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:
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Thursday, June 9, 2011
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
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
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
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.)
"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.)
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
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
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
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
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:
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:
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