Pretty Shiny Things (That I Own)

Read an interesting article in yesterday's NY Times about a reporter who rented her holiday dresses.  Services like that are popping up all over, with everything from a clutch to couture being available for a finite time with a little outlay of cash.  The writer came to the conclusion that she did, indeed, like renting a different dress for each occasion, but she still didn't make a very compelling case for renting versus buying.  Personally, I'd rather add a festive piece or two each year to augment my existing wardrobe.

Which brings me to today's Conspicuous Consumption Christmas Item of the Day, a Belted Sequin Cardigan from Robert Rodriguez.  There's just something about sequins that screams "festive!"  And the dark green color is just right for Christmas.  I'd pair with pants, belt it over a dress, or use it with other monochromatic separates to spice up an after-work look.

Rodriguez' stuff don't come cheap, and even at 30% off this cardigan clocks in at $238.  But let's put it this way: that NY Times reporter got three outfits for about $75 each, or a total of $225.  For just a little more, I could have one versatile piece that doesn't have to go into a padded envelope at the end of the night.  I think I'd choose the latter...

Numbers Game

As you've no doubt heard, those pesky doctors and health experts on TV and in magazines are always saying that losing even 5% of your body weight can have positive effects. And to that I said, "Riiiight. Five percent? I wouldn't even notice that!"

But then a funny thing happened: I noticed my pants were loose. Like, furreal loose. Highly skeptical and thinking that maybe I'd just been setting the dryer on a lower setting and/or some Lycra somewhere wasn't keeping its shape any longer, I paid no mind for a few days. But then another pair of pants were really loose, like, slip-them-off-without-un-bottoning loose. So I took a brutally painful, but ultimately necessary step...right on to the scale.

Yes, I have a scale. You know, because, in theory, I weight myself every week to track my "progress" on my "weight loss plan" without the use of any irony or "finger quotes." But in reality the thing had been amassing cat-hair dust bunnies and - some days - real cats, for lack of any real utility in my bathroom. A little dust-off and calibration of the settings (no since getting all excited if the thing was off by 5 pounds)...and...gingerly step on.

Half open one eye, lest I get to excited...and...whoa! That can't be right.

Adjust glasses...and...it is right! I did it! I lost 5% of my body weight. And I had noticed as much in the looseness of my pants. Hmm...perhaps these docs are right after all. It only takes a little to start seeing big difference. And it just gets you motivated to keep moving forward. Ten percent of body weight gone...here I come!

She Works Hard for the Money

Most of the time I do - work hard that is. Let's face it, I got my first full-time job at 18 and haven't looked back since. There's something about clocking hours at work that's really nice. And not just because of the paycheck. Thinking back over the last twelve years, I'm hard pressed to think of what I did with a free weekend at my disposal. Even when I left the world of waiting tables for a nine-to-five gig what have I always done? Picked up a part time job.


These days I'll often log an additional 12-15 hours a week outside of my regular work week. And I don't mind in the least. The part-time work certainly isn't about the paycheck. Considering I've worked at various boutiques, bakeries, and bars, the "spare" change rarely makes it out the door with me. I have the wares and waistline to prove it. I find meaning and pleasure in working, simple as that.

I'm always floored, then, when I have a rare weekday to myself in which I may or may not roam aimlessly around the Capital City and see so many people not working. Who has time to go for a jog at 10:30 on a Tuesday? Who's drinking a bottle of wine with lunch at 2 in the afternoon? Why is that person hanging out reading a book in a park, for pete's sake! Do these people not have jobs?

No, seriously. Visit any major city and there are a bazillion folks just chillin'. Now granted, if they have a Macbook and a latte, they're probably currently unemployed. But that leaves a lot of others unaccounted for. Let's exclude the independently wealthy and retired...there are still a ton of people with the time and money to do, well, nothing. What are their stories? How did they manage to escape the rat race? Don't they have rent to pay?

In the last month alone I've had three friends who've left perfectly halfway decent (natch) jobs to pursue unpaid adventures both here and abroad. They ditched their stuff, packed their bags, and took off to the mountains or the valleys or - even scarier - Congress. And these folks are my age, with previous full-time employment. How do they do it? Maybe it's because I can't go a minute without health insurance, or the fact that saving for a rainy day isn't exactly my forte, but I cannot imagine what I'd do with my time if not for work, and lots of it.

I think Cartman says it best...

Día de la Resistencia Indígena

Yep, I like the sound of that better: Día de la Resistencia Indígena, or Day of Indigenous Resistance, which is the term Venezuelans use for our Anglo-centric celebration of "Columbus Day." Now I'm not ganna get all PC on ya here. In fact, I fully believe that if members of First Nations want to license their tribal names out to college football teams and open up a casino on every reservation, they should be able to do so. Heck, the least we owe them is a slice of the capitalist dream.

More interesting to me, though, is a continuing fascination with travel to "exotic" locations over 500 years after Columbus first set foot on foreign soil. There's something about getting away from what we know that continues to fuel human travel, and the travel industry. This might sound odd coming from a person with no passport, who immediately recycles the Travel section in every Sunday New York Times, and whose idea of travel begins and ends with a day trip to Manhattan. I'm not saying I understand this desire to travel, but I acknowledge that it's there. These days, if you haven't solo climbed the Himalayas, backpacked through the former Eastern Bloc, or snorkeled off the coast of Costa Rica, you haven't really lived. Well guess what? I'm living just fine without any of these things.

Why don't I like to travel? I think in large part I'm afraid that what's on the other side of the journey simply won't live up to expectations, won't be "other" or "exotic" enough. David Sedaris writes, "I thought back to the previous summer, and my twenty-three-hour flight from London to Sydney... spend that much time on a plane and you’re entitled to a whole new world when you step off at the other end—the planet Mercury, say, or, at the very least, Mexico City. For an American, though, Australia seems pretty familiar: same wide streets, same office towers. It’s Canada in a thong, or that’s the initial impression." That's not the moral of the larger story he's telling, but I found it to be one of the most astute observations in the essay. As least as it pertains to my life.

I didn't ride an airplane until I was 19, and even then it was by accident. A freak snow storm had closed off all train travel in and out of Chicago, and driving back to college was equally impossible. The only alternative? A 27 minute flight to Midway Airport. Alone. Oh well - there's a first time for everything. I can't even remember the flight, it was so uneventful. And on the other end was a cold, tiny dorm room and mounds of icy snow. Meh.

So even if it's not all about the destination, at least the journey should yield something meaningful, right? I've travelled more extensively by train than any other form of transportation. And having covered 2/3 of the distance across the US in an Amtrak Coach Car, I can say again...meh. Maybe it's because train tracks tend to snake like tendrils throughout the less desirable vistas of small towns and big cities alike. Have you ever wanted to catalogue the back sides of used tire lots, the broken windows on abandoned warehouses, AND the rotting wood ghosts of train stations past? Then Amtrak it is! Sorry if I sound so cynical, but unless there's a sightseeing car and you hit that perfect spot of daylight while traversing mountains or something, it just ain't that grand.

So, if given my druthers on a holiday like today, I choose to stay home. Alone. And I think there's nothing wrong with that. I'll be celebrating with my own form of resistance, thank you very much.

NOT A Bucket List

Why NOT a bucket list? Well, first off, I don't plan on "kicking the bucket" any time soon. Second, that's a tired, overused phrase (as was, apparently, the plot of the movie by the same name) and I don't like cliches. Third, I'm not really into lists. I've never found them particularly useful for groceries, to-do's, top 10's, or any of the ilk.

But...I'm turning 30 in a week, and I think that this seminal birthday deserves at least a half-hearted attempt at setting some goals and aspirations. Note that I am not holding myself to said list, but merely using it as an inspiration for what the coming year might bring. For a far more organized and executed list, click here.

1. Spend less time online. You may think this one would be impossible for me, seeing as how it's my job and all. But doing so means I can...

2. Spend more time enjoying DC. I mean, duh! I live in one of the greatest cities in the world, as far as free sightseeing goes. Gotta get out more so that I might...

3. Actually RUN a 5k/10k, instead of just paying lip service to it and walking most of the way. Because only then will I...

4. Fit back into my old, designers clothes (see this for further evidence). You see, I just want to...

5. Project a more professional image at work. I've relied too long on leggings and a cardigan to get me through the day. But no more because I...

6. Need to start acting my age. By which I don't mean "old," but rather mature and pulled-together. Which leads me to want to...

7. Engage in some professional development beyond the same old boring webinars and conferences. I need to push myself to learn new and teach them to others. However I also...

8. Need to have more fun. Like, join a club, take a class where there aren't any grades, join the circus. On the other hand I...

9. Want to deepen friendships I already have. There are lots of great people in my life and I want to get to know them better. Still, though, there nothing like...

10. Being a compassionate pet owner and animal lover. I want to do more in this area. But mostly I...

11. Want to be happy. Not for anybody else or for any special reason. But just because I deserve it.

Why I'm Not Friends With Girls

Periodically, I like to declare publicly that I'm not one to strike up friendships with other chicks. Now that is of course not really true, seeing as how I have many gals with whom I enjoy close friendships. But the running joke is that chicks are too difficult and whiny and all emotional and fickle and, you know, just too girly for me to take the time to deal with all of their needs, let alone mine. Friendships are supposed to be enjoyable things, not one-sided conversations on how wretched, yet terribly important and utterly fascinating one's life is with regards to a shade of nail polish.

This even extends into the virtual world. Very seldom do I take the time to really truly follow another gal's blog. Yeah, sure, I'll check in periodically, or when I know they've written about something of interest, but there's this one fellow female blogger whose postings I read all. the. time.

Dunno why, because half of them are really crappy (trust me - she won't mind me saying that), but they're compelling nonetheless. None more so than today's diatribe on Why I'll Never Be Fat. If you look beyond the cursing and the obtuse pop culture references, you'll see why I like this particular posting so much. "Look! It's a woman who has a healthy body image and knows she wants to stay that way! And she's not going to punish herself or use extreme, dangerous, or chemically enhanced measures to maintain that attitude! She's happy that her body works well and she encourages others to challenge themselves physically!"

Just who does she think she is, anyway? A guy? So, Marissa, you're my new happy body attitude hero and I hope to take a li'l bit o' Zen away from your post today. And then pack it up with me when I hop on my bike the next time.

Oh, and if you're having trouble putting down that fast food today, dear readers, this might just make you think twice...

...And then, one day, I didn't care so much

Once upon a time, dear readers, I wrote about fashion. And made a decent living off of it. And then, when all of that stopped, I missed it for a minute. And then I didn't.

Now mind you, I haven't given up on it entirely. Heck, I still work part time at a boutique, do the women's buying, and check Go Fug Yourself as much as the next fashionista. But I don't have that same obsessive interest there as I did even five years ago, before I worked in retail full time and well before I ever considered myself to be a "fashion writer."


Somewhere along the way I let my subscription to Vogue lapse and no longer paid as much attention the latest It Bag. In fact, I find myself feeling almost hostile in some ways to much fashion writing these days. Was I really that vapid and self absorbed? Are clothes that important? Do we put designers on too high of a pedestal?

I'm being hyperbolic for effect, of course, but there's no doubt that I've lost my appetite for much of what the world of luxury fashion offers the average consumer. And I've lost all interest for going to a mall. I'd like to think that my tastes are refining, that I'm looking for the next big (or medium-sized) thing, people with an eye toward sustainable design, non-stratospheric price points, and a true passion for what they do. You can keep your YSL Tribute pumps, your Birkin bags, and your skinny jeans (please!). I'll keep doing my own thing.

Yelp it Out!

I did. Woohoo for Greater Goods! (Click on the image below for the larger view)

New Gig, Yo!

And not a moment too soon. Ugh, it's like, you know when you need a change, but there's no real change forthcoming, so you just dye your hair a different shade of boring and hope you'll wake up and the world will be different? Oh. Guess that's just me.

Um, anyway, yeah...brand new gig tomorrow. Different commute, different line of work (sorta), new coworkers, possibly an office (?), and - drumroll please - a pension plan. What? You mean I don't have to rely solely on my ING online savings account to support me after retirement? Get. Out.

Oh, and super-double-bonus: on-site gym. You see, I've been slacking in the working out department lately, although I did traverse most of the Mall, Penn Quarter, and Chinatown today, some on purpose and some just 'cause.

So it's back to the treadmill tomorrow. And I get to figure out what random tchotchkes shall inhabit my new workspace. Good times all around. Good times indeed.

Why don't you tell me how you REALLY feel?

Oh the joys of being semi-famous. As some of you know, I have this "other" blog, one which gets quite a few readers each week. Every great now and again (i.e., like, once a year), someone leaves a very, very nasty comment. And yesterday was one of those times!

"[Name redacted] You are the ugliest mid-west man who has ever appeared on TV. Go shove that face up your a$s (sic)!"

First of all, that's physiologically impossible. Second of all, how does this person know I'm a man? Oops! I mean, that I'm from the "mid-west," as said person calls it. Third of all, why so much vitriol being spilled anonymously? Yep, this d-bag can't even leave his or her name when they post a comment. Huh.

Lame.

So I'll keep this short and sweet, Mr. Pixellated Loser. You can put the following in your pipe and smoke it:

The Play's the Thing

So...I was part of the cast of the Vagina Monologues this weekend. I know! All girl stuff and whatnot and hoo-ha. But actually, not really. This production was mercifully free of any touchy-feely girly nonsense and more focused on the cause - namely, the prevention of violence against women. Eve Ensler's vday.org is celebrating ten years (I was there for the first one!) and it's an honor and a privelege to be a part of this movement.

Also...I had to let go of any body issues and just get on the stage and play my part. Ugh. It wasn't easy! I was easily five inches taller and probably 50 pounds heavier than the next cast-mate. But you know what? It was all good. I found a fabulous red/pink costume and acted my heart out. I haven't been on stage in the nearly two years since my departure from ComedySportz, yet I felt just as home under the klieg lights as I ever had.

In the meantime, I'm prepping for a new job on Monday (details forthcoming) and happy that said job has an on-site gym. Will keep you posted...

Weight Worries

Nope, it's not what you're thinking. It's the worried feeling I get every time I know I need to hit the free weights and machines at the gym. Is it because there are a bunch of meatheads hanging out, pumping up, Ah-nold style? Nope. Ninety-five percent of the men at the gym I attend are gay, so I'm definitely not worried about being hit on or called out because of my sex.

It's just the darn machines themselves. Last year I did a smart thing and sprang for six sessions with a personal trainer. And he was incredibly helpful in getting me to be comfortable with and around the equipment. Even if I did have to move the bar to the lightest weight setting, at least I could sit down on the equipment and have some clue as to what I should be doing.

So now that I'm back at it, gym-wise (kinda/sorta), those weights are calling my name again. And I've decided that the best way to deal with them is just to suck it up, walk over there, and get my lift on. Oh, and have this picture in my head:

Sorry seems to be the hardest word...

This is the first day of the rest of my life. Or some such nonsense. No, really. I'm turning over my body and mind to healthy living and what do I do? I buy two packs of Hansen's Natural Sparkling Sleek soda. No big deal, you say, right? But I only drink diet soda. So I nearly freaked out when I realized my delightful little can of Blueberry-Pomegranate I cracked open on the way to work contained 90 calories. Ninety! I bought the wrong thing! Horror of horrors!

Now, in the past, this type of thing would have been enough to send this gal into apoplectic food and beverage shock, wherein the entire day would be "ruined" and, well, since I've already had a non-diet item this early, why not go for a whole day of crap?

But then I stopped. And regained my rational brain-thinking capabilities. Ninety calories does not a "bad" day make. In fact, I might even enjoy this soda for what it is: fruity and fizzy and delicious. I might taste it, instead of just gulping it down out of habit or boredom or whatever. Hmmm... This makes me realize something.

I need to apologize to myself. "Sorry self! Sorry for all of these years of mistreatment and nasty thoughts and inattention and negativity." That's it. I just needed to apologize to myself. But that's really hard to do. Much harder than I've ever been willing to admit. But I think I'm ready now. And guess what? That soda was delicious...