Lisianthus

A few years ago, I started getting interested in the concept of voluntary simplicity. Voluntary simplicity has some Christian undertones, overtones, or overlap, shall we say. I'm not into that aspect of it, but I am very into the idea of living better with less, having less clutter, less stuff, and enjoying life more.

When I started planning my living space, my lifestyle and my budget, one of the things I decided I wanted was flowers. Before making that decision, I would buy flowers for special occasions and parties, and loved them so much; how they smell, how they make a space look so beautiful and fresh. And I decided I want to have fresh cut flowers in my space, if not all the time, at least most of the time. I decided that flowers wouldn't be a special treat, they would be part of the regular upkeep of my home, like buying paper towels and dishsoap and salad greens.

Some people say, "What an extravagance!" or, "Well, maybe you can afford that, but we can't."

It's amazing what you can afford when it's important to you and you make it a priority. It's amazing how much money people spend on "Venti Frappuccinos" every day, on cable TV, on cheap, sweatshop-made clothing that is practically disposable... but not on flowers, or healthy organic food, or the occasional live theater experience.

Lisianthus has no fragrance, it's sturdy, and it's lovely. The stems are long and elegant, and if you buy it when the blooms are still tight, you will be able to enjoy the flowers for several days. When I bought these last Sunday, a few were open, but most were either closed or just opening. Lisianthus comes in many colors, but the ones I chose were purple, white, and white-with-purple edges. I put five stems into a tall, simple vase on my dining table.

Another Pair of Cheap Sunglasses

I succumbed and bought this pair of enormous and cheap sunglasses.

What's the big deal, you ask? Who cares if you spend a mere twenty bucks on a pair of sunglasses?

I know, most people spend that in three trips to Starbucks. However, I am not most people. I am a person who loves fashion and who is on a very small fashion budget. This means I can't be super-impulsive about what I buy. I have to save, and I have to decide carefully how I want to spend my fashion dollars.

There's a pair of Christian Dior sunglasses I want very badly. They are expensive. I tell myself, "Danielle, you cannot afford them." But look! If I add up the $15 and $20 and $5 I spent here and there on my multitude of cheap sunglasses, it all adds up to more than the Christian Dior sunglasses. I would rather have this ONE pair of Diors than ALL my cheapie sunglasses put together! And I CAN have had them, if I can only stop buying cheap glasses, and add the money saved together till I get enough for the Dior sunglasses.

So each time I see a pair of cheap sunglasses I really like and would normally get, I pass them by and I make a note in my organizer. And when I pass up enough pairs, I will reward myself by getting the Christian Dior sunglasses.

So far I've done it twice! I've passed up two pairs. One was $12 and one was $10.

But then I saw these, and tried them on, and they're comfortable, and I love big huge retro sunglasses... and I bought them.
*sigh* Oh well. I like them, and they'll hold me over till I get the other ones!

The Lemon, aka My Car

I drive a 2006 Honda Accord V-6. It's shiny, it's new, it's comfortable, it's completely paid for! Those are the good aspects.

This is my third Honda - the first one was an ancient old Accord that had something like 230,000 miles on it at the end, and it was still running great with no major problems. My second one was a white 1998 Civic coupe that was also awesome... I had it till this year. There was never anything wrong with it and everything still worked perfectly when I sold it.

So by this year I'd become some kind of Honda loyalist, and I got another one.

First of all after dealing with El Cerrito Honda, I was ready to just drive the new car right off the Golden Gate Bridge, but that's a story for another day... it's a story that ended with me dropping a warty Japanese pumpkin into one of their toilets because I was so mad. (It was around Halloween, and I work at a vegetable company, and I just happened to have some pumpkins and gourds in the car.) If you live in Northern California and you HAVE A VAGINA, and you want to buy a Honda - Don't go to El Cerrito Honda! They are shady, they lie, and if you want to pay for a car outright rather than finance it, they treat you like complete shit!

Shortly after getting car, we noticed a rattling sound. Turns out the muffler was not properly secured. But before Honda admitted that the muffler was not secured, we first had to deal with them telling us, "Ummm, yeah. I don't hear it." Finally after much nonsense, they actually looked under the car and determined that yes, the muffler needed to be secured.

The glove compartment doesn't line up properly, so at night, you always see this sliver of light coming from the glove compartment. "Yeah, well, sometimes these things are just like that," is what I was told by Honda.

Now, the dash rattles. Rattle, rattle, rattle. Please!!! Neither of my other cars rattled. Twelve years old and 230,000 miles and the old car did not rattle!!! "I don't hear it," said the Honda service technician. I hate him! I hate Honda! I hate El Cerrito Honda. I hate Honda of San Fancisco's service department. I will never again buy a Honda! I want to get personalized license plates that say LEMON06!!!

Little Otsu

Little Otsu just moved shop to Valencia Street in San Francisco. The shop is full of handmade cards, handmade paper, small-press comics and 'zines, handmade wallets and bags. It's a great little shop; it feels open and clean, more like a gallery than a shop.

Clockwise from top: A beautiful card that has a funny creature saying, "I am not a butterfly", a comic book called "American Born Chinese" by Gene Luen Yang, the Little Otsu business card, and an AMAZING address book by artist Lart Cognac Berliner and Jill Bliss of Little Otsu. Each page is incredibly detailed with tiny, wonderful drawings. The book is $8.

INCREDIBLY REALISTIC ASIAN BABY DOLLS!

OH MY GOD!
THESE LOOK SO REAL!
I might as well just tie my tubes and get one of these.
The one at the top is anatomically correct and you can get a boy or a girl! Or twins!

The Search for Asian Baby Dolls

Today I was thinking about this Asian baby doll my mom had gotten me when I was a kid. My poor mom; the doll was hideous and scary, and we both hated her. I started wondering if now, something like twenty years later, there are any cuter Asian baby dolls out there.

I found these two dolls, both made by the same company - apparently the Mercedes of baby dolls. The one with darker eyes (the top two photos) is the bigger version, and the other one is the "mini" version. I can't decide if they're frightening or cute. I also can't decide if I want one or not. Would that be totally weird? A grown woman with a little baby doll? What if I wrapped her in a blanket and took her to the store and when people said, "Oooh! Can I see?" I would pull back the blanket a little and they'd be looking at this little DOLL? That would be hilarious. I think I want one.

See the bigger doll with the bunny tee shirt here.


What's also hot is that you can get different cute little outfits for the baby!

Balloon Phobia

My boyfriend took me to a screening of Bam Bam and Celeste, which is the feature film written by and starring Margaret Cho. We saw it at the Castro Theater, which is this very large, very old and beautiful theater in San Francisco. It has an enormous vaulted ceiling with some kind of spiky art deco-looking chandelier at the apex.

Because it was Gay Pride weekend in San Francisco, there was a happy party atmosphere in the theater and everyone was boisterous. There were several giant candy-colored round balloons being batted about, not regular balloons, but the ones that look more like yoga balls. People would push them high into the air with their fingertips and the balloons would float up and then drift gently down. Some people had fun trying to get balloons to go to the people in the balcony seating area. Meanwhile, a musician played happy circus music on this fancy cream-colored organ that rose from the floor.

All well and good. Except that I have balloon phobia! I've always had an unnatural dislike of balloons. I like to see them from a distance, but not touch them, and I absolutely feel sick when I see people stretching them, pretending to pop them, or horsing around with them in general. I had a job a few years ago where we had to do some STUPID team-trust-building exercise with balloons (and WHY? there was nothing wrong with our team, except that one woman was sleeping with several of the men. But so what? Why should their drama make the rest of us have to play stupid balloon games?). In this exercise, you had to blow up a balloon and then pinch the top closed and hand the balloon off to the person on the right, and then the left, and the third person clockwise, etc, and the point was something really stupid like, "The moral of the story is that unless you rely on your teammates, you will end up holding too many balloons and air will get out of the balloons!" For this, they paid some consultant actual money?! Anyhow, with all the stupid ex-frat boy types pretending to pop their balloons and letting their stinky breath out of the balloons, I got really phobic and freaked out. So I left on the pretense of going to the bathroom and didn't return.

Anyhow, that's how much I fear balloons.

There we were in this lovely theater with a lot of people playing balloons, and also there was that sharp-looking chandelier at the top. My boyfriend told me, "I'm pretty sure those are the kind that don't pop."

Okay. It seemed reasonable, since they're so huge, and they looked kind of thick, and they seemed as though they were made for batting into the air. I actually got happy and hoped a balloon would come floating toward me so I could floof it up into the air. I watched the balloon game for a while, and then suddenly !!!POP!!! - a goddamned balloon popped!

I gave my boyfriend the dirtiest look I could. "Oops," he said sheepishly. He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and handed me a $20 bill. "Why don't you go to the bathroom and get some popcorn?"
I snatched the bill in silence and stormed off.

But the movie was hysterically funny, campy and good. It's being released in September, in the major cities. You'll have to bring your own horrible balloons!

Slender, with Big Boobs

I saw this couple today at the Farmers Market. They both looked like gym-people. The woman has very large breasts in a tiny white halter top. (Her nipples were poking out big time, too, but I make no judgement about that; whenever I see it, I notice, but I generally don't think it's weird or gross.) When I lived in Los Angeles, I saw tiny women with big breasts all the time. I don't see that so much in San Francisco... so I thought this was noteworthy.

The Right Kind of Tight

I was buying a gift for a friend yesterday; a fitted Paul Frank tee shirt, really cute, with Julius as a skull and crossbones.

Now this gal recently had a breast reduction and informed me that her bra size is now 34 C or 36C. At the shop, I was deciding between size Medium and size Large, really waffling, really agonizing. I even unfolded the Large (I'm not one of those annoying customers who unfolds everything and just throws all the merchandise around on the tables - No! I re-fold, and I do a damned good job. This is because I once sold towels at a Macy's for two hellish months when I was in college. WHY do people need to UNFOLD TOWELS, I ask you? What surprises do they think they're gonna find in a neatly folded TOWEL? But I digress.) I laid the Large down and placed the Medium on top to see how much bigger the Large was. It seemed to be just about 1/2 inch bigger all around, except it was about two inches longer at the bottom hem. Weird.

I thought I should get a Large. Then I started second-guessing myself. What if she gets insulted because I got her a Large and she really wanted a Medium? Would a Medium be tight? Too tight or the right kind of tight? What if she gets mad? Will she think that I think that her breast reduction was unsuccessful? (Which I don't - I think she looks great!) Or that she is fat?

I suddenly remembered the time a boyfriend bought me an outfit from Express. Now that was sweet - we were something like twenty years old; he didn't know any better.
Express - yuck. Periwinkle blue frumpy schoolmarm skirt and sweater - DOUBLE YUCK. Size 9 when at the time I wore a 5 - HATE HIM!!! Horrible, horrible boy!

Is buying clothing for women always THIS DIFFICULT?! And if so, thank God I have a skinny-ass boyfriend, and he's easy to dress. Just dress him up like a little dolly.
He likes everything I buy him. But then, I know his style and I know all his sizes, except his glove size.

Back to the dilemma at hand - I ended up getting the Medium shirt, and a receipt, and a promise from the guy who worked there that I could EASILY exchange the shirt if need be. Also, I hid the Large just to be sure it'll still be there if I need it.

Check back later. The pal is having a birthday party tonight and maybe, just maybe she will get so drunk that she will pose for a photo in nothing but the new tee shirt and her panties!

Star Tattoos on Calves -WHY?

Something I've been thinking about for a while is why these matching star tattoos (always paired and always on the calves or the elbows) are so ubiquitous, at least in San Francisco. When I saw these people in front of me on the sidewalk yesterday, I HAD to take the picture and write about this.

There's a whole body of history and symbolism around the
nautical star, but what does the regular Carl's Jr-type star mean to people who tattoo it onto themselves?
Is it just considered cool? Is it that they couldn't think of something more original to tattoo? Or is there a special meaning or coding to having these two matching stars on the back of one's calves? WHY? WHY?

Lunch Without Nuts

I'm deathly allergic to tree nuts. A lot of people who are allergic to tree nuts are also allergic to peanuts, which are not really even a nut - they are a legume. But I am not allergic to peanuts.

Pinenuts are not real nuts. Cornnuts are not nuts, either, by the way - they're CORN. Same with soy nuts.

Today, a customer of my company's came by around lunchtime with a lunch for me. Very exciting, since I get only 1/2 hour for lunch and so can't really go out to a restaurant, and I had planned to eat a boring salad.

I looked in the bag and saw a bottle of water, a fruit cup, a sugar cookie (a Snickerdoodle to be exact) and a container with a sandwich in it: some kind of filling stuff on a French roll, on top of some spring mix and what looked like balsamic vinagrette. "Is this tuna salad?" I asked.
"No; chicken pesto," he replied.
"Okay. Thank you so much!" I said cheerfully.

I LOVE PESTO! The moment he said, "chicken pesto" my mouth filled with saliva.

The trouble is, some pesto is made with basil, olive oil and pinenuts, and some is made with basil, olive oil and WALNUTS. Sadly, I didn't ask, but I don't think the guy who gave me the sandwich would have known, anyhow. He's the driver, not the chef.

I emailed my coworker Becky at her desk. She loves sandwiches.

"I have a sandwich here, it looks very good, but it's got pesto on it, which could have nuts in it. Would you like it?" I typed.

"I'll be right up," she typed back.

At my desk, she scrutinized the sandwich.
"I make my pesto with PINEnuts," she said, being nice.
"I know, but I can't know for sure if this is made with pinenuts or walnuts," I said.
"That really sucks for you," she said, "Because it looks really good. You know, I bet it's not made with walnuts."
"Probably not, but I can't know for sure, so I'd better not," I said, feeling more and more glum.
"Yeah, better not take a chance," she agreed, and disappeared happily with the sandwich.

She kindly made me a baked potato.

So I had baked potato, arugula salad and a fruit cup for lunch.

She told me the chicken pesto sandwich was delicious.

ARGH!

I HATE BEING ALLERGIC TO NUTS! I don't care if I can't eat actual, whole nuts. They're not that excitingly delicious to me. But it really sucks being left out of carrot cake, brownies, and most of all HALF THE PESTO IN SAN FRANCISCO!

But apparently there are special Chinese allergy doctors who can cure people of food allergies in one visit. Should I seek one out? But just so that I can be a pig and eat whatever I want?

I'm going to see a movie with another co-worker today after work. "We have to get snacks before we go in to the movie!" she said cutely, when I saw her at lunch time.
"Okay!" I replied happily. "Want some salad dressing? I made it - it's all organic - it's tamari, tahini, rice vinegar, sesame oil and sugar..."
"Sugar?" she said, "I can't... I'm not eating sugar."

WHAT? What kind of yummy snacks can we share at the movies if she can't have SUGAR?!

Just popcorn, I guess. No sugar, no pesto... Jeez...why even eat? WHY EVEN HAVE TASTEBUDS?!

Tokyo Dollgirls - Tarina Tarantino

Browsing Tarina Tarantino's website on Friday, I found this photo from her recent visit to Japan. The models were painted and dressed to look like dolls, with bright pink blush, plastic-like shiny lips, and eyelashes drawn on with liner. Also on Friday, a pal sent me some poems she had written and one of them is an ode to Henrik Ibsen and is about a little girl who falls into her dollhouse while looking at it; she becomes one of the dolls and sits there looking at a little doll-table laden with miniaturized porcelain food. The poem, and the fashion, blew my friggin' mind! Since I had an art show reception to attend the next day, I decided to try doing similar makeup. I practiced on Friday night and decided it looked really good, except the eyelashes, which I managed to improve on Saturday, by making them sort of balled at the end rather than spiky.

My outfit included a black silk Betsey Johnson skirt, which is crumpled and ruched, a black beaded camisole under a black lace top with ruffles down the front. I carried my old Gwen Stefani L.A.M.B. baby barrel bag, and wore Donna Karan "Spring Lace" tights. My shoes are really cool but they didn't make it into the photo. The parasol I got at a wedding supply warehouse. Hmm and I had awesome aqua blue nailpolish from Sephora; it's inexpensive, so I was amazed at how smoothly it applied, and how shiny and candy-like it looked when dry. (I think it's funny how I appear to be displaying my manicure on my friend Esther's upper arm like I'm Barbra Streisand in The Prince of Tides.) I wore a faux-ivory cuff bracelet, which I got at a wonderful antique store, though it's not an antique.

Oprah's Friggin' Mashed Potatoes

My workplace is decidedly leftist and sort of hippie. We subscribe to The Nation, Utne, and various organic vegetarian foods, slow foods, and yoga publications.
The breakroom is covered with back issues of these.

However, someone keeps bringing in old issues of more mainstream magazines, like Marie Claire, Cosmopolitan, and O. I find this kind of funny. There's an old issue of Marie Claire with Gwen Stefani on the cover, and someone has drawn an extremely good skull over Gwen's face with black Sharpie.

Sitting down to my lunch yesterday, I noticed that someone else had drawn X's over Oprah's eyes and mouth on the June cover of O. I don't generally read O; I find it really goody-two-shoes and patronizing. But I read the headings and one of them said something about "Oprah's mashed potatoes".

Okay. Mashed potatoes are a topic I most definitely AM HIGHLY INTERESTED IN.
Thinking that Oprah was going to share some family recipe for amazing mashed potatoes or perhaps one that had been concocted by a gifted chef she employs, I began to flip eagerly through the pages, looking for the potatoes.
I love mashed potatoes! I could eat them every day for a week.

Turns out there was only ONE SENTENCE in the whole goddamned magazine about Oprah's mashed potatoes. Apparently she DID eat them every day for a week, and she gained ten pounds. (Okay, something is severely wrong with her metabolism. Who can gain ten pounds in a week?!) She was in Morocco, blah blah, and didn't like any of the food the hotel had to offer, so she asked the chef to make mashed potatoes, and he did, and she ate them every night for a week. (I don't comprehend that. Oprah is incredibly wealthy, so I'm sure the hotel she was staying at must be so amazingly posh, with such thick towels, soft sheets and good food - how could she not like the food?! She ate no local food; no culinary delights. Just mashed potatoes.) That was it - the whole story on mashed potatoes. How dare they make a headline for that on the cover?! So misleading. I felt so ripped off!

Just in case anyone feels similarly ripped off, and now wants to make a batch of mashed potatoes, I am going to tell you how.

People argue on and on about which type of potato to use. But trust ME, because for one thing, I love mashed potatoes, and also I work at a produce company and have tasted every variety of potato from the bright purple Huckleberry to French Fingerlings to regular russets. And regular russets are indeed the potato to use! (This is not just my cockamamie opinion. It is also confirmed by one of my coworkers, who used to be a professional chef.)

If you're just making enough for two people, use three potatoes. You don't need more than that for two people. Seriously - look what happened to Oprah when she ate too many. Scrub them and boil them with the skins ON.

Boil till they are fork-tender. (You will know, because you will stick a fork into the largest of the three potatoes and it will feel tender and crumbly!)

Pour off the water and let them cool a little.

When cool enough to handle, take one potato and squeeze it through a potato ricer.

Yes, YOU NEED A POTATO RICER. A ricer is like those weird Play-Doh dolls we had when we were kids, with holes in the scalps, and when you PUSHED, the Play-Doh would come out the scalp-holes in strings and make hair on the dolls - remember those?
Well, you can have the same kind of fun by pushing a potato through a ricer. It's fast, it's fun, and it makes f*cking awesome potatoes! Don't mash with a fork because mashing too much creates starchy, gummy potatoes. Get a ricer!

After you use the ricer, the potato skins will be left behind in the ricer, and you just toss them into the compost.

Once you have your pile of riced potatoes, put them into a small pot on the stovetop on low. Add HOT MILK and stir gently till the potatoes are as creamy as you like them. Start with 1/2 cup of hot milk. Add 1 TBS of butter. It does not have to be melted - it will melt right in. They are basically done! Turn off the stove.

Now add salt, pepper, garlic - whatever. I like chives snipped on top, and if you're a carnivore, you should try mixing in crisp cooked and crumbled bacon sometime. To make them extra rich you can add some shredded cheese or sour cream.

It's okay to eat mashed potatoes. Just not every day. They're not the same as carrot sticks or wheatgrass shots.

Don't say Oprah didn't warn you.

Adults Only

Yesterday I went to the market to get some stuff for salad. Since I work at a produce company, I get all the lettuce, tomato, and cucumber I can eat, but what is salad without croutons, green olives stuffed with feta, and shaved parmesan cheese?!
So off to market I go.

Salad, sure.

These DEVIOUS marketing display people. They have the delectable bakery goods right at the front door! At eye level, and at my right hand - a table covered with chocolately-looking squares of various size and slightly asymmetrical shape - brownies! My favorite food (in fact, my sweetie calls me Brownie). All thoughts of olives and croutons forgotten, I seized one, and flipped it over to scan the ingredients. The problem with most brownies is that they contain walnuts, and I am deathly allergic to tree nuts. But there were no nuts - just semisweet chocolate, butter, salt, sugar, eggs, vanilla and flour. At the top of the label it said, "Adult Brownie".

Adult Brownie???

What the F*** is an ADULT brownie?

Somewhere, once upon a time in a Women's Studies class in a universe or university far far away, I learned that a GIRL is anyone who hasn't had her first menstrual period yet and a WOMAN is anyone who has. There are lots of problems with that definition, but, let's try it anyway:

"I'm sorry, young lady, have you had your first menstrual period yet? No? You say you're only 11? Aha! No ADULT BROWNIE for you! Begone! Shoo!"

Is age eighteen adult?

"I'll have a pack of American Spirits. Oh, and... one ADULT BROWNIE. Thanks."

All this conjecture is moot, since both ages 11 and 18 (and my first menstrual period) have LONG SINCE come and gone, but since my next menstrual period IS approaching, I bought one ADULT BROWNIE. I'll have you know I did choose one of the smaller ones, though. You know, just in case I do want to get a bob haircut. I do realize the "smaller" one I chose was slightly over a half-pound. Oh, well.

Oh my God, I tasted it - in the parking lot - it was crumbly-dry on top and dense chocolatey-velvety inside - and then knew why it is called "Adult Brownie":



It's because it gives you an instant orgasm!

To Bob or Not To Bob?

(I'm not talking about Bend Over Boyfriend)

Here's my latest fashion dilemma, and also the one I've been thinking about the most:

I have long hair. It's not anything like crazy Crystal Gayle-long, it's just normal-long; around three or four inches below my shoulders. Every few years I suddenly get SICK TO DEATH of having long hair and I either cut it to shoulder-length, which kind of half-satisfies me, or all the way to a chin-length bob. The last time I had my hair cut into a bob was in 2003. I look young with a bob, which is good, but I also look fatter with a bob. So to counteract the fattening effects of the bob, I would have to first work out really hard and get into the best possible shape before I get it.

It is weird that hair length and style can make a person look thinner or fatter.
Eeew, can't I just grow my hair down to my feet and then perm it so it covers me entirely? Like Cousin Itt in the Addams Family.

Dreary June Weather

This afternoon I ended up in a little shop that sells Paul Frank tee shirt and accessories, Roxy, Billabong, and Reef brand slippers - summer clothes, sunglasses, swim trunks and bikinis. I got really excited because I saw a few swimsuits I really liked, but then reality conked me on the head in the form of a cold gust of wind blowing through the store because a woman had just entered with her preadolescent child. It was a chilling blast of San Francisco-in-June REALITY. It is cold. Cold, cold, cold and foggy and dreary and gray. People wear coats, scarves and boots in San Francisco in June. And July. And much of August.

This is how someone was dressed today. SOOO DREARY! Seeing her made me want to go jump off the Golden Gate Bridge.

Beauty Spot... Or Not?

Yesterday I was having a sandwich with my friend Esther, and after we finished eating I swiped at her cheek with my fingertip.
"You have something there," I said, thinking it was a fleck of burnt bread. When it didn't come off I yelled, "Oh my God, it's a BEAUTY MARK!"
"Yeah, I have a few of them," she said, pointing at a few smaller ones.

I have two beauty marks; one at the corner of my right eye and one above my lip. Not to be vain, but I really love them and I sometimes enhance them with a little bit of brown eyeliner. (In the photos above they are non-enhanced.) Sometimes I overdo it, but isn't that what fashion is for?

My favorite eyeliner for enhancing the beauty marks is MAC cosmetics' Powerpoint Eyeliner in "Duck", which is a matte dark brown. It's waterproof, smudgeproof and glides on like silk. To enhance a beauty spot, or create one from scratch, just sharpen the pencil, press it to the skin, and give it a little twist. Pat with a little bit of face powder and there you go.

A Sexy Bitch of a Boyfriend

Unlike my neighbor, my boyfriend is a fashion whore. A bit of a dandy, a popinjay, a person of fashion. Put it this way - one day some four years ago, he was getting dressed, discovered that a pair of dark blue Versace jeans (Versace, for Pete's sake!) had gotten hemmed a 1/2 inch too short and as a result looked kind of silly. If I remember correctly, he threw himself across his bed in what can only be called a tantrum. Before the tantrum could ramp up, I offered to take his jeans to Denim Doctor in Los Angeles (we lived in Los Angeles at the time) to have the hem repaired. Problem solved!

He doesn't fuss and preen much, though. I like that he doesn't have to try a bunch of outfits on; I think he plans them in his head and then gets dressed with ease.
It's the apparent effortlessness of his cuteness that makes it so... cute. I love the ways he mixes expensive things with inexpensive ones, like the $50 Swatch watch he wears. Like me, he likes what he likes, regardless of if it's pricey or not, and regardless of what other people think.

Here he's wearing jeans, an Ed Hardy tee shirt with a thermal underneath and a very old Diesel cap. I like the cap because "D" is my initial! That's why I like Dior, too.

My Harmless, Mild Neighbor Dresses Badly

I live in an apartment in a building of four apartments. One of my biggest obsessions is my neighbors. When we first moved in in October, I left each unit some baby pumpkins and gourds for Halloween. No one said thank you, hi, bye or "kiss my ass." I had so hoped for friendly neighbors! But clearly, I wasn't getting them.

In one unit, there is a young heterosexual couple with a pit bull and an adorable 1 year old baby (seems like a bad combo, but what do I know). I don't obsess on them because they seem easy to understand - average young couple, guy wears blue scrubs to work, woman apparently takes care of baby, she wears bootleg jeans and stilettos a lot when they go out, they walk their dog and pick up its poo responsibly. We smile and say hi. Once, I heard them fighting (well, she was screaming and he was murmuring) as I was taking out the recycling and walked past their door, but hey, all couples do. The baby probably screams and cries but because I don't live above them, I don't care. I don't hear it.

My downstairs neighbors - now that's a whole 'nother story for another day!

My "across the way" neighbor, now - I wonder about him. He's pretty quiet, he's going bald at a young age, sometimes I hear people come over, then his kitchen cabinets open and close, then I hear the people saying "goodbye" and "thanks", all within a few minutes. This is what led me to believe he was a drug dealer, but it turns out he works at my boyfriend's workplace and does computer stuff. So boring compared to dealing drugs! He has a teal-colored car. (Ick. But maybe it was a good deal, or someone gave it to him.) His girlfriend is Ross.

He's just an average-looking, average-height, average-weight white guy. But he has SUCH BAD FASHION that I just want to break into his apartment, tie him up, give away all his clothes, then untie him and TAKE HIM SHOPPING. There's nothing I love more than Boy Dress-Up.

Above is a photo of him in one of his boring, boring outfits. Slightly nerdy jeans, a stupid tee shirt, and black boots. (And yes, that is how trashy and crappy the grass looks where I live. Crazy overpriced apartment with crappy landscaping! Makes me CRAZY!)

Pretty Little Barrettes

I had my hair in two barrettes. One of my coworkers said, "Hey, I like
those barrettes. Where did you get them?"
"At a beauty supply by my house," I said, forgetting that I'd actually
gotten them at Nordstrom. "Want me to pick up a pair for you? They have this color and darker brown."
"No, thank you," she said, "They look pretty on you. I don't really like barrettes..."

"YOU DON'T LIKE BARRETTES? WHY NOT?!" I yelled right in the office.

She has pretty, shoulder length, wavy brown hair with no bangs... how does someone with hair like that not wear barrettes? I was shocked.

"I don't know..." she said, laughing at my reaction, "I just... don't know. I just don't really use them."

Oh my God, I would be like Ally Sheedy's character in The Breakfast Club with hair all over my face and dandruff if I didn't wear barrettes! I love barrettes!

...especially these barrettes by France Luxe. I have several, and they hold hair really well, even slippery straight hair like mine. They're sturdy, too. They're more expensive than your average drugstore-brand barrettes, but they're heavier, they're more lustrous, and they don't break, so overall they're a better value.

Quorn - the Bioengineered Fungal Chicken Substitute

I eat very little meat; if I do, it's usually grass-fed, no hormone, organic, free range and all that good stuff. I eat substitute meat sometimes, veggie burgers and things like that.

Recently, a coworker of mine who is a meat-eater came by with what looked like a breaded chicken sandwich. She offered me a bite.
"Is it chicken?" I asked. "Or soy chicken?"
"It's not real chicken but it's really good," she said. "The brand is Quorn."
I tried a bite, and she was right... it tasted really good and not to be gross but it really feels like chicken when you're chewing it. Like it has that stringy muscular texture of chicken breast meat.

I bought Quorn. Before I bought it I read the packaging carefully and it said that Quorn is made with "mushroom protein." Okay. Sounded fine. (I didn't even know that mushrooms contain protein.)

"I tried the nuggets," I told my Quorn-touting co-worker.
"Try the cutlets," she said, "They have gruyere cheese inside."

Cutlets!? What next! I decided to websurf over to Quorn's website to see what other meatless goodies they make out of this magical "mushroom protein".

Quorn's website links to another page that's all about the mushroom protein.
It's actually a bioengineered fungus or mold type substance that is grown in huge vats and fed chemicals and sugars, named "mycoprotein" and then it's harvested and made into meat-like things. But if that's not scary enough... apparently a lot of people have had severe allergic reactions, including going into anaphylactic shock from eating it.

Some information about the allergic reactions and complaints...

Wow! The future is here, and it's bioengineered food grown in sterile vats... and it's terrifying!

No more Quorn for me.

Hello Kitty Tee Shirts are Almost Always Pink

As much as I love to wear the little white cat, I sometimes pass on a tee shirt because they are often pink, and I love pink too, but you can only have so many pink tee shirts with Hello Kitty on them. I love my new one because it's green!

(They also have a new orange one out, and it says something about "being this cute is exhausting". If Hello Kitty is saying "being this cute is exhausting" it is one thing, but I fear people will look at me and think I am saying that about myself, and they may think, "Oh my God, you're not even cute!" I'm not about to open myself up to that kind of judgement.
So no orange tee shirt.)

I Love Shoes So Much It's Sick.

I have a deep and abiding love of platform shoes with wood or cork wedges. I am so revoltingly short, and I love being three or four inches taller. Sometimes people say to me, "How can you wear such high shoes? Aren't they uncomfortable?" The thing about being up on a platform shoe is that your foot is not being held at a severe angle the way it would be in a regular high heeled shoe. There is much less pressure on the ball of your foot in a platform shoe.
These come in black, taupe faux-snake, and gold. They're by Franco Sarto and they cost LESS THAN $100! (I got them at Nordstrom.)

Comb Mascara=Tammy Faye Bakker Eyes

The other day I bought a tube of this Maybelline Lash Stylist Waterproof mascara. For a long time now, my favorite expensive mascara has been Lancome Definicils Waterproof, which costs around $20. I like it because it's on the liquidy side, goes on rather heavily, and if you've curled your eyelashes before applying it, it really keeps them that way, unlike a lot of mascaras, which wet the curled lashes and straighten them. My favorite cheap mascara was Maybelline Full-n-Soft Waterproof, which costs around $6 or $7. It has a soft, full brush that deposits a light amount of mascara, and leaves eyelashes looking feathery and soft, rather than spiky or dramatic, but it too helps hold the curl.

Lash Stylist has a tiny comb applicator instead of the usual mascara brush! It's actually two rows of tiny teeth, and it's extremely small, so you can really get to all your eyelashes easily. When you first pull the applicator out of the tube, it just looks like a stick. When you really look, you see the two rows of comb-teeth. The combs apply A LOT of very wet, very shiny mascara onto the lashes. I had to comb again and again to separate some of the lashes that had stuck together, and I did one coat on my lower lashes and then two coats on the upper lashes. In the end, my eyelashes looked very black and very thick and spiky. Kind of like Tammy Faye's... not as clumpy. This is a good mascara if you want really dramatic eyelashes.

I try so many mascaras; I'm really surprised that I love this one! Love it! I daresay it is my new favorite!