NURSING SCHOOL LESSONS TO APPLY TO LIFE

• Comfortable shoes beat all else.
• Smile, no matter how bad your day is going. Someone else is having worse.
• Teamwork, teamwork, teamwork. You are not Superwoman. You cannot do it all by yourself.
• Don't forget to take time for yourself, or you won't be any help to anyone.
• It depends.
• Friendships come from unexpected places. Keep an open mind and heart.
• Prioritize.
• You will not find the answer in a book.
• Knowledge is power. Arrogance is not.
• Clean hair. Clean nails. Clean clothes.

BLAH BLAH BLAH

{Gettin' old school!}


10 Years Ago...
I was 15, dreaming that in ten years I'd be working as a criminalist or working through the ranks to detective.

5 things on my to do list...
1. do NOT fall into the bonfire/fire pit tonight
2. get contacts
3. homemade cinnamon buns
4. spend time with friends and family before the next semester starts
5. work on some of the DIYs I've pinned!

5 snacks I enjoy...
1. mini quiches - fast and a great protein pick-up
2. Red Bull - so need it
3. raw broccoli and dip - that crunch is the best
4. popped corn chips - hard to explain, so a picture soon
5. sharp cheddar - by the friggin' brick

5 favorite things...
1. nephew
2. polka dots
3. hunting for bargains or specific pieces
4. a hot soak with cold glass of vino
5. relaxing with friends after a hectic week

5 places I have lived...
1. Sussex, WI
2. Indialantic, FL
3. Tampa, FL
4. IHB, FL
5. Marshfield, WI

5 things most people don't know about me...
1. I was a bystander in three armed robberies within the span of a month.
2. I was a freelance photographer/journalist working the club circuit.
3. I'm a hopelessly jaded hopeless romantic.
4. For a number of years, I worked as an artistic model, mostly nude. Some fashion shoots for small companies, but mostly I posed for artists or art classes.
5. Total snuggle-slut.

OPEN LETTERS

Dear H,

I love you. So very, very much. You are my number one dude. <3






Dear lychee frozen yogurt,

You're delicious, and a great decompressing ritual.

Let's do lunch again.







Dear paperwork,

Seriously think I'm getting carpal tunnel. Any suggestions?

... Any that don't involve, "Suck it up, Sugar Tits"?






Dear 2 AM,

Nothing personal, but I don't like showering with you. If we were sleeping together, that'd be different. But we're not.






Dear bed,

I promise to spend quality time with you soon. This won't last forever.






Dear tea kettle & instant coffee,

You are life savers.






Dear daily organizer,

Holy shit, I'd be lost without you.







Dear nursing school,

You are difficult, challenging, heartbreaking, and frustrating. But you've also introduced me to some wonderful people, and given me the confidence in taking charge of my future that had been missing. You are the best choice I've made in years.

A REFLECTION....

A few weeks back, I noticed that the Anthroholic blog link was not working. It was stating the blog had been made private. Not being an Anthro-blogger, and only a casual fan of the line and site, I mentally shrugged and removed the link. Little did I know of the massive shit-storm that had struck the blogging community.

While browsing another fashion blog, the author made reference to Kim and their IRL friendship, and how devastating what Kim had done was to her personally. "WTF? Kim from Anthroholic? Fraud? How can I find out more?" Googling 'kim anthroholic scandal' unleashed a plethora of posts and reactions.

The basic gist: she had set up a "personal shopper" service through her blog, where she would purchase Anthropologie items and ship them to help individuals defray shipping costs to their countries, or by hunting out difficult-to-find items for them. For a fee. Now, this practice isn't completely unheard of in the blogging community, particularly with Anthro-bloggers. The vast majority of fashion bloggers are warm, friendly, and generous to a fault. And that's why Kim's actions caused such an uproar.

She'd pocket the money, and use whatever excuse possible to put off her clients for as long as possible. Reading the accounts of her victims, and believe me, they are indeed victims, she acts like a middle schooler who's trying to con the teacher into giving her more time to complete an assignment.

From the information I've read, I'd classify her as suffering from oniomania, or shopping addiction. Let me stress that I am not a qualified mental health expert, nor do I know Kim personally. I'm just saying, as a casual observer, if she isn't intentionally defrauding these individuals, then oniomania makes sense. I have had episodes of oniomania, which I turned to as a means of easing my depression, which could have spiraled rapidly out of control, had I not sought the help of medical professionals.

As a member of the fashion blogging community, I can't help but think that the materialism and flippant use of words like "need" and "want" can contribute to this disease, or even feeling like keeping up with the Jones'. I will make a point of being real with you readers about my spending, lusting, and manner of obtaining the items I present on here. This scandal has bothered me greatly, and I hope the best for Kim and her victims. May they recieve restitution, and may she find the help she needs.

10 YEARS

[[[I wanted to share with you all my memories of 9/11 and what the last ten years has meant to me. Americans, we're all going to be inundated with memories, news stories and specials on it. Obviously, it's one of the most significant attacks on American soil, along with Pearl Harbor and Oklahoma City.]]]

I was home sick from school. The fever had woken me up around 5:00 AM EST, and I couldn't get back to sleep, so around 7:30 I turned on the TV for mindless background noise while I looked up information for a school paper. I don't remember what the project was for, but a bit before 9, the TV switched to a news broadcast at the same time the house phone rang.

My mom was calling from work, telling me to turn on the news. There was smoke coming out of a building in New York, something about an accident, a plane crash. I told mom I'd let her know what was going on if anything. I thought it was just one of the few accidents that occurs in the airline industry. Nothing to worry about. Just worry about the workers in the Tower and hope they got as many people out safely as they could.

At 9:03, I watched in real time along with millions of others as the second plane crashed into the Towers. I'll never forget the way the local anchor's voice rose as he narrated the flight pattern of the second plane, and the moment he realized that it was a deliberate attack. A woman on the set gasped at the moment of impact. It didn't seem real.

President Bush was visiting a Florida school, reading to the children. The local news cut to the video where the President was informed of the attacks. Reports that all airlines were being grounded was chilling. I live between an airport and air force base. The sounds of planes is as much a part of my day as breathing. The silence that September day was deafening. The theme parks in Orlando were being closed and evacuated for fears they may be a target. The images of the collision and tower collapsing played all day.

I don't remember if I went to school the next day; I think I did, but the first weeks were a blur of attempting to keep the normal routine, seeded with discussions of what happened and drills in case our school was attacked. For a while, anyone who thought the war in Iraq was a diversion or unnecessary would be bullied in some of my classes. Be called un-American, told to leave the country "if you don't like it", or threaned for not supporting the troops. Not supporting the war wasn't the same as not supporting the men and women of the armed forces, but for that time, there was only black and white. You're with us, or you're against us. 100% support or none.

It was a strange time to come of age. Much of my political views and opinions were formed during this time, and my opinions were generally those that were not favored. Pointing out that Saddam had no connection to that September day, and postulating that the war was a diversion from finding Osama was frequently derided during that time. When the initial shock and terror started to wear off, and Americans got back to the political fighting we're so fond of, that was the time to call for change, call for answers. Where was Osama? Why hadn't we found him yet? Why aren't we focused on finding him?

When Fahrenheit 9/11 came out, I went with a bunch of friends to see it. Our patriotic passions thus inflamed, our sophmoric teenage brains trying to parse meaning and truth from the bullshit we encountered everywhere. I went with a few friends to a rally to hear Michael Moore speak. I remember being swept up in the euphoria of the crowd, the cheers and derisions of Bush. Maybe that's what happened to the college kids during the Vietnam War. All I know is that I felt a sense of duty to my country, but I had no idea what that duty was.

The end of the Bush years was marked by college, breakdowns, and personal problems. I resigned myself to the idea that we would never find Osama, and turned my political ideology to social issues like gay marriage. I participated in Obama's campaign in Florida, arguing political points between McCain and Obama with classmates and family, standing on street corners with signs. On Election Day, I waited patiently to participate in my first election since coming of age, carefully selecting Barack Obama on my ballot. I then went to see my therapist and discussed how genuinely happy I felt that day, the hope I had for America to change, to see the country rise up from 9/11 as we had been doing year by year and become stronger.

When the results were in, I cried.

Even with a new commander in chief, I didn't think Osama would magically be found and brought to justice. I focused on my family and friends, on becoming a young woman with a voice, on a career. I continued campaigning for my political pet projects. I looked forward to the birth of my nephew.

Then, after Donald Trump raised the "issue" of Obama's birth certificate and the President put the kibosh on it, our President announced to the nation that Seal Team Six had assassinated Osama bin Laden. The man we had wanted for so long was dead. Again, seeing the President's speech, I cried. I watched footage of my countrymen crying and hugging, cheering and celebrating. Our boogeyman was dead. There was backlash, of course. Those who were disgusted so many people were celebrating a man's death. I forgive them for not understanding what it meant. What it means to survivors of the last ten years.


Tomorrow my nephew will be three months old. He will grow up without the specter that has haunted us for the last ten years. He will learn about September 11th in school, and will ask us what happened that day, what we did and felt. He will grow up in this economic recovery, and learn first-hand that America does change. That Americans, for all our fighting and political squabbling, are there to help raise each other up. He will see the heartache and hope, those who do when they are told they can't. He will see an America that rises to greatness, again.

I don't know what will befall America in the next ten years, but I have faith that we will overcome. I have faith.

LAZY PANTS, MAKE YOU DANCE

I have a terrible habit of letting my crushing self-doubt affect my life. For example, on average, I spend 50-odd hours a week working on the blog. I write mock ups of posts in a notebook I keep in my purse, browse other blogs and sites for inspiration or an interesting tidbit I could share with you all, participate in forums, composing outfits, taking pictures, and window shopping. And yet, at night, dressed in my pjs, curled up on the couch trying to figure out which post to use for an update, I begin to analyze and agonize over what I've written.

I don't know what I'm talking about... This is just what I think would be a good trend. Why aren't there more bow ties for women? Do women want to wear bow ties? I sure do. But that will definitely get weird looks around here. Damn being a drag queen in a redneck town! Ugh, this idea is total crap, why did I think that would be a good idea? I have no formal training, and my blundering attempts at being fashionable are still in their infancy. Guess that's what happens when you spend most of your life as a tomboy and suddenly decide that you can be a stylish lady in stylish lady clothing. Awkward nerd is more like it. Man.... fuck this.

And that's usually the point of the night where I start drinking. Heavily.

Unfortunately, I've discovered that wine makes me more willing to post what I feel is a sub par post, as well as confess my dark secrets, dance like a maniac, kiss boys, and make bad decisions. Like challenging a drag queen to a cartwheel-off in the parking lot of the gay bar. In dresses and sky high heels. On asphalt.

Anyways, what I mean to say is that I'm working on ignoring/overcoming my self-doubts so that I can continue to share my ridiculous opinions on fashion, DIY, furniture, cooking, child rearing, and life with you all.

Brutal honesty, baby.

OOTD: BREAKING THE FOURTH WALL

Today is a big day. Instead of just seeing me in my chosen wardrobe, you all will see what I really wear to work and school. Not a big deal? Well, I wear uniforms by dress code to both. Cue dramatic music.

The following are what I truly wear Monday thru Friday from 7 AM to 6PM.



Monday, Tuesday and Thursday:





I was interrupted with a phone call during my snaps. Oh well!


Wednesday and Friday:










Aw, yuss. Fancy pants.

COVET

(Image via Forever 21)

How frigging cute is this? If it was a cotton-poly blend, I'd say this is my new Perfect Tank. And for that price, I'd be willing to give it the Ultimate Challenge: Outlet shopping in Orlando during the July heat wave. If it isn't completely soaked in sweat before noon, it wins.

STYLE V. FASHION

Yes, there is a disctintion between style and fashion.

Fashion is socially dictated. It's what we see in magazines, advertisements, malls, and on the runway. It's the trends; yellow nail polish, flare pants, Americana, mainsteamed hipsterdom. Fashion is what others tell us we should wear, want, accessorize, purchase. Designers, magazine staff, marketers, they all make a very good living selling fashion to the masses. Hell, you could argue that that's what fashion bloggers are doing: selling fashion to the masses.

But when you look at it, "fashion blogger" is a misnomer, as most of us are really writting up our styles. Style is how fashion is interpreted, incorporated, or created to one's self. Chloe {the (chloe) conspiracy} has a distinct style, and mixes in trends to work with her sense of style. For example, her "Springing for Spring" posts, where she wrote up the runway trends and then showcased her spin on the trend. I love how she does that. While fashion bloggers do discuss fashion, both high & low street, when they showcase their style, can almost always see how the trends are incorporated. There are those who don't incorporate any current trends.

They are the true pioneers.

My purpose of starting this blog, back in July 2007, was to share my view of fashion, the breakdown of the trends, and my grandma's lessons of style and grace. When I revamped in 2009, I decided to honor my grandma by showcasing and developing my style, rather than looking towards a breakdown of fashion. The more time I spend working on the blog, the better I feel about everything in life. I'm learning and growing, and becoming the woman I am meant to be.

I'm 24; still plenty of life ahead of me, plenty of experiences, adventures, and proposals to look forward to. Who knows what I might discover on my next foray to Tampa, or while camping in the Keys, or while taking a trip to Morocco? Maybe I'll find an influence, flavor, or idea. Maybe I'll stumble across a new boutique, tucked away from tourists. Maybe I'll find my favorite piece at a kitchsy tourist trap.

Maybe I'll find a home in the mountains. Maybe I'll find that city life meshes with me. Maybe I'll fall for suburbia. Maybe the rest of my life will be nomadic. Maybe I'll meet an Italian man who's an electrical engineer. Or a Frenchman named Socrates, who speaks the languages of many. Or a good-ol' American boy, corn-fed, strong and tender, cheeky, with a sexy slow smile.

None of us know what life is going to bring us, so why bother only following fashion for the sake of conforming to something that isn't true to ourself? As Simon Doonan, who I love so very much, says, "Knowing who you really are and dressing the part -- with an air of amused recklessness -- is life affirming for you and life enhancing for other people".

Enhance this life.

MY MOTOR MOUTH RUNS OVER YOU

I am an German-Irish-Italian raised in a predominantly German family. Needless to say, food is a big deal to us. We have strong associations to our food; stollen will always remind me of my grandmother, my mother's rolls are aces, blackened fish is brother's specialty, dad is the grill master, and hummingbird cake will be linked to my sister-in-law until the end of time, while my specialties are paella, caprese salad, stroganoff, and chocolate ganache torte.

At every event, no matter how large or small, there is always a spread. Even for family fishing trips, we pack enough brats, burgers, and hot dogs to feed three families, not to mention the veggie tray, meat & cheese tray, fruit, and drinks. And if a friend or neighbor drops by to talk, we've got some kind of treat to offer them; cookies, homemade chocolates, crostini, veggie dip.

That is how I was raised, with always having food to offer visitors. Coming from a large family didn't help me learn proper portions, because making mashed potatoes for a holiday meant twenty pounds of potatoes, washed, peeled, boiled, and mashed. (And it was never enough.) When my mother asks me to pick up a "regular sized turkey" from the market, I'm expected to come home with one no smaller than twenty-five pounds. God forbid we have Thanksgiving at our house. To this day, I routinely make enough food for twice the amount of people I'm cooking for.

Tonight, I made spaghetti with homemade sauce and meatballs. The evidence is below.


{This was our leftovers. Yeep!}




{My secret recipe. Modified because I only had diced tomatoes, not crushed.}







Enough food for three, you think?

Title: "Alligator" Tegan and Sarah - Love the song and the video is adorable.

A GREAT WOMAN

Three years.


Three years ago the greatest woman I've ever known went on to her heavenly reward. I know that's where Grandma went, because she was a living Saint. Had to be, with everything her kids and grandkids put her through.


When my family moved to Florida, and my parents started up their company, she was the one who took care of Brother and I. Until I insisted on being a latch-key kid, she was there to greet me after school. Whenever we played cards, she let me cheat. (I thought I was slick, but she always caught me.) With the patience no mortal could possibly possess, she taught me watercolors. As a mother, she raised six kids while working in a factory. (She was an army wife.) She never tried to push ideals or dreams on her kids, only nurturing their hopes and aspirations.


Even after her body became frail, and required special care, her mind and tongue remained as quick and sharp as always. Many an unworthy suitor has had this sweet, little old lady emasculate him (or her) over Thanksgiving dinner.


When I was fourteen, I went with her to the nearby army base to get her medications. It's a few miles from her condo, off of A1A. Nothing big, for an experienced driver. As we were walking back to the car, she settles herself in the passenger seat and I say, "Grandma! I can't drive." She looked at me with a poker face and said, "Just close your eyes, stomp the pedal, and pray!" She was never your stereotypical elderly driver. When she was in her seventies, the State of Florida was considering legislation that would hinder certain elderly individuals. She always drove like a bat out of hell, or else snapping at her children to "Step on it!" when they drove her anywhere.


She was a colorful, hilarious, beautiful, lovely, wonderful woman.



I miss her everyday.

ONE YEAR LATER....

Thank you all! I know I've said that a lot these last few weeks, but I really am grateful to all of you for all the support and wonderful comments. Still not sure what on earth I am doing, but we shall see, eh?


Crossing my fingers, and hoping the next year gets even better!

GET YOUR ACT TOGETHER, WEATHER!

Today is rather lovely; sunny, mid 70s, fog burned away, and the mercury is creeping back up. Thursday was the last day of our third consecutive "cold front" and we've got the fourth one bearing down by Sunday. And by "cold front" our meteorologists mean 50s or 60s during the day and frost warnings at night. Oh, Florida, you so crazy!

I'm loving it up. We've got unseasonably cool temperatures, which means I can pretend I have a real fall/winter wardrobe! I've been breaking out the hooker coat quite often. (The leopard print monstrosity from the last post.) And it is amazing. I'd love it if my hooker coat was an Oleg Cassini, but this works fine by me.

I'm taking advantage of the warmer night, and getting some holiday cheer in me before next week kicks the holidays into high gear. Christmas Eve dinner, drinks with the girls, gift exchange, Midnight Mass, my buddy's birthday, New Year's parties, the blog's one year, my birthday... I love my crazy, busy, wild life. Truly, I am blessed.



On to the outfit!






Top: Faded Glory
Pants: Forever 21 Zipper Pocket Jeans
Jacket: Ecote
Shoes: Forever 21 leopard print flats
Earrings: Grandma's
Ring: a butterfly ring I picked up at Daytona Bikeweek last year.
Hair: tousled with hair wax, and left to air dry

TL;DR

Just a warning, this post will be some of the wordiest I will get on here.


I've broken my resolution to post on here daily. Hell, holidays are busy enough, I should've remembered the likelihood of being able to stick to a writing schedule would be shot to bits. Add some various medical issues (mine and family members) as well as a healthy dose of bad news with a side order of amazing news, and it's been a crazy crazy couple weeks.


It was a lousy time for me to hit this slide, since my one year anniversary is coming up! I can't believe it's been a year. Technically, I started it back in October of 2007, but did frequent updates starting this past year. I'll get into that more on the actual anniversary. I'm sure that's what you'd like to see. Oh yeah.


Anyways, I'm back, because I could use the happy distraction that fashion and silly blogging offers. Not only from the bad, but the exciting and terrifying. Although when I get back into the nursing program at university, I'll be wearing a whole lot of scrubs. OH GOD WHY AM I DOING THIS PANIC. (Every semester, I'm convinced I'm going to fail spectacularly, and so far haven't. Oh fear, you so illogical.)


Yes, I am a well of optimism.


As I've gone through this little blogging adventure, I've found many areas I've grown, and some areas that I still need to work on. It's not just defining my personal style, or opinions on trends, or evolving fashion. It's a bit of what is at my heart, what dreams and aspirations are long dead and which are still viable. Which attitudes need to be discarded, placed in my past and changed for my future.What is to be left behind and what needs to be nurtured. I can't party all night, or be careless and stupid with my life choices. I can't be reckless. I'm going to be an aunt. I'm going to be a nurse. I'm going to be an adult with a career and all the attendant responsibilities. To grow. Beholden to my future life choices.


I want to be a good aunt. I want to be a role model for the shrimp. Be someone who they look up to and admire. Someone who takes them on cool and weird excursions that other kids don't get to do. To be cool, silly aunt Ari. Embarrassingly, it's the newest addition to the clan that's making the changes I've been holding back on come to light.


That's enough soul baring for tonight. Got to leave us with SOME mystery after all, right?


Instead, here's another OOTD I threw together yesterday.













Top: Forever 21 fitted basic tee
Skirt: Forever 21
Sweater: Alloy in Pumpkin Spice
Jacket: Forever 21 (the warmest coat I own! It was 32 out when I took these snaps! There were icicles I had to scrape off my car. That doesn't happen often here, okay?)
Belt: Forever 21 in Taupe
Gloves: (not pictured) Portolando (GILT find)
Socks: Forever 21
Boots: Rocket Dogs
Headband: Sally's
Necklace: Forever 21
Earrings: Forever 21
Hair: Washed and left to air dry under headband



It was a horrible decision, wearing a skirt in freeze temperatures.


Hope you all stay warm, and snuggle up to your special one!

PEOPLE CONTINUE TO BAFFLE ME

I'm stepping out of my closet today because I'm very upset and confused, and wanted to write my personal opinion on a very serious matter that's been in celebrity gossip lately.

If you still haven't heard the tapes of Mel Gibson verbally abusing his baby mama, you are lucky. They were sickening and terrifying to hear, and I can barely imagine what it was like for her, what it still is like for her. My heart breaks for her and her children.


That being said, on most gossip articles that express sympathy for Oksana, a overwhelming majority of commentators are jumping to Mel's defense on the grounds that "she's a gold-digger" and "after his fortune, the whore". One of the sites that I frequent, a commentator actually said that she deserved everything that happened to her and that Mel should get a pass from the public. The more information I read about whatever it was that happened those months that they were together, the more horrified I find myself, and the more disgusted I become from all the Mel defenders.


Please, if I am missing something, let me know. The message I'm getting is a woman who was a abused, at least verbally on multiple occasions, and physically, at least once. Even Gibson admits to that much. Add to that, the assault on her 12 year old son and that their newborn baby was in such a negative environment. And I'm not even going to get into his history with alcohol and anger management issues. (Sugartits.)


The level of ardent admiration and vicious defense of his actions astounds me. Even Jodie Foster supported him! (I have always loved Jodie, and her declaration of support was very disappointing to hear.) I was just as baffled when Hollywood circled the petition to FREE ROMAN POLANSKI after his arrest in Switzerland. The defense of and admiration for this child rapist, excuse me, pedophile or does he prefer admirer of young girls, enrages me. However, I do not wish to get into his case.


When I read about the Gibson-Grigorieva case, I focus on two issues: the child endangerment, and domestic violence. Laws on domestic violence, to me, are strait-forward: if one partner assaults the other, that is domestic violence. There is no wiggl room to say, "well, she was trying to get a large child support payment from me, so I punched her, but that's totally cool!" or "SHE WOULDN'T BLOW ME BEFORE JACUZZI SO I SCREAMED AT HER LIKE A MADMAN FOR FIFTEEN MINUTES AND TOLD HER I WAS GOING TO KILL HER, SO OF COURSE THE BITCH DESERVED IT" or "my wife of over 20 years filed for divorce when she found out about my misstress, so I'm taking my rage at my ex-wife out on her because it's her fault I had sex with her". In my opinion, there is no excuse for domestic violence. There is no excuse to punch the mother of your child, especially not while she is holding said child. There is no excuse to threaten to kill your partner and bury them in the rose garden. None.


The reason that this issue guts me so much is because I was a battered woman. And once you've experienced another person's rage that way, it makes the whole world very unsafe. There are triggers that you have to work very hard to overcome. There is a gap between others and yourself that you never imagined could be there and have no idea how to bridge it. The violence and terror is only one area where the damage occurs, and overcoming the fear, even after some form of social justice, is difficult to achieve. Not impossible, but daunting.


In a way, I envy those defending Gibson who have no idea how traumatic being in that situation can be. I wish I was as sure of my stance and as ignorant of the vagaries of the human condition. I wish I could be smug in my position that that could only happen to someone who intentionally did something to set that rage off. Bad things can't possibly happen to a good person. (Obviously, they have never studied Job.) While I envy their ignorance of what happens in a violent relationship, I also pity them. I can't say exactly why I feel this way, and maybe it's just displacement or whatever, but it bothers me. I hope that they won't know the texture of a loved ones fist against their skin, the pain of a split lip and cracked ribs, the crushing fear and despair, the bruising force of fingers around their throat, the shame and hiding, the sickening desperation.


The defense of this man baffles me.

THERE'S A LIGHT (AM I A MOTH? OH, SH*T)

Now that (most) of the votes are in, the analysis and breakdown can begin. I get that most people, particularly political analysts, can't or won't just take the electoral outcome at face value. They get paid to talk about politics, talk about policies, talk about politicians, talk talk talk talk talk talk. And some people are fascinated by that, but I am certainly not one of them. I voted, the results are in, I want to not hear anything remotely political for at least a week.


It's like getting my hair dyed. I spend days upon months planning and looking and scheduling and waiting to get my color changed. I'm finally in the chair and half of my head is done, when I start getting a migraine. The last section is being done when the dye starts burning my scalp and my eyes are hurting and the migraine is full fledged. The dye has to sit and keeps burning. She finally washes my hair, and then styles it. Ten minutes later I'm strutting thru the parking lot like I'm hot to trot. Repeat this process over and over.


I do research on the candidates, hold off on forming an opinion until I'm feel fully informed on each, then I make my decision and wait until election day. Then, the political ads start trickling in until they become a complete gusher in the last week of October. The phone calls are the worst; "I am Rudy Giuliani urging you to support your Republican party..." "I am Alex Sink, urging you to keep Republican hands out of our precious..." "Rick Scott is the answer..." "Are you going to vote Republican this year?" "We just wanted to know if the Democratic party can count on your vote." AUGH! Even on election day, pollsters are still trying to get the word out, even if you tell them you just came back from the polls, they don't believe you. And after all that broo-ha-ha, the live updates on news channels. Counting down. Analyzing. Commenting. Then, the paper the next morning. And so on, and so on.


Needless to say, I'm going to retreat to my happy bubble of fashion and cooking. I made some bitchin' cinnamon buns with cream cheese frosting yesterday, so my world is wide open to possibilities.


BITCHIN' CINNAMON BUNS


Just don't tell me who is the Florida governor.

THANK YOU DARLINGS!!!

My future ex-husband, Aaron Rodgers, and I would like to thank each and every one of you for reading my silly blog. I decided to check the traffic stats today for kicks, and holy guacamole! Readership jumped almost 50% from what it was back in May. I don't know what caused it, but I am grateful that you each found me.


I would like to extend my condolences to Canada. You were number one for readership in the first six months of the blog, but have since been passed by USA and South Korea. And France, you lovely bastards have the highest traffic for my pictures of the dogs. (If any of you could tell me why that is, I'd appreciate it!) Spain, Venezuela and Italy, I appreciate how many of you appreciate my OOTD booty queen posts.


I am tickled pink, beyond grateful for all of you, and also vaguely trepidatious of how many people have accessed the window to my world. Hope you keep coming back.


Adieu, vaya con Dios, 再见, arrivederci, and merci.

COMPLAIN-O-TRON

I try to keep upbeat on the blog, I really do. I may make sardonic remarks or allude to my pessimistic side, but I really wish I was as upbeat and happy as I sound in most of the posts. But, since this is my realm, and seeing how my New Year's Resolution was to be more honest about my true self and emotions, I feel that I need to share with you readers. You also will notice I disabled the blog comments. Mostly because I'm just complaining, and am not looking for your pity or to bum you out.


I've battled depression for years. In high school, my fear of being thought of as anything less than the perfect child and student drove me to overachieve and hide the sense of hopelessness and fear and despair I felt every day. In college, my fear morphed into being thought of as a failure and soiled, so I hid my shortcomings, fear and rapes. Absolutely the worst thing I could've done, but at the time I felt I had no other avenue beside suicide. And I was not ready to give up entirely. Over the past few years, I have worked to regain my sense of security, and build up my other psychological shortcomings.


I've regained some of my fire and passion, but my confidence has morphed into rage. It is often ill directed, and occasionally self destructive, but I'm doing my best to better myself. My fear of abandonment, stemming from knowledge of my adoption, is something I will always struggle with, but it had been doing much better. My emotional remoteness from the people I consider to be the ones I love is another area I've struggled with. The childish fear that prevents me from expressing my love and gratitude also entices me to chase after people who may be detrimental in the long run. Thank God my close friends and family know that my teasing and caustic demeanor are my attempts at expressing that affection.


These past weeks have been an emotional rollercoaster I haven't boarded since my last breakdown. I'm terrified that my medication is no longer working, but I'm worried that these extremes are going to be a part of my new emotionally available lifestyle. I hate feeling hopeless, out of control, confused, or being told what to do or feel. But, over my analytical moments, I've realized that there is nothing I can do. I need to accept and embrace this. Let go and let God, as the 12 Steps say.


Life is changing, I don't like it, but I have to accept it.


Thank you, those of you that read this, and I promise to get back to the ridiculous fashion opinions tomorrow.

U(h)O(h).

URBAN OUTFITTERS (UO, for short) has found themselves in a nasty bit of business.


It seems a month ago, some public outrage was stirred up over one of their "ironic" and "edgy" T-shirts. That shirt read "Eat Less" and was modeled by a pin thin girl.



Photo Courtesy of Cele|bitchy. You can read their article from the link.


It seems UO attempted to cover their ass back then by pulling the item from their online store, but kept it available in stores. Actress Sophia Bush found out about it and wrote a scathing open letter. I completely agree, and am adding myself to the "Boycott UO" movement. You'll please note, that I've removed their link from my site.


In fact, I'm starting the "Embrace Cake" movement. If you wish to join, then embrace your just desserts.


(kneeslapkneeslapkneeslap)

EDIT:

For her utter and egregious lack of self-awareness, I am also boycotting Demi Moore. Not hard, since she's done nothing much since marrying Ashton Kutcher other than Twitting and dieting and modeling, I think. Whatever, her whole stance of holier-than-thou I-am-an-ageless-wonder just pisses me off, considering all the work she has definitely had.


Team STFU!

Dear Express,

THANK YOU.


I hope to see more (faux) fur vests this fall season. I think the trend should continue.


Love,
Ari