My beer is taunting me

I bought  myself a sixer of Magic Hat No. 9 yesterday, and I discovered that the bottlecaps include little phrases on them. My first one said

“You need to write more”

The second said

“Heed the Spirit. If You can Hear It”

The third said

“Don’t hex what’s best”

My personal favorite read

“You were expecting something funny?”

No, I wasn’t. I wasn’t even expecting my beer to tell me to write more. Which I’m doing, obviously.

It’s nice to see an alcoholic beverage sarcastically tell me to improve myself.

 

Oh hai.

I’ve been busy enjoying my new room, in my new house (rented with friends), and it finally looks like a room someone lives in, and not a black hole for ALL OF THE BOXES.

I also celebrated a milestone by wearing my highest pair of heels today. My feet are blistered, but my soul is happy.

 

Pictures of Myself: Fin

This is the face of someone who is done with finals, and forcing herself to pack and clean before she does anything irresponsible:

In other random news, I’m loving al of the random stuff that has been collecting in the lobby of my building.

Such as two twenty pence coins. With the current exchange rate, I’m pretty sure that makes me a millionaire.

 

Pictures of Myself: Newscaster Meets Victoria’s Secret Angel

Guess what happens when you have to dress up as a newscaster for a film project

, and simultaneously do laundry?

You look a little something like this:

Business on top, tart-tastic on the bottom.

The jacket I picked up in a lost and found, the blouse is from Goodwill and cost all of 50 cents, the negligee is a VS piece the I bought off a friend, and the boots are Target. I apologize for the crap-tastic picture quality.

I seriously want to wear this ensemble out somewhere, just to see how people react. In all honesty, I frequently like to provoke people to see how they react. Blame the performer in me.

It’s nearing on Week 10, so here’s some epic adrenaline-pumping music:

wah-wah-wah-wah-wah-wah-wah-wah-wah

Your goddamn rabbit outfit is not “couture”.

If you have never read gloria Steinem’s “A Bunny’s Tale”, you need to. NOW. While Steinem certainly has her flaws as a Major Feminist Thinker, the piece she wrote about working at the Playboy Club in New York City is equal parts hilarious and heartbreaking. While Playboy touted the high pay and glamorous lifestyle of the Bunnies, the truth was that Bunnies spent long hours working for very little pay, were constantly harassed by customers, and subject ot archaic rules and regulations (Bunnies were not allowed to date anyone they met at the club, and had to be tested for syphillis before they were hired). Steinem described her bunny costume as unbearably uncomfortable: the fabric was made out of “gym suit material”, incredibly high cut, and so tight that she got welts and blisters on her waist. She also developed life-long foot problems after spending long hours wearing ridiculously high heels (Bunnies were required to wear heels at least 3 inches tall–anything lower would result in demerits).

Sounds couture as fuck, right?

I’m totally confused by this revival of bunny culture–in both the revival of Playboy Clubs, the upcoming NBC show about Hefner’s life in the 60’s, and even more so by Marchesa’s “couture” take on the Bunny Costume. So, let’s make an already impractical waitresses outfit, and make it even more impractical by adding lots and lots of delicate beading?

Here’s what the bunny outfit looked like in 1963:

Here’s the Marchesa version:

Both may look pretty, but would be difficult to wear while doing the tasks that a waitress does. If my favorite waitress at IHOP gets exhausted after a day workin in a polo, slacks, and black sneakers, I don’t even want to think about how a waitress at the Playboy club would feel.

Hugh Hefner has become a parody of himself. Can we please stop glamorizing the sexist kitsch he has sold for over 50 years?

 

 

 

 

 

Picture of Myself: I conquer the trompe l’oeil hipster skirt.

It’s finals week. Shoot me now.

It is still hellishly hot, so skirts are the way to go. And I’m glad I found this one, which I purchased at ARC, or as I call it, “The hipster store”.  They sell vintage, german pens and stationary, indie-bath products, art magazines, and some high-end stuff, such as A.P.C. jeans, which do not fit me under any circumstances.  Boo. I’ve browsed at ARC many a time, but never quite found anything that fit me. Until I found this skirt:

This skirt is awesome. It is cool (in both senses of the word), it has a nice trompe-loeil look to it (two people both asked me “is that a shirt? Or a skirt?”), and IT HAS POCKETS.

More skirts and dresses need pockets. Pockets are awesome.

Pardon my zonked-out expression in the picture, I was going on about 3 hours worth of sleep.

Pictures of Myself: It’s Too Darn Hot

It. Is. Sofa. King. Hot. Out. Side.

It was 99 yesterday. And it isn’t just the heat. The air is so thick and humid that walking outside feels like drownign in a hot, pollen-tastic bath. Air conditioning is my best friend right now. However, I had to return books from the library, and I had to venture out into the hotness. This is what I wore:

The skirt is from the clearance rack of the Gap, the tank I’ve had since forever, and the necklace belonged to my late grandmother (the turquoise and amber stones in it kept me cool while I was walking around). This was the first time in a very long time that I wore a skirt without tights or stockings. Hot weather makes us do things we wouldn’t normally do.

Like buy stuff at The Paris Market. Which does wasn’t entirely swamped with tourists, had some really nice doodads, and more importantly, had Frozen French Hot Chocolate. With real whipped cream. Cold, filling, and was just what I needed on the walk home.

There are some people who can make SexyFace while sipping on straws. I am not one of those people.

Another reason why The Paris Market is awesome is because they have Nehi soda. NEHI FREAKIN’ SODA.

I officially have everything I need for 12 hours of nonstop storyboard inking. That, and “No Scrubs” on repeat.

Reboot.

Okay folks.

It’s time to do a blog-tacular reboot. I’ve been idiotically busy with school work, but sinse finals are upon us and I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, I will be posting more frequently.

I’ve been thinking about the direction I want to take this blog, and what I am planning are more fashion/beauty features, delivered with a heavy dose of ginger-tastic snark, and more photos of myself, particularly the outfits I wear, and outfits my friends wear (so think of a Sartorialist-esque bent. Scott Schulman, but taller*.). I’m still going to be writing about media and the entertainment industry, and essentially trying to wrote about fashion, media, the entertainment industry, and beauty better than some of the authors at Cosmo. Or Jezebel.

Hooray for doing quality work for free!

And, for your viewing pleasure, I present a photo of myself wearing goggles, as part of my acting final.

*Scott Schulman is short. Shorter than me. And I’m short.

Hello? Is this thing on?

[taps microphone]

So, yeah. It’s been a while since I’ve updated.

During the middle of my Spring Break, I was diagnosed with a nasty case of deep vein thrombosis in my left leg (aka blood clot), and my Lenten resolution of financial austerity went out the window. It’s hard to not eat out when you can barely get out of bed to make tea.

I’m doing better, but I’m currently swamped with finals stuff.

I also don’t know what to do with this blog.

So, to the five or so readers who enjoy reading this thing, what do you want to read about?

I might write some fashion-y posts or something. We’ll see. But back to writing a paper about GB Shaw.

Buy Nothing Lent: First Sunday.

Sundays during Lent are freebies, and they don’t count as part of your 40 days of penitence and reflection. However, I honestly don’t feel like buying anything today. Except maybe frozen yogurt. Last night, I was going crazy for sriracha, but that has passed.

I’ve been trying to stretch out the food I have, and added a can of black eyed peas to some leftover soup. This will also double as my dinner.

I wound up getting the black eyed peas because somebody at my dorm placed a bunch of canned goods in the lobby with a “Free to take” sign. So thank you, anonymous person who does not like black eyed peas.

One advantage of living here is that most bars and clubs don’t have cover charges, so even when I went out with some friends on Friday, I didn’t have to pay to get in. I also didn’t have to pay for drinks, thanks to my cunning feminine wiles.

However, my hair is getting decidedly shaggy. Does anyone in the Savannah/Chatham area want to cut my hair in exchange for a killer grilled cheese sandwich?