Rhinestone Resurrection

 Pink Confetti Necklace

Dress: Modcloth

Cardigan: So, Kohl's

Shoes: Nine West, DSW

Bag: Apt. 9, Kohl's

 Haute Mess Necklace

Sweater: Candie's, Kohl's

Skirt: Forever 21

Shoes: Parade of Shoes

Bag: Apt. 9, Kohl's

 Folksy Fashionista Necklace

Top: Marshalls

Skirt: Marilyn Monroe, Macy's

Shoes: Alloy

Bag: Kenneth Cole Reaction

Jacket: Gap

Belt: Wet Seal

Pastel Party Necklace

Dress: So, Kohl's
Tee: So, Kohl's
Blouse: Candie's, Kohl's
Shoes: Worthington, JCPenney
Bag: XOXO, ROSS Dress for Less
Belt: Apt. 9, Kohl's

As I've recently mentioned, I've been going through my store-bought and handmade jewelry collections, weeding out the weak links (both literally and figuratively) and repurposing them whenever possible.  I'm sure there isn't a jewelry artist out there who hasn't looked at some early effort, scratched her (or his) head, and thought, "What the hay was I thinking?"  My experience was no different.  Although my most cringe-worthy offense was haphazard (ok, lazy) wire wrapping, I was most struck by just how simple most of the necklaces were.  On more than one occasion I'd been guilty of stringing a single strand of beads around a lone so-so pendant, achieving that newbie-pitfall effect of "why bother?"  Snip went my pliers, releasing a bevy of bits and baubles destined for bolder things.  Take the Haute Mess Necklace in this post.  It contains pendants from six former necklaces (plus one brand-new one).  Although it's more boho than most of the stuff I make, its mixed-up, broken-jewelry-box-bits look exudes the kind of playful  irreverence that I've come to expect from all of my pieces, whether they be glam or earthy or silly.  And as this audience well knows, there's nothing quite as satisfying as breathing new life into an outdated something that was bound for the dust bin.

Speaking of old things, last week I received an invitation in the mail to join AARP.  This would probably be a good place to say that I'm 32, not 52, and that this is the fifth such invitation I've received.  The opening line of the letter said, "Our records show that you haven't yet registered for the valuable benefits of AARP membership, even though you are fully eligible."

There was more.  Something along the lines of "discounts . . .blah blah blah . . . social security . . . blah blah blah . . . free tote bag with membership." But I was stuck on that first part, thinking, "What records?!"  Had my purchases of Andy Williams CDs, cozy murder mysteries, and craft supplies over the years automatically put my name on some over-the-hill people list?  Don't get me wrong.  I heart the elderly.  They wear matchy outfits and eat JELL-O and clip coupons, all things I respect and enjoy.  So instead of being insulted, I've decided to take this incident as a sign that I'm an old soul.  (That is, if that's possible in one who still drinks juice boxes and wears headbands.)  What's more, there's a small part of me that wants to get my hands on that tote bag and attack it with a Bedazzler (something, come to think of it, that the elderly would probably appreciate).  Maybe twenty years from now I'll take AARP up on their offer, sending them a jokey email (or whatever Jetsonian mode of communication is in vogue by then) about being their "oldest" (ha ha, get it?!) member.

Who am I kidding?  I'll probably just take the tote bag and run.  I've never been much of a joiner.