Friday, July 11, 2014

Fashion is a Two-Faced Bitch: Closet Tech

Late adopter that I am, I've just only recently  discovered the  usefulness of apps.  I've got a fitness app, a running app, a financial app, real estate app, and don't get me started on all the educational  apps I've downloaded.

It would be nice to have a personal shopper app.  An app that would shop my closet, pulling together looks that never would have occurred to me.  Unlike most personal shoppers, whose primary mission is to spend all your money, my app is like a classy, stylish, environmentally concerned friend; the friend who rolls her eyes when I complain I have nothing to wear,  throws open my closet door, rummages through hangers, occasionally pulling things out and tossing them on the bed.  She'll bark at me to try this and that together with the nude pumps and, oh, look, we can take this old ribbon and these bottle caps and spray paint them gold to make a statement necklace.    Then she'll smirk at me and say, "By the way, Chicken, why do you have bottle caps in your closet?  That seems bad.", and I'll say, as I struggle to tuck in a shirt tail, "Never mind that, where the hell did the ribbon come from?"  She'll study me as I stand before her in the appointed outfit, tapping her index finger to her lips, finally declaring, "No, no, not like that, like this."  She'll yank here, pull there, and voila, there I am, suddenly presentable.  Fashionable, even.

Wouldn't you pay for an app like that? 

She would be like Siri, but with a fashion sense.  Maybe we could call her Jane.  Doesn't that seem like a nice name for an app?

Oh, I can hear you thinking, out there,  don't think I can't.  "Surely you already know what's in your own closet and what goes with what?"  To that I would answer, "Have you met me?"  Most of you haven't, so allow me to illustrate.  I have little sense of style and multiple personalities.  I buy clothes completely on impulse.  Some days my gut says, "I'm a pirate", and other days it says "I'm sporty".  For quite a few years, my gut insisted I was a Cub Scout.  It's no wonder my closet is confused.  Have you ever seen a sporty pirate?  I mean, I can almost see it....maybe a plaid kilt-like tennis skirt with a laced up, flared sleeve shirt, paired with an eye patch and classic Tretorns, for instance.  My gut says fabulous.  My common sense tells me this is not a good work look.  I'm also practically color blind.  Have you ever seen a sporty pirate wearing a black heart on her t-shirt?  Oh, you think, she's being an ironic sporty pirate, but she's not.  She thinks the heart is red.  She's feeling flirty.  Ironic sporty pirate; kind of twisted and cool, pair with some heavy black eyeliner and send her out the door.  Leaving the whole mutton dressed as  lamb issue behind for a moment, it could work if she was internally channeling Marilyn Manson instead of Marilyn Monroe.

Of course, like all things fashion-related, it is only a matter of time before Jane begins mocking me.

"Jane", I'll command, "I need an outfit for Saturday night.  It's date night."

To which Jane will respond, "How about pajamas accessorized with Ben & Jerry's like all your other date nights?"

"No, Jane, I really think it's going to happen this week.  We're actually going to go out.  On a real date.  I can feel it in my gut."

"Is this the same gut that told you to buy the bateau neck sailor's shirt last week?  The one that made you look more whale than sailor?  I wouldn't listen to that gut."

"There was a hurricane warning in effect, Jane.  I was just being practical.  Can we focus  on  Saturday night?  I'm thinking dressy casual, but not like I tried too hard.  Look Jane.  I pinned this on Pinterest.  This could work, right?"

"If you hadn't also pinned 20 pounds to your ass, maybe."

"Jane, that's unkind."

"What?  It's not like I pinned 20 pounds to your ass, Darling."

You know what?  On second thought, maybe I'll just keep winging it.  Who needs the scrutiny.

Chicken out

Thursday, July 10, 2014

You're Going to Need a Bigger Shoe...

Sometimes I like to go fishing on the internet.  You just never know what you'll find.  Today I found a human arachnid.  She ain't pretty, but she sure is flexible.  Maybe she's pretty if you like spiders.

This is freakishly amazing

Wednesday, July 9, 2014

Silver Tongued Devil

In my next life, I hope to return as a silver tongued devil.  It seems to me that these types usually make out okay regardless of mean circumstances and humble beginnings.   Good looks will only take you so far, and eventually they'll fail you, but a silver tongued devil is usually silver tongued all his life.  You'll  probably have noticed there aren't many dumb silver tongued devils out there. The mouth and tongue are only the front of the house-the real work is going on behind that, where all the wheels are churning out 427 persuasive words per minute.

I'll  let my lean, lightening fast tongue lead the way, helping folks less fortunate understand where they went wrong with their thinking and how I can help.

I'll start my own You Tube channel.

I'll run for public office.

I'll  rap.

I'll  give a Ted Talk.

I'll talk my toddlers into the bathtub and bed as needed, with nary a complaint or tear.

I'll convince my teens that doing housework makes them 60% more attractive.

I'll  convince my husband that meal preparation is super sexy.

Then I'll go take a nap.  It's tiring being a silver tongued devil.

What will you be in your next life?

Chicken out

Tuesday, July 8, 2014

BigB's Breastfed Lawn

BigB believes in yard upkeep.  He's out there daily, enthusiastically tugging weeds, watering the grass, spraying things, cropping things, and so on.  BigB  thinks there is not enough  time in the day to get his lawn as pristine as he wants it.  This may be true, but still, BigB's work shows. We have beautiful  flowers, plants, shrubs, and a thick,  luxurious expanse of green with a sharp edge.   And don't get him started....admire one petite bloom and he will escort you around the house pointing out things  you never wanted to know, like, "these blah blah blahs are growing some kind of fungus but I'm spraying them with this organic bludie blupe and I think that will  get rid of it, but these blipety blips over here are attracting little black bugs.  See them?  See the little black  bugs?....

If I were in charge of the lawn, I would be more likely to point out (from a comfortable spot in the middle of my  hammock) a beautiful sea of dandelions waving in the wind and not requiring any upkeep.  My lack of enthusiasm for lawn care is not lost on BigB.  He toils away with little expectation of admiration or support from me.  On occasion, I have referred to our yard as "BigB's Breastfed Lawn".  

Yesterday, I got my comeuppance. 

Littleb and I were walking the neighborhood when we spotted the most beautiful lawn ever.  Even I couldn't help but notice it's thick carpet-like appearance.  It looked like an enchanted lawn from a Disney movie.  A lawn under a wicked spell that seduces you into lying down and stretching out just before it swallows you whole and spits you back out as a red, red rose.  It had perfectly straight lines where it had been recently mowed.  Or vacuumed, perhaps.  Littleb immediately plopped down and made him self comfortable.  In an effort to get him moving again, lest he be turned into a rose bush, I said, "Hey, let's go home and tell Dad we found a nicer lawn than his."

You would  think I had invited him to clean out BigB's savings account and hop a plane to Switzerland.  

"You can't do that!  That would hurt his feelings!  You don't want to hurt your husband's feelings, do you?  We are not telling him about this lawn."

He's a loyal son, that boy.  I'm so proud of him.  For now, we'll keep the enchanted lawn a secret, but it's nice to know it's there.....(twists ends of waxed  mustache and emits evil laugh).

Chicken out

Monday, July 7, 2014

I Had To Break Up With My Old Lady...

While the restaurant cashier is making small talk, as I wait for the other counter ladies to stop eating the food I just brought back for inexplicable reasons, and pack  me some new food, we somehow get on the subject of Sons of Anarchy, and how it just aired its last episode.  I tell the cashier how sad I was to see it end, and how emotional I got.  And then I get teary-eyed right there in the restaurant.  I can see that the clerk, who  is just making small talk, after all, is inwardly rolling her eyes, and why shouldn't she?  Who is this crazy, middle-aged woman, crying in her restaurant about a biker show.

Then  I woke up, without my Chicken Parmesan, but with my dignity, at least.

Truth is, I did just finish season 5 of  Sons, and I am quite fond of Gemma Teller Morrow, but I'm not sure I'll even watch season 6 because the show is just so dang violent that I spend more time shielding my eyes from torture scenes and machine gun spray than I do watching.  I think Gemma and I have parted ways for good and my subconscious knew it before I did.  Good-bye Gemma.  You were the best pretend Old Lady a girl could have. Sniffle.

Chicken out

Disclaimer:  You get that this was a dream, right?  About a show I like?  I have no idea how many actual SOA seasons there are, nor do I have an insider's track on when the show will end.  Don't quote me to the Enquirer, okay?

Gemma Teller Morrow (Katey Sagal)

Sunday, July 6, 2014


In a few weeks we'll be heading to Maine for vacation .  We've rented a house in the Camden area.   I know the area a little, having grown up just a couple of hours away, but if anyone out there has a favorite memory of the place or a suggestion for an activity, we would love to hear it.

The house we are renting is big-big enough that several extended family members and friends are planning on cycling through during the week.  It's an experiment for us.  If it goes well, we are hoping to do it once a year.  If it doesn't, we'll do our own thing from now on.  We are not anti-social, by any means,  but my husband and I are alike in that we both require a moderate amount of alone time.   I get mine by  getting up earlier in the morning.   He gets his by  staying up later at night.  I'm  wondering how the chaos of people coming and going will jive with our expectation of  a relaxing week on the coast.

On the one hand, we've co-imagined clam bakes on the beach, early morning kayak trips, and hanging out on the porch with our friends and family.  My imagination has added the sound track from Big Chill and midnight margarita parties.

On the other hand, it's occurred to me that there's a good amount of work that goes into entertaining people. Now, switch out the people on a regular basis, and haven't you just multiplied the work load?  This is not something that would occur to BigB because, as a traditionalist in his mid-fifties, his expectation is that the women will get together and figure it all out and tell him what needs to go on the grill.  Planning, shopping, and cleaning don't figure in his day-to-day plans.  On the odd occasion where they do, it goes something like this:

I'm hungry.  Is anybody else hungry?  I think I'll order a pizza.  Does anybody else want pizza?

BigB keeps it real.  I think I'll take a page out of his book this year and just go with the flow.  We'll see what happens.