydesdales.

There is no need to insert yourself in others' drama.
If you don't have something nice (or tactful) to say, don't say anything at all.
This is null and void if you dislike someone's hat.

If you are entering a room or store or Starbucks and you're entering at the same time someone is leaving,
Etiquette calls for the person exiting to go through the door first.
To make room for you, of course.

Polished nails, a single nice accessory, nice shoes & a nice handbag are all you really need.
You could be wearing f21 jeans and a American Apparel tank, but even a well done home manicure, the simplest of gold necklaces, leather shoes & and a leather handbag will make you look like a million bucks.

The only shoes you really need: Nude Peep Toe Heels.
They go with everything. In any season. ICrossMyHeart&HopeToDie.

Its okay to be overdressed.
People will just think you're just coming from somewhere way more exciting.

Selling clothes at a consignment store or Buffalo Exchange?
Call ahead ask what they're buying and what they've over-bought.
& then dress the part. If they think you are chic, the halo effect will take over when they're looking at your cast off clothing.

& Bridget Jones' Diary.
(Cuz it'z v.g.)

Read Whitney Otto's A Collection of Beauties at the Height of Their Popularity.

Every home (or room with a kitchen attached) looks better with fresh flowers.
I prefer a bouquet of the same flower, broken up all over the house.
No need to fuss about with the supermarket schlock mixed bouquets.
It's cheaper anyhow.

Avoid the trap of misery loving company. We all deserve to be surrounded by those who are supportive of us, who care about us. Not to say these people can't call us on our shit sometimes, but I believe in recognizing when someone is a Dragging us Down, Capital D, and saying nothankyou.

Flaunt your friends who make you feel fucking fantastic.

Don't be afraid to know (& flaunt) your best feature. 
And to dress accordingly. Choose to focus on the best & not what you're trying to hide.

You know those stretchy elastic headbands?
They make great (near)invisible belts.

Buying wine to impress but on a budget?
Check the groove at the bottom; the deeper the groove the more expensive the bottle itself. The winemakers wouldn't waste an expensive bottle on crap wine.

Avoid wearing gray when you have a hangover.
You'll look like you have a hangover.

Know which friends really have your best interest at heart.
& to how to really listen to them when they give you advice.

Don't kiss your neighbors.
Makes getting the mail really awkward.

Yellow roses are a symbol of friendship.
Just good to know. Ya know?

& lastly...
Dishwashing soap will stop self tanner from staining your hands.
As will a heavy dose of Cetaphil lotion.

So, there you have it. I'm done now. Oh! Though, as your Resident Blogging Big Sister; IAbsolutelyFuckingLoveYou whether you listen to me or not.Okay, now I'm done.

Sidenotes: The Dutchman called me today. We spoke very breifly - but he is so freakin' sweet. He'll be here in two weeks. I vary between pure panic and total excitement. I am also feeling much more centered than I was after the weekend.

Somewhere Over The Rainbow.

At least you can count on one thing after the rain.
Not that it has literally been raining.
Aahh.... youknowwhatImean.

Pinky Promise (with Myself)

So, its been an interesting couple of weeks; and the whole phone situation, etc. has kind of made me go:

Whoa, time to chill the F out.

I was doing so well, being a grown up for a while - but I have fallen a bit off the adultwagon recently. Like when I was a teenager, & I had acne; I'd take the acne medicine until my skin would clear up & then I'd stop taking the medicine because I didn't think I needed to anymore (because my skin was clear, duh) and then lo & behold, I'd break out again.
This time, I told myself that I needed to get my act together & I did; but slowly, while telling myself I had somehow 'reformed'; somehow under that guise, I slowly slipped back into the same old patterns of behavior - the acne of immaturity flared right back up.

Yeah, something like that.
Except, ya know, a Reckless Adult.

So I  am putting an end to it. Today. This Monday, I don't feel like hiding out (perhaps because I don't have a phone anyway) but I do feel like going home, staying in, and doing so until the Dutchman arrives. In two weeks. (More on my feelings about that later.)
Basically between losing my phone (or having it stolen, not sure) & a couple other things that have happened recently, I am not very happy with myself. I was on the phone with my best friend in Northern California last week, and I had apologized for doing what felt like hiding out - but then she pointed out that I hadn't been hiding out at all - I'd been going out and out and out.
To which I responded,

You're right. You're so right - its not that I've been hiding, it's that I have been secretive.

Not good, Capital NOT.
Honestly, I've been anxious and sad lately, and I think I have put pressure on myself to be perfect for the Dutchman when he comes back, I am anxious about when he does come back, I put pressure on myself to have the perfect body on the Fourth of July, & many other things... But sometimes when I put that sort of pressure on myself, I rebel. I rebel against myself, if that makes any sense. I'm the Rebelling Rebel Ballerina. My feelings of insecurity and anxiety make me go the entirely opposite direction; so I have been self-destructing a little lately.
So, I am making a Pinky Promise with myself; I am holding myself accountable for my actions. I promise me that I am going to get back to being comfortable just going home, and being by myself instead of grasping for somethinganythinganyone to do or be with. When I do go out I am sending myself home at reasonable hours. I am not going to allow myself to act like a 22 year old Lost Girl. Because I am not that girl.
You know, I struggle sometimes with being honest with myself, I can tend to sweep things under the rug and refuse to deal with them. I put blinders on until everything falls apart, and then I look around at the pieces wondering how the fuck it got so out of control.
It's even harder admitting feeling like an utter fucktard in a blog that your friends (and your mom) read. So losing my phone has kind of given me the space to edit out my contact list ifyaknowwhatImean, to refocus on Me, to take a couple days where I only talk to the people in my life that are important enough that I have their phone numbers memorized. (Which, unlike most people in this day & age, I know quite a few.)
I'll (hopefully) have a new phone in a couple days, but until then, its kind of just me, myself & Kat Moss.
This wild lost little girl schtick has gotten old.
So, it has been decided that I am making the binding pact with myself:
I pinky promise myself that I'm going to go back to acting like a Grown Up.

My Favorite Things

In light of the recent SNAFU that is my life, I have decided to try and focus on the positive. Which made me think of a song my mom used to sing to us growing up (& that I used to warble to crying babies when I was a nanny many many moons ago.) As made popular by everyone's favorite nun.come.matriarch, Maria von Trapp - and my very own mother.


Raindrops on Roses
Okay.... Roses in general.
Or flowers.




And Whiskers on Kittens
I'm also a sucker for ikat.




Bright Copper Kettles
Or anything that sparkles!



And Warm Woolen Mittens.
And boobs, apparently.




Brown Paper Packages Tied Up With Strings.
Or string bikinis.



These are a few of my Favorite Things. 

Cream Colored Ponies & Crisp Apple Strudels; Doorbells & Sleighbells & Schnitzel with Noodles.



Wild Geese Who Fly With The Moon On Their Wings.

 These are a few of my favorite things.


Girls in White Dresses with Blue Satin Sashes.
(or Long Black Dresses)



Snowflakes That Stay On My Nose and Eyelashes.
Not a drug reference, I swear.
It's Rogers & Hammerstein people!



Silver White Winters That Melt Into Springs.
Or Summer. Whichever.

These are a few of my favorite things...
So when the dog bites                                          or my life is a mess
When the bee stings...                                         & my phone is missing
When I'm feeling sad,
I simply remember my favorite things... and then I don't feel so bad.

Or I call  my best friend. Or my mom. Or both.

Saturn & the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

Hot Mess Happy Meal.

You know those days where you wake up & everything is a wreck? I lost my iPhone, I got a $340 parking ticket for parking (only halfway!) in a handicap spot. My apartment is a wreck. I couldn't resist the charms of the drive thru this morning. Goldi is away for the weekend. The Dutchman is at some festival without WiFi (Not that I could text him anyway!) My cheap shampoo has made this a Bad Hair Week. I drunkenly looked at the Aussie's okCupid. He hasn't been on in a month, which I take to mean he met someone. (Not that I should care. But of course, I do.) I've been hiding out & going out. I just feel... a little lost.

So, I need some good news.
I'm putting it out into the universe - Give Saturn a break! Give me some good news!

One good thing: I spent yesterday uploading all my photos from my phone to my computer.

Hide 'n Go Seek (Otherwise Known as Monday)

I don't know why this happens, but almost every Monday I go into uberhide-out mode. Maybe its the reality of the new week setting in, or perhaps just coming down off the weekend, or just a need for a little peace and quiet... Come Monday night, I'm avoiding phonecalls, or not making them at all (I'll call you tomorrow, Mom), and I just want to be home. My house is usually a mess Mondays - I say "house" but really its a room and a kitchen. Well, and a bathroom too - albeit one so small I can't fit a trashcan in it. On weekends, its a room for me and my girlfriends to primp in - I should probably just refer to it as a dressing room... Or a wine cellar, for that matter. But on Mondays... it's my own little hideout. Well, mine & Kat Moss' hideout. But, I guess, that's a good thing for an apartment to be... It's my refuge, my hideout, my dressing room, my wine cellar.

It's my home.

And I can't complain too much, it does have a beach on both sides.

That and... I stumbled across this while well, hiding out... http://mylittleapartment.blogspot.com/ which then turned into three hours of me googling decor inspirations for my room with a kitchen attached. A couch perhaps? A table? Maybe somewhere - anywhere - to sit!? Naaaah...

Which then turned into this:

zee Dressing Room? Oui s'il vous plaît.



Monday at my house.
+ about dozen pair of shoes.
therearesand&shoeseverywhere.
Also, I have clothes on.



Refuge.
I especially like turquoise + orange.
Goldi: Gerber Daises.

The veiw from my couch bed.
Sometimes I am surprised by my love of florals.
Goldi: Almond Blossom



I feel as though my hideout could use a hint of yellow.
Which reminds me of something else yellow...
I need to remember to drink more water.

So here - as per the uuush on Monday - I'm Hiding. Blogging. Picture Hunting. Trying to Get Inspired. Whining. Wineing. A little alone, technically a lot alone, but goes with the hiding - but mostly content. Life in my little hideout can be a little odd at times, not everything is perfect, but for the most part life is good. Reeeeal good.

& it feels good to feel good hiding out at home. 

Hallelujah! 

Of course, now I want to redecorate.

Not Just the Couch.



I miss having a bathtub too.



Growing Up in NeverNeverLand.

I think one remains the same person throughout, merely passing, as it were, i these lapses of time from one room to another, but all in the same house.                 

                                                                 - J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

NeverNever
(sitonaswinginsuchashortskirt)
Land

So, I went to my long forgotten Myspace(!) page today - to grab some old pictures. Under the “Blog” section I found this little description of myself… I wrote it in August of 2005. *I had no idea I was a 'blogger' back then! I was right around 22 & I had yet to meet the Ex, was still in college and quite a lost little girl. This time in my life was the only other time I was single.
(I recommend reading the left column first, then the sidenotes.)

Reading this, I was a shocked at:

1.) How little I have changed & 2.) How much I have changed. 

I was a Girl when I wrote this - a little wild, a little reckless. And although I have struggled to tame that girl in the past year, I feel that, at the same time, I am simply a more polished, more centered version of this same girl; these days I actually feel like a woman. (I refer to men as "men" forGodsakes.) I am beginning to believe that my Peter Pan Syndrome is really starting to diminish. That's not to say I don't have a whole helluva lot more growing up to do, but at the very least the wild girl described above only comes out every once and awhile. And although I oft refer to my tiny little town as NeverNeverLand, its starting to feel less and less so. *I mean when you take a look at your life, and realize things like,"I am facebook friends with not only the bartenders at the local dive, but the bouncer as well," you may need to re-evaluate your life a little. Or, you might be an alcoholic. I kid, Mom, I kid.  But I'll be honest, I feel such a sense of pride when they ask me - via facebook of course - where I've been. (It's the little things in life.) I feel such a sense of pride when anyone asks me that these days! My response was, More Restaurant Checks & Fewer Bar Tabs. Yes, I was proud of that come back. So I guess, what I'm trying to say is that over the course of my twenties, I'm still at my core, the same girl - in my make up & constitution but that girl has gone from a Lost Boy Girl to a Peter Pan and then - slowly but surely - to a Wendy. 

You need not be sorry for (Wendy). She was one of the kind that likes to grow up. In the end she grew up of her own free will a day quicker than the other girls.                                                                                                 - J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

I'm getting there. Or trying my hardest to.
I'm trying to be a grown up NeverNeverLand.

Saturn's LBD; the Long Black Dress.

So... I met someone.

To which my client responded,

Oh? Wow! Were you wearing The Dress?

Actually, yes. Yes I was.

So... Dramatic black dresses are my absolute favorite Go-To. I love a good  jersey maxi dress - for day and for night. I feel gorgeous in something that is really quite casual yet also makes such an undeniable statement. 
My weakness is anything that shows off my shoulders & back, and moves like ocean waves as I walk.
My favorite memories are usually attached to a single such dress - and for the moment, I am particularly attached to the backless black column I met the Dutchman in.

I am a black dress Dutchman magnet.

I'm a black dress minx.

I am a black dress rebel ballerina.

In a single piece of clothing (and a great pair of shoes and all my jewelry):
I feel beautiful & unstoppable.
So... Thank you LBD.
Thank you Coco Chanel.
Thank you Calvin Klein.
Thank you Rachel Pally.
Thank you Buffalo Exchange.
Thank you Forever21.

Long-Ass Sidenote: I successfully (as did my friends) looked fucking fantastic this holiday weekend. I took this weekend to wear everysinglegoddamn piece of clothing that has been sitting pretty in my closet waiting for that certain special occasion. Buffalo Exchange-scored lace shorts & Louboutin espadrilles, the awesome crochet monokini (which was dubbed 'best bathing suit on the beach' by a fatman we dubbed Carlos but who dubbed me 'Gia' in honor of [inexplicably] Angelina Jolie... obviously there was a lot of dubbing done this weekend), my lace caftan as seen below and a yet-to-be unworn fringe bikini top. Dripping with jewelry, we were walking down the beach when some teenagers coo'd 'Oooh Hippie Girls'. I think we can say... It was a success! 
Favorite fashion moment of the weekend: Me, dancing on the sand  after midnight - post- running with the grunions & swimming in phosphorous algae - wearing the crochet bathing suit and a friend's structured sports coat. God knows I probably looked like a weirdo, but I felt very free. And I like the mix of uber bohemian and structure. Very R.B.

Maroon 5

I stumbled across this picture on the Sartorialist - and something about it immediately reminded me of Maroon 5. His nickname stems from the fact that when I was with him, it made me feel like I was in a Maroon 5 music video - Hip & Sexy. He was (is?) 23. And a total hipster.

I dig a Well Dressed Man.
Or 23 year old.

Also, I am thinking back on all the men I've been dating since the Ex; they're a Dapper bunch. Capital D-A-aper.
The Aussie, he wore a suit well, letmetellyou, the Englishman has a dozen Valentino button ups, some Pierre Cardin and a few Ted Bakers in his closet (although I usually saw him in a wrinkly t-shirt) & The Dutchman, is a fantastic dresser, B---- is usually in all black, but with style. Its funny how once you're done with something (a la the Ex & his flambouyant surf tops, penchant for gold lame logos and board shorts) you sometimes find yourself seeking out the exact opposite. These boys have got It.
There have been a lot of Italian shoes, flowers delivered, tailored blazers, European sportscars, dress pants & v-necks in my dating world this time around.
And I'm not complaining. NosireeBob.

We're Gonna Look So Weird!




Such a Weird Gypsy.
(Really, I have just been looking for
 an excuse to use this picture.)
Love.

So, Goldi and I have been jokingly referring to our combined styles as So Weird lately... layered & bohemian, "dripping in jewelry" (as you can never have enough on), effortlessly uncontrived & gypsy-esque*. (*um, we hope.)



Not a total exaggeration.
Keep me away from puddles.



Tearing a (web)page out of the Planet Blue site, inspired by lines like Nightcap, Jen's Pirate Booty & the buyers and designers I know from work, we're trying to do a more Venice Beach vibe than our own (slightly) low rent beach town -  so we've been parading around town in flowy maxi dresses, floral shift dresses and so much jewelry Godsaveus if we fall into a deep body of water - we'd sink.  Goldi was on a "date" last Saturday, if you could call walking around and talking for five hours a date (I call it a movie starring Ethan Hawk & Julia Delpy, but maybe that's just me) and one of her exboyfriends apparently drove by and saw her.

He asked about it later (they're still good friends),

He: Hey - where you on a date last Saturday?
G: (cringe) Yeah, why?
He: Well, I don't know --- you looked very bohemian.
G: (silently)Yesssssssssssss

So, as opposed to making actual plans for the Fourth, as always, I am more concerned with what I'm going to wear. Last year, I saved the most fantastic bathing suit for what ended up being a poor excuse for a holiday... This year, I am determined to 1.) look fucking fantastic and 2.) look fucking fantastic while looking fantastic. We'll see. But I have some weird options and inspirations...




I want to be this girl, in this dress.
I just don't think I am weird enough.

 

I have this. I have only worn it twice - once was Halloween.
But I love it.  So, this is an option as well.



I would do this with a fringe bikini
and no denim jacket.
Or Duckface.

Aforementioned AWESOME bathing suit
from last year.
Mine's black.
I'd do this with a maxi skirt too.

A lot of this has been sitting in my closet, waiting to be worn. Most of it I bought when I was with my ex, but it wasn't to his taste so I never had the confidence to wear it. (He was more of a neons & surf brand kind of guy - always wanting my to just wear shorts and like a Roxy bathing suit because "that's what everyone will be wearing." He has "questionable" - lets call it - taste.)
I never want to be wearing what everybody else is wearing.
You might say I like to stand out in a crowd.
So I'm trying to figure out what to wear... I have some options, and two days of carousing to dress for. 

Decisions! Decisions!

Sidenote: The Dutchman has officially booked his ticket to California. And is threatening to steal me away to Holland when he leaves. I have already realized that saying good bye to him will probably be a very hard day. Also, I am considering renewing my passport.

Sidesidenote: Do not ever watch Prozac Nation, no matter how much you love Michelle Williams and pine after Johnathon Rhys-Meyers. Its depressing. No pun intended. (Ok, maybe a a little.)