Sunday, December 28, 2014

Bubblegum Ball Blowout: Part 3 and a Late Merry Christmas





Sweater: Candie's, Kohl's
Skirt: Candie's, Kohl's
Shoes: Ami Clubwear
Bag: Betsey Johnson
Belt: Wet Seal






Dress: Modcloth
Cardigan: Candie's, Kohl's
Shoes: Rocket Dog, DSW
Bag: Wet Seal
Belt: Wet Seal
Scarf: Gifted






Top: Candie's, Kohl's
Skirt: Kohl's
Shoes: Ami Clubwear
Bag: Princess Vera, Kohl's
Belt: Wet Seal






Top: J. C. Penney's
Tank: J. C. Penney's
Skirt: Macy's
Shoes: Payless
Bag: Kohl's
Belt: Candie's, Kohl's

At nearly zero hour, I finally embraced the holiday spirit.  I blame the Christmas episode of "The Middle," in which Frankie boycotts what she sees as a pointless holiday to gorge on fudge sans pants while watching reality TV only to spring into action at the last minute when her husband tells her that she's the reason he celebrates Christmas.  I sided with her the whole time, as I'm sure I, along with millions of other female viewers, was meant to, only to have my faith in festivities renewed by the last misty-eyed scene.  (No snickering, please; I have it on good authority that "The Middle" makes plenty of otherwise tough people sniffle.) So, I decorated my tree, wrapped my gifts, and even managed to bake some cookies.  Never mind that the husband made most of them, and that the recipe I picked out, the one for the never-before-tested-by-me orange slices, produced a big batch of awful despite my efforts with orange extract-spiked drifts of vanilla frosting made all the more disturbing (and dare I say slightly moldy) by stripes of icing in flagrant orange.  The cookies tasted like cotton-ball-and-orange-scented-car-air-freshener sandwiches, or at least what I think that would taste like, and I shuddered, fearing for the squirrels' safety as we flung them outside, the ever-irritating "Mele Kalikimaka" piping up inside my citrus-fogged head.  I don't know what it is with me and baking.  I guess I feel like it's something I should like to do and be good at, just one more seemingly errant but well-placed thread in the crazy quilt of my crafty existence.  But that's just the Martha Stewart talking.  What I should really do is back away slowly and stock up on Entenmann's.         

Anyway, this holiday hoopla and the malaise that creeps in once it all begins to unravel is the reason I'm getting around to writing my Christmas-themed post on the Johnny-come-lately date of December 28.  Not that it's all that Christmassy.  I don't know about you, but I enjoy the fetchingly retro combination of red and mint even in summer.  Maybe because it makes me think of ice cream sundaes, maraschino cherries tumbling down mountains of mint chocolate chip.  Gumballs fit in nicely with that imagery and are surely a treat (or rather, a treat teaser, unless you want to hear about gum hanging out in your colon for seven years or whatever) for all seasons. One day, I aspire to make a gumball necklace for every shade in the ice cream shop window.

 It's nice to have something to chew on.                     

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