Welcome

I just wanted to say hello to everyone who is reading my blog! I have so many posts in the works, and am moving to Padova, Italy next week, to begin my next adventure. My move will bring many stories, photos, much fashion inspiration and love, and some much needed free time to blog about the comedic disaster that has been my life, lately. So, stay tuned.

Starting this blog really is like showing your work for the first time...you hope people are looking, observing and reacting. If you are reading, please say a quick hello to let me know you are out there.

I Adore

I just ordered this dress (aptly named I Adore dress) by Rose from LaGarconne. Needless to say, I love this dress. I have always been a fan of dresses that appear simple from the front and have an element of surprise from the back.



This dress is, to me, perfection. If I were to design the perfect dress, this is what it would look like. The dress comes from a new line, Rose, designed by two stylists out of LA. Saks and Revolve both carry the line, and I am surprised it has not been more coveted (you can find all of the pieces on sale at both sites). I like the moody, romantic style of the line, as well as its simplicity.

I picked up another great piece from their line, a whisper-thin tee shirt with the following words written in cursive along the bottom: "he offered her the world, she said she had her own." I couldn't have said it better myself.

5 English language problems that may drive me to insanity

1. Irregardless. FYI, this is not a word. I repeat, it is not a word. And it is definitely not a word that makes you sound smart.

When you add "less" as a suffix, you are already creating the opposite of the word.

So, "Regard" + "Less" means without regard.

When you add "ir" to a word, you are creating another opposite.

So irregardless is NOT A WORD! And if it was a word, it would be a double negative word that meant "regarding!"

As an illustration:

motionless...meaning, without motion. Would you say "unmotionless?"

Or, senseless...nonsenseless?

Help a neurotic sister out, please, just say regardless, especially when you are trying to make a point and sound fancy doing so.

2. Chocolate moose. I reserve the right to be overly picky when it comes to the spelling of my favorite food. It's mousse, people, not moose. Likewise, when you are trying to have a rendezvous at a hotel room, you might want to direct your paramour to "Suite XYZ," not "Sweet XYZ."

3. I feel badly. Oh really? So you are bad at feeling? Did your fingertips wear off? Have you lost your ability to experience emotion? If you have answered no to these questions, then you just feel bad. Not badly.

4. Anything said with a midwestern accent. A roof is not a ruf. Milk is not mehlk. And when you always sound like a poor imitation of Steve Urkel, there is a good chance your accent is grating on someone's last nerve.

5. Corporate-isms. Just say what you really mean, and spare me the jargon.

• Get your ducks in a row = Get your sh*# together


• Dot your "i"s and cross your "t"s = Proofread before sending your typo-laden emails to the whole firm


• Carry the ball = Stop trying to get everyone else to do your work


• This is your baby = I want you to feel like the intern-level work (i.e., making copies) you're doing is important, so I am equating it to something precious and life-changing, like a BABY.


• Dynamic, fast-paced environment = You will work with stressed-out, mean, miserable people and have to suck it up


• Team work = Pick up the slack for your lesser-abled co-workers, who probably have a better title and bigger pay check

Give me, give me, give me

As a holiday gift to myself, I am pretend-buying these J. Dauphin leather leggings, which I am in loooove with, to wear with all of my hippie-ish tops and dresses. (Available at Amelie Boutique and La Garconne)


In my pretend world, I am wearing my extensive wardrobe of Iben Hoej tops and dresses with said pants. Welcome Hunters has a limited selection of Iben Hoej items, but for the full idea of the line's gloriousness, check out the website.

Humanoid

Blame it on a childhood of watching Small Wonder, but I have always had an affinity for robots. Likewise, being a lawyer, I have always suspected that many of my colleagues are, in fact, evil robots, programmed to destroy the Earth, one file at a time.

It is no coincidence, then, that when you google the name of one of my favorite clothing lines, Humanoid, most of the resulting hits relate to robots. And I think, in some way, they have tried to create a uniform for humans. And uniforms come pretty darn close to making us robots, no? Okay, enough with the robots. Humanoid's pieces are timeless, seasonless and can be mixed and matched in endless combinations, from season to season. The Dutch line was sold at one of my favorite stores in Chicago, Hejfina, but is now available online at Revolve and other boutiques. They have perfectly captured the essence of Dutch style - simple, effortlessly put-together, but casual. It is safe to say that every season, I want everything they make.

Life, v.1.0

I think we all have a picture of how our life will be. I call this my version 1.0 of life. In this version, I grow up, move out of my awkward gangly phase into a gorgeous woman, have a successful career, meet a sweet man, get married, have many babies, grow old gracefully, spoil many grand-children and hold hands with previously mentioned sweet man on the porch of our home until we die. (Sorry for the abrupt ending)

Version 1.0 definitely hit a few snags, which I am sure I will discuss later. Overall, though, 1.0 was progressing fairly well. I could check off growing up, I could check off gangly, because I covered my string-bean limbs with a nice layer of womanly fat. Career was in progress, but at least I had finished grad school (twice!), and married a sweet man.

And then, like any beta version, 1.0 came to a crashing halt. Total meltdown, if you will. Sweet man turned out to be a sociopath (in the professional opinion of two experts). I lost my womanly fat and turned back into a string-bean. And I mentally checked out of my career to lick my wounds. S (Sweet man, Sociopath and his first initial) and I divorced, and suddenly 1.0 was kicked to the curb.

I don't want to get all sentimental about what 2.0 looks like, not yet anyway. It is in the works, and is a much more flexible program than 1.0 (i.e., it has no discernible beginning, middle or end). But 1.0 is part of my hardware. Even though I no longer operate in that version of my life, I still have flashes of it every now and then, and I still feel a sense of loss, especially in regard to some parts of 1.0, mainly the babies and the porch. So if I refer to v. 1.0, you now know what I mean....if you are still with me and not sick of my tech analogies.

Give me, give me, give me...

Loeffler Randall pencil skirt ($147.50 at Shopbop) I really want this. I am obsessed with pencil skirts and love how this style mixes the proper style of a pencil skirt with the rock n' roll detail of the studs.

J Crew Peacock Skirt - $99 (sale)

Similarly, I love the print on this - although, I wonder, is it too holiday-ish? I'm not sure I care.

Facebook-a-phobia

I once dated someone who told me that my fear of technology was my "least attractive trait." Needless to say, did not date much longer after that conversation. Admittedly, though, my technophobia can take on a life of its own. And I am not sure how it happened. We were one of the first families I knew to have a computer (yeah, Tandy!), and I was obsessed with playing Oregon Trail during every free moment I had. I was one of the first people I knew to join AOL and "chat" real-time with my new internet friends, even though messenger pigeons could have delivered my teenage musings more quickly than my dial-up internet.

Some time after that, though, things went quickly downhill. I resisted owning a cell phone until 2001 (the horror!). And from then on, my cell phone has quasi-resembled a walkie-talkie, straight out of MASH. I think of myself as a quirky 80 year living in the 50s old trapped in a 30 year old body in the year 2008. Most people who know me think of me as anti-social.

My forward-thinking sister forced me to join Facebook, as most of her business school friends only existed via Facebook. For a while it was benign fun, and I was only a member because my brother and sisters tagged me in photos. Then, slowly, people began to emerge from the shadows of Facebook. Old college friend...click, Friends! Lawschool acquaintance...click, Friends! Hooray, I had about 25 Friends, not bad for a modern-day hermit.

Lately, though, things have taken a turn for the worse and I may need to de-Friend my entire network. There were only 65 people in my high school class, and now they all want to be Friends? We weren't even friends in high school! And is ignoring a "Friend" the new way to be a Mean Girl? And what about all the guys that went to the all-guys high school? How am I supposed to remember their last names? They want to be Friends? I am beyond perplexed by the boundary crossing of Facebook, so much so, that it is my new phobia. I log on in fear of who wants to be my next Friend.

And although I do not consider myself to be an overly jealous person, Facebook brings out all of the deadly sins. I find myself jealous beyond belief - So and So has three babies? Blabbity-Blah has travelled the world? Yickity-yack has boobs? Whoserwhatsit is married to that hot guy? The only thing I have is a picture of myself with an overly shiny, sweaty-looking Nicholas Cage. Oh, and Nick is wax. And I look like I need a good wax. Is there a way to display my shoe collection on Facebook? Or virtually hide under a Facebook rock for a while?

Adventures in My Invisible Suit, Part 1

Riding the bus back to my apartment, pretending to concentrate on the crossword puzzle, but actually staring out the window wondering why I ever went to law school (the bus passed by my school, but all I saw was a big vortex, sucking money out of my wallet).

While pseudo-concentrating, I found myself fixating on the smallest and most orange/tan ankles I had seen north of the Mason-Dixon line. Like the stealth ogler I am, I followed the ankles, up to the capri-pant laden knee, up to the North Face fleece jacket and settled on to the face of...oh crap, none other than the new wife of an old fling, Mr. Serious. Mr. Serious and I go way back, well, pre-2000, and ours was a tortured fling. A fling that I know my fellow bus passenger knows about, since friends have suggested to her that Mr. Serious and I were soul mates and in love, even on her very own wedding day! Right. (As a side note, I am sure Holden is my only soul mate, take that Mr. Serious! To you too Mrs. Serious!)

Gaze immediately averts anywhere else, I am back to the crossword puzzle, furrowing the brows for good measure, even chewing on the end of the pen, hell, I am SOLVING this puzzle...and I can feel her staring at me. Minutes pass by, she is looking and then intentionally not looking! Say what? I AM IGNORING YOU, NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND!!

I don’t know about you, but I am quite content being the Ignorer. I almost think I invented that role. My selective gaze and hearing are unparalleled, particularly when in areas with a known density of law school classmates.

Being the Ignored, however? That is not the way it works. I was always nice to her, even explained my and others’ jokes to her in one sentence or less. I nodded approvingly at the jeans she got on sale for $17 at Bloomingdales, rather than telling her why they were still left on the sale rack on the last day of the sale! And now, I am Ignored. I guess being the last known person to make out with your husband lands me in my invisible suit for the rest of the ride home.

Whimsical, Magical Moments

Another post-coital trip to the gynecologist...

Dr:  So, yep, it looks like another UTI...who did it this time?

Me:  Noam.

Dr:  Gnomes? Did you just say Gnomes gave you a urinary tract infection?

Me:  No, not gnomes, Noam.

Dr:  Do I know him?

Me: What?

Dr:  You asked me if I know him?

Me:  No. I said Noam, not do you know him.   (Upon a second of reflection), Hell, I barely know him.

Good-bye Life, v.1.0

I am selling my wedding dress today. I held the lame delusion that the idea of banking some much-needed money from the sale would distract me from the sadness of selling the dress. Yeah, not so much. In fact, the whole process of taking the dress out of the bag, photographing it, etc. has been so much harder than I anticipated. It seems like whenever I think I am over “my big mistake” something else comes up and makes me go back to square one in my recovery process.

There were times when I thought the dress would be given to my daughters, maybe made into their wedding veils. Then there were times I thought it would make lovely, if not a little scratchy, toilet paper. I thought about setting it on fire while belting out “I will survive,” squirting fake ketchup blood all over it and mailing it to S, and in my weakest moments I thought maybe I could just keep it in the back of my closet and forget about it. That last idea was definitely the worst. I think my dad was right when he told me that I needed to cut S out of my life and rid myself of him and all that reminds me of him. Obviously, my wedding dress not only reminds me of S, but of a life I won’t have...and one that I truly believed I was going to have. It can only make me wonder what could have been, what should have been and make me feel like I have somehow come up short in all those areas.

Well, my friends, I do not need an overpriced (although boob-enhancing!) reminder of those things, that’s what my obsessive-compulsive brain is for!