Big Puns and Bigger Pants: Patchwork Quirk

Jeans: So, Kohl's

Bag: SHEIN

Loop De Lou Necklace

Shoes: Jessica Simpson Collection, DSW

Hairclips: So and LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Top: Billabong, Macy's

Bag: Elizabeth and James, Kohl's; Skirt: Ross

Rug: Michaels; Shoes: Wanted, Modcloth

Top: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Bag: Delia's, Dolls Kill; Skirt: Mossimo, Target

Sunshine State of Rind Necklace

Top: So, Kohl's

Blue Butterfly Necklace

Skirt: POPSUGAR, Kohl's; Shoes: Circus by Sam Edelman, Zulily; Bag: Circus by Sam Edelman, Kohl's

You know how when you look out an airplane window and the land below looks like a patchwork quilt, all brown and green but in miniature?  And how it's such a beautiful and strangely calming sight when you're up there in the air, like the universe made a blanket just for you?  Well, that's kind of sort of how I felt when I started putting together these outfits.  You know, if my life was a 747 and the universe was saying "there, there" with an endless supply of therapy-dog-threads.  Anyway, I didn't even realize how many patchwork-style things I own until I started looking; there are more than you see here, but I got lax in the hauling-out-and-photographing department.  Still, I made sure to include the most patch-tastic item of all, the one that doesn't have a patch on anything else.  

Yep, it's my prized pair of "dad" jeans!  You may remember when I busted them out two falls ago, floor-dusting bells and all.  This time I got clever and "cuffed" them -- heading not for the big house, but for big style (insert groan).  (Also, maybe House of Style, if only as a  '90s shoutout.  No?  Okay, I'll stop.)   And I do mean "big".  Because I had to roll them up like six times!  Sometimes I forget how short I am until I put on pants.

There's a metaphor in there somewhere, but as with the photography, I'm too lazy to find it.   

From Pals to Wow: Catfish Tales That Tip the Scales

Christina Lauren's novels are fun.  Breezy and clever and steamy and sweet, these rom coms get right to the heart of romance.  And now I count 2018's My Favorite Half-Night Stand as one of my, well, favorites.

Millie and Reid have been friends for years.  They're both professors at UC Santa Barbara; Millie is a criminologist with a focus on female serial killers (so don't mess with her!), and Reid is a neuroscientist.  Millie is a hoot but closed off, whereas Reid is introspective and -- holy grail of men -- in touch with his emotions.  Three other academics round out their Y-chromosome-heavy circle: earnest Chris, sexy Alex, and never-quite-grew-up Ed.  Which is just fine with Millie.  As a tomboy with no female friends, she feels at home with "her boys" and their antics, right down to a running gag that involves gifting Chris with rooster paraphernalia.

Then one drunken night, Millie and Reid end up in bed.  As if this doesn't throw enough of a monkey wrench into things, the five friends sign up for a pricey but vetted online dating app called IRL to find plus-ones for an upcoming gala.  Millie adopts a fake persona in an attempt to weed out the creeps (of which there are many, even in this Cadillac of matchmaking platforms) and discovers that she's 98% compatible with none other than, you guessed it, Reid.  Under the guise of her made-up moniker Catherine (chosen because it's her middle name, not because it sounds like "catfish," which she thinks is "just a show on MTV"),  Millie feels free to open up to Reid in ways she can't in real life (pun intended).  Reid is instantly hooked and finds himself falling.  Still, he doesn't know whether to pursue this "new" woman or Millie or Daisy, the buxom bimbo (hey, it wouldn't be a rom com without one!) with whom he also matched on the app.

Is a mistaken identity plot a little contrived?  To be sure.  Yet Christina and Lauren (for this is a writing team) deftly craft theirs to reveal the depths of their characters, so I gave it a pass.  Plus, as a sucker for friends-to-lovers tropes, getting-to-know-you love letters, and sweet and nerdy (but still cute!) male leads, I triple-hearted My Favorite Half-Night Stand.💖💖💖      

From Texas to LA to Phoenix: Never Judge a Book by its Lover

I'm unsure about the wisdom of promoting a pop princess post with an allusion to Aerosmith lyrics.  Then again, I never bought a Jessica Simpson album or watched MTV's Newlyweds either, so very little of what I'm about to say is vetted.  Still, of all the Y2K-era Top 40 songstresses, Jessica Simpson seemed like the most glamorous -- and the nicest.  Like if you saw her in an airport, she'd say hey instead of having her publicist give you resting bitch face while she slinked off behind her Gucci sunglasses.  Yet it wasn't until Simpson launched her fashion line that I became a genuine fan.  I'd see her clothes hanging in Macy's and think, respect.  Which is funny because the stuff I snagged comes from Boscov's, Marshalls, and ROSS.  Well, at least until last week when I ordered this top from Macy's:

  

Top: Jessica Simpson, Macy's

So, when I heard that Simpson had written a memoir called Open Book, I knew I would read it.  And I'm glad I did.  It's gotten many glowing reviews, but the one that speaks to me comes from Ronan Farrow: "I kind of feel like we all owe her an apology." You know.  For the Chicken of the Sea jokes and dumb blonde digs and other stereotypes that fame -- and we -- forced her to perpetuate.  I get that it's tempting to say that Simpson, like all celebrities, knew what she was getting into. 

But I'm not so sure.  

Open Book draws upon the journals that Simpson kept since she was fifteen, frequently addressing the reader and telling it like it is.  She takes us from her church-singing childhood in Texas to her failed Mickey Mouse Club audition with Christina Aguilera and Britney Spears to her struggles with anxiety and alcoholism after "making it."  Even as a kid, she wanted to fix her family's money problems.  (I once read an article about her having to keep the tags on her clothes because her parents couldn't afford them.  I always thought that was sad; little did I know it was the tip of the iceberg.)  That's a lot of pressure for a little girl, and I can't help but feel that her family -- especially her dad -- took advantage.  This cross, coupled with the sexual abuse Simpson silently endured for years (although not at the hands of her parents; let's not get it twisted) created the perfect storm to tornado through her adult life, leaving her to pick up the pieces. 

Shoes: Jessica Simpson, ROSS; Top: Jessica Simpson, Zulily 

Then there was her storied (but not storybook) marriage to Nick Lachey, which began when she was just twenty-two.  Nick was her first true love, but marriage showed her a new side of him -- and not in a good way.  He wanted a wife who remained in awe of him, who would stunt her own career to cook for him and let him shine.  Competition, jealousy, and plain old lack of common ground rounded out their mere three years and change as Mr. and Mrs.  Their split seems to be the result of what happens when a girl ties the knot before finding out who she is.  (And, okay, stars in a much-hyped reality show designed to pick apart a young marriage.)  That said, misogyny runs rampant through Open Book.  When Simpson was seventeen, her first record label insisted that she go from a healthy 118 pounds to an emaciated 103, planting the germ of the body image issues that would plague her for the next two decades.  And after her divorce, she fell prey to notoriously cruel playboy John Mayer and wolf in sheep's clothing Tony Romo.  Although she maintains that Tony's a good guy, he seemed like a slightly less chauvinistic Nick to me.   

Dress: Jessica Simpson, Marshalls

Anyway, Simpson relays it all with humor, grace, and candor, peeling away the layers of her public persona to show us who she is, flaws and all.  And the person she is seems so normal -- and vulnerable.  So when she reaches rock bottom and knows she needs help, we want her to rise up like the proverbial phoenix and shine.  When she does, she finally finds peace, making Open Book not a lurid Hollywood tell-all, but a brave account of growth and empowerment.  At the end of the book, Simpson writes:

"I knew that I would be ending this book tonight, and for a long time I feared this very moment.  There's a permanence to getting your thoughts down that can feel like a last testament.  . . . I worried that writing a book represented the end of something.  Now, I see my life is just beginning.  I have a better footing now for retracing the steps that got me here." (400)   

It's a heartfelt message for anyone, whether she (or he!) be a recording artist or a tone-deaf toll taker.

On that, ahem, note, here I am sporting a cruise-ship-meets-motorcycle ensemble featuring a Jessica Simpson top.  (Ptomaine-laden buffets being what they are, the bike is far less risky than the boat.)  It's the first (not to mention the most colorful) Jessica Simpson thing I bought, and as such is a much-treasured piece. 

         

Top: Jessica Simpson, Boscov's

Jacket: Candie's, Kohl's

Pants: True Freedom, Sears

Now I guess it's time to get on my bike and ride.  Even though I don't have a fat bottom (or a bike), and this isn't a post about Queen.

Shop Reopening: In the Cards

It's finally happened; after one year and nearly three months, I've reopened my Etsy shop!  Now that I've been vaccinated and am freer to move about the cabin, I feel comfortable returning to the post office.  It's funny how being offline so long has given me a fresh perspective.  Kind of like that Daria episode where Mr. O'Neil assigns Daria a creative writing story about anything and she gets so stuck by the possibilities that he has to provide the parameter of a game of cards.  Only then is she able to spin a tale set fifteen or so years in the future where she's a renowned columnist "waking up the world" and her sister Quinn is married with kids.  So, I assigned myself my own game of cards.  Instead of just clicking renew for each item in my shop, I stopped and said, does my shop really need all this stuff?  I spent last week picking the best of the best, paring my listings down from six hundred plus to a lean, mean two hundred and twenty-six.  Working with a smaller pool of items meant that I could take the time to edit each one, tweaking pics, correcting grammatical errors (the horror!), and trying to make them look and sound all around more exciting.  And you know what?  I think I succeeded!  

The recently rephotographed and gauchely glam (glamly guache?) Lady, You're a Lion Necklace

It feels good to be live on Etsy again.  I even saw that one of my barrettes was in somebody's cart!  I know this doesn't mean that the person will buy it (who among us hasn't filled a virtual cart full of [to make another Daria reference] "doo-dads and things" only to jettison it all for a Psychic Friends call or the gas bill?), but it was still thrilling.  As if I'd said, hey, world, I'm back! and somewhere out there someone listened.    

I know you already know this, but this Tote Trove thing is my labor of love.  Maybe that's weird coming from a woman who's never had children.  But even if I'm not a mother like Quinn, in my own small way, I'm making a difference.   

Like Daria.  Only without the glasses.

Sweatshirt Alert: JCP on TV

Last Wednesday, I was watching American Housewife when Taylor (Meg Donnelly) entered the Otto kitchen wearing a retro gray, purple, and turquoise color block Arizona Jeans sweatshirt from JCPenney.  "Hey, that's my shirt!" I exclaimed.  The husband looked up from his phone dubiously.  "If you don't believe me, I'll show you!" I sputtered with all the righteous indignation of a third-grader in the '90s whose Yo! MTV Raps trading card collection is being called into question.  ("You don't have LL Cool J and Dr. Dre!"  "Do too!")  Then I raced upstairs to grab the sweatshirt.  When I returned, the husband nodded, then restarted the show, paused it, and took this pic without me even having to ask.  I've said it before, and I'll say it again.  The husband is a prince among men.

This isn't the first time I've seen one of my garments on the small screen.  The Middle's Sue Heck had a pair of my Target pajamas, and The Goldbergs' Erica wore my L'Amour by Nannette Lepore crop top, also from JCPenney.  I guess ABC likes JCP, that mecca for middle class shoppers, even when it's on life support.  Later during the Housewife episode, Greg (Diedrich Bader) took the thread a step further when chiding wife Katie (Katy Mixon) about one of her stunts:

"I had to take all those tops back to JCPenney and explain why there were no tags and why they smelled like deodorant."

It wasn't so long ago that Mixon was doing JCP commercials with Splitting Up Together's Jenna Fischer, then after that show got cancelled, Single Parents' Leighton Meester.  Then Parents was canned too.  Will Housewife, which has bounced around timeslots for years and was, this season, forced to recast spooky and snarky youngest child Anna-Kat (easily my favorite Otto), fare better than these sacked sitcoms and their preferred yet doomed department store?

Only time and ratings will tell.  In the meantime, I'm going to wear this sweatshirt like it's 1990-something.  And reminisce about my troll collection.

Because I never owned a single Yo! MTV Raps card.  That was the neighborhood kids and my sister.

I Spy Cat's Eye

Some people dread the dentist.  But my nemesis is the eye doctor.  And I use the term doctor loosely.  Because optometrists and ophthalmologists have about as much in common as Milli Vanilli and Adele.  You'd think that knowing this would calm me down to near cockiness.  But last Sunday, when it was time for my yearly eye exam at a Visionworks shoehorned between Moe's and David's Bridal, I still felt pressure to pass all those tests.  Not as much as I used to, mind you.  But I hadn't achieved that coveted cool as a cucumber status.  Or maybe I should say cool as a carrot status because carrots are supposed to be good for your eyes.  

Anyway, you know the kinds of tests I mean. What's the smallest line you can read?  Which line is clearer, one or two?  Two or three?  How many aliens are in front of the farmhouse?  (I made that last one up.  But I think that the tests should be more entertaining, especially the air puff one for glaucoma.  Hearing a Mario Brothers storming the castle sound effect when you get punched would make it less scary.)  I was even more on edge because my nearsighted self wears glasses only to drive, a behavior that compromises my ocular integrity, making the kindly optometrist (for he is kindly, despite his choice in profession) suspicious.  This, I realize, makes me, not him, the Milli Vanilli.  His questions went something like this: So, you don't wear your glasses when you go to the movies?  Or when you watch TV?  Or use the computer?  No, no, and no.  But wouldn't things be clearer if you did?  Well, sure.  But I'm not blind (despite what that guy at the DMV once said).  And seeing every wrinkle on Brian Austin Green's face while I watch "BH 90210" isn't something I want in my life.  

Nor is being known as someone who wears glasses.  Not that there's anything wrong with glasses.  Daria rocked them like the badass she was, and "The Big Bang Theory's" Bernadette wouldn't be Bernadette without them.  It's just that they're not me.  

  

That said, fun and funky sunglasses like these are the only lenses I want on my face.  And yes, these pics do get slightly smaller as you make your way down.  Which Tote Trove lady is clearer, daisy cat's eye or red hearts?  Red hearts or purple hearts?  Purple hearts or invisible alien?  

Guess what?  After all that angst, it turns out I didn't even need new glasses.  

Which was just as well because everyone knows that Mr. Green doesn't have wrinkles.

Take Me Out to the Mall Game

I was all set to post about rainbows when I was steaming this "what splatters most" tee to wear to the grocery store (yes, that's what it's really called.  Oh, Modcloth, is there no end to your whimsical wordplay?) when I had an epiphany.  Why not post about my raglan tee collection instead?  'Cause I love a good raglan.  It's the best part of baseball (ok, the only good part unless you count the Philly Phanatic or maybe those satin bomber jackets, which are really just the raglans of outerwear).  Factor in the contrasting colors of the sleeves and torso, the way the name sounds like ragtime and also ragamuffin, and the likelihood of a beloved licensed image emblazoning the front, and you've got a home run, my friend.

 Green Gleam Necklace

Regal Radiance Cuff

Tee: Modcloth

Skirt: Amazon

Shoes: Delicious, Zulily

Bag: Sleepyville Critters, Zulily

Belt: Belt is Cool, Amazon

 Sadie Stripes Gumball Necklace

Pink Heart Pompom Bow Barrette

Tee: Kohl's

Skirt: Arizona Jeans, JCPenney

Shoes: Worthington, JCPenney

Wristlet: City Streets, JCPenney

Fun fact: I was wearing this Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles tee (although not the backwards mini) when my nephew was born.  Because what boy should come into the world without seeing crime-fighting amphibians busting out of a sewer and shouting "Cowabunga!"?  Also, I ditched the splatter tee in favor of it today.  It seemed fitting to finally represent turtle power as I rolled my cart past that TMNT cookie mix where Leonardo's head looks like a sad, spreading puddle.     

Stella Star Necklace

Cheerful Charm Bracelet 

Tee: Macy's

Skirt: Dollhouse, Zulily

Shoes: Guess, Marshalls

Bag: Nordstrom

Purse charm: Staples

As for the stuff I made this week, it's kind of a hodgepodge.  I was scraping the bottom of the craft supply drawer, which makes for a fast and loose look that luckily works well with tee shirts.  You know, not too fussy or precious or planned.  Kind of like the Cracker Jack prizes that kids once oohed and ahhed over while watching the game.  That is, if the song is to be believed.  That line might well have been just product placement by big Cracker Jack.

And with that we've already reached the bottom of the ninth.  Be sure to check back later this week for that breaking update on rainbows.

Fresh Fruit and Fresh Prints: Panda-monium at Nabisco

 Random Rose Necklace

Tee: So, Kohl's

Pants: Macy's

Shoes: Guess, DSW

Bag: Target

Sunglasses: Target

Fabulous Felt Panda Bear Brooch

Top: Bisou Bisou, JCPenney

Skirt: ELLE, Kohl's

Shoes: 2 Lips Too, JCPenney

Bag: Betsey Johnson, Macy's

Belt: Wet Seal

Jacket: Worthington, JCPenney

Hip Hippo Hooray Necklace

Blue blouse: L'Amour by Nanette Lepore, JCPenney

Yellow cami: Bisou Bisou, JCPenney

Pants: Xhilaration, Target

Shoes: Betseyville, Macy's

Bag: Target

Sunglasses: Target

They say that rap and rock can't make beautiful music.  That they're too different, too diametrically opposed to share the same stage.  But sometimes it's the differences in things that make them stronger, adding layers and contrasts to illuminate new points of view.  Take these outfits.  They've got a kitchen sink aesthetic and should look like uncurated graffiti.  But instead they're harmonious and eye-catching, unified by the very elements that set them apart.  With fruit slices, bold bling, and loud pants-a-plenty, they hit all the right style notes (at least to this admittedly awful singer).  Especially the pants.  A little bit MC Hammer, and a little bit zuma, they're like a time machine back to pre-Jersey Shore MTV.

The skirt outfit was challenging.  I wore it last week, leopard trench coat and all.  I felt like a schoolmarm who moonlights at McDonald's and also, maybe, the zoo.  And I thought, what would make this look even more wonderfully wacky?  An animal pin, something cute but uncomplicated, and then I had it -- a panda.  Also, a shot of some animal crackers, which would require a trip to Target.  But that was no hardship, because I love scoping out the Dollar Spot.  I always find the best stuff there -- seasonal stuff, cheap stuff, and stuff that no one else wants.  This week it was the fruit clutches (which are really bathing suit bags, although they'll hold my lipstick and license long before a bikini) and party sunglasses, the likes of which I've seen only on Pinterest.  Why do people wear "fun" sunglasses only at parties, anyway?  Why not rock them at the DMV or grocery store?  (Well, maybe not the DMV; those people would probably taze you.)  Because errands need a dose of adrenaline more than an already off-the-hook rager.

And yes, I know that no one says "off-the-hook" anymore.  Or, for that matter, "rager."  But I love words, so much so that I use them past their sell-by dates.

That's why you'll find me at ShopRite.