All Or Nothing

I AM Related to Karl Friedrich Gauss, After All

I love fall.  I have read a number of fall enthusiasts exclaiming over the cooler weather, the turning of the leaves, the crispness in the air.  I'm partial to all of these things as well, even though in East Texas "cooler" might mean something more like "less than 95 degrees", but still.  I enjoy the climate changes that this season brings.

But I have to admit, the weather is not why I like fall.  Neither are the leaves, and even though I like crisp things, the air is not what does it for me either.  No, what I really, REALLY love about the fall is the clothes.

Ha!  What a surprise, right?  The boutique owner is writing about clothes!

I love velvet and velveteen dresses.  I adore light wool pea coats and calf-length brocade jackets.  I'm crazy about camel, as a color, on just about anything, but especially in suede shirt-dresses and soft, buttery, leather purses.  I can't get enough of pointy-toed flats and kitten heels, and I applaud the use of reverse-stitching with contrasting thread in this season's ankle boots.  I absolutely cherish turtlenecks in cashmere and soft ribbed cotton.  I have completely lost it over rich, jewel toned, Dupioni silk and satin holiday cocktail dresses, and the wide belts meant to cinch a natural waistline (finally!) are divine.

All to say: I love me some fall fashion.

However, this year I am having a bit of a tough go at it with one particular trend.  Last year was the birth of this trend, and instead of embracing it with arms wide open, as I am wont to do with new styles, I gave the trend an awkward side hug and a fake smile and said "Oh, you look so....cute!  I mean, chic.  Yeah, totally Euro.  Of course I'm going to carry you in the store!  I mean, totally.  You are so the new rage.  Yeah, I'll place an order....ummm....maybe tomorrow!  Definitely tomorrow, or next year.  I mean week!  At the very latest, next week, yes I am so looking forward to it, you are going to be awesome!"  And then I turned and slunk out of the room, looking nervous, and hoping desperately that I would never again encounter this trend; that it would suffer the fate of so many before it, and be nothing but a "Don't" six months later.

Unfortunately, the trend did not die.  And it didn't forget my graceless lies from last year, either.  So now I have in my store, displayed on the very center table, my Nemesis: The Skinny Jean.

Don't get me wrong.  I love the ads for the tapered, pegged-leg jean.  I think the waif-like models look glamorous and very French in their leggings-like jeanswear with long tunics and layers on top.  I think that Thin is always In, and anything that makes me look thinner, well, I will probably be the first in line to order, merchandise, and sell it.  But the Skinny Jean is a little deceptive, mainly in that it isn't Skinny at all.  No, that's not true, the jean, it is skinny.  But the person in the jean - not so much.  Unless of course, the person is Kate Moss or some derivation of Kate Moss, in which case, why not forego the high prices of the Skinny Jean and just wear, say, a trash bag?  Or a football uniform.  Or, your grandmother's full-length mumu!  Really, anything will work, because YOU ARE ALREADY INCREDIBLY, PAINFULLY SKINNY.  You have no need of the Jean.  But those of us who do need the help of a jean, or a pant, or any clothing item that promises to deliver Thin when we need it most, we are the ones trying to wear this Skinny Jean.  And it's just not fair.

For those of you who are (be grateful) not yet familiar with the Skinny Jean, I will tell you - it is a regular pair of jeans, but instead of the pant legs falling gracefully to the floor in a boot-cut or even straight-leg fashion, they are, in fact, pegged.  As in tapered.  As in cinched at the ankle.  As in wow, look at those enormous hips!

The Skinny Jean is meant to be the denim version of leggings, tight and straight all the way down, following the natural curve and shape of the leg.  Great if you're Heidi Klum.  Bad if you're the other 99.9% of the female population, because the last time I checked, we weren't all running out trying to find something, anything, to show MORE of the natural shape of our legs.  No, no, this won't work.  See, I have these lovely dimpled thighs, and you just can't SEE that in these pants!

Obviously, following the rules of simple physics, we can derive that if one area is made to look smaller, than the opposite area will, by default, appear to be larger.  We can calculate that:

.5 ankle + .5 thigh = 1 leg

AND

Skinny Jean = 2

SO

.5 ankle / Skinny Jean = .25 ankle (thinner ankles, which yes, I agree, is nice)

BUT THEN YOU GET

.25 ankle + .5 thigh = .75 leg (which is not at ALL acceptable, having only some of the required leg needed to walk)

SO THEN YOU HAVE TO TAKE

.5 hip x Skinny Jean = 1 hip (bigger hips, which no, I do not agree is nice)

SO

(.5 ankle / Skinny Jean) + (.5 hip x Skinny Jean) = 1.25 leg (you see, BIGGER than your normal leg!  Is this what we want?  And if so, why?)

See, I bet you didn't know I could combine fashion and math.  I can combine fashion and anything, just try me. 

Cool, Like Middle School

Lately I haven't been feeling so hot.  And yesterday, as I finished up at the shop, I had to sit down against the dressing room door because I was seeing about twice as many track lights as there were.  It was beautiful.  I really need to get better lighting in the store, now that I know what I'm missing.

So I came home, spouting tales of iron deficiency! or low blood pressure! maybe it's the West Nile virus! or the E.coli spinach!  But it turns out all I have, we think, is the flu.

Boring, yes, but inconsequential, no.  I have been stuck in bed for about 18 hours now, and not in the good, laid-up-on-the-couch-watching-favorite-movies and relishing-attention-from-husband way.  No, I have been relegated to our guest room, sans television, sans attention from the husband, sans anything at all besides a searing headache, dizziness comparable but sadly unrelated to heavy Mojito drinking, and the feeling that I have been run over by a large vehicle.  But I am near a bathroom, and it does keep the rest of the house from being contaminated, I suppose.

I have, however, managed to hold hostage the laptop, and it is now so sufficiently covered with germs that I think it is mine for the keeping.  So, loyal Internet, I am going to give you a couple of links to things I discovered today while perusing the world wide web. 

Sometimes when I wander outside the cozy subdivision of links and sites I frequently visit, and discover just how freaking huge you really are, Internet, I get a little nervous.  In fact, you have this knack of making me feel like a 7th grader on her first day of Middle School, awkward and lost and very, very uninformed of what's out there.

Yes, Internet, I just said that you remind me of Middle School.

Since that comparison is the best my virus-ravaged brain can come up with, I will spare us all the pain and just go directly to the aforementioned links.

Only if you enjoy Project Runway

Whether you enjoy Grey's Anatomy or not

Just a really lovely piece of writing

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off for another date with NyQuill.

Business To Business Phone Directory, Origins Of

Hey, I have a good idea.

What's that?

Well, you know how we were talking the other day about what we might do once we get out of jail?

Yeah, I remember.  You said you were thinking of learning how to do the unicycle.

I was, I was.  But I had a better idea just now.

Ok, let's hear it.

Ok, get this:  You and me, we'll start a company.

Dude, this is already a bad idea.  I don't know the first thing about running a company.

No, no.  Wait for it.  You and me, we'll start this company, see?  And this company, well, what it will do is get people's phone numbers listed in a business directory.

Dude, a business directory?  What the hell?  I don't know what you've been smoking....wait, yeah I do.  I see Tony J. over there.  Did you get me some?

No man, listen!  This has nothing to do with what I've been smoking. 

Well, I have no idea how to get a job with the phone company or whatever you're saying.  Much less own the company.  Dude.  Why didn't you get me anything from Tony?

LISTEN.  We don't have to know anyone at the phone company.  That's why this is so genius!  All we have to do is make up a phone directory for businesses.  It doesn't even have to be real!  We just tell the people it's real, see?

So we're going to start a company that tells people we have a made-up business directory?

No.  Dude!  Listen to me.  We're going to start a company where we call people, tell them that we have this big important phone listing that they have to be in.  And then we will ask them to tell us what their phone number and address and name is and all that stuff, and then once they do, we'll send them the bill.  Bam!  Easy money!

But what if they say they don't want to be in your directory? 

Well, hmmm.  Maybe we can threaten to kill them.  You're in here for something like that, right?

Yeah, dude, but that won't work, not over the phone anyway.  I know!  Let's just tell them that they were already in the directory and we are just updating their information.  Then they won't say they don't want to be in it, because they already are in it! 

Total genius, man.  Ok, and I have an even better idea, too.  Let's tape record all the conversations we have with people, and somewhere during the conversation we can ask them a yes or no question that they will always answer with yes.

Something like "Do you have anyone you want killed?"

No, no, not everyone rolls like that.  Maybe something like "Do you have a phone?"  because we already know they have a phone, dude.  They just answered it!

Ok, so let me get this straight.  When we get out on parole, we are going to make a company, call businesses on the phone, ask them to verify their name, address and phone number so that we can update our listings in our business directory, ask them a yes or no question, record the whole conversation, and then send them a bill for their new "listing"?

Yep.  And then if they ever dispute the bill, we'll just play back the conversation that we recorded, only we'll dub in a question that goes "Do you want to buy a new listing in our directory?" and then have their recorded "Yes".  It's foolproof!

Dude.  This is awesome.  How long 'til you get out?

Man, I don't even know.  They keep denying parole.  Wait.  Maybe we can do it from in here!  All we need is a phone.

A Series Of What's New

My precious new nephew, Clark, on his birthday.  He is now nearly two months old and is probably the sweetest, easiest baby I could imagine.  Almost enough to make me consider having a child at some point.  Almost.

Sophia, the kitten Cody and I rescued from the "Cattery". Sophie has informed us that despite the cutesy name, they were actually killing cats at the Cattery.  And could we believe that??

Cody and I went through our house about a month ago, counting pieces of furniture that we actually picked out and bought ourselves.  In the entire house - three bedrooms, living room, breakfast room, dining room, study, and media room - there are two pieces; a little stone coffee table that actually belongs outside, and our bed. 
So these shelves are from Pottery Barn, a place that, upon entering, makes us feel as if we are hemorrhaging money, and therefore is not our normal shopping haunt.  However, my parents gave us (last Christmas!) a $250 gift certificate to PB, and since there is not ONE substantial furniture choice at Pottery Barn for $250, we were stuck either buying two vases and some small decorative item off the sale table, or waiting it out.  And our patience paid off, because about a month ago we found out that Pottery Barn had put their superbly beautiful, hand-carved, deep set crown-molding shelves on sale.  A set of three!  So now our new shelves that we bought ourselves (with money that was given to us, so what) fill up the huge empty blank on the living room wall that we had no idea what to do with.

I cut nine inches off of my hair.  NINE!  So this is definitely new.  

Cody also got a new haircut.  He apparently also got asked the world's most perplexing question immediately before this picture was taken.

Let Me Dig Out The Batteries

Is it time for more pictures on this site?  Maybe a little more interactiveness? 

I think it might be.  Stay tuned, please.  Strangely angled, un-centered, and/or blurry photos are on the way.

It Was The Paisley One, In Case You Were Wondering

Well, I think I have come to a crossroads in my life.

I am babysitting my 6-week old nephew today (all day! so nice!) and as he was taking his third nap of the morning (what a life), I was perusing a magazine my sister-in-law has sitting in her living room.

The magazine is full of household decor, and there is one section in particular that goes from room to room, showcasing beautiful robin's egg blue, hand-blown lamps, heavily lacquered dining room tables, banquette sets, and chairs.  The section on chairs is especially enthralling. 

There are paisley green and blue boudoir chairs.  Plushly upholstered, velvet living room chaise lounges.  Armless, loungy, striped library chairs.  Chairs that are perfect for an "accent piece".  Chairs that are meant to be more sculptural than sittable, more of an architectural detail to finish off an already impeccable room.  Chairs that look so soft and comfy that they have completely rejected the classic silhouette of a chair and are instead taking the form of large, billowy marshmallows.  The only thing these chairs have in common, really, is that they are all just exceptionally expensive.

In my former life, I would have looked at all the gorgeous chairs, decided on the one (or two!) I liked the best, and then settled back to dream of the day I would be able to afford that particular chair.  Or, rather, the day where I would be able to afford luxuries such as new furniture on a whim.

Note that I always dreamt of the day.  Not a day, maybe, that might come to be.  No, I always assumed that the day would come, sooner or later.  Preferably sooner.

And today, out of the blue, I realize as I am pondering future seating options that I am no longer awaiting the day.  In fact, I look back at the girl who considered the ability to finance frivolous purchases to be a sure thing in her future and want to laugh at her.  Or at least give her a good talking to. 

"You know, just because you grew up in a privileged home doesn't mean that adulthood = financially blessed.  You're aware of this, right?"

And the old me would just give the new me a snarky smile, look me up and down, take in my household of hand-me-down furnishings, and tell me to speak for myself.

Because she doesn't know about me, but she's getting that chair.

HYPOTHETICALLY SPEAKING, OF COURSE

Here is an excerpt of the complete and total idiocy I might have to deal with on a near daily frequency if, hypothetically, we were involved in a lawsuit with the people from whom we bought the store.  I mean, of course this is all made up, but just IF, if we were involved in something like that, this is an exchange that might, hypothetically, occur.  The most important thing to remember here is that this is ALL MADE UP!  NONE OF IT IS REAL!  DO YOU HEAR THAT, LAWYERS?

The lady who sold us the store is, and I am being as nice as possible here, very, very stooooopid (hypothetically).  She wastes so much time rehashing issues that have absolutely nothing to do with anything (again, hypothetically).  It would normally only be an annoyance; a slight, nagging, continuing decline in my faith in the human race, but it is costing me about $200 per hour (hypothetically!) to deal with her nonsensical issues. 

Here, I respond to a hypothetical email sent by her hypothetical lawyer to my hypothetical lawyer.  She is complaining, once again, that we have not complied with our contractual obligations to change the signage on the store.  Also, because the name of my store is nearly identical to the name of her "business", whatever that might be, we often get orders shipped to each others addresses.  Instead of just accepting this as a fact of a computerized nation, she consistently brings it up in regards to this lawsuit.  Like, hey! I know!  I will sue you because the companies we both order from hire foreign, non-English speaking shipping department employees and they often mix up my address with yours!  It must be your fault (hypothetically).

All names and identifying details have been changed.  Not that they need to be.  It's all hypothetical!

The neon sign placed between the store and the building next to it does say "Old Store's Name".  I have never owned this sign.  It belonged to Old Store Owner, henceforth referred to as the Devil, and was her sign for her business, after she sold us the store.  I can only assume that it belongs to the Devil's parents now, as they are now the owners of that business and that building.  But it has NEVER belonged to me, and I have never had any right to take it down.  In fact, when I bought the store, the Devil made us promise that she could keep that sign up because it was "her" sign for her business, and she needed it so that her traffic would not diminish.  Perhaps she still owns it?  If so, she should feel FREE to take it down.  I would love for it to be gone.

I have NEVER advertised with her name.  I would never even want to do so, and I have absolutely, unequivocally never advertised my store with any other name than "Current Store Name".  If the Devil's lawyer is "aware" of some advertising of this nature, I would love to see it.  Maybe they can produce some on their home computer, because it doesn't exist anywhere else.

I have no idea what the Devil's lawyer is talking about in his last sentence. Maybe companies are still sending my orders to her address?  If so, I am unaware of it.  Also, if this is still occurring, it has nothing to do with me or the Devil not being clear about our respective names and addresses, it would remain a problem with the company in question not reading carefully enough when they select their shipping address out of the computer.  As you can imagine, "Current Store Name" and "Old Store's Name" would be alphabetically right next to each other. Perhaps we could explain the alphabet to the Devil's lawyer and have him convey that system of organization to the Devil. 

They enjoy wasting time.

I Guess My Real Point Here Is That We Could All Learn A Lot From Steve

After hearing me recount a story about a crazy female, or witnessing one in action firsthand himself, my husband tends to shake his head and say something to the effect of "women are such bitches to each other!"

And I am afraid that I would have to agree.

I am inspired to write this today after reading Wordgirl's post.  She writes about a great friend she has had for 31 years, one who has been by her side throughout the perils of adolescence and the even greater perils of child-rearing, one who's greatest goal is to make her laugh, and who delights in seeing her happy. 

Of course, this friend is a man.

Even if her post wouldn't have allayed all doubts of the gender of said friend by staunchly proclaiming "Thanks, Steve" to be its title, I think I still would have doubted that this friend could have been a woman.  No, the actions of this friend were decidedly too loyal, too selfless, and too kind over too long a period of time to have been from a woman.

Lest you think I have no women friends, let me assure you that I do.  In fact, I recently realized (while trying for the millionth time to figure out the address book in my newish cell phone) that I, for the first time in my life, have more female friends than male.  By quite a number.  Hello, girlfriends!  And I love them all, I really do.  I am not even worried that they might take this post personally, because I think I have spoken with every single one of them at length about this issue and we all agree. Therefore, my prejudice for women does not stem soley from my own ability (or lack thereof) to befriend my own gender.

Not that I haven't had some bad experiences.  I believe that my bad experiences have brought me even closer to some of my really, really great female friends, actually.  Because they have had the same types of experiences!  And you know what they say, misery loves company.  We've bonded through our mutual being-screwed-over-by-women experiences.

I don't think it's really all that relevant for me to get into the specifics of my bad experiences.  I mean, what would be the point of me telling you how one of my two best friends in college manipulated our happy group of girlfriends into total strangers?  It's all in the past, really, how she conspired behind my back to secure a dorm room in the dorm across campus, and conveniently didn't tell me that she had listed my other best friend as her new roommate.  Old news, how she convinced my other best friend to call me and tell me that she thought we should room with people we didn't know, because maybe we should branch out?  I mean, I can barely even remember how they moved all my roommate's stuff out of the dorm before I got back from Christmas break, making certain that when I got back, it would be to an empty room.  And then, after I got my new roommate (potluck, just like the plan!) I found out that hey, she isn't living with other people to branch out, all my "friends" are all just living together, without me - well, that doesn't matter anymore, does it?  DOES IT MATTER, HANNAH LUCE, THAT YOU TOTALLY MANIPULATED SEVERAL COLLEGE FRIENDSHIPS INTO DISASTER?   

Oh, oops.  No, it doesn't matter, it's all in the past!  Yippeee!  Time heals all wounds!  Insert your favorite full-of-crap cliche here!

Anyway, I seem to have digressed.  My point is, actually, to question the reason behind the seemingly quasi-impossible feat of having a lengthy, selfless, and genuine female friendship.   Are they even real?  Do they exist?  Or are they like the quarters you dropped between the driver's seat and the console in your car- you know they're there, but you sure as hell can't find them.

I suppose I already know the answer to this.  I have watched my mother, and several other women her age, maintain friendships for my entire lifetime, which at this point is long enough to consider the friendship one of longevity.  But I don't know how they do it.  I hear so many other stories, awful tales of rejection, dishonesty, betrayal, and hurt.  Woman hurts woman.  Why?

So many girls grow up thinking that hey, I think I make friends more easily with guys rather than girls!  Wow!  I must be different!  And then we all get older and realize no, not so different, most of us are that way.  It is easier to be friends with men.  They just don't care about all that much.  Sometimes it's annoying, really, how little they care about.  But when it comes down to friendship, which in itself is a fairly simple thing - I am your friend, I like you, and I am not going to purposefully hurt you - the males seem to have it down.

As I've gotten older (which was supposed to be the time when it got so much easier - ha!) I have been able to make and maintain some really excellent friendships with some really amazing women.  Some of them I have met mainly through this website, and I count it a blessing every time I come into contact with another intelligent, funny, and lovely lady.  But we all seem to have this same thing in common.

Does anyone know why women have the tendency to be so catty with one another?  Why we find it so hard to rejoice in each others successes, and so difficult not to just kick 'em while they're down?  Has anyone had an experience that has shed light on the problem, or more importantly, on some kind of a solution?  Because I'd like to know.

Peace

It could be the unnamable but unmistakably familiar aroma you smell right as you open your front door after a long day away from home.  It could be the high note in a song you've never heard but somehow remember.  It could be the little rush of endorphins that assault your senses as you decide that you will buy the new Charles David patent leather, pointy toe, sling back pump with a raised satin heel cup and pleating detail, and what could possibly be too hard to face in those shoes?

Sometimes it's nothing but the thought, however fleeting, that someday, you will be able to sit at the corner table in a coffee shop with nothing to do but read and sip.  And you remember how you felt the last time you had that pleasure.  Sometimes it's the smooth feel of the remote control in your hand with three good shows Tivoed and a bowl of warm popcorn in your lap.

Maybe particularly poignant lyrics, the kind that make you want to smile and cry at the same time, are what brings it on.  Maybe it's nothing more than knowing that at the end of the day, no matter what else went wrong, your dog will still love you.

I think it has something to do with the thought of laying my troubles down, and having something left once they are gone.  Knowing that if everything hard, everything bad, was removed from my life, even if it was just for a few seconds, I would still be there, and for those fleeting moments, peace would be the only thing I knew.

Recently Overheard...

In the store:

"This looks like something Cameron would wear,"

"Cameron who?"

"Cameron.  Your daughter.  Geez, Bill."

"Oh.  Yeah, I guess it does.  Are we done here?"