Awesome Avian Necklace
Top: Free People
Camisole: Worthington, JCPenney
Jeans: JCPenney
Shoes: Betseyville, Macy's
Bag: Gifted
Belt: JCPenney
Terrific Tusks Necklace
Dress: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's
Top: JCPenney
Cardigan: So, Kohl's
Shoes: Carlos Santana, Macy's
Bag: Worthington, JCPenney
Electric Elephant Necklace
Sweater: Boscov's
Blouse: Marshalls
Jeans: Boscov's
Shoes: Parade of Shoes
Bag: Apt. 9, Kohl's
Scarf: JCPenney
Dainty Deer Necklace
Top: Kohl's
Skirt: Xhilaration, Target
Shoes: Alloy
Bag: Xhilaration, Target
Belt: Apt. 9, Kohl's
Sunglasses: Relic, Kohl's
Wild Rose Necklace
Blouse: City Streets, JCPenney
Camisole: So, Kohl's
Jeans: Vanilla Star, Target
Shoes: Ami Clubwear
Bag: Apt. 9, Kohl's
Jacket: Bisou Bisou, JCPenney
. . . not to be confused with Rold Gold. As in pretzels. Unless, of course, this week's hook is a promise to untwist the mystery that is fashion (it isn't). That having been said, I'll move on to the other defining element of this post's pieces, namely elephants.
I like to eat an elephant one bite at a time. (I also like white elephant gifts [although not white elephant parties] and referring to painfully obvious and obviously painful unspoken topics as elephants in the room.) Like most of us, I find that this sneak snack attack resolves most of life's seemingly insurmountable tasks, whether they be writing a book, finding a use for your 100-piece protractor collection, or unearthing a much-cherished (insert name of guilty pleasure artist) CD from your clutter-clogged trunk. My own personal self-help safari has most recently led me to tackle the mess that is my craft room. Truth be told, "craft room" is too lofty a label for the second bedroom that also houses the husband's clothes because our bedroom closet, as well as every other available surface, is claimed by my kudzu-like wardrobe. "Craft room" also suggests that I make most of my stuff at a designated work station instead of on the living room couch binge watching TV. Anyway, I considered snapping and posting a few "before" shots but quickly rejected that idea, having no wish to be outed on "Hoarders." Each weekend I persevere by beating another shelf or corner into submission, an endeavor that involves repackaging my stock, marveling at the occasional, hey-that-would-make-an-awesome-necklace find, and mostly wondering why the heck I ever thought I needed so much paint.
In other domestic news, earlier this week my check engine light came on. This had happened a few months ago, then stopped as mysteriously as it started. I tried not to panic, summoning the wisdom of "The Big Bang Theory" by telling myself to be more like Penny and less like Sheldon. (Hey, she drove that old Volkswagen for nearly seven seasons before it finally died and Leonard had to buy her a new one.) But such sitcom solace was not to be had, as images of fiery auto crashes exploded in my head Sheldon-style as I crept along the highway to the tune of honking. When I got home one white-knuckled hour later, I vowed to call a mechanic (okay, to ask the husband to call a mechanic) and get to the bottom of things once and for all. The talk was had, the phone number retrieved, and then . . . the light never came back on. The Sheldon in me was disappointed and even insisted that we still call the mechanic to get to the root of this insidious issue. But the Penny in me was relieved and already spending the car repair money on rhinestones. You know. To store in my (almost) clean craft room.