Mirror, Mirror On The Wall. (Or, Shattering Who Is The Fairest Of Them All.)

Friends, lovers or nothing.
There can only be one.
Friends, lovers or nothing.
There'll never be an in between, so give it up.
You whisper 'come on over' 'cuz you're two drinks in.
But in the morning I will say goodbye again.
...Anything other than yes is no,
anything other than stay is go,
anything less than I Love You is lying.

-Fucking John Mayer. I hate that kid. 

I am not perfect. 

This is a post in two parts.

1. 

I went to lunch today. Not on a date, but to lunch. 

With a boy that I went on two dates with in the Fall, and really liked as a Friend. 

Not a Lover but also not Nothing. I asked him to lunch because more often than not, if I see something funny or silly I want to share it with him. Since our two dates, every time I see a cheese with a funny name, a man with a glittery shirt or anything else that makes me smirk, I break out my phone and fill him in. We have a hilarious rapport and I like him - As a person, as a Friend. 

Admittedly, he liked me as More, and I may or may not have asked him to lunch because I needed some self-esteem reinforcement*. (Caution: This is not the way to do it. Caution!) 

*Though I was not willing to admit this to myself prior to the actual lunch date. 

I wanted to go to lunch with a boy who saw me through rose colored glasses: Not as the girl whose ex-boyfriends don't speak to her, as the girl whose exes from 10 years ago still have her blocked on facebook, but as the girl who he had two fantastic evenings with right as the Autumn leaves were beginning to change from green to gold. So, we met for lunch, and I could tell he was nervous. 

Hell! I was nervous! I didn't know what to expect. 

He was certainly curious about my lunch-related intentions and he asked me, point blank, though very kindly, why I asked him to lunch; and I gave the above explanation - that the silly texts and facebook banter were not a mass-text to all men, but to him specifically. I even pinky swore that this was the truth. (Because it is.) 

But the short(ish) version of our lunch un-date is that, in between the octopus carpaccio appetizer and the good bye hug; I somehow managed to break down the glass menagerie-version of myself my mind had created pretty damn fast.

Shatter that glass, you ass.

How? I guess by being myself - the sometimes inarticulate, overly layered (clothing wise) and admittedly a bit spacey version of myself. I didn't have all the answers, I got overwhelmed by all the Italian on the Italian menu, and haven't been following all the presidential debates. All over two glasses of tap water. I was grateful he ordered my salad for me, we smiled and laughed, but the reality is, by scheduling a confusing date for unclear reasons and then showing up as Myself, and not the First Date version of me, I believe broke down what I thought was the perfect image he had of me in his head. And not only that, I thiiiink, as a result of the general ambiguity of such a lunch date, with a boy I broke it off with, I was stupid to expect any sort of ego stroke in the first place. I mean, really!?! Man, of course, as much as I was testing the flame, seeing if it was a fire I could rekindle - no, ignite - he, on some level (if not totally aware already) could see how transparent my actions were. You see, I realize now, I wanted a man to see that unblemished version of me, not the faulty and unflattering view in the mirror I see, or the faulty and unflattering view of me that F had. 

And F loved.

That F Loves.

But, transparency being as it is, and as well, fragile as I am - now and always - of course he saw right through me! It was a weird thing to realize. I guess it was a mistake to be myself, fragility and all, when my only intentions were to sit there and have someone see me as my most Perfect Me. Because, especially now, I know am not and he never saw me as such. It dawned on me, because of certain things he said, that how I thought he saw me was never, in fact, how he saw me at all. 

Which, to say the least, is discouraging.

In explaining my thought processes regarding leaving my shop,  I was saying how I had come to realize that I'm going to be thirty and needed to...

...get a Big Girl Job? He interrupted.

In that moment I felt so small.
So. Small.
The answer is yes, but I hate that a man who knew so very little about me could say that so succinctly. I thought I was hiding the fact that my shopgirl job was the princess loving eight year old in me's Dream Job.

Dress Ups Forever!!!??? Where do I sign up?!?

I mean who doesn't love a tiara?
Or a motherfucking tutu?

I was so naive to think that I was the only one to think of my job as some manifestation of a child's love of costumes.
(Because, at my lowest points, that is exactly how I see it.)

Nix that with 'em both.
Ya? Kay? Cool.

But at least, I guess, when a man looks at you and thinks possible 'wife, mother, partner' he can overlook such quoteunquote "silliness". So by shattering that vision to a man - by ending that (even) momentary vision of partnership -  I guess my 'Not Big Girl Job' becomes a matter of discussion.
At lunch, I realized that I am as see-through as an open window with the curtains drawn; like a giant bay window accompanied by a dull view. From that point on, over the course of our lunch, I was stumbling over my words, unable to verbalize an entire thought. (Not a rarity, but again, I now assume these things are somewhat excusable when you are looking at a girl through OkCupid's rose colored glasses.) Anyhow, the lunch went on, and my insecurity continued its flare up, and by the end of it all - when he was telling me about the girl he last dated seriously having no real interests of any kind (and OCD) - I was internalizing each statement as a subconscious dig at me; him telling me I have no interests either.
Or, in Lehman's terms, I am not interesting either.
My Brain at Work: Because, though I love clothing, decorating and all that, of what interest is all that to man? (Because, that is what's really important, right?!?)
Before he got to the her 'having no interests', he also explained that he - in the realm of online & real world dating - had decided to look for a girl who,

'...Made her own money, took care of her own, because I have in the past always been the one taking care of the woman, ya know?'

So between that statement, and the 'Big Girl Job' interjection... I couldn't help but think,

'Aaaah, I see now. I see how you saw me: Why you liked me. You thought I needed someone to help me be a Big Girl.'

Fuck! Dude, I only (selfishly) wanted the personal reinforcement that someone could think of me as unblemished, as a beautiful existence permanently composed of two dinner dates.
But, instead, I left lunch with my ego shattered. 
I realize only now that even though I felt like he threw some terrible rock at my own self image at lunch today, he did not; I realize now, that my ego was looking to be stroked and instead someone held a hand mirror to it. And, the reflection of myself that I saw, or heard, in his words - in his actions - made me feel like I was never that 'perfect' image in the first place; to him, I was always a little girl lost in need of someone to order her (not very good) Pear & Gorgonzola salad for her.
And today, at lunch, is exactly what he did.

'She'll have the pear and Gorgonzola salad and I'll have the...'

Friends, Lovers or Nothing.

 2.

Not even Cuddle Buddies.

Apartment F was my Lover.
And my Boyfriend.
And is my Best Friend.
But I need to work on not turning to him, as my 'Best Friend', because I broke up with my Boyfriend.
Though he may love Me - Me, my number of lovers, acne scars and anxieties alike - Me as I see myself in the mirror, flawed and transparent - It is not fair to him.
Because we cannot simply be Friends.
Because although Best Friend and Boyfriend were once one in the same, it is not fair to him because I need to realize that they are no longer. Friend is not best friend or boyfriend.
I need to be fair to him, because I love him. Even though when he looks at me, he sees what I see; and sometimes I think when he's sees it, he loves her more than I do.
But I cannot lean on his shoulder to cry about leaving Him*. 

*Not even under the guise of Kat Moss asking about him. Meow.

Because he cannot differentiate between Friends, Lovers or Nothing like I do.
Who am I kidding, I can't either. 
Regardless, in order to be fair to him, I have to edit out the first two, too.
We have to be Friends, Lovers or Nothing

Fuck you John Mayer. Fuuuuuuuuck you.

 ...Anything other than yes is no,anything other than stay is go,anything less than I Love You is lying.

Sidenote: I have a date with potential Saturday night. Like REAL potential. So I have to get this helpless child schtick out of my head beforehand otherwise it is doomed. I need to be okay with being me, Me, me me me, no job, half a job, eight year old dream job alike. Aaaaaaaaaaaand, I'm back at the game. Back to the dates, back to the dinners and the why wait?!

Zee Rundown: Zee Lady Who Lunches.

I wore my rib cage sweater to dinner & apps last night,
it's so ugly but I love it.

Going to coffee with my boss & lunch with the Man's Man (we stayed friends after our two dates) today.
Had a great lunch in LA with my Malibu Bad Ass yesterday, and apps and wine at Beauty's apartment with Goldi and the Fourth. (I brought goat cheese & peach preserves. Yummy!)
The oddest part of Girls Night?
Beauty's apartment is directly above my college apartment. Essentially, her apartment is my old apartment; I was having muscle memories of my old home (it's a beautiful three story craftsman, and her floor plan, wall color and views are the exact same as my old ones.)
The only way I can describe the way it made me feel is imagine being your childhood home, which had since been sold, and dining with it's new owners. Strange. But wonderful...
And! We're redecorating Beauty's room (and living room).
I'm doing a mediocre job of being broken up with the F, but I'm sticking to my guns.
I have a date Saturday night and work scheduled for three days this week.
So... I'm busy busy busy!

Holiday; Madonna's a Solo Act, Right?

Oh you know me - a holiday rolls around - President's Day, Mardi Gras, Lent... Valentines Day, Christmas, New Years...
The Post-Holiday 11:30 PM Break Up Bandit has struck again.
This time, for good.
I gave him 3 reasons:
1. I feel alone even when I'm not.
2. I feel taken for granted.
3. Something is missing.*

* The Spark, but I did not say that or elaborate further.

Brie Tastes Pretty Good By Itself, Now That You Bring It Up.

I want to be uplifted.
Like Helium.

Call me crazy.
Call me needy.
Call me the anti-cheese, if you really want to.
But I just realized my second biggest issue in this relationship is: Is that I still feel alone.
I was just tucking myself in after my shows - and Apt F has been asleep for, oh an hour. And, at 9:56 I actually congratulated him on staying up so late. (I usually lay here for plusorminus 4 hours by myself, as he falls asleep at eight. I fall asleep at... Midnight.)
And everytime we go out, or spend a day together, he either threatens (in a very benign way) or does in fact leave me to hang out with 'The Boys'. (They are escaping they're wives, dontchaknow.) So not only am I unsatisfied with the relationship as a whole; I am being treated like a Wife (of his friends, who needs escaping). I was at drinks with Goldi and Dr., and I was retelling a situation with one his friends & their wife; it was a situation that was so inexcusable, yet so 'normal' in Apt F's circle, that we were all disgusted.
The Doctor was near tears, and said under his breath something to the effect of, 'If that's how his friends are in marriages, you have to understand the same goes for him.' (Drastic statement but not wrong.)
 And then Goldi joked, 'If you ever did that to me I'd cut your dick off.'
To which the Doctor responded, 'If I ever did that, I'd hand you the knife.'
(Just to make it clear: The story was basically about the 'Escaping the Wives Syndrome' that has run rampant in Apt F's circle, and the fact that one of the afflicted was "unable" to make it to see his infant daughter in the NICU on a daily basis, but could meet for beers 3 times a week with the F.)  So I may not be be able to be alone, but I am most certainly not happy in a relationship that makes me feel alone when I'm in the exact same breath - feeling smothered. Feeling as though every boundary I have has been squashed. I feel alone in a relationship. And as someone who hates being alone, the only worse thing there is is: Being alone while... Supposedly not being alone.
I actually had to say to him this past Friday, after he and I agreed to just grab dinner & lay low, after we ran into his friends who asked us both to stay out and I declined, after he told me that he'd probably stay out 'cuz, you know, they're just trying to get away from the wives'; I simply said,

I'm sorry, but, I'm not your wife. You shouldn't be trying to escape me.

I love my Girls Nights, I love being with my friends. I could hang out with a girlfriend each and every night of the week, and come back to my apartment, single - and on a dating site - and be okay. I may or may not have some nevermetntionedinmyblog European and/or Canadian to call (cough cough - the Englishman) if I felt the need.
What I don't need?
Is to feel bogged down by an unfufilling relationship that I see going nowhere that I still (still!) feel alone within the confines of.
I feel confined.
Which is worse than alone.
Confined is what I felt with The Ex of 5 Years.
Trapped.
(Like a mouse trap! With Cheese!!!! Wait, who is the mouse? Eh, nevermind.)
I may not be the Cheese, the grande fromage, the solo artist, the Kisses on the Bottom Paul McCartney or even the Yesterday PC (he was still in the band!) but I'd certainly rather be alone and have the license to replace my drummer than feel alone and hate my bassist. Or  farmer.
(I know, I'm mixing metaphors. Thats what I do.)

I'm a fucking walking talking mixed metaphor.

It's okay though, it was an answer on Jeopardy tonight.
And! And! And!
That is certainly better than a walking, talking mixed-up meta whore.

The Cheese Has Left the Band. (Or, Why I Am Not The Cheese.)

Goldi got her Just Right in her Doctor.
Beauty rid herself of her Beast.
My Best Friend in San Francisco moved in with her beau.
My Other Best Friend in San Francisco apparently found her Man with an Accent.

I, on the other hand, took none of my own advice; I, on the other hand, have come right back to where I started: Complacent in a relationship that I know - in the long run - ain't gonna get me No Satisfaction*.

*Fucking Mick Jagger, he got me good again. 

I have become 'content' with again having no boundaries - we spend every night together, most of those nights he's asleep by 8:30.
And, after a year of whining & pining for The Spark, after a year of feeling like I Sparkle, I am now coming to the hard realization that I...

Stand Alone?
Nope. Not me.

...That I settled right back into a relationship with someone because I needed the comfort of Someone.
Anyone.
The hard realization that...
I am not the cheese.
I can't stand to be alone.
And the truth of the matter is, fifty percent of the time I am spending with my boyfriend, I adore him. They other half, I am thinking to myself,

'How much longer can I do this?'

I hate these feelings; I feel like a fraud.
Because, I do have so much Love for him, but I am not in love with him. And I have - in the five months or so that we have been together, led him (and to some degree, myself) to believe I do. He and I - on the subject of Goldi, who does like him, but knows he is not for me in the long run - have argued, to the point where he barked,

'Oh so she went and 'got herself' a Doctor boyfriend and now that makes me not good enough for you?!?'

And the (VERY) simplified answer is: Yes.
Not because my best friend went and 'got herself' a Doctor.
But because she and I were on a trajectory path towards quality over - well, most of our past serious relationships, and she kept on track while I kept on marching up those damn stairs night after night. So no, obviously, it's not that my friend is dating 'a Doctor' & now I have to too, it's way more (and far less superficial) than that. My best friend is dating a wonderful man who thinks the world of her, puts her before himself and is the perfect compliment to her.
And she does the same for him.
So is not the case with Apartment F and I.
I used to have a List, I had my windmills in place, and then out of fear or impatience, or simply just the comfort of having Someone, I let myself fall into a relationship that did not force me to...
Be alone.
Or better myself.
Or get out of my comfort zone.

I was the girl that the Dutchman came back for.

Why can't I be comfortable in her position?

I was the girl who asked of the world to be treated like a queen, for flowers and showers of affection, and sometimes got her heart broken, and who sometimes broke hearts.
And for a spell, I was the girl, who was patient enough to wait for another Gentleman to cross my path.
That was my trajectory.
Instead, I have settled for a man who, more often than not, I roll my eyes at, bore my friends and blog with complaints about; a man who is absolutely not what I want in the long run.
Who I don't have the Spark with.
Who doesn't switch me ON.
Who I am rarely, barely attracted to.
And again, I am at a loss as to how to end it. He lives upstairs for God's sake. I tried once, and I was lured - eh, lulled - back into it with tears and pleading and compliments about my intelligence.
My last birthday, I was still dating the Aussie - and I think back affectionately to that night. Of my love for that driven wanderlust of a man, of a table at the finest steak house in the city, to a bottle of $200 Pinot Noir & to flowers sent my store. To sitting next to one another in a booth, unable to stop from kissing one another.
To my favorite part of my twenty-ninth birthday, when I looked at him and said,

'If I weren't one half of us, I'd hate us.'

To which he agreed, laughing. Now, I know now that I was not ready, open, or able to be my best version of myself in that relationship, but did I not sing from the rafters at the top of my lungs after that that I would accept nothing less afterwards? I did; and then - I, apparently, left that band.
And, to put things into perspective this time around: I don't even want my own boyfriend at my birthday.
(To be fair, my celebration is not on my actual birthday, and it's a girls-only sort of thing, but still...)
I feel like a fraud; for letting Apartment F fall in love with me, when I have known that as much as I love him, I am not In Love with him. 

I need someone who inspires me to be better,
who inspires me in general.

You know, in between the five minutes of electricity with my Secret Ex-Boyfriend this past weekend, the fond memories of my last birthday, and my frustration so often with Apt F - whether it be his friend's favorite things to do ('escape their wives'), his perpetual problems with money & drive, or just a general annoyance with him - I just don't understand why I am hanging onto this relationship; other than for the fear of being alone - especially when I am unemployed and alone for a better part of everyday, and the fear of hurting someone I care about. Because, even with all of the above: I do care about him.
But we lack the Spark.
It is lackluster.
But though it does not sparkle - it is still comfortable.
I've allowed myself to be complacent, yet again.
I don't know what to do. It's not as simple as breaking up, it never is.
And the worst part of it is - that I know if I had someone else waiting in the wings, I'd have no problem getting out. However, I don't.
And, I'm just comfortable enough that I have no desire to be looking.
No wandering eye, no side projects, no other Farmer and the Dell.
Letmetellyou, I'm uninspired in more ways than one.


Yet... I don't want to hurt him.
And... I don't want to be alone.


I can't stand to be alone.
I am not the cheese.
The cheese stands alone.



I'm afraid to break up the Band; I don't know if I can handle a Solo Career right now.
Especially considering I don't even have a job.

Miss Rx.

Bearded & bundled up? Um... Hello!

So, that fog I was talking about... It may have just been a cold - Well, for the most part anyway.
A headcold got to my head.

High Fog Advisories on Route 29.

Mid-February finally feels like mid-February. Cold, overcast, long and drawn out. I am still unemployed, still uninspired, and getting pretty, well, pretty frustrated. My brain literally feels...  

Overcast.

Cloudy.

The days and weeks have begun to run into one another, each one only mildly distinguishable from the next... Each just another white dash on the highway. I find that I am again simply just going through the motions - I feel like I'm on cruise control. 

Though my fog is sometimes punctuated by glimmers of lights, like oncoming headlights on a highway - They pass me quickly, filling my view with a wave of light and then I'm back in the fog; I feel like I'm driving the longest road trip of the Winter. 

Beauty put it perfectly a couple weeks ago, 

Okay, so what do we have to look forward to in-between now & your birthday?

Because, job or no job, fog or no fog, this stretch of winter always seems the longest, don't you think? I'm a Summer Girl in a Summer Town; a town that feels deserted and cold, even on its sunniest days, in the mid-February to mid-March march. You know what I'm talking about - that lull post-Holiday & pre-Spring. My birthday, for me at least, is this glimmering city in the distance - A far off cityscape that is my welcoming of the warmth and vibrancy that comes along with Spring in Southern California.

Just like I hoped.

Don't me wrong! I've had some huge bright highlights in the past couple weeks - The highest end shop in my tiny little town heard that my shop closed & the owner called one of my clients to get my contact information. The owner then called me not but five minutes later, and we spoke for over an hour about the possibility of her opening another location, and as she put it: Having me on board would light a fire under her ass to do it quicker. She doesn't know me, just Of Me - She sought me out, on reputation alone. I'm not going to lie: it was one of the most validating things that has happened in a long time.
Another highlight? Well, I ran into My Secret Ex Boyfriend over the weekend, and when we finally made eye contact, and our way over the one another, it was perfect - The kind of perfect reunion that you imagine when you end a relationship without closure. The kind that reminds you that you didn't just make up that chemsitry in your head, that that spark was Real...
First, eye contact, then a smile, which launches into a lingering hug.
The first thing out of my mouth was,

How is your mom?!? 

He smiled, his gorgeous Tom Cruise smile, and said,

I love that the first thing out of your mouth was 'How is your mom'? She's great, cancer free (!), and has a boyfriend who is perfect for her. How is your cat?

He even got along with Apartment F (yes, we are still together, there was some confusion I guess...) and they talked about surfing and secret surf spots, and at the end of the night, Apartment F concluded that, andIquote 'I have pretty good taste in guys.' (I, of course, am still  crazy for the Secret Ex Boyfriend, but we all know that will never happen.)
And, youknow, I had a second interview today, a wine bar/shopgirl reunion last week and had a great night out with the girls this weekend...
So its not all a fog; but it still sort of is.
Not working has done a number on my inspiration; and a number on my call-back skills. I've become sort of a hermit; without the rock'n'mortar shop to be in, to keep me inspired, to give my favorite clients a place to come and find me, I feel like I'm losing touch a little bit - I've lost my homebase. 
I'm stuck in my head, I'm stuck in my town, and this hunt for a job is like being on the highway, in the fog, searching for the 'first Right after the green silo' or something else equally as vague.

Sunny day... sweepin' the clouds away, on my way to where the air is sweet...
Can you tell me how to get, how to get to Sesame Street?

I just feel like I'm just aimlessly driving through the foggy days of February, 

high beams few & far between,

waiting for that damn sun to come out and that damn green silo to direct me where to turn.

Or something else as equally as vague.

Heartchu!!! Gesundheit!

Not lacking in that department.

Single or not, Apt F or not, all that or not, I think Valentine's Day is nice; I've never been a huge fan nor have I been a huge hater. You might say, it's the only VD I'm indifferent about.* 

*That made me laugh outloud.

Last year, I spent it watching Gossip Girl at a girlfriend's house, drinking wine and... Gossiping. I had (infamously) broke up with the Ex two days prior, and couldn't have been happier about being single.
And though, this year, I do have a 'Boyfriend', I'm not a huge fan of the whole hoopla surrounding the day. Maybe this is because, though I love my relationship with him (I do, I have actually called it my 'healthiest relationship ever' - the honesty, the communication, the trust built upon both) when a day like Valentine's has too much pressure surrounding it, I tend to rebel. Pick a fight or get pissed. So, I like very little hoopla, thankyouverymuch.
Though, I will admit- trying to buy a card for him was difficult. I got to the card section at my favorite gift shop where the buyer had smartly chosen not just the cards of the 'I love you as infinite as the ocean, our souls will never break' variety; but, to be honest, as I've grown up (and into a pretty cut & dry relationship, not as bad as it sounds), I'm just not that mushy. Don't get me wrong, I'm a total romantic, but more so in an actions speaking louder than words sort of way. I think. Anyhow, all of the cards where either not enough ('I Like You') or too much ('I'll Love You Always') - Geez, I'm like Goldilocks over here - but I finally settled on a non-Valentines specific: 'You Make Me Smile' that was blank on the inside.
And there I wrote:

often.
daily.
hourly.
Happy Valentine's Day.
Love, Me. 

And, I addressed it to: The Handsome Guy in Apt F. 
He's making dinner tonight, and we're going out tomorrow night.
I bought us champagne and a little 4 piece chocolate See's Candy box for my other neighbor, the old man who lives right next door by himself.
I think it'll be nice.

And! I just got a call from my interview yesterday! They want me to come in for a second round! Yay!

Moving On To Rocksteady?

Instead of laundry, I go shopping.
Scored a Spring 2012 Rebecca Taylor denim dress for $28 this afternoon.
Oops.
I may hate jeans, but I don't hate denim.

I've also been religiously following New York Fashion Week for Fall 2012, & I am pleased to say that I now feel 100% about my leather dress purchase.
I feel not so great about what Marc Jacobs wants us wearing for Fall, but honestly, I never like Marc Jacobs.

Also, I don't know if you have noticed, but the level of uninspiration o'er here on Saturn is... Palpable.
(Who am I kidding, of course you've noticed.)
I'm going to start work on a new project, I think.
I'll keep you updated... I mean, the reality is - I think my Saturn's Return (if you don't know what that is, here's the Wikipedia link: What Is Saturn's Return? It's not just a No Doubt album), well - I think my Saturn's Return has kind of come to an end. You know, when I started this, I was just realizing that the pillars that I built my life upon up until 28 were pretty fucking un-sturdy, and I have spent the last 1 1/2 years rebuilding - and, I've done a pretty good job at that. So, in terms of being a 'Grown Up' and all that, I have finally started to feel like one. I make pretty damn good choices, I'm not reckless, my sense of autonomy and self worth are pretty high. I had a thought the other day, in the car, and as simple of a thought as it was, it was worth it's weight in gold: 'I Like Me.'
So not only do I think I am entering my thirties in a good place, feeling as though I am at the tail end of Saturn's Return, I'm also not dating. And let's be real, that was the best part of this project. Maybe it's just Winter, maybe it's just hibernation, and come Summer we'll being running around tickling eachother in hot tubs with peacock feather's like it's 1982 in Marin County and I'll have tons to write about, but right now... Being happy with me & unemployed, - the only excitement for my blog is what designer whatever I scored for under thirty bucks.
I may still be Stubborn & Clever, but I'm not Single, Dating or even a Shopgirl right now...
I'm not saying I'm going to stop blogging, or end this site, I'm just thinking I need a new direction, a new project... I don't know. Anyhow - Here's some things I've really liked on the web recently...

Alice + Olivia, Fall 2012

Also Alice + Olivia.
Apparently I'm a Magpie...
If it sparkles - I'm there.

The BAFTA's

Herve Leger, Fall 2012

Really though, I should have stuck with the Accents. Dammnit.

Capital A. Capital... L?

You're wearing my favorite skirt, he mumbled, half asleep.

It's actually a dress, I corrected.

That exchange between my booooooooooooyfriend and I, well - that exchange basically sums up my last two days. It's been a good two days; however, I -while manuervering through my tiny little world - I have been a huge asshole. To be fair, I am on the verge of a PMS explosion, er - I am a PMS explosion, but I have basically just been abrasive and condescending for forty eight hours.
No, let me correct myself: Abrasive, Capital A. Condescending, Capital C.
I guess we now know why they capitalize PMS.

I love him.
I love him not,
He loves me.
He loves me not.

Anyhow, regardless of my assholeiness (real word, look it up) the last two days (er, lets make it five just to be clear) have been Wonderful. (Not my doing. Remember, I'm an asshole.) But seriously, do you ever have those weeks where you see (almost) everyone who is important to you and realize that, against better judgement, you're very much in love with your boyfriend?
I Am. Very much. In Love. With. My Friends. 
And My Boyfriend.
Eek.
I even... I even brought up the 'Relationship Status' conversation this evening.
He was half asleep, so it doesn't count.
Right?

He's asleep next to me, I'm watching Oliver!, I've apologized for calling Goldi smug, and I saw not only her, but most of my other close friends today. My skin is clear, I like myself, and I have an interview on Monday. I have heartburn, and still am a PMS machine, but at least my boobs are huge.
No let me correct that too - Huge.

'Uuuuuuuuuuuuuge.

Sidenotes: He love me too. That and, imagine my smile when he told me his friend pulled him aside post-Superbowl & said, 'Dude, you're girl is cool.'

Something Pretty to Look At.

Bee Bop. Blog.

Variations of this look
have been my staple for
2012.

I adore Garance Dore; her illlustrations are what my on-the-phone-doodles wish they were. And her photos and her eye for streetstyle... Well, yeah. Love those too.
Woke up to this on Garance Dore's blog this morning: 
'Look Book.'
Who doesn't related to this?
It really resonated with me & now I kind of want to write my own.
(And, to be honest, I probably will.)
Mine would definitely include me at 13 devouring the new, polished and shiny Courtney Love in Vanity Fair's June editorial.  Or the debut of Gwen Stefani a couple years later. Or the Olsen twins after they graduated from teeny bopper videos to undergrad 'Homeless Chic'. Personal style is so ever-changing, it's crazy - think of my preteen obsessions of Courtney Love & Gwen Stefani, for instance, that that's always been one of the reasons I've never gotten a tattoo. I joke, 'I hate what I was wearing three months ago, let alone three years ago - how can I believe that I wouldn't feel the same about a permanent mark on my body?' 
Though to be fair, I don't hate what I wearing three months ago. Yet.

Oopsie Daisy. Er... Whoopsie Missoni.

So, I just returned from my excursion to find a silk pajama shirt.

This is the actual dress.
But without the heinous belt.

Shit. I'm terrible.
Not only did I score a silky black and white number for $12.50, I also couldn't resist the charms of a vintage suede and leather dress, suede crew neck and leather pencil skirt tucked in perfectly at my waist, for $14.00. 'I can totally wear it to interviews...' (Of course, that is, after I remove the shoulder pads.) Seriously though, it fit me like a glove.
Now that wouldn't be so bad if I hadn't also stumbled across a Missoni skirt for $26.00. Not Missoni for Target, mind you. But...  MISSONI. 
And I knew that - like the cognac knee high thousand dollar Michael Kors boots for $49 I passed on in 2001 - if I didn't get it, it would haunt me forever.
But, I did end up spending far too much money than I should have.
Time to get my hustle on.
Cue: I'm a hustla' (in leatha') baby.
Sad to say, but... No more shopping for a while.

But seriously, can you blame me?
You know you would have done it too.

Ants in My Pants.

Leather shorts? You bought leather shorts?! When are you ever going to wear leather shorts?

I thought about it, and responded, Um, probably tomorrow.

Thank you Buffalo Exchange Gods.
(Yes, I bought tan suede Maggie Ward sample shorts with the tag still on for $24. Be jealous.)

So forget what I said about not paying attention to trends last week, or the week before... I guess something subconsciously was stirred in me, & all of the sudden I've been noticing certain trends and all that yaddayadda that I must have. Although, I warn you, I could be two years behind because I haven't been paying attention to what other people are wearing outside of my shop, but hell! Fashion is cyclical so let's just preeeetend I'm three years ahead of the game, okay?
Catch up, sistas. Catch up.

Also, I have come to the realization - though, I've known it for a long time, I've only recently started saying it out loud - I hate (HATE!) wearing jeans! They uncomfortable, and I think, a little boring. Give me cords, give me ponte pants, a dress, a skirt give me my leather shorts; but if you see me in a pair of jeans you can bet on one of two things: I didn't blow dry my hair that morning and/or I have a wicked hangover. Though to be fair, I did get the Current/Elliott denim shirt - appropriately moniker'd 'The Perfect Shirt' - for Christmas and I wear that damn thing nearly everyday. I'm not kidding. It's embarrassing.
I'm surprised I'm not wearing it right now. Anyhow, I'm rambling. What am I talking - er typing about...? Oh! This whole  post started because I saw the Man Repeller talking about pajama shirts and I decided I must have one! TODAY! I neeeeeed a pajama shirt. (To wear, obviously, with my leather shorts and denim shirt.) Maybe even - gasp - pajama shorts. (Not sure about that one, but I figure if I can 'do' leather shorts, why the fuck couldn't I 'do' satin? Eh, we'll see.)

So I am coveting a pajama shirt (this may have something to do with the fact that it is 10:33 AM on a Monday, and I have yet to get up, but perhaps not...) while hating anything denim on my bottom half and still wearing boots with everything. Okay, so not much has changed. Yesterday, after a near panicked me couldn't find 'My Leggings' yesterday while getting ready for the Superbowl party I was accompanying Apartment F to, I opted for a pair of black ponte pants, ancient white silk tank with teensy tiny anchors on it, surprise! my denim shirt and knee high equestrian boots instead, and he looked at me and said, 'Boots? Its beautiful out.' And I responded with something to the effect of, 'Well I don't care if it feels like Summer - It's February! It's Winter!' You see, he wanted me to wear sandals and these light wash flared jeans that - I admit - make my ass look fantastic - but, they are not seasonally appropriate just yet, aaaaaaaaaaaand you know how I feel about jeans these days. I met him somewhere in the middle, I guess;somewhere  between it's so ugly, it's awesome and you look really nice. It's funny, what I'll wear on a 'Me' day, going about my own business, does have to be tweaked just a bit (subdued?) when it comes to dressing as 'someone's girlfriend'.
But just a bit.
In my brain, it sounds something like,

'Okay, okaaayyy... Let me take off my 'Single' lace shorts & opaque tights and put on my 'Girlfriend' pants instead.'

But, my Girlfriend Pants are not a pair of flares in February. Though, to be fair, they wooooould look cute with a pajama shirt, now that I think about it.
But that'll have to wait 'til March.

Damn Straight I'm wearing boots.
(I wore them all summer too.)

Okay, now I'm getting out of bed. I'm getting dressed, and heading off to Buffalo Exchange to see what they have in Satin. Or, in general.
Then, I'm off to help host a Private Shopping Party in Newport.

Sidenote: With my Girlfriend Pants still on, I must admit that my Hot Corn Dip was a huge hit at the Superbowl Party. If you need an easy, delish & different recipe for a pot luck or something akin to a Superbowl Party, try this recipe. I baked it, and was concerned about reheating it when I got there, but it stayed warm enough for a long time, and even once it cooled down, it was still yummy. Also, I added onions and taco seasoning. Damn, I'm so domesticated.

People Watching.

from the Sartorialist

What do you think they're talking about?
Mutual love of amazing footwear, perhaps?

Neon Lights From the Rooftop? Pass.

I'm sorry. So how many times can I expect you to use the word 'burrito' while we're sitting here?  

Bijou finally asked, exasperated.

I paused, gave it thought and responded,

Um, probably about four. Plus or minus. 

Funny thing, I ordered the quesadilla for dinner.

My blog is boring. I am boring. Well, no, that's not true (yesitis). 

But between finding work, working, that Goddamn boyfriend of mine that I passively question my intentions over aaaand............. finding work,
I'm too overwhelmed for introspection - for inspiration.
I am not doing any personal 'looking within' shit, because quite honestly, I am content with Me. And I am working so hard at being forward moving, that I don't have time to lollygag and think about this and that. 

Because most of the things I used to kick myself over, those things are no longer part of my repertoire. 

Most of my goals from the last year, though I may have been months behind actualizing them, have been - for the most part -actualized. 

When Bij said I should focus then on the fashion aspect, I responded with,

I'm too busy to focus on the Spring trends. And shit! I never pay attention to those things... Fashion is fucking like osmosis to me, I don't follow the trends* I just do what I want, what's out there. Same with you.

And she laughed agreed and said,

Yeah, well, that and neon is In every Spring.

*Okay, perhaps we didn't say it quite so vulgar. Or succinctly.
But you get the picture.

And, I swear, its not that I think I'm the trendiest girl out there, I'm just oblivious & had the luxury of having trends handed to me from being a shopgirl for half a decade.
I mean, I could be totally out of style & I'd be equally as oblivious.

You know when, in High School, you showed up at a dance
wearing the same dress an a friend,
& you would impose a '20 feet away from one another'
 rule in hopes of no one noticing?
These... girls... should... revisit.... that.... rule... Yeeeah.

Bij then said to focus on Me, the innerworkings of me, but the reality is - I'm good. I'm just trying to hustle these days. I'm hustla' babyyy. And, surprisingly, I'm doing an okay job of it. But it makes for a booooring blog. The excitement of the past year is... Gone. But not in a bad way... But seriously, writing this, I feel like that song from High School, yodeling,

*Dutchman?
*Aussie?
*Spark?
*Excitement?

Yes, I'm bored.

Yes, I'm less stressed than I have been in years, and I am... I am doing just Fine. Capital F.

Yes, I made a big deal about a burrito last night. (Yes, it was totally justified.)

And yes, I'm taken with some really really bad music lately - Lana Del Rey, anyone? 

But I haven't the energy to sit here and waaa waa waaa 

that the grass is always greener on the boy-front(lawn).

From what I can see, from my limited and narcissy vantage point, is that right now that I'm basically a somewhat muted version of what I've been screaming from the rooftops this past year: 

I want happiness! 

I want my friends to have happiness! 

I want to be Loved! 

I Love my friends! 

Neon is in for Spring!  And... Snakeskin?

Or was that last year?

I don't know. I haven't been paying attention.

Or, most recently... Don't eat that fucking burrito before our fucking popcorn!

I just don't have time to scream it from the rooftops these days.

But, so there you have it: Neon is in for Spring. Trendfuckingreport 2012.

Nothing muted about that.

And there ain't nothing wrong with that.

Sidenote: Burrito = +/- 4. 

Will Someone Please Just Bring Me Coffee In Bed? Yeah, Kay, Thanks.

I wish it were cold.
I fought over burritos
last night. Bean and cheese.

I want a tattoo.
Don't think I'll ever do it.
But still I want one.

That's right suckas.
I'm breakin' out the Haikus this morning because I don't want to get out of bed. But I want coffee. But if I get up, then I have soooo much to do...
And, disappointingly, my morning blog roll has proven quite uninspiring.
And yes, I really did pick a fight about a burrito last night.
Well, sort of... The burrito was representative of other things. I swear, it was. Damn burrito.