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on Hawaii

I love Hawaii. I feel at home here. I’m not a beach bum by any stretch of the imagination, but I have enjoyed wearing nothing but a bathing suit since I’ve been here. I haven’t missed heels (did I just write that?) and I don’t mind so-called “island time” which would drive me nuts back in DC.

With the days of my vacation winding down, tonight I let myself be overtaken by emotion. After my friends went to sleep, I walked down to the beach by myself. And while three nights ago the moon lit up the sky, tonight it was nowhere to be seen. I sat in the sand, looked at the cloudy sky, listened to the waves crash, and I cried.

I cried for the remaining days (too few). I cried for the days away from my boys (too many). I cried for the fact that I have the wherewithal to be here (grateful). I cried tears of thanks to my friend Malia for providing the house we’ve called home on this trip (more gratitude). I cried for the uncertainty of when I can return to Hawaii. I cried for the challenges that await me at home. While Month of Chelsea was a resounding success, there is much to be settled still and in Scarlett O’Hara fashion, I’d rather think about it tomorrow.

I haven’t done any of the things I told myself I’d do here. I haven’t finished the sequel to My Night with George Clooney. I didn’t blog until tonight. I took two runs on the beach and a death-defying (maybe breathtaking is a better modifier) hike but other than that I haven’t worked out. I’ve read some books, but not at the speed I intended.

I relaxed. I ate. I drank. I slept like a baby.

I know the right thing is to make the most of my remaining days, so I will be counting each minute and making it count. And then I’ll be planning my return next year with the boys.

denim bar

Whereas I hate to shop for bathing suits, I love to buy jeans. I especially love to make the trek to the Denim Bar in Arlington, the place where I have bought most of my jeans over the last eight years.

Why do I love it?

First of all, every time I have shopped there with the exception of the time I went with Nancy, I’ve had no fewer than two people helping me. (Sometimes I wonder how they stay in business, because I hardly see other shoppers there.) And when I say “help” I mean someone who will check out your ass and give an honest opinion on whether or not the garment is flattering. Yes, we can consult the three-way mirror, but it’s so much better to have someone say, “wow, you look great in those” or “hmmm… I think you can do better.”

Sadly, my very favorite pair of skinny jeans just hit the point of retirement and my second favorite pair needs the same treatment. Skinny jeans and riding boots are a staple for me in the winter, so this was not an acceptable condition for me, and I especially wanted to make sure I had a pair to bring on my California-Hawaii three-week tour.

I’d had a lunch meeting in Alexandria on Tuesday with my former LD (and devoted male reader of the blog) and suddenly found myself driving by Pentagon Row. There was a parking spot right in front of the store. It was meant to be.

I walked in and gave an overstatement of the obvious.

Me: Hi, I need new jeans.

Denim-ista: Uh-huh.

Really, she was very helpful and patient as I tried on every pair of skinny jeans in my size in the store. And really, the jean trying on process, more than any other item of clothing, really does require one to actually try them on. You can’t just walk in and say, “I’ll take a pair of bootcut jeans in a 27.” There were some pairs that I couldn’t get past my knees. Some that I could stick my fist in the waistband. And of course, true to form, there were two pairs that were just right.

Just right except for the fact that they required hemming, but in addition to ass assessing, they do that there too.

I managed to pick them up today, in spite of a very busy day. And here they are.

Ass shot to come. Or maybe not.

I bought a white coat…

What was I thinking?

I have coveted a winter white wool coat (say that five times really fast after a cocktail) since my friend Jackie had one in high school. But back in the day, living in New England with its slushy sidewalks and black tinted snowbanks, it never seemed like a practical purchase. Who am I kidding? It isn’t practical now, given that I’m responsible for two messy little boys and three furry (shedding) cats. But the other night, after finally hitting the “publish” button on My Night with George Clooney, I was seduced by a J. Crew 25% off sale. I deserved a reward. So, I indulged.

And it’s gorgeous.

I already have all sorts of new rules. (Like I need more rules in my life.) No more drinking coffee in the car. No sitting down on the metro. No getting within reach of a glass of red wine. I’m sure more restrictions will come to me. I just hope I don’t realize them too late. But then again, making more frequent trips to the dry cleaner is a goal on my 43 by 43 list, so perhaps being the proud owner of this coat will provide extra incentive to fulfill that task.

on bikinis and such

I’m just going to admit it.

I don’t hate myself in a bikini right now. (Thank you, Biker Barre!)

In fact, I so don’t hate myself in a bikini that I ordered five for my upcoming trip to Hawaii.

This’s not to say that I wasn’t more than slightly stressed about making these purchases. My friend Katie told me that the best bathing suit she has ever owned came from Target. I took her advice and ordered several mix and match pieces for a grand total of less than $35. I kept three interchangeable components: two bottoms and a top. Because the available sizes and colors were limited (at $6/piece, most of the stock had been snatched up) I also ended up ordering additional suits from J. Crew and Zappos. The one from Zappos was returned, as were some of the components from J. Crew, but now that I know what styles I find flattering and styles not, this whole bathing suit thing feels a whole lot easier.

But that’s not all I need for 12 days in Hawaii. While I admire how some of my friends look in shorts, I can’t carry them off with even an ounce of confidence. Rosanna totally rocks a tomboy look. DC Celine can pull off the dressy short. And Wardrobe Oxygen is so rock and roll in her cutoffs. But shorts are not in my comfort zone, whereas skirts and dresses are. Luckily, even though it’s early for resort wear, I managed to find a non-budget-breaking convertible skirt-dress combination (the tag demonstrates seven ways to wear it) at Nordstrom. I bought it in three colors. I also found a cute basic black pareo at Lands End and already own many large scarves that will perform similarly and pair nicely with the bikini colors I chose.

Now the next step is figuring out whether all my items fit in my suitcase once I add shoes (shoes, glorious shoes) and five days worth of clothes for San Francisco. Clearly it is not going to be bathing suit weather there.

My Night with George Clooney

I did it. My short story is ready for the world.

Click here and you can read of it for yourself. You might even be able to do so at lunch, depending on how much time you get to take. In fact, you should start reading it at lunch or on your metro ride home tonight or first thing when you wake up in the morning. (I will cut you some slack that you might already have Friday night plans.)

This is an electronic book, published by Amazon’s Kindle Direct Program. But you don’t have to own an actual Kindle to read it. All you need is an iPhone, iPad or android or any other device that is compatible with the Kindle app. The app is free, so if you don’t have it, go download it now.

Before you cough up the $2.99 to read my story, I thought I’d give you a little description of what to expect.

My story is:

Funny.

Better than 50 Shades of Gray.

My story is not:

True.

Porn. (Sorry.)

And you can enjoy it for less than the cost of a tall latte at Starbucks, 1/7 the cost of a one-class pass at Biker Barre, and 1/166 the cost of these dream shoes by Bettye Muller at SimplySoles.

I feel a little dazed now that the big day is here and my story is out there for the world to read. Chalk it up the late night (it was 1:30am by the time I finally hit all the right buttons to send my story to Amazon) or the typical feeling of quiet exhaustion after you have fulfilled a huge personal challenge. I’m sure I will be more emotional later, once the realization sinks in that I just bared a significant part of my soul to you all. While I do hope you like it, I did this for me. As it turns out, proving to myself that I could publish a story was the best gift I ever gave myself.

And now I’m going to stop before I do open the emotional floodgates.

May you enjoy reading My Night with George Clooney as much as I enjoyed writing it.

meet Katie…

If you don’t go to Biker Barre, you might not have met co-owner Katie Fouts. She’s a badass on (and off) the bike. And the woman can dance, if her spin room moves are any indication. I suspect she teeters on the edge of crazy fun to go out on the town with. She’s inspiring. (I’m a sucker for the whole “I was unhappy in my previous career and made a complete change” storyline.) She’s energetic, smart, and gorgeous.

I was most honored when Katie approached me a few weeks ago and asked if she could engage my services in finding her a gown (make that two) for Inaugural festivities in January.

By way of an aside, let me note that Katie plans to attend the balls regardless of who wins the presidency, though she assures me she does have a preference as to who emerges victorious. Attending an Inaugural ball just happens to be something on her DC Bucket List.

Initially, we met to discuss strategy, over wine of course. We decided she needs a black dress for Inauguration Eve and a spectacular dress for the big night. She set a budget. She started a Pinterest board, Cinderella Time. And we scheduled our initial date to shop.

Who knew our shopping date would fall on Frankenstorm Eve? Being ever the cautious one, I questioned the sanity of heading out to Tyson’s after her Sunday Brunch Spin class as planned. We discussed rescheduling. But the endorphin high after her class pushed us both to go for it. (I mean, it wasn’t even raining yet.)

We hit two stores: Neiman Marcus and Saks. At Neiman, I suggested we look at every dress. I pulled gowns we had pinned and gowns we were unsure of on the hanger because I wanted to push her boundaries.

Of the ten gown we brought into the dressing room, the first three I suggested she try emerged as favorites. I will hold back on sharing a photo of the top contender for now, as we want to see her in a different style by the same designer. (We may stage our own little public opinion poll.) While we loved the David Meister Animal-Print Gown on her (pictured at the top) I feared that she’d be yanking up the strapless bodice all night and that the sequins would chafe her underarms. We also loved a Catherine Dean gown (pictured below) for its edgy factor, but it was way over budget. (I don’t normally endorse trying on dresses over your budget but in this case, we wanted to try something out of the ordinary.) Both dresses were flattering, but neither was our favorite.

Our Inaugural Gown Pursuit continues. Stay tuned for the next update.

In the meantime, if you can introduce Katie to an eligible bachelor who’s tall, hunky and able to match her dance moves step for step, maybe she’ll comp you a spin class.

getting closer

I’m working hard. I promise. I thought I had a final product yesterday. I was so sure I was done that I registered my short story with the Copyright Office. But then when I took on the project of formatting my story to Amazon’s recommended specs (a task I could not have done without the technical and emotional support of DC Celine) I started making tweaks here and there.

Out of Thursday’s Day of Irrational Tears I have salvaged an energy and motivation whose roots I don’t understand. But I’m going with it. I spent all day Friday on my story (I mean, working from home) and even after midnight, with Nancy and her Belmonsters sleeping over (thanks, George, for helping with bedtime) I snuck in some edits on chapter two.

Today, two soccer games and an Oktoberfest party will keep me mostly away from the computer, but my mind is racing, my heart is pounding and I’m ready to embrace the fear I feel at publishing something for the world to see.

Frankly, I’m just ready for you to read it.

Even worse in person

I was walking by and look what is in the window:

WTF, Anthropologie?

I decided to take a moment to step away from George Clooney. And this is what I found:

I was browsing the Anthropologie website because my friend Erika had commented on these “vintage” Levi’s overalls on Facebook, and I had to see them for myself. First of all, unless you are a farmer, don’t wear overalls. But if you must, please don’t spend $350 on them.

After I had my eye roll, I kept looking. What else would I find that bordered on the ridiculous?

It only took a few more clicks to find the Abigail Shoulder Cape, which appears to be nothing but a bunch of yarn braided together. It would be unkind to say it resembles something a grandmother would make. There are way prettier scarves (I refuse to call it a cape) at a lower price point, not to mention that according to one reviewer, it sheds. Everywhere. No one wants to carry a lint-roller in her purse.

But really, the dress that stopped me in my tracks is the Asra Tulle Midi Dress for $800. Now, I know the description indicates it’s one of a kind. I say thank god to that. I’m sure you can find a much better dress for your $800. Without flowers my kids could make in art class pasted all over it.

There you go. That was my pre-debate fun for the evening. Now I will wait for the candidates to emerge and the answer to the question that has plagued me all day to be answered: will either Obama or Romney dare to opt for a tie that isn’t blue or red?

Stacy London

I first discovered What Not to Wear when I was on maternity leave after giving birth to Colin in 2004. Talk about a time to be thirsty for anything related to style. It didn’t take me long to become devoted to my time with Stacy London and Clinton Kelly. As I struggled to get back into pre-pregnancy clothes, clothes that suddenly didn’t look as chic to me as they had nine months prior, I salivated over the idea of a $5000 budget to start anew. I yearned for someone to come tell me what to wear and, of course, what not to wear.

Since it seemed futile to wait for style fairies Stacy and Clinton to ambush me at work to offer their services and credit card, I started watching the show from a different perspective. I absorbed their advice. I looked for episodes that featured women who were built like me or had a similar lifestyle.

To this day, I still take fashion inspiration from them every time I watch their show.

While I adore Clinton’s cheekiness, I love Stacy’s enthusiasm, snark, and sentimentality. (If she tears up during the final reveal, I’m sure to as well.) And how could I go without mentioning her wardrobe? I also appreciate and admire that in a realm dominated by women much younger than we are, she’s my age.

Last night I attended a book signing event for her recently published book, The Truth About Style. While a rough day had almost led me to cancel, spending an evening with the likes of DC Celine, Wardrobe Oxygen, Closet Coach and Stacy London turned out to be just the therapy I needed. Stacy was generous with her time, sincere with her stories and answered every question from the audience thoughtfully. After her monologue and the Q&A, she spoke personally to each woman getting a book signed. Since I was way at the back of the line, I had time to craft a question for her that wouldn’t be too serious but yet meaningful to me.

Me: You’re 43, I’m about to turn 43, what did you buy yourself for your 43rd birthday. (Because I love birthdays. And I need ideas.)

Stacy: My God! What did I buy myself? I don’t know! (Thanks to Wardrobe Oxygen for snapping this photo of Stacy pondering my question.)

Me: Shoes?

Stacy: No! Now I remember. A Celine trapeze bag. I highly recommend it. You should do it. And by the way, I love that you’re wearing purple. And you have a great necklace. And wait, is that a leopard print coat? I think I have that coat!

Stacy London is as effusive in person as she is on TV. She looks you in the eye when she speaks. She really listens to you and her responses are thought out. She spent several minutes giving wedding dress advice to the women in front of me in line when they told her they’re getting married and one wants to wear a feminine dress and the other a more structured dress.

It’s fair to say I officially have a crush. While I’d need a lot of people to buy my 99 cent short story (coming soon) if I’m ever going to buy a Celine bag, I will live off the fumes of Stacy’s inspiration (and the lust for her fuchsia pleated flowy skirt) for a long time to come.