persephone33

I like to think I have a certain something when it comes to fashion. When I dress for the day, I put a little thought into the outfit. I have style of sorts. (Somedays that style is Strung Out Rodeo Clown, but I digress.)

My well-traveled, fashionista friend, Sylvia posted her own list compared to Nina Garcia's The One Hundred: A Guide to the Pieces Every Stylish Woman Must Own. I don't know Ms. Garcia, but I think I can take a pass on some of these. I've bolded the ones that I lack. And commented more than necessary, perhaps.

( Which ones do you have? )

I have 78 out of a hundred. And 16 out of the 22 I don't have, I just don't have any desire for.

I could start this out a lot of different ways; I could tell you about the business part of the trip, or why we went, or whether or not it was successful, but I'm going to cut to the chase and tell you what was really important on this trip.

I went shopping.

Heck, yeah, I did. It was the most successful (read: expensive) shopping excursion I've been on in years. I was able to buy everything in smaller sizes, and really, that might account for some of the bulk of the purchases. (Carrie gets a little giddy about single digit sizes.) I spent an hour and a half in Anthropologie. I got a very fancy, kelly green, ruched dress, a blue and green patterned dress that is nine kinds of cute, and this little piece of amazing, right here. It might be my new favorite piece of clothing, ever. In fact, I don't think I'll save it for special events. The grocery store? Check. Teaching class? Right-o. Dance rehearsal? I think I will, thank you. I also got this, this and two pairs of these. Because you haven't lived 'til you've worn the boyfriend jean from the Loft.

Fine, maybe you've lived, but you haven't lived in super cute, comfy jeans.

Point of interest regarding retail shops: When did they start playing loud, obnoxious music to the point that you can actually feel your teeth vibrate in your head? I've really decided that the music is the go-to factor in deciding whether or not I'm too old to shop at a store. If they're blasting something that spills out into the area 10 feet outside the closed shop doors, you can bet I'm not going in. If they're doing that and they've pumped some sort of perfume/cologne combination to linger around the area while you shop, then I'm not going in times two.

If I were a math-minded person (not that that's something that I will ever be, or to which I even aspire, for that matter) I would make a graph, or a Venn diagram or something super smart looking and clever to illustrate my point. But alas, you go un-illustrated, dear reader. The cleverness is at an all time low, over here. Try to cope.

And my last little bit of information is this: I come home from this four day trip to a mountain of laundry. Inevitable, I know. I'm not complaining (much). However, as I pull the boys' dirty clothes out of their overnight bags, I realize that Ethan wore MY jeans on Monday. He had to have; they had grass stains all over the knee, and I think you and I both know (with the exception of one or two select activities) that is something that would never happen while I was wearing them. Ever. Now, thanks to calorie counting and denying myself the basic rights of Twix bars, I am smaller, and I'm happy about that, but there is no way on God's Earth that the eleven year old boy and I wear the same size. (Old Navy "Flirt" size ten vs Boys 12 slim.) Perhaps I should clarify. There's no way we wear the same size AROUND. In length, sad to say, his legs are as long as mine. Thank GOD I married a tall man. The boys have a shot at not being midgets. They also have big feet, because the same eleven year-old has snaked my red Converse for himself. It started out as a special occasion - "Mom? Can I wear these?" - and now he just keeps them in his room. Same size foot. At age eleven. I'd like to say that I have really dainty feet and that's why, but nope. I wear between 7 - 7 1/2, which is a man's 5.

That was a long, nebulous story that had absolutely no impact on anything resembling importance. Apologies all around. And enjoy your Wednesday, folks.

&hearts Old downtowns that have too many one-way streets confuddle my limited driving skills.

&hearts I will park two blocks away from the building to which I need access just so that I don't have to go through the humiliating horror of parallel parking.

&hearts The new Body By Victoria bra from Victoria's Secret is a marvel of modern engineering and should be declared the eighth wonder of the world.

&hearts When you go into the mall with money, with every intention to buy yourself a new dress, you will find only matronly lace monstrosities or horrifically short miniskirts that do not flatter your figure, no matter how hard your bra is working.

&hearts Li, the pedicurist at Q Nails gives one heckuva a foot massage. I want her to move into the guest room.

&hearts A large Diet Coke from Sonic cures a multitude of ills.

&hearts Dean Winchester is the undeniably the coolest character on television since The Fonz.

&hearts I am BESIDE myself waiting for Thursday's 100th episode of Bones. Like GIGGLY about it.

&hearts I'm ridiculously excited about leaving town this weekend with my husband. Even if it is just a business trip. A resort in San Antonio is still a resort.

&hearts Laundry is perpetual. Eternal. Infinite.

&hearts You can never think of anything really profound for the last bullet point, thereby leaving your audience feeling a bit cheated at the end of the post.

I seem to be better since the last post.  Thanks for all the well wishes. It's nice to know that people care.

Have been shopping a LOT.  Have lots of cute new things.  :D

The boys won the putting contest in their respective golf classes.  Tiger Woods, y'all.  Look out.  They get to play 3 holes in the morning.  They're pretty excited.

I'm going to visit my college roommate tonight with her kids, and I'm pretty excited about that.

For now, we're off to the pool and the quilt shop (Mom's making me a wall hanging for my living room - Score!)

It is a TOUGH life I lead, I tell you. 

 I was busy having what I've come to call a "Pansy" day; I had a facial at Minka's Garden (very nice spa-thing), went shopping and bought myself two pair of pants (they were under $15 each - Old Navy ROCKS, even if I did have to come home and hem one of them) and a Green Cashmere Sweater that wasn't. (What's with the wide leg pants at Old Navy?  I'm 5'2".  I cannot pull off wide leg pants.  I look ridiculous.)  I'm sure that makes me a bad person, I don't care- it looked fabulous.  I had my nails done by my very sweet Vietnamese manucurist guy, who tries to chat with me, but I can't understand any of it - the only Vietnamese that I know comes from Dad, who was a ground interpreter for the Marine Corps during the War.  I think what I know translates to "Get out of here!" and "Mix packet of soup with water."

I digress.  

I was having a lovely day, doing some heavy thinking (About a caliga_rpg post that's unwritten as of yet, but is supposed to be posted soon), nodding and smiling (well- not scowling, perhaps), generally full of cheer (for me), and I seat myself at the nail dryer-thing (the UV light that you're stuck under for 8 minutes til your polish dries).  And this woman strikes up a conversation.  Which is fine.  (Question:  Do I have a face that says 'please dump all your problems on me?  Or unload heavy, life changing issues here, please?  I'd be interested to know.)  We talked Christmas shopping, pleasantries, are you from here? (Because NO ONE is at Christmas time; every po-dunk town from 200 miles around comes HERE to shop at Christmastime because we're stranded in the middle of a Godforsaken desert but THAT's a rant for another day.)  Anyway, in the 8 minutes I was under the dryer, she managed to tell me that she was in town for a funeral, a 15 year-old boy (Her best friend's son) had committed suicide.  She started crying, I got chillbumps and teary (SO not me), very nearly lost it completely, but somehow managed to say something vaguely encouraging to her.  She thanks me, tells me that she feels better having got all that out, and that she'll be stronger at the funeral now, gets up and leaves, and I'm left with the knowledge that we are put here, in the situations that we go in and out of every day for a purpose. I am so very grateful for my husband, my family, for their health, for my friends, (rl and online) my life, and I ought to thank God a whole lot more than I do for the blessings I have.

All because I'm shallow and vain, and missed my earlier nail appointment because I was trying on freakin' wide leg pants.  *nods*  It's all in the plan, y'all.

 Tired of feeling moody and cranky and generally recalcitrant?

Try Carrie's sure-fire "Make You Feel Better" Trifecta:

1.  Pedicure/Manicure - what's not to love about pretty feet?  Seriously, these are worth the cash.  Skip lunch, and go have one.  You will not regret it.

2.  A Diet Coke (or your soda of choice) from Sonic Drive In.  Crunching the ice is therapeutic.  And, if it's not to weird for you, you can pretend that it's the bones of all the people that piss you off.  (Oh, my.  My dark side is showing.  Sorry, Mother.)  And if you don't have a Sonic near you, I am terribly sorry.  The ice is really first rate.

3.  Retail Therapy - I bought myself some nail polish, a candle, a new shower curtain and a tablecloth.  Good times.

I also did a little writing with

seegrim, that always cheers me considerably, I wrote some more of Chapter 5 of Marrying Pansy Parkinson, and sent the first package for this meme.  goddessvicky should get her box of goodies on Halloween!  Yay.

And happy birthday wishes to ladyendymion.  I hope everything is well for you and your family, and that your birthday is fabulous!