Exposed Seams and Bold Color Schemes: Living Life on the Wedge

Top: So, Kohl's

The exposed seam trend has been big this season.  So when I spotted this baby tee on a Kohl's crawl at the beginning of the summer, I thought, yes.  Yet at twenty-something dollars, it seemed overpriced.  So I bided my time and recently snagged it for just four dollars.  There's something kind of '90s about it, don't you think? (A little too ironic, yet I really do think!)  

Here are some other bargains I scored, although only the chair art was as cheap as the tee.  The blouse was seven dollars, and the shoes were close to thirty.  I ordered all the wearables online; if you've been out and about in the brick and mortars, then you already know it's slim pickins'!

Top: New York & Company

Wall art: Michaels

Shoes: Sugar, Kohl's

And just because I'm not done playing yet, here's a digitally enhanced pic from my craft room:

There's yet another nod to the '90s here in the form of this melted Coke bottle sand art.  Who else has one of these haunting her house?!

Until next time, friends, aloha!

Filtered Pop and Photo Op: I Like Cold Beverages

Tee: Macy's

Sandals: Arizona Jeans, JCPenney

Skirt: Modcloth

Scrunchie: Macy's; Cream bangle: Mixit, JCPenney; Bag: Circus by Sam Edelman, Kohl's; Midnight Magic Necklace, Sunglasses: Betsey Johnson, Zulily; Love bangle: Boscov's

Skirt: Mossimo, Target

Flip flops: Sea Star, Brigantine

Bag: Circus by Sam Edelman: Kohl's

Tee: Kohl's

Jeans: City Streets, JCPenney

Tee: Kohl's; Sunglasses: Amazon; Shoes: Katy Perry Collection; May Berry Charm Necklace; Bag: Betsey Johnson, Modcloth 

When I was a kid, I thought that soft drinks got their name because the bubbles made them feel soft and airy as they made their way down your throat (so, the opposite of one of those half-chewed, pointy Doritos).  It was years before I realized that "soft" was a negative space term created to counter hard drinks like rum and tequila.  And that disappointed me, because it implied that soft didn't mean dreamy and delicious but weak, denoting the consolation prize for people who couldn't have or didn't want a "real" drink.  

So it's no wonder that I'd advertise my lifelong love of Coke products and Icees by parading these pop culture tees.  Not only are they cute and colorful, but they bring me back to the days when the most decadent drink I could down was one that was carbonated.  If this post had a theme song, then it'd be G. Love & Special Sauce's "Cold Beverages," that iconic '90s toe-tapper that pays equal tribute to martinis and root beer. 

I even wore my blink-and-you'll-miss-it Fanta tee to the beach -- and then ordered an orange Fanta!  

 

By the way, this was my first -- and so far only -- restaurant visit (albeit al fresco, not, ha ha, a Fresca) since before the pandemic.  Sometimes it's fun to leave my bubble.  Or to exchange one kind of bubble for another.  Or to bubble over with enthusiasm for, yes, bubbles.

Okay, I'll stop.

Suffice it to say that I look forward to my next outdoor soda.  As do the tropical creatures hanging out by my head.  

I wouldn't blame you one bit if you thought there was vodka in my cup after all. 

Stripe Hype: For Those Times When You Don't Want to Polka

Bag: Lily Bloom, JCPenney

Dress: Lula Roe

Bag: Sugar Thrillz, Dolls Kill

Skirt: Modcloth

Bag: Olivia Miller, Amazon

Shoes: Betsey Johnson, Macy's

Dress: Rock & Republic, Kohl's

Polka dot, that is.  Because even wearing such a slaphappy print, let alone doing its namesake dance, demands a nimble spirit.  Not so with stripes.  They bring to mind, not rollicking reels, but maps crisscrossed with equators and prime meridians as indelibly as gym class Fs on a report card.  Because globes, round though they may be, don't deign to serve volleyballs or don sweat-stained uniforms.  No, they sit still in the study, and when you're with them, you must sit still too.  Call it revenge of the nerds.  And not the slick kind in Silicon Valley, but those who putter in academia or even just eat macadamia nuts while writing Wikipedia entries.   

I think we can all agree that none of this makes any sense.  Especially because my black Betsey wedges are, however subtly, polka dotted.  But posts don't always have to dot their i's or drink their t's.  

They just have to have a good time and a cold Coca Cola.

But more on that (maybe) next time.  

If I Dreamed a Desert . . .

 If I Dreamed a Desert Barrette Brooch

Glamp Fire Girl Necklace

Rustic Rose Earrings

Top: Marshalls

Skirt: H&M

Shoes: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Bag: Apt. 9, Kohl's

Belt: Belt is Cool, Amazon

Red/orange striped bangle: Target

Mint bangle: Decree, JCPenney

Rainbow striped bangle: ZAD, Zulily

Red bangle: B Fabulous

Pink bangle: Don't Ask, Zulily

Orange Bangles: B Fabulous

 . . . then it would look like this:  

Bold, bright, and sunny.  And with a Coca Cola waterfall cascading just out of range.  (No, your eyes aren't deceiving you; there's no waterfall here.  Just think of it as a mirage).  As you know, I'm fascinated by deserts.  Well, by the way they look, anyway.  Not by the way they are or feel or weigh on your skin and soul (see above for my need for ready liquids.)  I think it all began with my parents' desert-themed bedroom.  This was in the early '80s, so we're talking dark and a little foreboding, not at all like the airy pastels of today's succulent-studded decor.  I had a sort of love-hate relationship with the bedspread and matching curtains (not the brown corduroy boyfriend pillow; I straight up hated that).  Even now I can see those brownish-green saguaros standing so stalwartly -- and, yes, a little menacingly -- against the backdrop of blistering sunset.

Thinking about my childhood makes me think about bedtimes and how I never had one.  My mom used to joke that "round here we stay up very, very, very, very late."  You know, like in the Counting Crows song (yes, we've now fast-forwarded to the '90s).  Which is funny because Adam Duritz was certainly singing about something more chilling than snubbing sleep to watch more Nick at Nite.  What's more, that song mentions the ocean, so there isn't a desert in sight.  Still, it has a desert kind of feel.

When I was looking for a song to sell this post, maybe I should've gone for "A Horse With No Name."  It too is a little creepy.  But at least it has a desert.  And a horse.

Anyway, I wanted this barrette brooch (technically, it's a barrette because it's a clip, but even I know it's probably way too much of a wide load to wear in one's hair) to be as memorable as that bedspread.  Although on the flip side of "love," instead of "hate," I'd rather have "makes you laugh so hard that limeade comes out of your nose."  The limeade thing happened to me yesterday, so it's fresh in my mind (and nostrils).  I teamed it (the barrette brooch, not the limeade) with more timid accessories to really let it shine.  Kind of like how you serve spicy meatballs with unseasoned rice and Brussels sprouts.  Not that I eat Brussels sprouts.  Or spicy meatballs.  Rice is okay; I like to think of it as the Coca Cola of starches. 

In case you're wondering, pasta is the root beer.

Just for the Taste of It: Diet Broke

Bag: Betsey Johnson, Amazon; Charm: Carole, J. C. Penney's

Disney, Target

Charming Charlie

Happy birthday, America.  I know you've been sick for awhile.  May I suggest a nice, refreshing Coca-Cola?  It's sweet and fizzy and will put pep in your step.  Once upon a time it was made from cocaine.  Maybe there's still some in there. 

To celebrate your big day, I'm breaking my quarantine.  A little.  I'm considering it quarantine jailbreak lite, a diet jailbreak, if you will.  I've been in my house since March 16 and have left only three times, just to pick up orders.  But my parents, who have themselves ventured very few places, asked the husband and me to come over for a socially distanced, outdoor BBQ for the Fourth of July.  They specified that it would just be the four of us, and that I didn't have to come if I didn't want to.  The thought of busting out made me uneasy.  Not necessarily because I thought I would catch corona from my parents or give it to them (although I realized that both were a possibility), but because I had a weird sense of pride about my unbroken quarantine streak.  I had everything I needed in the self-contained bubble of my cozy Dutch colonial, with groceries, books, and various fripperies arriving on the regular.  So was a holiday, even one with my parents, who are caution itself and with whom I'm very close, really a good reason to break this seal? 

In the end, I decided it was.  My parents are my people, after all, and I miss them.  So, armed with my mask and antibacterial gel (now again available from Bath and Body Works!), I'm braving the wilds of the other end of Atlantic County for the USA's b-day. 

Wherever you are and whatever you do, I wish you a happy Fourth of July.  Have fun and be safe. 

In other words, don't do cocaine. 

Book Report: The Christmas Cookie Club by Ann Pearlman

I was in Rite Aid the other day, stocking up on Christmas candy, when I wandered over to the paperback rack in search of something sweet for my brain.  (It bears mentioning that I'd already browsed and resisted a 10-piece Coca-Cola-themed Lip Smacker assortment and various Calgon bath and body gift sets.)  I picked up and rejected a couple of murder mysteries, not wanting something even the slightest bit dark.  Then I saw a book called The Christmas Cookie Club, the back cover of which promised laughter and heartache, trials and triumphs.  In other words, all your usual sentimentality wrapped up with a great big holiday bow.  This sounded just marvy to me. What better way to forget life's problems, after all, than to read about a bunch of fictitious characters' undoubtedly more serious problems?

But these problems, as it turned out, were just a little too serious.  So much so that I probably should've stuck with a nice glossy copy of InStyle.  Readers, this Christmas caper was grim.

I don't know about you, but I don't want to hear about stillborn babies and twentysomething men plummeting to their deaths in my seasonal stories.  Or, actually, ever.  I know these things happen - but I'd rather not know about them, much less within the gilded confines of supposedly fluffy fiction.  Although I appreciate the occasional tearjerker, the thing I crave most from a novel is a frothy escape.

Whew.  I unleashed more of my inner mean girl there than I meant to.  Thankfully, I got a ton of really excellent books for Christmas, so my next book report is sure to be sunnier. 

Movie Moment: X-Men: First Class

I've been watching a lot of movies lately.

The most recent was X-Men: First Class. I wasn't too keen on seeing it. It was the bf's pick, and while I enjoy the occasional Marvel movie adaptation, I'm more of a Spider-Man kind of girl. Nevertheless, I'd seen all of the other X-Men installments, so it was kind of interesting to find out how some of the mutants came to be who they are through the lens of this 1960s-era prequel. For example, the smoldering go-to-hell Mystique (in this version Jennifer Lawrence) was once a scared little girl hiding her blue scales and red hair. Beast (Nicholas Hoult) was a glasses-wearing nerd, and Magneto (Michael Fassbender) began on the side of the mutants before killing his mentor (a menacing Kevin Bacon) and crossing over to the dark side. All that and we find out how Xavier (James McAvoy) becomes wheelchair-bound, too. Despite the convoluted, somewhat drawn-out plot, these kernels of information provided the kind of human interest necessary to keep my interest in a movie barraged by explosions and guns. The 1960s fashions helped, too. At least I didn't fall asleep like I did during Transformers 2 at the IMAX a few years back. With Transformers 3 out in theaters, I may want to stock up on Coca Cola . . .

Book Report: Summer at Tiffany by Marjorie Hart

I recently finished reading Summer at Tiffany, a memoir by Marjorie Hart. In 1945, best friends Marjorie and Marty, a couple of rising seniors at the University of Iowa, board a train to New York City to enter the glamorous world of high-end retail. Beguiled by their sorority sisters' good fortune in securing posts at places like Macy's and Lord & Taylor's, they are certain that they too will be selling bathing suits, turbans, and Hawaiian print dresses and enjoying employee discounts in no time. But when the girls arrive in the city, they are rudely turned away at every department store. They are about to give up when Marty spots Tiffany's and brazenly leads the more reserved Marjorie across its threshold. To their delight and surprise, they are hired as pages owing to the war and the shortage of male help, making history as Tiffany's first ever female employees.

The book goes on to describe the girls' sales floor and off-duty adventures. There are (chaperoned) outings to nightclubs, celebrity sightings, and dates with servicemen, all set against the backdrop of winding-down World War II. They accomplish all of this on their shoestring budget of twenty dollars a week. Here's a breakdown of their monthly expenses:

"The Budget - Rent and Electricity - $65.00 a month.

Daily Budget

1. Two nickels for subway
2. Sandwich and drink at the Automat: 15 cents
3. Nestle's chocolate milk & toast (deli egg bread) - breakfast & dinner, 9 cents
4. Penny postcards - no 3-cent stamps
5. Weekly elevator operator's Christmas Fund - 25 cents

Select one for the week:

Oxydol laundry soap, Woodbury hand soap, bronze stocking stick, Pond's hand cream, Jergen's lotion, Dubarry nail polish, Kreml shampoo, Max Factor powder, Colgate toothpaste, Tangee lipstick, Coca-Cola, Lucky Strike cigarettes, Schrafft sundae, drink at Sardi's

Tickets: Staten Island Ferry (5 cents); Empire State Tower ($1.10); Lewissohn concerts (25 cents); Paramount Theatre; Radio City Music Hall

A girl can dream, can't she?" (40-41, Hart)

Shallow soul that I am, I found this budget to be the most interesting part of the book. Never having lived so frugally (or, for that matter, having embarked upon such an adventure), I was mesmerized by the need to choose between soap, lipstick, and Coca-Cola each week. I was also charmed by the old fashioned cosmetics, especially the stocking stick and Tangee lipstick.

I've always been an admirer of period stories and liked this one's overall primness and descriptions of 1940s clothes. Also, I found it odd that it was considered commonplace for two middle class girls to be attending college in 1945. Marjorie, a cellist, later became a professor and played in a symphony, and Marty majored in finance and eventually worked in a bank. (She also made all of her own clothes, a fact I found far more intriguing than the banking bit.)

Both girls were inspiring in their pluckiness. Yet, I couldn't help but feel that something was missing. I craved more details about what Marjorie was really thinking. About her boyfriend, her cello career, her life at school. To be fair, her thoughts do reveal a little more than her scrupulously cheerful letters to her parents -- but not much. She does mention that her Norwegian background taught her that it was weak to show her feelings. So, maybe that had something to do with it.

Still, it was a quaint story. I was especially impressed that Marjorie began writing it at age 69, working on it for the next ten years. Her manuscript was unexpectedly picked up by an editor at a writing conference. To think that a first-time author in her eighties could be discovered like that is uplifting.