House of Marni Xtravaganza Escandalo

Why do I never learn? I once underestimated the Seattle and E-bay response to designer collaborations, and paid dearly for it. And I did it again. I got in line for Marni at H&M at say, 7:20 this morning. By then the time slot I got for the 15-minute shopping allotment was for 8:45, which meant that two other groups will have shopped before my group. And I have to say, I felt a twinge of pain as the merchandise began to disappear before my eyes, and the eyes of my fellow 8:45 peeps.

I did not get that stupid sequined collar or those annoying earrings that were already embedded in my brain. I did not get any of the brocade tops or pants which I would not wear anyway. But, I did get two bracelets. I almost got a striped men's sweater, before the voice of reason, aka, the voice of my bank account said, striped sweater, again? To join the other striped sweaters in your closet? So they can have a stripe party and drink stripe cocktails? And make this new one the queen of stripes I also, almost got those flat black sandals but in a size smaller than my actual size. I put it down when I heard the voice of Shangela LaQuifa Wadley saying cliffhanger! Reverse Cliffhanger alert!



So yes. Yes. I stood in line, my toes almost froze, my coffee turned lukewarm, and I needed to pee, all for two bracelets! Thankfully, they were fabulous.

Not so fabulous? All that interesting behavior that waiting in line for a designer collab brings out in people. Take, The Fashion Insider. There she waits, with her fellow Fashion Insider friends, proselytizing on the wisdom of buying everything you can get your hands on. After all, the prices are mere shillings compared to clothes from the designer's main line. Yes, shillings are still the preferred currency in H&M and such places. She will also whip out her smart phone and pull up pictures of the Prada handbag she has on her wish list. Also on her wish list? New conditioner for her thirsty, crunchy hair ends. Just kidding (but not really).

And then we have the Busy Working Woman. Busy, yet still somewhat cares about fashion. Look at her, giving cellulite realness in her leggings and puffy jacket. I don't really care. But I want to care. I do care. No, not really. I'm busy. Not that busy to wake up at 5am and wait in line. But no, I have better things to do.

Last, but not least, we have the most dangerous kind. The E-bay gang with their baggy jeans and hefty biceps. See them flex their muscles. They're warming up now. Third in line after the super fans. They know the drill by heart -- wear a hat while waiting outside, no more than 2 per item, stand by the gate as sales associates hand merch back into the floor from the fitting rooms or cash registers.

There you have it. Another H&M fail for me. Another lesson to be learned. Namely: Get in line before the E-bay gang. Flex your muscles. Pee before waiting. Don't hit snooze on your alarm clock more than twice. Eat breakfast. Cellulite Realness is a no-no unless you're Jiggly Caliente. And finally, skip everything else except hair conditioner!

Sad Face

I'm not sure what brought it on, but I was feeling down the other day. I mean, is there anything more sad than finally giving in to a two-day brownie craving, only to realize there aren't enough eggs in the fridge? Like my co-worker said, the day after a crying jag triggered by Nacho Fries, me crazy... WHAaaat?

I think it's this winter business. Isn't there always a point where you're so tired of getting dressed in layers, of having your skin break out in angry red patches (good job, lotion, you're dead in my book, remember that), of having to arrange your comforter so that no edge is open to chilly air? One moment you're changing clothes, trying to un-Isadora Duncan your scarf from your neck, then it's my double chin is holding me back, then it's FML!

So, to take a page from the music-loving Mind Full Eyes Peeled, here's my very own Feel-Depressed playlist, designed to put a chill in your chest and a knife in your gut. Enjoy. I hope you'll feel as miserable as I do.

Skinny Love - Bon Iver (how appropriate)



I'm in Here - Sia

Dirt - Alice in Chains

I Got Shit - Pearl Jam



I Saw You Walk Away - Badly Drawn Boy

Bronte - Gotye

The Blower's Daughter (and pretty much all of 'O')- Damien Rice

So Low - Self

Simple Math - Manchester Orchestra

Black Winged Bird - The Cake Sale

New Year New Shoes Cadillac

Ignore the title. This song with Cadillac in the lyrics was in my mind. But I do mean the New Year part. And all right, the new shoes too.

You may notice that I changed my profile picture. There's nothing like being surrounded by jewels. Because when I die, old, hopefully, and crusty (I hope not), I wish to be be hugged by cold jewelry. Bwahahahaha. Just kidding. The worms will probably be better for warmth. And the soil, too.

I meant to write here sooner. But I was, and still am, held hostage by awards season. I normally spend a lot of hours in front of the computer, writing part time. But this month, every time I think, oh, time for a break! There seems to be another event to write about. Just take the Golden Globes, for instance. For every gown I made time for, there were two more gowns I couldn't even write about. Like her:


Photo Credit: Mrs. Grapevine

What a sunny color! Paula Patton has such a lovely face. I wish she would stop posing as if she was gasping for air.

Photo Credit: So Feminine UK

Oh, hello, Laura Linney! One night I might dream of her, in her lace sheath dress, introducing Downton Abbey. Except she would be referring to Donkey Alley. And I am the kitchen maid serving in the household of Lady Graham, heiress to pie crusts and teddy bear cookie cutters.

Photo Credit: Grunge Report

Um, hi. I'd like to introduce myself as your next wife. Can we get rid of her, now? Just kidding (but not really).

Photo Credit: Nollywood Gossip

Ozzie. Ozzieozzieozzie. OZZIE?!?!

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.