Blue Bauble Trinket Barrette
Tank: Kohl's
Tee: Merona, Target
Skirt: Marshalls
Shoes: Chase & Chloe, Modcloth
Bag: Bisou Bisou, JCPenney
Sunglasses: So, Kohl's
Blue tee: Macy's
Red tee: Merona, Target
Skirt (a dress!): XOXO
Shoes: Ami Clubwear
Bag: Candie's, Kohl's
Belt: Marshalls
Sunglasses: Party City
Green Goddess Sparkle Barrette
Top: Target
Skirt: H&M
Shoes: Worthington, JCPenney
Bag: H&M
Belt: Wet Seal
Sunglasses: JCPenney
*Please see the two below posts for the Introduction to and Part 1 of this epic post series. Or, if you stumbled upon this post while wandering the wilds of the internet and have no way of navigating this blog (if that's a thing; I'm not sure, crafts are my wheelhouse, not code), then click here and here.
The heat is on in Part 2. But how to depict something spicy? I considered and discarded cinnamon sticks (too Thankgivingy), and even a dragon (which is fiery and as such fit in so nicely with Ms. Schumer's pun-tastic The Girl with the Lower Back Tattoo title), but in the end I went with dollhouse miniature veggies because, as every caught-off-guard cook will tell you, I had some on hand. Now, before you object that there's nothing dangerous about healthy food sculpted daintily enough to nestle inside a tiny Victorian, think about the last time you were surprised by peppers (or even stealthier still, pepper-based dressing) in an otherwise innocuous salad. 'Nough said.
Ok, so if Nicholas Sparks is a yolk who's more hard than soft boiled, then Amy Schumer is a steel-coated marshmallow. Which may seem hard to swallow considering Schumer's bawdy behavior on her titillatingly titled sketch comedy "Inside Amy Schumer." But then, Schumer's memoir reveals several surprises about the saucy standup. (Is "saucy standup" too cutesy? 'Cause to me, "saucy," or really, any word that makes you think of pizza and macaroni and cheese and ornery antics all in one is a compliment). Down-to-earth, vulnerable, and self-deprecating, Amy seems like someone you'd want to hang out with. Well, at reasonably-spaced intervals. Because, as I was delighted to discover, she's a (wait for it!) fellow introvert. Before you sputter, "Say what?!", let's let Amy explain:
"Being an introvert doesn't mean you're shy. It means you enjoy being alone. Not just enjoy it -- you need it. If you're a true introvert, other people are basically energy vampires. You don't hate them; you just have to be strategic about when you expose yourself to them -- like the sun. They give you life, sure, but they can also burn you and you will get that wrinkly, Long Island cleavage I've always been afraid of getting and that I now know I have." (15).
You said it, Ames. Way to show that introversion isn't an unfortunate label slapped on people who wish they could party, but a badge of honor to be protected, an affirmation that you (to repurpose that Nada Surf one-hit-wonder "Popular") enjoy your own exclusive company to the company of others. Yep, being a lone wolf is like telling the world that you want to see other people -- and that those people are you.
Schumer goes on to say that "sitting and writing and talking to no one is how I wish I could spend the better part of every day." (16) Still not convinced that I'm not somehow skewing Ms. Schumer's sound bites to push my own antisocial agenda? Read on. (Yes, I'm going to shamelessly quote even more of this book, because it's awesome. And because it's my blog and I'll over-quote if I want to:)
"When you're a performer, especially a female one -- everyone assumes you enjoy being "on" all the time. That couldn't be further from the truth for me or any of the people I am close to. The unintentional training I received when I was little was that because I was a girl and an actor, I must love being pleasant, and making everyone smile all the time. I think all little girls are trained this way, even those who aren't entertainers like I was. Women are always expected to be the gracious hostess, quick with an anecdote and a sprinkling of laughter at other's stories. We are always the ones who have to smooth over all the awkward moments in life with soul-crushing pleasantries." (16-17)
Ah yes, the old "I am woman, hear me . . . serve" chestnut. It is, at its very least, unsettling when one of the world's most seemingly self-assured women cops to being primed for geisha-hood. What's encouraging is that she, and other women like her, are writing about it. Autonomy and self respect are the lynchpins of human dignity, a theme that is woven throughout Schumer's narrative as she invites us to witness her trials and most private moments, proving that the pen is far mightier than the, ahem, sword.
Also, this book is damned funny.
So, if Sparks seems nice but is (possibly) snarly, and if Schumer's a badass who's secretly sweet, then who, pray tell, is Rebecca Bloomwood? Tune in next week to find out in "Dice," the exciting conclusion of this three-pronged post series.
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