Maligayang Pasko

Christmas is coming! I just wrapped some presents this afternoon. It took longer than I thought it would, but I am hoping that wrapping presents now will save me from that dreaded '2 hours before heading out to Christmas dinner' time crunch, where somehow, you're still taping gift wrapper and finding another way to say 'Merry Christmas' on the little card. Years past have seen, Have a fabulous Christmas, have a blessed Christmas, a meaningful Christmas, good luck on your diet this Christmas. Just kidding.

While I was wrapping presents, I got to thinking about previous Christmases. I'm not sure why, but in our culture, it seems like Christmas eve always overshadows actual Christmas Day. When we were kids we'd head over to our mother's side of the family. There would be an elaborate program of song and dance numbers, both from the adults and the kids. I remember a fashion show one year. And then an over-the-top Madonna dance number another year. And if we were lucky we'd get a full-on drag performance courtesy of my Uncle and his friends.

Look, it got pretty crazy. We had to be dragged home because guess what? On Christmas Day, all that indulgent fun had to be balanced out with morning Mass. Not that Mass was particularly solemn. The manger scene was tricked out. There may be a baby figure swooping from the ceiling down to his crib. Who knows what the choir came up with, not to mention what the church's electric bill looks like.

And then after Mass, we would go to my father's side of the family. There would be more eating, but not that much entertainment. And of course it couldn't go on that way forever. When the relatives started leaving for abroad, we all just tried to have our own thing at home. Which meant my mom would have to cook. And she would make this complicated chicken relleno dish which involved deboning it, getting the meat, mixing it with vegetables, stuffing the meat back in, boiling the whole thing in cheese cloth, blah blah, blah. That was not a recipe. Do not follow that word for word. It is so delicious, you guys. The best part is she makes chicken liver gravy which makes my mouth water as I type the words.

Fast forward to years later. We left the Philippines too. And not even the whole family moved. But we managed. We were reunited with my mom's side of the family. My grandmother, when she was still alive, absolutely enjoyed having everyone around her sing Christmas songs on karaoke. Just make sure to hand her the microphone when Feliz Navidad came on. Now, there is a bit of shame as I say this, but yes. There were still dance numbers. There was even a contest for best costume. I will have you know I came as a Macy's shopping bag, with presents inside... and I won, but it was a tie with my sister who was a parol. I mean, literally. She wore a contraption that looked like one, and if we hadn't stopped her, she would have attached lights to it and plugged herself in.

So, what is the point of all this reminiscing? Well, here's my emo paragraph of the year. I'm just saying, amdist all the celebration, the presents, the food, the elastic waistband pants and ponchos, the Christmas shopping pressure, there is only one thing I cannot imagine being without on Christmas, and that is family.

Merry Christmas y'all!

Shopping (Mis)guide: Winter 2011 Edition

Item no. 1. Prints. Lots of it. Layer a windowpane checked vest over a floral dress, under dotted tights, top with a paisley scarf, and no shoes. The idea is to make an entrance. Nowadays, just one print is no longer enough. Enter with a bang and not a whimper. You want to step into a room and have people think: Wow. That chick is crazy. Follow the basic rule: P-R-I-N-T. Polka dots, Ribbons, Ikat, Nubby knits, Tartan. Or, Poop stain, Rainbows, Igloos, Nets, Tigers. You may also substitute, Pickles, Rickles, Ickles, Nickels, Tickles.

This winter, every woman needs a pair of glitter heels. Forget Dorothy and her ruby slippers. Take it up a notch. Take it up ten notches. Don't settle for mere sparkles and glitters. Think jewels. If you need to stab your foot with a dozen brooches for a completely bejeweled look, if you need to wrap your ankles with your mother's pearls and granny's chains, then that's what you need to do.



Okay ladies, with even colder months ahead, we need to go LONG. Thank God for that. I mean, no one wants to see anyone's winter wonderland leg hair under semi sheer pantyhose, right? And we've had enough of those stupid shorts over tights too. This season we want trousers with wedding gown trains. Skirts so long you'll need a ladder to reach the zipper. Coats that trail the ground dragging small neighborhoods as you walk. You want your shirt to be long too, as in the tails are peeking from under the hem of your pencil skirt.

One word: PLEATS. This is serious. I have been looking for a pleated skirt for months. Too long and I look like a middle aged school principal. Too short and I look like I'm trying to be on J Pop America Fun Time Now! Too soft and my hips look like shelving. Too stiff and I look like I've regressed to my schooling days. What am I to do? Should I just give up and accept that pleats are not for me? Or should I stand proud and wear what I wish, without a care for bookshelf hips or age-appropriate lengths. Must I be fettered by concerns such as floaty skirt fabric up my butt crack and a waistband around no waist?!? This is 2011 ladies and gentlemen. And next year it is 2012. The time is now. The place is here. Tomorrow is a Friday. Friday. Gotta get down on Friday.

Wow, I'm exhausted. Seriously. What were we talking about again?

I Lied

I may just have broken some mini fashion rules I set for myself. This was over the summer, which now seems like ages ago, you'll know because my hands are dry from the cold. And I mean DRY. You can etch some designs on my skin with a fingernail, but first admire the criss-cross, paper-thin patterned skin. Also, my playlists are filling up with Christmas songs (hello, Michael Buble).

Remember how I lamented my odd-shaped skull and how I can't seem to find any hats that fit? Well, for the past however-many months, my facial skin decided to go rogue. And by rogue I mean rebel. And by rebel I mean there's a redness problem. And by redness I mean blemishes. In any case, I made it my mission to find myself a brimmed hat to protect my face during the summer months. I found a paper straw number from J. Crew that was well within my moderate budget. And by moderate I mean fair. And by fair I mean small. And by small I mean inexpensive. And by that I mean under $20. I found that putting my hair in a bun and tucking it under the hat made it fit.



The hat also came in handy during the Florida vacation. I kept my skin protected with sunglasses that covered half my face and of course, the hat. This resulted in the most glamorous ombre' tan you have ever seen. Imagine: pale eye and cheek area, reddish jawline, somewhat tanned chest and shoulders, brown stomach, and boom! Burnt legs and ashy feet. Basically, if I were a jigsaw puzzle, I couldn't be put back together because the coloring doesn't match.

A while back, I tried a pair of harem pants which resulted in visions of loincloths and diapers. I wandered into a Gap store because I was waiting for something-or-the-other. Or maybe they had one of those additional 30% off things, who knows? My memory is foggy. In any case, I picked a slouchy pair of black pants off a rack. It spoke of promises like, no need to hold your gut, and, I will make your VPL worries disappear. So I tried it on. And I loved it. It sat low on my waist. I could tuck my shirt in. I could roll the cuff a bit and make it ankle-length.

So I head to the cashier and hand my purchase over. And guess what the cashier says? She opens her mouth and the words EVERYONE NEEDS A PAIR OF HAREM PANTS come out.

Oh shit.

The pants were kind of harem-ish. The crotch was a bit lower. The legs were kind of roomy. She really shut me up. I was so against the idea of harem pants I didn't even notice that I just tried a pair on and actually loved it.

I also started using hairspray. There I said it. If you ever ride the #28 in the morning and catch a whiff of fragrance-covered chemicals, that was me. Sorry, I have a problem controling the spray button thing. You want more confessions? I gave Insidious a second viewing and I don't want to look at reflective surfaces for now because I might see that old lady parasite with dead fingernails. Here's another one: I know someone who loves her chunky boots. And by chunky I mean Bride of Chucky/Herman Munster. I want to help her but there's no way I'm commenting on anyone's fashion choices to their face, especially since we're not that close. Instead I'll just judge her silently. Just kidding (but not really)! No really, I'm just kidding. It's Christmas - the season of giving. And I'm sure by giving, they didn't mean giving insults.

Last confession: I'm crazy about American Horror Story and I think I'm developing a highly inappropriate TV crush on Tate. I can't help it. I think it's because *SPOILER ALERT* he's dead.

Tulle Bulldozer

You know how you feel like you've been talking about an upcoming event for forever? How items on your to-do list, related to said event trickle in one by one? And the months pass and it still isn't that close but it is getting closer? And then BOOM. You're three weeks away. One week away. And you feel like a bulldozer sort of ran over your life.

Except this bulldozer was a wedding party bulldozer with a veil on its roof, cocktails on the dashboard, bridesmaids dresses hanging off the blade, rented suits off the exhaust pipe, foot-killing shoes hooked on the steering wheel, bridal shower tea sandwiches on the cab's floor,the bride's stunning, 15-pound custom-design wedding gown is in the driver's seat (and is actually driving the bulldozer).



It has been fun. Our bride was super chill... until the night before the wedding when someone forgot to bring her bag of photo booth props to the venue. At that point, we saw a glimmer in her eye. A glimmer of poison-tipped, serrated edge daggers. But she quickly shoved the look back into her eyeballs after her beyond-trustworthy Maid of Honor/sister promised to get the bag to the venue.

Of course, where family is involved we also had our share of drama. Please don't ask me how a pair of earrings snowballed into the most ridiculous argument.

To make a long story short:

all the bridesmaids survived those shoes I mentioned in a previous entry - no sprained ankles or broken toes

the ceremony was solemn and heartfelt

the bride's plan to have guests blow bubbles outside the church came to fruition

it was sunny SUNNY?!!?!?!?!*%!!

the cocktail hour was fabulous, no glass was empty at any point, which also meant there were a lot of buzzed guests which...

made for a happy reception filled with toasting, glass-clinking, lots of family love and new-family love, bride-and-groom kissing, dancing, photo booth shenanigans, empty dinner plates, more dancing, more filled glasses.

And finally, a drunken, midnight wedding party trip to Chinatown for fried rice, noodles, shrimp, and fortune cookies.

Oy, if you spot the wedding-gown-driven bulldozer in your neighborhood, kindly let us know.

We Dance to the Beat (And We Don't Stop): Robyn at the Paramount

Before we begin, a brief public service announcement:



If you have seen this girl, please tell her the concert is over. She may now stop forcing her body parts on the backs of people. Help her find her way home.

That's all, thank you. Moving on...

My sister, who is a solid gold platinum titanium Robyn fan was not going to miss this show. She already missed her chance at Robyn playing Neumos last year so this was it. We happy hour-ed at Palominos to build and save our foot energy for what we were expecting to be a crazy night...

Which started in line outside the Paramount Theatre on a chilly Thursday in October, no rain, thankfully. We saw all sorts of Robyn-like platinum hair, a lot of tank tops and gooseflesh, sequins, feather vests, extremely good-looking gay men, usually with their equally attractive boyfriends, parents with minor children trying to buy tickets off of others - Daddy, Daddy you better find me a ticket!!! YOU BETTER FIND ME A TICKET OR I'M GOING TO RUN IN FRONT OF A CAR. And the random suspicious-looking person carrying a big backpack.



This is when everything moves in slow motion. Time check: 6:00pm. One hour till doors open. Contemplate work outfit for following day. Debate peeing at Paramount Hotel or Barnes & Noble. Eavesdrop on girl and boy behind you talking about reversible jacket design and halloween costumes. Time check: 6:04pm.

I will spare you the boring details about our wait, except the bit where I chickened out of using the restroom at the Paramount Hotel because I so obviously looked like I just walked in off the street and wasn't a guest. I ended up at Barnes instead.

Doors open, we head to the floor, where security people tell everyone to stay off the carpeted aisle and please sit on the floor. By the way, I've never seen such chatty, smiley security staff. They were talking to us! Weird. And we know how this part goes: more waiting. We don't really want to know about the Swedish girl behind us who went to a psychic and told her her sometime love interest will have a series of short relationships, but we had no choice.

Finally. Finally lights dim. The opener, Yacht comes out. More crazy. They had these dancers, one portly boy wearing a shirt that says Girl, and one blond girl wearing a Boy shirt. I am waiting for the opportunity to steal some of Girl's moves. They were brilliant. The band was a lot of fun, they sounded like a group you'd hear in Saturday Night Live's Deep House Dish. They also had the funniest line which they kept repeating between songs, If you have any questions, any questions at all...

So, Yacht got the crowd dancing and everyone's pumped up, and their set ends, and we're back to waiting for Robyn. But not for long. Her band comes out. The music starts and there she is!!! Bowl cut, glow-in-the-dark leggings, mega flatforms, my-belt-is-killing-me, and all!



ZOMG. Robyn was fantastic. Even the crazy girl who tried to hump every single one of us on the second and first rows to get to the rail couldn't put a damper on our evening. Thanks, by the way, to the cute gay couple who told her, you need to stay where you're at. Except, all they got in response was a glazed look from the Robyn-crazed crazy ass lipstick girl. The best part was when she just gave up her humping and left. Hey lipstick girl, U SHOULD KNOW BETTER not to fuck with the fans who waited in line before you!

Robyn was just an energizer bunny. It must have been the banana she ate while doing a back bend onstage! All those dance moves, the spinning, the chest pumps, the grinding, and gorilla arms. She was everything! And the crowd was with her all the way - fist pumping Indestructible's this is hardcore, screaming every word to Call your Girlfriend, body rolling along to None of Dem, waving our arms to Dancing Queen/Show Me Love.



Everyone was singing along. Who cares if you were singing Hang With Me's lyrics wrong? So what if it was, just don't fall headlessly, recklessly in love with me, and not stone cold, helplessly, recklessly... No one! No one cares! Sing whatever you want! No one cares, right? I mean, my lips were still forming kind of similar words, right?

It was an amazing concert. Robyn was an amazing performer. Someone get a DeLorean and let's do it again!



All photos by IP

Las Vegas Style Guide: Classy Stripper Edition

Hello Classy Ladies! After a trip to Vegas with my fellow bridesmaids/cousins and our bride, I have returned with a few tips and tricks to looking faboosh on your Vegas trip.

The Way There

Let's start with your inflight outfit. Thizzizit, right?!?!? WRONG. Your flight is your last chance to be a semi-slob and relax your stomach muscles before the trip proper. You know you'll be sucking your gut in for all your one-size-too-small dresses. So heed my advice: keep it loose. And as for what might have been the look of judgment from the flight attendant when you and your girls ordered a cocktail on your 8am flight? Let it go, they don't care. They've seen worse.

Slide-Proof Legwear

As you usher the bride to Excalibur, home of Thunder Down Under, after she specifically said: NO MALE DANCERS, keep it cool. Keep her cool. Because you're not going to see any Thundering from Down Undering this afternoon. You are actually going to Night School 4 Girls. Cue the music! Let's hear a little Pour Some Sugar On Me!

A few things: if you want to be challenged, go ahead and wear your lucite heels at the burlesque/pole dancing class. Shorts might be a good idea. The flesh on your thighs will help grip the pole. Now there are two approaches here. A. Go ahead and laugh, embarrass yourself, get goofy. B. This is serious. I'm in competition. I don't care if anyone thinks I'm an actual stripper. Yes. I am talking to you, girl in the vest and shorts. What have you been doing in your free time and did you say you have another job on the side?

Walk It Or Cab It, Your Choice

If you are walking it, your choice was wrong. Your hotel looked near, but it wasn't. Now, if you've already committed to walking, after buying your pre-funk alcohol and snacks, I hope you are wearing something pretty. Now is the time to be adventurous. That thing that calls itself a romper? Now is the time to try it on. A strapless little something? Do it. Nude and a pair of Toms? Go for it! Who cares? No one, because everyone is already looking at the umm, older woman in a bathing suit top with her c-section scar hanging out.

I say keep it pretty because you never know when a club promoter will come your way (shout-out to Chad, aka Brad, aka Zach). He will put you on the guest list, get you in quick, and get you free drinks. It seems dubious but it's legit. I mean, just as long as the guy doesn't say, yo ladies, Imma get you on the guest list to the hottest club in town: Kidnappinz and Murderz Lounge.



Dinner is Served

Oy, slowpokes, everything may be open late in Vegas but most restaurant kitchens still close at 11pm. Hypothetical situation: you and the girls lost track of time thanks to endless drinks (from your pre-funk Walgreens/CVS liquor run), spinach dip, chips, pretzels, penis candies (whaaat), panty gift-giving, and all sorts of activities at your swanky suite. It's 10:30pm and you've all just finished getting dressed/made/prettied up and no restaurant will take you in.

So what?!? There's a place at your hotel that's still open, surely the servers will appreciate your fancy duds. And if it's 1am and you just finished dinner? No big deal. Go back to your suite, set down your take-home boxes. Rest your eyeballs for a second. Or two. Or, ah, don't wake up till morning... So, um, yeah, umm if that happens, you know, just in case, just sayin', no one says it actually happened, this is not real, I'm making it up.

Battle Buffet
Two words: Elastic waistband. Two more words: Chunky jewelry... Four Words: Distracts from big belly. Four More Words: Go for the proteins. Six Words: Fear not, take a mid-buffet dump.

Poolside

Aside from your swimsuit, don't forget to bring a roomy canvas bag. Your bag is your best friend. How else are you going to go on the cheap and bring your own cocktails to the pool. I mean, there's a reason why the pool check-in guy has a stack of platic cups at his station.

To the Club

For your night out, again this is the time to be adventurous. Go for something outrageous. It's your chance to let loose and not be seen by people from where you live. Or, go for the Vegas norm of tight-and-short. Or keep it classy in a revealing yet tailored look. What you shouldn't do is recycle a bridesmaid's dress. Lady, hey lady, come on?! I can tell. Black and white. Floral applique. Knee-length. You're not fooling anyone.

Well, that about wraps up this Style Guide. Toodles, Classy Ladies! Stay fabulous!

Face Parts

So, my sister turns to me this morning and mouths pimple, pim-mple, pimPOL, PEEMpoool, pmpl, PMPOWL. I think my pimple actually blushed. And guess where it was? To the right of the tip of my nose. Like a little fairy dancing on her tippy toes, spreading sebum on my face. You should have seen it before it popped its ugly head out. It almost looked like a tumor. Oh well, what do I know? This whole time my pimple could have been telling itself: shit, what's this face growing on me? Dancing like a giant, spreading face parts on my skin. Eew.



I just celebrated my birthday a week ago. My sister tricked me. She was really good, too. We agreed to meet after I got off work. She told me she was looking for jeans. She actually tried stuff out at varius stores. Except, guess who lost in this little 'shopping' pretense? ME. I ended up buying something (or some things, my memory is foggy on the details). And then she goes, I have a Groupon that expires. TODAY. For happy hour.

So we head to the fabulous, and great-smelling Alexis Hotel for their Bookstore Lounge where, upon entering, the first thing I see is what looks like my cousin's hair. Trust me it's hard to miss, she likes experimenting with Big & Sexy hairspray. And in my mind I was thinking, wow, that was one popular Groupon. So surprise! They were there to take me out for an early birthday celebration.

In random order, the evening's events were: get rained on and have puddles form in our shoes, beer and birthday cupcakes, arcade games, a Moroccan dinner, witness an over-excited adolescent belly dance, catch the end of the Mayweather/ Ortiz fight, lose at billiards, attempt belly dancing (belly? yes. dancing? nooo).

On my real birthday, I had the day off and it was just as nice. 6am Birthday phone call from my sister and nephew from back home. And a call from my best friend, whose rendition of Marilyn Monroe's Happy Birthday did not reach its completion.

I think she got as far as the first to you before we both burst out laughing.

P.S. She just had her birthday too!

Flamingo Orange Juice Retirement Sunshine Part 2

All right, where were we? Aah, after Key West. Day 4. By the way, as I type this, I am letting my violet/pinkish nail color dry. My right middle finger has been giving me grief. I've started over on it twice! I'm not entirely free of blame as I may have nicked as I, err, took a nap.

Back to Day 4. As I recall it was a Tuesday. This day was a blur of laying out in the sun, sipping bottles of Presidente that had a great gift for turning warm within minutes of being taken out of the fridge. It got so hot that we ended up migrating to the pool. Can I just say that I absolutely loved the warm ocean water and pool water? You know how in most places you get sweaty from laying out so you jump in the water but then you get chills from the water's temperature? That did not happen here. Except for one occasion when it was borderline stormy.

We grilled some pork and chicken for dinner that night. I could tell our next-door neighbors must have been just a tiny bit jealous, as our meat was basted in a garlicky, vinegary, soy saucy, lemony concotion of sorts. One gal walked back and forth by the grill for no reason at all. I mean, at least bring some props - a piece of trash maybe, to pretend to throw in the garbage can, or a lump of coal to put in the little bin, or a piece of raw meat with a little, pardon me, I wish to grill this morsel for my pet!



The next day, there was more laying out in store for us. And then we headed to South Beach. It's exactly like in South Beach movie scenes - people walking around barely dressed, Tony Montana and Manny Ribera trying to pick up girls. Just kidding about Scarface. We went into an Art Deco store where I wish I could have taken pictures of a Joan Crawford paper doll book! OMG, Joan Crawford as a silent movie star, Joan Crawford in period films, Joan Crawford when she had a make-over of sorts, Joan Crawford lifting a silver dish cover to reveal that Baby Jane served a rat for DINDIN!!!



So we walked down Ocean Drive where we spotted Gianni Versace's former home that was now a hotel/ restaurant. And, where the restaurant managers/hosts/hostesses were ruthless in trying to get you to do their happy hour. I mean, they will wave their menus in your face and try to not-so-stealthily usher you into their business. We ended up happy hour-ing at an Italian place... with a flamenco dancer. Go figure. The dancer and the musicians were fantastic. Their deal was buy one get one of their tub-sized drinks to share. I mean, the mojito looked like a kid's ecosystem fish bowl project and their pina colada looked like a body builder's protein shake at 7am.

We ended the night at this place called Bayside. It's like an outdoor/indoor bazaar/performance place. No actually, my sister and I ended the night with a glass of milk and those strangely delicious cookies from the plane ride over, and Jurassic Park 3. No, actually I ended the night on my side trying to fall asleep but wanting to get the AC on a cooler setting but was too lazy to get up.

Thursday was when Hurricane Irene swished by Florida. That was a close call. We got a full day of rain and scary waves but that was all. You know what that means, right? Laundry day. Except a bunch of other people were thinking the same thing. We got first dibs, though. Aside from laundry we also got to know Tabatha, Patti Stanger, the Kardashians, and Benjamin Button via the TV. Look, when you are on vacation, your brain must also go on vacation, which is why it was perfectly all right to watch said reality shows.

On Friday, big waves aside, the weather turned for the better. It was back to the beach and the pool. Now, a note about resort pools. All of y'all just met each other, why are you telling her that your husband has sleep apnea and uses a CPAP machine. And why are you telling him that you and your spouse sleep in separate bedrooms. It was like I was watching An Hour with Strangers: Your Secrets are Safe with Me.

On our last night in Florida, we had dinner at my Dad's good friend's house. His super cute, squirmy, toddler grandson was there. There was a lot of eating, a lot of talk about skincare, dieting, our adventures when were new immigrants, as well as an episode of Karaoke Battle USA.

And then it was time to go. It's always sad when the trip ends. I mean, there's no bigger 'end' signal than having to check in for your return flight and print your boarding pass.

Saturday went by quickly. We had the required picture-taking session at the resort, with my Mom waving the camera screen at our faces saying, this picture looks good because I TOOK IT. Then we headed to a Japanese buffet where we filled our bellies up because who wants to get desperately hungry at the airport where your choices are expensive cardboard, bargain grease, and pricey pellets?

Then let's just skip the airport and plane ride home and just flash forward to me with my peeling skin and my brain that is still on vacation because God help me, I'm still watching Keeping Up With the Kardashians!?!?!?!

Flamingo Orange Juice Retirement Sunshine Part I

A week ago I was with my family enjoying our last day at Lauderdale-by-the-Sea. We were sitting on our resort-provided beach chairs under our beach umbrellas (also resort-provided). And as the wind blew our hair, and the waves crashed and the foaming water reached our... asses which were hanging extra low on our chairs because duh it's vacation and everyone knows that part of your brain that says you're full is automatically turned off for the duration of your vacation.

I want to go back. On my first week back at work, I swear I could feel my body coming down with a fever. My bones were saying, you bitch, take me back to the sand and sea and no shoes on my feets!!!

One day of pouring rain (courtesy of Hurricane Irene which we narrowly missed) and possible-evacuation aside, it was a most wonderful week. And as vacations often go, it started with an unavoidable plane ride.

Aaah. Here we are again, where cabin pressure yields all sorts of weird behavior such as -

Spilling your secrets to your seat mate.

Wanting to throttle the flight attendant on your little screen wagging her finger as she says smoking is nooot allowed on this flight. Shut up!

Using the aisle as your gym. Come on! Can't you rest your stupid biceps and quads for a few hours? You are blocking the snack/ drink cart! Sit down!

Using the headrest in front of you as a support to stand up. Said headrest consequently becomes a catapult for the head that was resting on it.

And many more (feel free to insert observed behavior here ________)!

But let's move on. Touchdown in Fort Lauderdale had us removing our Seattle clothing layers. I mean, I started to feel the heat just from walking on the jetway from the plane to the arrival gate. I thought nothing could rival my home country's tropical heat where simply thinking of dressing up makes me sweat, but Florida was hot. I could feel my hair expanding into a wedge-shaped horror.



First on the agenda: buying food supplies for our week-long stay. Thanks to my Dad's old friend, we had a ride straight to the Asian store. We also had the most delish, Filipino-style taho, sold by a wise old Chinese man who gave us the stink-eye and a ferocious WE DON'T HAVE NAPKINS HERE when we asked for spoons and napkins and ignored his sign of No Eat-In.

After a take-out lunch of roast pork, barbecued pork, and roast duck plus rice combo, it was straight to the Windjammer Resort. And pardonnez-moi-gut-hanging-from-le-bikini, but the beach cannot wait.



ZOMG. It was glorious! There was just the right amount of breeze to have me and my sister drifting in and out of a light sleep. There were a few kids but they were amazingly well-behaved and any shouting was drowned out by the sound of waves.

And suddenly it was time to get ready for dinner. After driving past a couple of strip malls, we decided on a casual dinner at the Red Lobster. Except... except the diners looked like they were dressed for a swankier place. Let's just get this out of the way, they like their clothes snug in Florida. No pardonnez-moi-rolls-spilling-out-of-le-tube-top for them. The label on that dress that says size 0? Who cares? If it zips, it fits. They just own it! And frankly - danger of eye disease aside - I love that confidence.

After dinner we headed to Hard Rock, um, I don't know how to describe it. It had a parking lot as big as an airport. It had several restaurants and clubs and shops and a sprawling casino. What is it? Is it a city in a building? Why are there so many people? What is that woman wearing? Is that a mask, or is it someone's enhanced face?! Why are the stores still open when it's almost midnight? Is this hell? Am I in hell already?!? I'm sorry okay! For all my sins!

And that's how Day 1 ended. Day 2 was a lazy Sunday - Mass, brunch, more laying out on the beach. Pre-Snack. Snacks. Swimming Pool. Pre-Dinner. Beach. Dinner. Second Dinner.

Day 3 was a trip to Key West. What a charming old town, where one is free from the trappings of consumerism... Until you walk to the corner Banana Republic, flanked by Express, across the street from Hard Rock Cafe, a few steps from a nice view of the hulking, docked cruise ship. Just kidding (but not really). It's actually a beautiful place. All those old houses with wrap-around decks and louvered windows. Oh and we were at Conch Republic having lunch when the skies opened up and it poured. Really poured. And then it was as if nothing happened. Moments later it was skin-burning hot once again - a special Florida talent.

The end of Day 3 had us rolling out of the car that night, hungry and rumpled from the long trip but ready for Day 4.

[In a movie-trailer-voice over] Coming up: Sand. Warm beer. Waves. Sand in your butt crack. Miami. Miami Beach. Stay tuned.

Can You Hear Me Chewing?

So this post concludes the 30 Day Film Challenge. To be honest it made me question how I watch films. Do I really watch them? Do I just watch just to be able to say, okay, I've seen that one time to check it off my list? Am I suffering from partial memory loss because I cannot remember some of the other movies I know meant a lot to me in the past? When I eat chips at a movie theatre is my chewing really that loud? Are most movie theatres required to keep their floors slightly sticky? Why do parents bring babies inside the theatre?

White Lies break!!!



Day 24 Favorite Animated/ Children's Film

Beauty and the Beast. I too conversed with various pieces of furniture as a child. We once had a dinner party. The jello mold hosted.

Day 25 Favorite Documentary

I recently watched Which Way Home. It was very powerful.

Day 26 Favorite Foreign Film(s)

All About My Mother and Volver

Day 27 Favorite Independent Film

Brick made quite an impression on me. And that soundtrack was beautiful.

Day 28 Most Obscure

If by obscure you mean not many people saw it, maybe, Carnival of Souls, the 1962 version. But if by obscure you mean just mysterious or weird, then Eraserhead wins.

Day 29 Favorite Film as a Kid

The Goonies. I vaguely remember a reenactment with friends.

Day 30 Favorite Film This Time Last Year

Inception.

Bleak Squawk

And that was exactly what I told my wayward laptop when it had the audacity to get infected by a virus!!! I was doing my thing one afternoon. And by thing, I mean working. And by working I mean checking myhabit for any $10 deals. Just kidding. But really, I forget which site I was in. I vaguely recall trying to find better pictures so I can see some celebrity's outfit better. A pop-up opens. Threat detected, move to virus vault. Next thing I know anything.exe won't open.

So I started feeling cold sweat all through my body. I began searching for fixes on tech forums but I couldn't even get past the first 3 steps. Cue even more cold sweat, add a dash of tears starting to pool in the corner of my eyes, why not throw in a little shit-my-pants vibe. Long story short, I had to take it in to a place that rhymes with Bleak Squawk, or Cheek Guackd, or Eeek Buaqd, or Ahg;kjahdglrdsd where let's just say... Actually I don't want to say. I don't want to be reminded of it. No more wallet-related memories that torment my soul, please.

There really was a sort of freedom, being computer-less. I felt light without it always tugging me toward its screen, without it telling me to check this, and check that! Work on this! Write that!

Oh, all right. I was only partially computer-less. I borrowed my sister's And yes, I admit. I was already halfway out the door when I got the call from Bleak Squawk to come pick it up.

Shall I continue where I left off on that 30 Day Film Challenge?

Day 11 A Film By Your Favorite Director

In my usual fashion of not committing to just 1 favorite, I will say Hitchcock is one of my favorites and I'm always delighted when Rear Window is on TV. And how anyone could possibly reject Grace Kelly is just, I mean, just crazy talk.

Day 12 Least Liked From Your Favorite Director

That one by Hitchcock with Paul Newman and Julie Andrews. But, can I just say, a young Paul Newman - hotness.

Day 13 A Guilty Pleasure

Excess Baggage. Aayee! That Benicio del Toro!

Day 14 A Film that No One Expected You to Like

By no one, I mean me. 17 Again. Maybe because it was supposed to be this Disney kid trying to be in a movie. But Zac Efron wasn't bad. Not bad at all. Pretty good, actually.

I'm skipping Day 15 because I don't have an answer.

Day 16 A Film You Used to Love But Now Hate

Can I think on this? No, really, that was the title, Can I Think On This? Just kidding.

Day 17 Favorite Drama

I know I can always count on Steel Magnolias to get the tears flowing.

Day 18 Favorite Comedy

The Philadelphia Story. and that scene where Jimmy Stewart answers the phone with, this is the Voice of Doom calling..

And, ah, remember that Phoebe Cates movie, with Rik Mayall? Drop Dead Fred. Don't judge.

Day 19 Favorite Action Movie

The first that comes to mind is Quentin Tarantino's Death Proof. Such a satisfying ending!

Day 20 Favorite Romantic Film

An Affair to Remember with Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr. If only cruise ships were still like that. Now it's wobbly sunburned drunks, eye disease outfits, and stroller brigades.

Day 21 Favorite Sci-Fi/Fantasy

The Adventures of Baron Munchausen! More on the sci-fi side, Abre Los Ojos.

Day 22 Favorite Horror

Hands down, The Exorcist is still the scariest for me.

Day 23 Favorite Thriller/Mystery

Long but worth it: The Secret in Their Eyes.

Catch Up, Ketchup!

I've been horribly behind as far as the 30 Day Film Challenge Goes. Come to think of it, I'm also behind on other things. Thankfully other things do not include credit card bills and a tetanus shot. It does, however, include modes of transportation (anyone care for a lift in my carriage), physical exercise (shall I pop in a bit of Jane Fonda), and cleaning tools (A Swiffer? How amusing!).

Now, where were we? Day 3: A Film You Watch to Feel Good

I'm a sucker for Home Alone 1 and 2. I've seen it a bunch of times but everytime the Wet Bandits get tortured I can't help laughing.

Day 4: A Film You Watch to Feel Down

A Japanese film called, Nobody Knows. Typing the title is making me sad. Let's move on.

Day 5: A Film that Reminds You of Someone

The movie Toy Soldiers will always remind of my older sister, in her early teens, pining for a post Stand by Me Wil Wheaton.

Day 6: A Film that Reminds You of Somewhere

Paris When it Sizzles always reminds me of our tiny one bedroom, Capitol Hill apartment from when we first moved to Seattle.

Day 7: A Film that Reminds You of Your Past

Oh gosh. Baz Luhrmann's Romeo + Juliet immediately brings high school back.

Day 8: A Film You Can Quote Best

You mean, aside from The Little Mermaid and Beauty and the Beast? Probably Interview with the Vampire. What? Who can resist Anne Rice and a vampire-y Brad Pitt? 1791 was the year it happened. I was 24, younger than you are now...

Day 9: A Film with Your Favorite Actor (Male)

My current favorite actor is Michael Fassbender. MICHAELFASSBENDER&%!!! He has such an effective ass... Oops. Slip of the tongue. I mean he was such an ass in Fish Tank. Such an effective ass...

But, but, but, I also love I Confess where I thought Montgomery Clift was at his most tortured, brooding, and beautiful.

Day 10: A Film with Your Favorite Actor (Female)

I'm not sure if I have only one favorite actress but, I could probably watch Ingrid Bergman for hours and not get tired of her face. So, in honor of Ingrid Bergman, I would have to say Hitchcock's Notorious.

Moving Pictures

So my BFF sends me this 30 Day Film Challenge which she just completed. I'm on Day 2 which is Least Favorite Film. The first thought was the remake of The Fog with Tom Welling. I just remember repeating to myself during and after watching it that that was an hour and a half which I will never get back. I could have baked 2 loaf pans of banana bread, let it cool and eaten it all myself. Yes, that's right. Myself.



Speaking of movies, I just watched Animal Kingdom. That was intense. And that skin-prickling scene with the musical score and All Out of Love playing over each other? Wow.

Another movie I just watched was Midnight in Paris which was delightful. As a bookworm, oh what? Wait, I guess I'm more worm and less book. In any case, it was such fun to watch. And Adrien Brody's Dali was fantastic.

I also saw Insidious. The entities were definitely scary. I was trying so hard to like it, I really was, and I think I kind of like it but I was just overwhelmed by how much like Poltergeist it was. It was, right? Wasn't it?

I also watched a series of gruesome Korean movies. From most-liked to least, they were: I Saw the Devil, The Chaser, Lady Vengeance, The Man From Nowhere. Although, that man from nowhere was pretty cute. There was also H but that's another 2 hours which I will never get back.

Finally, and completely unrelated to the subject of movies, Sublime with Rome, or no Sublime at all?





Animal Kingdom poster from: The Cinema Source

Shooping

That was indeed what my cousin suggested as we talked about what to do after our Mediterranean dinner. Shooting, and then pooping -- shooping, for short. She might even have said shooting poop. It's best to keep in mind that this came from the same person who knows all the words to the song, Smell Yo Dick.

We ended up doing neither as the shooting range idea fell apart after we found out no one was going to come in and give us a little orientation. We were expected to just start shooting on our own. And everyone in our party, except one, has never been to a shooting range, and can hardly aim. And I mean, where do I point the remote control when I change channels? Do I aim for the TV, or the cable box? It's a mystery. When I drink any beverage I aim for my mouth but why is my shirt always wet afterwards? Just kidding, but really, don't ask me to throw you a candy bar or a bottled drink because if I aim for your outstretched hands I will hit your face, and if I aim for your face I will hit your neck, and so on and so forth.

What we did do was circle Bellevue until we ended up at this shady looking strip mall. But, surprise! Inside was a fantastic and cheap karaoke bar, Where you not only get a lesson in counting in Korean, you also get disco lights, outlandish accompanying videos (it's a car crash... no, look, ninjas) and a tambourine!!! It was so much fun the only thing missing was Riskay's Smell Yo Dick on the song list!



Photo: Traderstruthrevealed.com

Fashion Tape Tales

My friend and I were talking over coffee the other day, and the subject skedaddled over to past crimes of fashion. You know, those moments where you thought you were so best-dressedglamorousflossyflossy, but really, and only after time has passed, do you realize how much of a hot mess you were.

Listen, when I was in college, the cropped pant, or jean just started coming back. So, I thought, hey, why not fashion tape (and when I say fashion tape I really mean masking tape) my jean's hem and make it look cropped?

Good idea, right? Wrong. It was the hem version of Parallax error. I mean, what was I thinking? The length I chose didn't make my jeans look like I bought them cropped, it made them look like I was wearing a pair I got from when I turned 11 years old.

And you know when the tighter the tee, the better, was the in thing? Yeah, let's just forget that happened.

And how about another jean DIY. So I had this look in mind where I wanted my jeans to look lower on the waist than they actually were. You know what I did? I belted the bottom of my shirt, just the exact bottom, to create the illusion of a lower, belted pair of pants. Like anyone's going to believe my zipper was only an inch long!

Our pre and early teens don't count, of course. I mean, it was my mother who made me wear tops and pants in matching print (after I asked her to buy them for me), and she made me put on those blouses with shoulder pads (she did, really), as well as the tent-like trapeze dress in a dizzying Pucci-wannabe pattern (that was all me). And, the black bicycle shorts with the hot pink stripe in the sides(still me).

And while we're at it, I also get a pass for that horrid shaggy haircut that looked like two haircuts in one, I mean, welcome to the ground floor, oh, wait here's the top deck! I also wash my hands clean of cargo pants, chunky shoes, and lace hem leggings.

Finally, this song has been around for a while but it is stuckstuckstuck in my head:

Boob Gesturing

I watched X-Men: First Class recently. I'm telling you now just in case my fingers start typing MICHAELFASSBENDER&#! out of nowhere. Now that that's out of the way, here are more random tidbits.




I wore a pair of low-heeled t-strap shoes to work the other day. My co-worker unwittingly gave me a backhanded compliment by admiring them and then asking, are they soft? To which I replied, they are! The sole has some comfy padding to it.

And then she clarified and asked, I mean are they Sofft?

Really? Is it bad that I felt slightly offended? I mean, no offense to Sofft but I might need to be limping before I start wearing borderline orthopedic shoes. MICHAELFASSBENDER%$33

I was at Nordstrom the other day, on the hunt for the Nu Bra to go underneath the bridesmaid's dress for my cousin's upcoming wedding. I was on the phone with my uncle, the designer, who was telling me which undergarment would go best with the dress. So there I was, in public, asking if it's individual cups, or a whole bra, and where are the adhesive strips, or if it's fabric, and naturally, my hands were gesturing of their own accord.

Then I realized, I had one hand cupping my boob for most of the conversation. Can you imagine what it would have been like if the conversation was about which panties would be best?

I had a haircut recently too. This may sound odd but it's been years since I've set foot in a proper salon. Most of my haircuts have been expertly done by a lady who either comes to me, or I go to her apartment. In any case, I tried Seven at Pacific Place. On a side note, is that how it is in salons these days? A live DJ? What's next, a scissor-themed dance party? Back to hair, I love my haircut. It's that collarbone-length that I've wanted for a while now.

A nice, young lady already done had herses. Sorry. That was Ru Paul talking. I mean, a nice, young lady (who must have had a degree from the School of Small Talk) did my hair and I really like the results. Although when I woke up this morning you'd have thought I did my hair with dynamite. MICHAELFASSBENDER+=?/<


Photo: Gossip Boo Crew

Sister in Seattle

I need to say this before I forget, I had the most amusing dream where the Chicago Bulls' Derek Rose danced the waltz with me! ME! Funny that a basketball player figured in my dream, I was that person in P.E. class whom the teacher pointed at to say, Girls, that's how NOT to dribble the ball.

In more random tidbits, here's one of my latest misread passages from magazine articles: Bra Remover. I went, excuse me? A bra remover? How about using one's hands?! A few blinks later, my tired eyes were able to read the text as it was: Bra Makeover.



It's been almost two weeks since my older sister came to visit us in Seattle. She went to Phoenix (desert, cacti and um, older people, according to her) for a work thing and she was able to get a few more days off for us. We made sure to have all four days of her visit as packed with activities as we could. Activities such as:

a visit to Seattle Center where we took lots of pictures with super cute cloudy skies as a backdrop, and yeah, the EMP and Space Needle were in the background as well

a mini shopping spree in the three-floor wasteland that is Forever 21, in downtown Seattle

Another shopping excursion at Premium Outlets followed by...

Dinner at Eagles Buffet in the Tulalip Casino. Keep in mind that this is the sister who once used Buffet as a video game name.

Hanging out outside McDonald's on Third and Pine sipping a McCafe beverage and interacting with locals at the bus stop. Just kidding.

A morning at Snoqualmie Pass for photo ops with snow and creepy deserted buildings

A big family dinner at Maggiano's where almost everyone's dining savvy was on display by ordering the buy-one-take-one-home pasta specials

A cup of coffee at two-hour intervals

A visit to the Pike Place Market pig... and the actual market

A visit to the dueling pianos at Mingebar. AAay, sorry sorry. One more misread item. That was Munchbar, where we narrowly missed a brawl, but did not miss the drops of blood on the ground. Yikes.

A bus ride where my sister took note of some fashion trends such as denim shorts over tights, with cowboy boots

Dimsum brunch where we nibbled on bite-sized dumplings. Just kidding. It was more like inhaling than nibbling.

The objective was to have her as tired as a two-year-old at the end of the day. We were, in fact, so successful at tiring her out that she was asleep as soon as she came within two feet of the bed.

Now, my sister's return home was right on Mother's Day which was sad for her since my nephew didn't get to spend it with his mom. But it was also sad for our Mom who was kind of emo the rest of the day. It was really obvious after she Taylor Momsen-ed her eyes and started gelling her hair with some Dippity-Do.

Posing Lecture No. 512

This post is brought to you by the Starlets' School of Posing, now an affiliate of Phoenix University, classes have started and students are no longer accepted, with the exception of people with names beginning with X. This is a transcript of the online lecture of Professor Mary Lara "Billy" Menounos Hart-Spencer.

"Chicas and Chicos. Chicos. Yes, that is the name of the store I just went shopping at. You like my chubby necklace?

Excuse me? Who interrupts? Young lady, you heard me. I said chubby necklace, not chunky. Come close, you see it is made of lard. Silly girl.

Today. Very, very, very special day. As you know it was the Met Gala. The Fashion Olympics. The Decathlon of Style. The Iron Chef of Non-chefs. The World Cup of Needle and Thread.

Whoo. Wow. Sports-words. They make me tired. Pardon the sweat stains.

Okay, let's turn on the projectile and look at photographs. First on the screen. Ay. Aaaay. Ladies, I am out of breath. This great woman. She melts me like candle wax. Look, you fools!




Beyon-saay. Beens. Bey-once. Ye gods! Learn from her, all of yous. See how she stands like a statue. See how she holds her head high, how her bosom is a shelf for tchotchkes and trinkets. See! She is a queen. They hoist her up the stairs like a masterpiece from Michaeljackson. I mean, Michelangelo.

Hush! Woman! I can hear you whispering over yonder! What goes on?



No. Nonono! This cannot happen. Aaay. My girl, she broke down and finally took a breath! Nooo. She breathed and she clean-popped out of her dress. Why can't it be me, instead? Why? Whyyyyy?"

(Transcriptionist's note: The Professor turns her back on the class and cries for 16 1/2 seconds)

"I am recovered now. Let us resume. Who can tell me who is this?

Yes, you silly girl, wearing sweater with big buttons... I beg your pardon? She is not Jello. Call her by name stupid woman. This is Jennifer Lopez! And she is wearing this beauty. Like a garden in Springtime the red flowers so pretty on her shoulders. See, my students, observe how her eyes are like piercing needles on big fat veins to carry forbidden dru... No, no, I mean like small prick for when checking blood sugar of Grandma.

Learn from her. She is not just wearing petals. She is a petal. She looks like a flower and... come on, all together... STINGS LIKE A BEE. Yes! Good! This is hard, my students! Anyone can wear flowers but not everyone can be a flower!

What? What is going on?



Estupido! That Marc Anthony! I told him no water near Jennifer's shoulders! Not a sprinkle! Aaay. Now, see what happened!"

(Transcriptionist's note: The Professor is clearly hysterical. She throws a whiteboard eraser at me and proceeds to trash the classroom.)

Bus Nightmare

My Bus Nightmare #2 came true the other day. During morning rush hour, the bus fills up with people - as in the aisle will be crammed with bodies... bodies in various states of cleanliness (or dirtiness) and carrying all sorts of things. I usually have a seat because my stop is early enough on the bus' route, but I knew it was only a matter of time before I get clocked in the head with someone's bag.

It wasn't anyone's backpack, or one of those 20-pound man satchels with the laptop inside and maybe one or two cinder blocks. Thankfully it was just a gentle slap in the face from a lady's soft leather hand bag. I was asleep too so the moment that slap was delivered, my waking thought was: BUS NIGHTMARE #2!!!

Bus Nightmare #1, by the way, is me sitting by the aisle and someone walking on the aisle with their coffee cup and me getting a good dousing of Starbucks on my face.

Bus Nightmare #3 is related to a school bus incident from my elementary years back home. Our school bus wasn't exactly top-of-the-line. It wasn't even middle-of-the-line. It was a rickety metal thing with wooden shades for when it rained and once in a while there will be a missing metal plate on the floor. Don't ask me how, or why but one day, as the bus was running along, my shoe fell into that hole. It was recovered, thank you Manong.

So yes, I still have a small fear that I will get off the bus and have to head to work with one shoe missing... a backpack-shaped bruise on my face, and hair that smells like coffee. Can you blame me?



My little sister is in Brazil at the moment. It's a study-abroad sort of program. She's staying with a family of three sister, just like ours! She sent me an email that they attended Easter Mass late on Saturday night. And after Mass there was running on the streets, and music and celebration.

I can imagine her running like a headless chicken outside the Church and grabbing the instruments from musicians, and terrorizing children with a tuba in her arms and a trumpet in her mouth. Kidding aside, she's kind of, slightly, a little bit, sort of, craaazy but only in the best way possible. And my own study-abroad nightmare worries aside, I'm sure she's having an amazing experience.



Photo: faqs.org

Overheard

You know how the saying goes, little pitchers have big teeth. Which is why I like my pitchers small and my mugs large. Heeey!

Oh. That's not how the saying goes?

Anyway, I overheard this at a clothing store. Allow me to set this up. It was by a store entrance, a mother, let's call her Mildred, and her daughter, let's call her Hotshit, paused to comment on the merchandise.

Hotshit: I'm not even going in.

Mildew: Yeah. But this skirt is cute.

Hotshit: Soooo cute.

Sales Associate: Isn't it? It's very demure. Would you like to try it on?

Hotshit & Mildsauce in unison: Oh no, no. No, no. Oh gosh, no, no. It won't fit.

Mildress: The XS is too big for her. Too big.

Sales Associate: We also have an XXS.

Hotshit: It's still too big. Mom, look how BIG the size 2 is.

Mildred: My daughter's waist is a size 22... and yeah, even that size 2 might be BIG for me.

Nice. I've never encountered a skinny person who was so smug about being thin. And I hate to say this but the mother? Size 2? Too big??? Yeah, right, she was more like a 2+6.

And I'm sorry, but those two got me all riled up. If all they're going to do is hover at various stores' doorways and go yakkety-yak about too-big this and too-big that, maybe they shouldn't be shopping. Maybe, they should just go to Toys R Us and buy little doll clothes to put on her little doll body so she can bake a cake in her dollhouse oven.

Moving on.

Overheard: you know how in comic books, a character would laugh and the sound was, yuk yuk yuk.

I swear, I heard an actual laugh that sounded like that. Except it was closer to hyauk hyauk HYAAUUUK, with a shrug of the shoulders for each HYAAUUK.

Overheard: a cover of November Rain by a lady singer where she raps in the middle of it. It was weird. Though not as weird as my own anti-rhythm version of just about any song that was ever written in the history of the world.

This Behavior's Not Unique

You guys, March flew by and I didn't even realize that this blog turned a year old last month.

What I learned, a year later, is that everything has chains. Absolutely nothing's changed.

Just kidding.

I just wanted to drop some song lyrics on all of you. Plus, today, one of the local radio stations, 99.9 KISW, is paying tribute to Kurt Cobain and Layne Staley by playing Seattle music from the '90s. So it's been Sickman and I Don't Know Anything and Lithium and Slaves and Bulldozers and Corduroy all day.

That song. I've always visualized myself getting so, so enraged that I'd start borrowing lines from Corduroy. Picture this, me, finger-pointing, breaking and kicking houseware while saying, I don't want to take what you can give! I would rather starve than eat your bread! Blahblah... I don't want to be held in your debt. I'll pay it off in blood... More throwing and kicking.

Just to be clear, in that little vision, I am also wearing a scarf around my head and movie star sunglasses.

Speaking of being enraged, I am absolutely hooked on HBO's Mildred Pierce. I've only just seen bits of Joan Crawford's version so the miniseries is still new to me. That Veda! If that Little Miss Bitchface was a real person, she would make a compelling argument against having children.

Going back to April 5th, I love this old video of Alice in Chains, when they were young and looked happy:

Shopping (Mis)guide: Spring 2011 Edition

Hello, my footsies! I mean tootsies. Spring has started and that means our closets need an overhaul. And by overhaul I mean I need a carpenter to reattach a few rickety pieces. Just kidding. What I meant to say was, now is the time to start putting some winter clothes away and bringing out, or buying, warm-weather stuff.

Have you heard? Flared pants are back. In a way this is good. Our eyes need a rest from those damned skinny jeans and the people who insist on wearing them even if... hey! You! Yes, you! Everyone can see you're wearing a pair two sizes too small. There's no shame in going up a size!

So, where were we? Ah, yes. Flared pants. I suppose the secret here is finding a pair that is flared enough on top so that the narrow hem is more obvious.

Oh, what?

Sorry, my mistake. The hem is the one that's flared, not the crotch and thighs.

Shit. What am I going to do with this pair I just bought at oppositesonly.com?




Next on the list are color-block pieces. This, I like.

Who am I kidding? I don't like color at all. Up until I started working at a place where white and black clothing are strongly suggested, I never realized how many black pieces I had. And I'm sure I'm not alone when I say bright colors scare me. And anything resembling the color of a Stabilo Boss Highlighter? SCARY.

Trench coats? Must-have. Spy to wear trench coat? Even more of a must-have.



This is not a joke. I do actually want a trench coat. Just the classic khaki trench with maybe, muted/matte gold or bronze buttons, nothing too fancy or hardware-heavy, and definitely no flashy or oversized buttons. I don't need any leather-detailed ones or ruffled hems or quilted sleeves. Just a trench.

Here's an obvious one. Sandals. I swear, I am going to push sandal-season all the way into October. I don't care. I'm so ready for higher temperatures. The key to making your sandals look current is to find the most creative pair you can. For instance, you might choose one with a mix of clear and leather straps. Or, multi-colored ones. You know the one where there's a strap for your big toe?


Photo: Shoebunny


Forget that, get one where the strap is on an unexpected toe. Something like this:




And there you have it my darlings! Have fun shopping! XOXO

Get Outta My Way

Shoe update. The consensus is that the shoe I wrote about is the shoe. Goodbye, toes. I shall miss you. BTW, should anyone look under the table where I am typing, you'll see me wearing those shoes right now, doing my best to get my foot molded into it.



I wasted who knows how many minutes earlier today, looking for my glasses. I wish objects like that had some sort of device that made a sound when you prompt it too. I also wish I didn't need them. I mean, who needs to see people's facial expressions anyway? Or, bus numbers? Or, pedestrians? Or, the girl across the street wearing Uggs?

Can you tell, this entry has no theme? So I might as well be as random as random can be.

Watched Truffaut's Day for Night on dvd, as recommended by my best friend. So funny! That scene where Severine's drunk ass couldn't find the door and she kept opening the cupboard instead! And wow, a young Jacqueline Bisset - gorgeous.

How do you feel about the oxford comma, or, the serial comma? To be honest with you, I've forgotten about it. These days, I go by what sounds right when I say it in my head.

I had a dream the other night. I was in a packed arena, Aerosmith was about to start their concert. Suddenly, everyone was being ushered out of the building. Rumor has it the venue was way, way overbooked. They told some of us to head one way, and the rest, another way. The group I'm with, we were led into some broken down, open-air space where Aerosmith was playing... on the stereo! And from that space we could see the bright lights from the arena and the actual band playing. Oh, man, I think I've been watching too much American Idol.

Don't tell anyone, but Kylie Minogue's Get Outta My Way is making me get my inner disco on. I'm worried that I might find myself in a crowded area and instead of saying excuse me to get through, I'll start screaming, get outta my way, zombies! And then I'll do her dance moves and segue into I was born this we-hey. I WAS BORN THIS WAY, hallelooooo!



And finally, I don't know what to say, really, other than you are in my thoughts, Japan.

Shoe Woes

Ever had a clothing item or a shoe that was too big/ too tight/ too worn out but that you liked so much you kept wearing it? I just received the shoes me and my fellow bridesmaids ordered for my cousin's wedding and I am telling you, girl, is footbinding still being practiced? Because, that is the only way I can get this shoe to work. I knowingly ordered a half size smaller because my actual size was not available and I thought, half a size shouldn't be too tight, right? WRONG.

I mean, I probably need to cut salt out of my diet 2 weeks prior. Or, cut off my toes. Or, cut a hole in the shoe for more space. Or, paint the shoe on my naked foot.

Or, what? Order another shoe? I'm no quitter. Leave me alone.

Yeah. All right maybe this just isn't the shoe for us. Aside from the fit, the height of the heel is just, wow - the suffering. Maybe the other girls feel the same... the same pain on their feet, the same numbing, vise-like grip on the tips of their toes. Please.

Also, this song is stuck in my head:

Starring: BFF

I have a stiff neck. I'd just like to start with that. Just in case I stop typing in mid-sentence you know what to blame it on.

Photo Source: Zoozoom

My best friend had her big acting break recently. And this is a big shout out to her and the art of acting! Or the love of the craft of the art for the sake of art for the craft of love for the sake of.

We Skyped like giggly high school girls shortly after her shoot. She absolutely deserves that break. She is currently preparing for a lesbian role which might explain her sudden bursts into, look at Katy Perry's cleavage or, ZOMG Emily Blunt!!! The role, however does not explain why I usually overhear her reverting into infant-talk when she bamboozles her sister to do her bidding... a gwass of water pwease. But like I said, she's been juggling her passion and her need to make a living for several years now and things are looking up.

Acting though, isn't exclusive to actors. How many times have we acted/ lied to conceal the truth. I mean I try not to, but it's hard to tell someone who's excited about their newly-purchased, orthopedic-looking flip flops that those things are hideous. Instead I might say, they look comfy. Or, if the burning ball of rage is trying to escape from the pit of your stomach, and now is not the time and place for an explosion of volcanic proportions, then you keep it in and compose your face, right? Or is that bad? Surely it is common courtesy to keep your shit to yourself until a more suitable time. Unless of course you are literally not yet toilet-trained, in which case, go for it.

By the way. A bunch of roofing guys are working on a roof several roofs away from our house. Are they nuts?! It's below freezing and there's still a sprinkling of snow/ice everywhere.

Oh no no. Wait a minute. Sorry it was just a morning production of the Fiddler on the Roof by a new acting group, Roof Cabaret of Seattle (now showing at a rooftop near you). Oh, whoa okay, they're now singing If I were a Rich Man. Hey! Hey, Tevye! Bravo!

Back to acting. So, what I

Tszuj It Up, Sweetums!

Hello, Sweetums! Yup, that's what Shawn of QVC said to one of the callers on Live with Isaac Mizrahi the other week. QVC-speak is so amusing. I love when they say stuff like, you can jshooshj up your look with a few zebra-stripe highlights on your hair or by wearing scarves made entirely out of pompoms. Or wait, is it spelled, jooj? Tszuj? Jueje? Zjoeurg? George? Jujubee?

Or how about celeb blogs? You know how a reality star's assistant would greet their employer's blog readers with a, hey dolls. Or, hi, my loves. Or, hey lovelies. What should I call the five people who happened upon my shitstain of a blog?





What? I was waiting for someone to contradict me and say, don't be silly, this is no shitstain. No one? Anyone? Fine! I shall now address you as my darling, pooper scoopers!

Moving on, I finally made a visit to my local cleaners' for a long-delayed alteration on a jacket. I am aware that having to take in the shoulders is super tricky business so I crossed my fingers and hoped for the best. The kind lady had me up on a platform as she hesistantly pinched and pinned fabric. After a while she looked at me with a smile and said, umm... big everywhere. Go back to store for smaller size?

After that, she accidentally stuck herself with a giant pin and screamed. I gasped and said, I'll kiss it to make it better after which I drank her blood but Lestat came in and stopped me.

Oh wait, that was from Interview with the Vampire. Sorry, sorry. I was confused.

One week later, I picked up my jacket and like the lady told me before I left, they tried their best (woohoo Bon Ton Cleaners). It looked great! I wore it to work the following day. When I entered my work place one of my co-workers said, you look good. But the other co-worker glared at her. And then she shrugged her shoulders and said, what? She does!

Oh, hold on. That was The Devil Wears Prada. Yup. Okay. Bye.



Photo: Dipity

What's For Lunch?

OMG. Don't judge but this is what I had for lunch. I fried up one of the hamburger patties I made and froze last week. Then, I made gravy out of a can of cream of mushroom soup except it was low sodium so I high sodium-ed it with a tiny bit of beef broth and then added some fat with a little bit of half and half. And yes, there's more. I ate it with rice. And yeah, so what if I ate it all with a SPOON? Obviously a spoon was called for because how was I going to eat all that "gravy" with any other utensil? Right?

Now I do want to be healthy which is why I did the Crunch Gym's Ass N' Abs workout a few hours later. I like those Crunch Gym peeps. Except they keep emphasizing which location they're at even if I would see some who were supposedly from the San Francisco gym at the New York gym. The Ass N' Abs trainer, Michelle Opperman, kind of looks like Dina from the Real Housewives of New Jersey. And I don't even know how I made that association because I have never seen an episode of that show, haha. Hahahaha. Ha haaaa.

The only problem was I kept thinking about whether I should toast the bread in a pan for the post-workout sandwich I was going to eat or if I should just use the toaster.

And here's another thing about following these workout videos in the privacy of your home - you can skip the parts you don't like. I will come clean and say any video that requires push-ups will most likely earn a fast forward from me. I'll do squats and crunches and the hundred and the Arnold, etc, etc. But, I mean, this is kind of weird but I always imagine that my forearms will give under the weight of my body and they'll fold over the wrong way like that bit from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets where Harry gets jelly arms. Ayyyy. Just thinking about it gives me the shivers.

I still remember how in college, we were required to take P.E. And that one day, after a horrible class that forced us to get our body fat measured with calipers, I had to come face to face with my real body type - fake skinny. Oh all right maybe just fake normal. And by fake I mean fake. I mean, even those calipers were pretty shocked at the amout of fat my body concealed.

I would really like to think that my body fat percentage has decreased.




Yup. that was the end of that sentence. See ya!

XOXO

Who Are You Wearing (Text Me)?

Yesterday afternoon, I parked my buttocks at a spot where I could use my laptop and have full view of the TV. E! was doing red carpet coverage for the 2011 SAG Awards and aside from tweets from designers' PR people, it really was the quickest way to find out who was wearing what while actually seeing the person wearing it. So there I was searching on the internet, looking for images all the while typing a short article about whose gown looked lovely and which look was gorgeous and deciding which actress gets the adjective stunning. I mean I'll only use stunning once in the article, right?

Aay. I'm never finishing this story. Okay, okay, so there I was, with no other option but to listen to Giuliana Rancid. I mean Rancic. Well! There goes New Year's resolution number five: no more making fun of people and their names.


(What? I was in a hurry. This is the best I could draw at the moment. Leave me alone.)

OMG. The Fug Girls were spot on. It was hard to watch. I was torn between hitting mute or blindfolding myself. All right, maybe it wasn't that bad and obviously I know nothing about interviewing people, just ask the museum curator I chatted with for an article years ago. Oh, what? He doesn't remember? He remembers only silence? Yeah. He doesn't remember.

The interviews were just uncomfortable to watch. Does she want to be their friend or does she want to do an interview? When she told more than one actor to text her? Squirm. Or when she started off with, I love twitter to James Franco? Ummmm... And when she lay prone at Christian Bale's feet going, Master, what dost thou desire?

Okay. That didn't happen. But this happened:

G: How did you get here so fast?
Jesse Eisenberg: On a plane.

OH SSSSNAP!

Something Evil Lurking in the Dark

It was a full moon the other night. The sight of it from my bedroom window as I came up the stairs creeped me out a little. Needless to say, scary images and scenarios started to leak into my brain and I began to scare myself. And I don't mean I looked in the mirror and screamed at a reflection of my crazy hair.

I was making myself something to eat when the phone rang and stopped. In mid-ring. And I almost didn't want to look at it because the little screen might suddenly say, Line in Use, like it does if someone happens to answer the upstairs phone. Except, no one else was home. So, I just concentrated on my food and tried to banish the thought.

I had the lights on, TV on and guess what I see on the screen? This movie on HBO with Melissa George and Oded Fehr and the creepy-face lady who played the cat mom on Sleepwalkers! That actress is scary. She also played the cobwebbed granny on Silent Hill and Morgana on The Sorcerer's Apprentice.... What? Oh. I didn't actually watch that movie, excuse you.





Anyway, it seemed like I momentarily regressed into my early years where there was so much material to scare children with, like white ladies and malignant elves and statues that come to life and look at the address on your school ID and visit you at home. And the baby-eating monster perched on a rooftop and devil dogs and top-half only winged women and the opening bars of Michael Jackson's Thriller. And the abandoned house on the street you grew up in and your classmate's mother with the Bride of Frankenstein hair and AYEEEH!! There it is again!!!

Oh wait, no. That was just my hair in the mirror.

Eyes, Ears, Voice, Loud

More encounters with graduates from the School of Speaking with an Audience. This guy with long red hair, wearing a leather jacket with patches, gets on the bus and starts chatting up this bearded guy and I promise you, I could hear them very well even through the music playing in my ears.

As an aside, I used to just read or stare out the window when on the bus. However, I have successfully shaken off my aversion to headphones or earbuds.

As an aside to that aside, my thing against head/ear contraptions came about because of my old job where I wore a headset for years, including when I took showers and went shopping. Just kidding. But yeah, I thought my right ear was starting to go a little bit deaf.

So this guy, I could hear him talking about video games blah blah blah. And the other guy says something about Magic blah blah. And then Bearded Guy lets slip that he's only 21 and never gets carded. And to this, Long Hair says, I always get carded. Maybe it's because I don't have facial hair. And to that, Bearded Guy politely replied, uh, yeah I can see why they would card you.

Yeah. Whatever. What he lacked in facial hair he made up for in missing teeth! Come on!

Not only was I annoyed then at having to hear their loud voices while on the bus, Now I am still annoyed because I still remember what they were talking about!





Oh, have you ever had that tired feeling in your eyes? You know the one where one eyelid is involuntarily twitching and you read something and it registers as a completely different word or phrase in your brain?

So, on the road the other day I see this sign at a sports store and I thought it read: Congratulations to the Tittiest... I beg your pardon. The what?!? Are they rewarding some girl because she has the most tits?!?

Turns out the sign said titleist and not tittiest. It's a little bit like when it's so cold and your fingers are freezing and you can't type a proper last paragrapf to yourrr blogj wentry wut iz happehningnggg


Photo: Listicles