Thursday, October 31, 2013

Epiphanies in the Ladies Room


A few nights ago Jonathan and I decided to be cultured and ventured to Venice to see a one man show or  "Pub Play" at The Del Monte Speakeasy (conveniently for this story, the Del Monte is situated beneath the oldest bar in Los Angeles). It was cold and rainy that night, which is a rarity in SoCal, so the dimly lit underground bar swallowed us right up. We sipped our Old Fashions in the windowless room under a low wood ceiling, red lights glowing through fringed lamp shades, mustachioed bartenders chipping ice. The performance (Connor McPherson's St. Nicholas) was amazing...brought me to tears, but that's not the point of the story. The point of the story is the epiphany I had in the pisser.

I made my way to the ladies room at intermission. I pushed open the heavy wooden door expecting white or yellowish walls, bluish buzzing lights, maybe a glop of pinkish soap on the sink..ya know, the usual. Instead I was welcomed by deep orange wallpaper with gardenias outlined in gold. The light was dim, the mirror designated for women to touch themselves up (separate from the sink) floated above a dark, old wooden ledge. A plump velvet chair sat firmly on the floor covered in patterned tiles, petite square and octagonal, clearly still there from some better time. I was shocked at how comfortable I felt in a room meant mainly for defecating and gossiping.

It was then I gazed over to the stalls, one on either side of the entrance, and I saw a small vintage chandelier over each one. Basically I was going to feel like Elizabeth mofackin' Taylor while I took a pee pee. I had to laugh. "This is why I love vintage" I thought. Vintage begets a time when functional items were thoughtful, well-made and stylish. Seams were more tightly sewn, kitchen appliances were pearly blues and pinks, make-up compacts were decorated metal to be refilled, and bathrooms were stylish.

These days we are inundated with gobs of ugly plastic bullshit (to put it eloquently). What is now a "Made in China" fill-in-the-blank piece of plastic that is meant to be used (maybe twice), then lost or thrown out and repurchased was once made of metal or glass or wood and was beautiful and meant to last, so you wouldn't have to buy a new one.

"If I'm going to have toaster, it's going to be lovely to look at"
"If I'm going to buy a light under which I pee, it's going to be a chandelier"

Besides the booze, I think this is why Speakeasys are so popular right now. People want to remember a better time. With our everyday lives filled with plastic and convenience, folks are yearning to experience something thoughtful and well crafted. They don't care if it takes a bit longer. When I think of our future sons and daughters going to vintage pile sales only to pull out Forever 21 dresses and shirts it makes me cringe, which compels me to urge you to buy things that are well made. Or vintage.

And that sirs and ladies is my Thursday rant.

Coat: Vintage (Similar)
Belt: Vintage
Pants: Vintage Guess (Similar)
Boots: Rocket Dog (old, but here's something similar)
Hat: Gift


Thursday, October 24, 2013

Hustlin'


I'm back, and with me my totally natural poses I know you missed so much. Sorry I've been so off the radar. I miss you, I do. It's just that life lately can best be described using the genius lyrical stylings of Rick Ross: E'ry day I'm hustlin'. 

Since the move Jonathan and I have found ourselves pretty damn happy. Ready to bite off more than we can chew. Prepared for what the universe has in store for us. We gotta make dat money tho, so I've been SUPER preoccupied pouring myself into practices that allow me to bring home the bacon. Obsessing over my photography website, creating a pet photography website, making facebook pages for said services, shooting my face off, printing business cards, basically being a fucking business woman, don't make a big deal about it. Check it out the site here if you'd like! 

I've also had some luck selling vintage goodies on our Etsy store. This, I've found, at least pays for our thrifting addiction. 

I'm finding myself drawn towards feminine pieces lately. Without fail I come home from a thrift store or a pile sale, and I take out my goodies only to realize I've purchased 8 floral dresses. Like the one I'm wearing here. I think somehow watching Fried Green Tomatoes as a young girl permanently affected my taste in clothing. It also affected my feelings towards Kathy Bates. Which are positive ones. 
TOWANDA!!!
Sweater: 90s Anne Taylor (similar)
Shoes: Vintage Cole Haan

Monday, September 23, 2013

Side Boob: Taking a Closer Look.

I am happy about the increase in ginormous armholes in fashion lately. When it comes to revealing clothing, honestly I have never been comfortable in short shorts or push-up bras and low cut shirts. Ribcage? That I can do. 

Jonathan recently informed me of my apparent decreasing modesty over the past 2 years. I was both shocked and enthralled when he said this. I had no idea I was showing more skin lately. I have always considered myself a somewhat modest dresser. Never too much cleavage, never too much booty. He then clarified, 

"You've been showing less of this" 
(motioning to the midriff area)
"and more of this" 
(motioning to rib and side boob area)

I then informed him that low-rise jeans and hip bones are out, (thank God, cuz that's where I store my Thankgivings/mid-night snacks/grilled cheeses/fupa) and side boob is in (or out if we're speaking literally). 

It was fascinating to me though that ribs could be considered more riske than hip bones by anyone. They seem equally sexy in my mind, depending on what floats your boat. In further discussion I discovered what's more titalizing about revealed ribs is the fabric beneath our blouse's gaping arm holes: the lacy bra-lettes we dole out 17 bucks for at Urban Outfitters. I should clarify that I don't ever rock this look without a full bralette. I'm not total trash, you guys (sarcasm). 

"I can see your underwear (period)" he said blankly. 

As opposed to seeing straight-up skin on hipbones (and the occasional ass crack)? 

So, this brings to rise the age old question. Is less more? Is the idea of what's underneath more exciting than actually just seeing bare flesh? I don't necessarily think so, but I think the question is interesting enough to pontificate for a moment. 
Shall we? 

Jammin' the Boy Scouts of America pants with the side boob here. Somehow that's funny to me. 
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