bubble necklace > yoga

So I bought this necklace. 

I won't dwell on it, because I know what you're thinking.

Wow, another blogger with a knock off bubble necklace. What else is new?

But I will tell you this:

For the past year, I've been practicing yoga pretty regularly.

(Stay with me. I have a point, I promise.)

It helped with most of the things you think yoga might help with -- concentration, flexibility, strength... oh, and road rage.

(Side note: Sure, I can touch my toes now. But the most helpful thing about yoga is that it completely cured me of my road rage. I'm not sure how... something about inviting kind thoughts and standing on my head.)

The only thing yoga didn't help me with was my posture. I still caught myself hunching all the time, even after so many hours of muscle locks and ujjayi breath.

Enter the ubiquitous blogger accessory, the bubble necklace -- which, if you've never felt one, is a heavy, clunky piece of jewelry.

Here's a glimpse into my life post bubble necklace:

Arrive at work. Sit at desk. Check e-mails. Start making a to-do BAM.

That's the sound of my bubble necklace hitting my desk as I begin my descent into 8 hours of slumping.

The noise startles me (I hate loud noises. I can't be in the same room as balloons, but we can talk about that later.) and I sit up straight. This situation repeats itself basically every 10 seconds until finally I admit defeat to the bubble necklace. It's too cute to take off, so... I reluctantly sit up straight. Like this cheap Chinese piece of plastic is a 1950's schoolteacher rapping on my desk with a yardstick.

See, non-believers? There's more than meets the eye with the bubble necklace.   Next time you see one, be kind and know the truth. We don't wear it because it's cute. We don't wear it because every blogger and their mother and sponsor and favorite Etsy seller have one. 

We wear it because I'm now 3/4 of an inch taller.


culottes for mom

I remember my mom loved culottes. She bought them for me, for herself, and she probably would have bought them for my dad if he would have let her. 

I think she would be happy to know that culottes are back, and that I own two pairs. 

I can't promise that I'll jump on board when her next favorite 90s trend, puff painted t-shirts, come back in style. 

four eyes

When I look at old pictures of anyone (but especially myself), the first and most embarrassing thing I notice are the glasses. Who is watching this person try on these glasses, I think, and giving them permission to appear in public? 

When I look at pictures of my siblings in the 80s and 90s, their glasses are huge and terrible by today's standards, yet they elected to continue wearing them as their face was immortalized on film. This means at some point those glasses were considered attractive.

The purpose of this post is to give Future Me easy access to Current Me's glasses. Laugh all you want, Future Me, but believe it or not, these glasses were actually kind of the norm in 2012. And people actually told me I looked good in them. I know, right?

fashion, or lack thereof

On occasion I work with a colleague named L. The first time I met L he told me my outfit was very "Anne Hathaway".  I knew we'd get along.

L lightens the mood around our office when he's in town, rearranging office furniture and picture frames,  reminding everyone of important facts like Madonna's daughter's name (Lourdes, duh), making me mix cds featuring "Rock DJ" and "Suddenly I See".

He recently made an appearance at my office door, saw me, and nodded approvingly. "CUTE!" he declared. I held my breath. I was wearing an outfit I had been itching to recreate after seeing it on Matchbook's Tumblr, and was anxious to find out if it would receive the coveted "Anne Hathaway" designation.

L took in the ensemble, a look of approval still on his face. "Is that a skirt or an apron?" he asked.

I squinted my eyes at him from across my office. We were surrounded by computers and filing cabinets, not an oven or sink in sight. "An apron?"

He shrugged. "It kind of looks like an apron. It's not one?"

"You thought I got out of bed and decided to wear an apron to work today?"


"You complimented my outfit even though you thought it might be an apron?"

He was confused by my confusion. I let it go.

Moral of the story: if worse comes to worst and you need to wear an apron to work, I will look at you funny and ask you about your apron in such a way that it needs to be italicized. 


I want to share this, um, compliment the janitor in my hallway gave me earlier today. It's pretty much verbatim.

As I walked out of my office, the janitor was speaking with my coworker, but stopped mid-sentence and gawked at me.

"Look at her!" she exclaimed, "She clownin'! Look at that little belt match those little shoes - you profilin'! You just like a sista! Look at those shoes! Those are shoes a sista wears. You a sista now!"

So, friends, today I am a sista (my coworker assured me that I was striking an appropriate pose). I hope your weekend is off to as exciting a start as mine is.

arts and crafts time

Somewhere along the line, all of my friends really stepped it up in the crafts department and left me behind to spray paint pumpkins. For example, A. sews her own clothes and makes statement art for her house.

Imagine how embarrassed I was when I proudly handed her a meticulously decoupaged birthday card for her 27th birthday. She handled it gracefully; I think she's going to be a great mom someday.

One of the first friends I made when we moved here for medical school does the following: metalworking, jewelry-making, painting, children's book illustrating, and cake decorating. Usually on the same day. Oh, and she's an aspiring radiologist. I know, right? It took all the energy I had to decoupage one 4x6 birthday card.

I think I'm most impressed with my friend Diane, though. She's the first person I know who's decided to capitalize on her talent. Although she could have easily started a store selling light fixtures like the one she made for her kitchen... or reupholstered chairs like the many I've seen around her house... or her homemade Christmas stockings... I was pretty excited when she started selling her handmade clutches. And she even gave herself a brand name: Coventry Lane. (Which she claims is the first street she lived on, but I'm preeeetty sure is just the second part of her porn star name.)

Your homework: 1) Check out the rest of Coventry Lane's clutches and 2) impress me with your secret crafty talents. Is anyone else on the kindergarten-decoupaging couch with me?

Day 13: outfit of the day pictures

True story: I've been in two fashion shows. Both selected their models in rather exclusive ways, the first being my class had to do it and the second being first come first serve.

Today's post in the WBThirty was to post a week of "outfit of the day" pictures. Maybe you've never heard of this phenomenon? There's a big fashion blogging community in which bloggers post pictures of their outfits every day, comment on the fit and feel of the clothes, and alert the world to sales the moment they happen. Secretly this appeals to me, since I enjoy [and spend far too much time] getting dressed in the morning, yet sit in a windowless office all day where no one can see my creations.

I've been slightly embarrassed about this post and playing fashion blogger for a hot second, so I decided to tell you about my fashion shows in hopes that the post could only get less embarrassing from here.

The actual audio from this fashion show: "Everyone's crazy about denim! D is always a star student and she wants her clothes to sparkle and shine too. So, you see her modeling her best jeans and jean jacket, but they're embellished with an array of multicolored jewels. Her white blouse features decorative jewels to complement a look for D that truly sparkles and shines."

Fashion show number two was a little more interesting:

In 2004, I named this photo badhair.jpg

And this picture is called newhair.jpg. At some point in my life, even for a brief second as I labeled photos, I did not consider this bad hair. That scares me.

Now won't you humor me as I play dress up? Note that I don't make Y stand there and take these pictures. a) He would kill me, and b) I know how to use my timer, and c) he will never be Bryan Skeen (can you tell I have a girl crush on Kendi? I promise to stop referencing her now).

day 8: a photo of me taken over 10 years ago

Oh, hello.

It's me, 1994 D. I know what you're thinking: I stole these glasses from Dwight Shrute. FALSE. It is 1994, Dwight Shrute has not been invented yet.

So what's it like in 2010? Do I have diabeetus from all these orange sodas I've been drinking? Are black jeans and over-sized cartoon character t-shirts back in yet? Has my neck been excavated from beneath my chins?

The reason I am posing for you, foot in hand, is because I'm currently attending a surprise party for myself, thrown by my elementary school friends -- many of whom I will never see again -- before I leave the great state of Texas once and for all. That's right. I'm wearing a Flintstones t-shirt to my going away party. Kill me now.

I hope I've influenced you, 2010 D. I hope that you not only have sworn off the orange soda, but that you will always remember life's golden rule: you never know when your picture might be taken. Dress accordingly.

fashion police

The other day, I left my house wearing this:

I park across a busy street from my office -- one of the busiest streets in town. As I was standing at the edge of the parking lot, waiting for traffic to clear, a car that was speeding by slowed to a crawl in front of me. It was stuffed full of people, and the driver rolled down his window. I swear he was Damien from Mean Girls.

But instead of shouting "You go Glen Coco!" or something equally awesome, he shook his finger at me, yelled, "UH UH girl! That is
not a good look for you" and drove off.

You know how 2 minutes after something like that happens, you think of all these great comebacks? I still haven't thought of one, although I did consider chasing him down to ask questions. Was it the skirt? Are you not into Toms wedges? Do you have any words of encouragement for Lindsay Lohan?

Sadly, I don't think I'll ever see old Damien again. But I'm collecting outfit advice in case I do-- and comebacks-- so help me out here.

And no, older woman in my office, "What do you know, f*ggot?!" is NOT a good comeback. Yikes.

the truth about walking the dog; accidental nerd glasses

When I was in college, newly initiated into the world of Adobe Creative Suite, one of my first assignments was to copy a magazine cover.

I was hooked. My poor friends got fake Cosmo covers for their birthdays for the next few years. In my free time, I made fake US Weekly spreads. I was, to be honest, super cool.

See that barcode? That's how you know it's authentic.

When I saw Who What Wear the other day, I knew I had to revisit my old pastime.

My husband doesn't know this, but when I tell him I took the dog for a walk, I mean that I put on my wedge heels and walked around our backyard.

My favorite part of my dog walking outfit, other than my mime shirt, is my accidental nerd glasses. I buy my glasses online at Zenni Optical because I can't take care of my things and they cost $15.

The downside is that the frames look a little, um, smaller on the screen than they do in real life.

Since we're discussing old pastimes, and teenage/college me never had a MySpace, I feel like I should get to do a MySpace -esque picture of my nerd glasses. Because that's people who wear nerd glasses do.

t-shirt years

Well here's a sign I'm getting old. (Other than the fact that while watching The Real World: New Orleans, I said to Y, I'm an entire kindergartener older than these people!)

Everyone has their favorite t-shirt, right? One that's so old and threadbare that it practically feels like silk; has so many holes it absolutely cannot, under any circumstances be worn in public. One that any "vintage" shirt from Hollister/American Eagle/Old Navy wishes it could feel like. (You don't even mind if it starts to fade -- that only makes it nicer still.)

My go-to comfy t-shirt is a treasure I found in my mom's closet. It's from San Francisco, and since I've never been to San Fransisco and my parents rarely traveled without me, I'm going to assume it's over 26 years old.

Y's favorite soft, threadbare shirt? Another vintage classic: my high school senior class shirt. 8 years old.

it's prom season, baby

Those med school kids are so clever. Next weekend is, essentially, med school prom, but apparently someone loves puns as much as I do because it's being called "The Undescended Ball". Since I am no longer 17, proms aren't that exciting to me, but it does mean an excuse to dress up, which I will never turn down.

I waited until the last minute with online shopping, wishing and hoping that Rue La La would feature a really good deal on formal dresses ($3.95, Leila?). That didn't happen, so I have two options.

1. Search the teeny tiny corner of our Dillard's that sells semi decent clothing
2. Take a self deprecating tour through my closet of old formal dresses in search of one that is remotely recyclable.

Well. I did both. Dillard's had nothing to offer me (I even searched the...cringe... juniors prom dresses) and so far, neither does my closet:

I distinctly remember asking my friend in the dressing room if this dress made me look fat. Clearly, I had bigger things to worry about. Like... well, everything?

We also won't go into what I had to worry about here, either. But, oh, there was so much. So, so much. I do remember I started going to a gym for the first time ever a few weeks before this picture was taken because "I wanted my arms to look nice for prom". Snort.

And this was prom the next year. Honestly, I don't think the dress is the problem here.

A few years later, I recycled that red dress for a Mardi Gras ball. Sadly, shortly after I found mold on its beautiful, classy, visible tulle layers, so it is out of the running for this year's event. Such a shame. It's practically vintage now.

I've already showed you this dress, but I thought I would post it again to remind you of my resemblance to Jessica Simpson.

Mom stops buying your clothing? Poor college student? Ugly $25 dollar bright turquoise dress it is.

Still a poor college student? Have slightly better taste? This $15 random black dress from a juniors' section somewhere fits the bill. I would wear this one again, but not only did I wear it a Purim party 5 years ago, I wore it to med school prom last year (above). I wouldn't want to commit my first ever fashion faux pas, now would I??

3% of me wants to throw social norms out the window and wear my wedding dress. I mean, I could dye it, right? It wouldn't be that weird... right?

Needless to say, I'm back at square one. If you have a blog, I would love to see your old prom dress disasters!

This is why we can't have nice things.

I'm not going to lie, getting a dog was probably the best decision we've ever made. Not only is he the main reason I have anything to write about in this blog, he's not a bad snuggler, either.

He's the perfect model for all of my creative endeavors.

He is a diligent watchdog, always alerting us when our next door neighbor gets home and when the neighborhood chihuahua takes its daily walk. Important stuff.

He's very smart. You might even call him scholarly.

And he's very interested in his Jewish faith.

He's a way better workout buddy than Y(who gave up on my pilates video after 10 minutes).

But this week, my favorite thing about Ike is our common interest, an interest we've shared since he was just a wee puppy: shoes.

You see, when Ike gets a new pair of shoes...

...so do I.

fashion show! fashion show! fashion show at lunch!

Last weekend I went to New Orleans, where my friends and I celebrated my friend A's birthday. A and I are both interested in fashion (although she's probably never accidentally dressed like a French clown). So, since I have over 10,000 pictures on iPhoto dating back to 2004 (I'm that annoying girl who always carries a camera, okay? Deal with it.), I decided this blog needed a montage of A's birthday fashion.

2004: Judging by the color of R (center)'s fabulous pants, this was not taken on A's birthday but sometime after Memorial day. However, I think it's an accurate representation of what we might have worn to celebrate our dear friend's 20th birthday. Note the abundance of pink and polka dots.

For A's 21st birthday, we celebrated with light denim, shades of green, and a shirred top with a lovely applique.

Of course A, who didn't even know she was about to be attending her surprise 21st birthday party, is the only one of us who actually looked good.

2006. One word: gauchos. Okay, two more words: denim jacket.

2007: Well... I don't actually have anything to say here. Good job, girls.

2008: the year of the weave.

And, 2010: A apparently borrowed her outfit from her 21 year old self.

Happy birthday, A! You're closer to 50 than you are to one! Can't wait to see what you wear to your 40th birthday bus trip to Lucy's.

keep calm and knit on

As a general rule, I'm supposed to hate my mother in law, right? Up until yesterday I had a valid reason: she spends hour upon hour knitting up a storm, and hasn't knitted me anything since LAST DECADE.

2008... that's at least 20 years ago in scarf years.

Well, as of last night someone's going to have to help me think of a new reason for my obligatory hatred, because I left my in laws' with a new accessory .

A quick google search tells me it might be called a cowl scarf. Doesn't it look just like these from NY&Co?

I'll take one in every color, please! And until I get one... let the mother in law hating commence!