Sugar and Spice and Everything Dice: Part 3

 Fabulous Felt Dice Barrettes

Fabulous Felt Blue Dice Barrette

Top: August Silk

Skirt: Forever 21

Shoes: Payless

Bag: Xhilaration, Target

Belt: B Fabulous

Sunglasses: Michaels

*Please scroll down to see the Introduction, Part 1, and Part 2 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 and here.

Living near Atlantic City, I've seen my fair share of crazy casino carpets.  You know.  Wildly patterned to camouflage countless spilled cocktails and confuse craps players into parting with even more coinage.  And I've always found them to be kitsch-tastic.  Which was why I 1) so enjoyed making these Fabulous Felt Dice Barrettes, and 2) was excited to learn that the latest installment of the Shopaholic series, Shopaholic to the Rescue, finds Rebecca Bloomwood and friends in that other gaming mecca -- Las Vegas.   That's right.  It's time to roll the dice on Part 3 for the big series finale!  Will it be lucky sevens or scary old snake eyes?  Let's take a gamble (er, gander), and see.

Now, I should begin by saying that unlike the stars of our previous two profiles (Sparks and Schumer), Rebecca Bloomwood is fictional.  That said, I've long suspected that she's a lot like her creator, Sophie Kinsella (which is, by the way, a pen name for Madeline Wickham; hey, if you shared the last name of a Jane Austen villain, then you'd probably adopt an alias, too).  Partly because of her candid, first-person writing style, partly because of this blurb on the back of Confessions of a Shopaholic:

"Sophie Kinsella is a writer and former financial journalist.  She is very, very careful with her money and only occasionally finds herself queuing for a sale.  Her relationship with her bank manager is excellent." 

See? Rebecca is Sophie and Sophie is Madeline.  Easy peasy lemon squeezey (which is, it just so happens, an expression I hate, but one that's surprisingly strong-willed.  Not to mention limey in origin, not unlike Rebecca-Sophie-Madeline.)          

   

In Rescue, which follows the cliffhanger in Shopaholic to the Stars, Becky's father has disappeared into the desert, and her bestie Suze isn't speaking to her 'cause Suze's hubby ran off with Mr. Bloomwood (not in a romantic way; it's more of bromance).  Suze and Tarquin are having problems, but then that's what happens when you marry your cousin (even if he does own a castle).  Becky and Luke, however, are tighter than ever, with nary a cross word or secret credit card statement between them.  Still, Bex is so distraught about Suze and her father that she can't even bring herself to -- gasp -- go shopping.  

Rescue hinges upon what is arguably the most intricate plot of the Shopaholic series, which is to say that it offers up a host of tasty twists and complications.  Will Mr. Bloomwood and Tarquie ever re-emerge, mirage-like, outside of Caesar's Palace?  Will Rebecca ever find her namesake, a rainbow-haired psychic temptress from Mr. Bloomwood's past?  Will Bex's old nemesis, Alicia Bitch Longlegs, ever stop being sweet and show her true colors (in my opinion, wicked white and bilge-worthy beige)?  And most importantly, will our beloved shopaholic ever find it in her heart to shop again?  Because charming although this book is, Bex is always at her best when spotting a shiny new something that just may make her the girl-with-the-yellow-hat-slash-plaid-peacoat-slash-day-glo-pink-diamante-earrings (they say "diamante" a lot in British books, which I love even if it is just a posh word for rhinestones).  Because shopping is all about possibility, and Bex is the (sale) poster girl for life's optimistic what-if's.      

So that's a wrap on Sugar and Spice and Everything Dice.  If you remember nothing else, then remember this: keep it sweet; keep it spicy; keep it dicey.  Also, don't wear beige or wander into the desert.  

Girls Just Want to Have Puns

Delicious Double Scoop Necklace

Tee: So, Kohl's

Skirt: Modcloth

Shoes: Bongo, Kohl's

Bag: Journeys

Belt: Apt. 9, Kohl's

Cheery Cherry Sunglasses

I Heart Unicorns Necklace

Dress: Kohl's

Tee: So, Kohl's

Shoes: Payless

Bag: Call it Spring, JCPenney

Jewel Jumble Necklace

Top: Lily White, Target

Jeans: Vanilla Star, Target

Shoes: Guess, DSW

Bag: JCPenney

Yellow Gumball Necklace

Top: So, Kohl's

Jeans: Earl Jeans, Macy's

Shoes: Ami Clubwear

Bag: Candie's, Kohl's
Sunglasses: Mudd, Kohl's

Backwoods Bling Necklace

Tee: Mudd, Kohl's

Skirt: New York & Co.

Shoes: Payless

Bag: American Eagle, Payless

Belt: Candie's, Kohl's

I always think, "Huh?" when people say "no pun intended."  Because isn't the pun always intended, if even just subconsciously?  That having been said, I've probably logged at least one such infraction somewhere on this blog.  But I'm willing to overlook that if you are.

I don't know where Lena Dunham stands on wordplay, but I can't imagine that she'd be against it.  I've (almost) always liked Dunham, and not just because she favors Etsian necklaces that look like something out of a kindergarten teacher's closet (as documented in the February 2014 Vogue).  It's because this creator and star of HBO's "Girls" is the poster child for taking risks.  So naturally, I was drawn to her collection of essays, Not That Kind of Girl.  Like Shopaholic to the Stars, it has a strikingly hot pink, and therefore blogworthy, cover.  Which made me wonder: Is Dunham being ironic?  As in, pink is for weak girly girls?  Or is she saying the opposite, that pink is empowering?  Or maybe that it's empowering only in the right hands?  Or maybe . . . she just likes pink.  But enough about the cover and its implications; the inside has illustrations!  Check out this kaleidoscopic collage of kawaii-tastic treats including, but certainly not limited to, pretzels, eclairs, pineapples, cheeseburgers, heart necklaces, and exotic birds:

Fun and feminine, its appeal is near-universal.  Although I'm sure that there are some people out there who don't like such things, I sure as heck don't want to meet them.  Anyway, their sweetly retro vibe is in sharp contrast with the book's grittiness, setting the stage for Dunham's unique blend of dark comic naivete.  For it is gritty, despite being reminiscent of Mindy Kaling's Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? And Other Concerns.  You know.  If Mindy Kaling had been raised by an artist in Tribeca instead of a gynecologist in Boston and belonged to the dwell-on-it-until-you-land-in-the-hospital-and/or-psychiatrist's-office school of thought instead of the don't-complain-because-everyone's-got-problems school of thought.  This last bit, by the way, was a lesson that Mindy learned from her mother.  But this post isn't about Mindy; it's about Lena.  So instead I'm going to talk about something that she learned from her mother:

"Luxury is nice, but creativity is nicer.  Hence the game where you go into the ten-dollar store and pick out an outfit you might wear to the Oscars (or to the sixth-grade dance)." (107).

This spoke to me for two reasons: 1) Like so many thirtysomethings, I sometimes get sucked into the pursuit of yuppiness, a misstep that clouds my judgment, making me go all pouty because I don't have a Volvo. Or a Brita water filter.  This quote fixes all that by reminding me that yuppies are yucky.   2) My sister and I used to play the $20 challenge game in Marshalls.  Which is to say we'd go to Marshalls with just $20 and try to buy something cool (far less complicated than most card games and, in my opinion, more satisfying).  Lena's mom gives it to us straight: it's not what you have, but what you do with it.  This optimistic and free-spirited, er, spirit is woven through even the murkiest sections of Dunham's confessional, leave-nothing-out prose, echoing the theme that at the core of every artist surges the need for freedom.  Dunham is as unabashed about this as she is about broadcasting her body and her love of carbs.  Which is nice in a world where self-aware women are (sometimes) dismissed as selfish.  Miranda July puts it best:

"Very few women have become famous for being who they actually are, nuanced and imperfect.  When honesty happens, it's usually couched in self-ridicule or self-help.  Dunham doesn't apologize like that -- she simply tells her story as if it might be interesting.  Not That Kind of Girl is hilarious, artful, and staggeringly intimate.  I read it shivering with recognition." (back cover)

When I first read this quote, my knee-jerk reaction was, "What?!  All those other famous women out there are fake?"  (I'm not kidding; I actually thought this.)  But then I remembered that fame is like any other profession, and as such contingent upon following a set of unspoken but unbreakable rules.  Dunham doesn't seem to fall prey to any such playbook, and for that she should be applauded.

Did some parts of this book make me cringe?  Well, yeah.  Some of them because they were so alien to me, others because they weren't (over-thinking oneself into a tizzy, to my relief, is far more common than I'd previously surmised).  But then, I'm always willing to put up with a little discomfort in the name of authenticity.  Add a good laugh and an even better story, and I'm zipping through it in a weekend.

Which just goes to show that you can't put a good girl down.

Total Eclipse of the Art

 Bright Flight Necklace

Dress: Candie's, Kohl's

Blouse: Lily White, Target

Shoes: Guess, DSW

Bag: Bisou Bisou, JCPenney

Sunglasses: JCPenney

 Pastel Rainbow Bow Necklace

Top: Candie's, Kohl's

Cami: Boscov's

Skirt: Necessary Objects, Annie Sez

Shoes: Guess, DSW

Bag: Apt. 9, Kohl's

Belt: Wet Seal

 Pearls and Petals Necklace

Top: Merona, Target

Skirt: Xhilaration, Target

Shoes: Ami Clubwear

Bag: Call it Spring, JCPenney

Belt: Wet Seal

 Funky Folk Singer Necklace

Tee: Marshalls

Turtleneck: Mossimo, Target

Jeans: City Streets, JCPenney

Shoes: Alloy

Bag: Delia's

Scarf: Mossimo, Target

(Yep, that's one of my wedding table numbers.  Before the big day every little thing has to be perfect, but once it's over, you're stuck with a spare room full of stuff.  When you look at it that way, it seems sad not to tear it apart to make barrettes.)

 Romantic Rose Barrettes

Sweatshirt: XOXO, Macy's

Tee: Mudd, Kohl's

Skirt: Macy's

Shoes: Ami Clubwear

Bag: Journeys

Scarf: Gifted

 Dark Red Gumball Necklace

Top: Macy's

Skirt: I Heart Ronson, JCPenney

Shoes: Miss Bisou, JCPenney

Bag: Nine West, Boscov's

Scarf: Marshalls

This first picture looks kind of like a moon, doesn't it?  In reality, it's just the very humdrum light in my hallway. Lately, I've been snapping shots of it in an effort to trick my camera into flashing. My new camera, that is (my old one died on Christmas Eve just as I was zooming in on the tree). Remember all those months ago when I was yammering on about my efforts to take better pictures? It turns out that I didn't need to be fiddling with natural light or Google backgrounds at all -- all I needed was a new piece of equipment (a statement, I realize, that so succinctly sums up most of life's problems). Temperamental flash notwithstanding, I love the results.

Speaking of celestial stuff, I just finished reading Shopaholic to the Stars, the seventh installment in Sophie Kinsella's beloved Shopaholic series. I don't usually take pictures of book covers anymore, but this one was so strikingly Tote Trove-rific with its bold combo of pink and yellow that I broke my resolve. Anyway, Shopaholic to the Stars is just as riveting as you would expect. Unstoppable shopper Rebecca Brandon is transplanted from her native London to LA when her husband lands a gig representing a huge Hollywood star. Never one to miss an opportunity, Becky pulls out all the stops to ingratiate herself as a celebrity stylist, an adventure that begins when she discovers an A-lister -- horror of horrors -- shoplifting gym socks. Hilarity ensues, with Bex's best friend Suze, her suddenly spacey father, her old nemesis Alicia, and her regally chilly mother-in-law joining the fray. Yet their dramas fade into the background as Becky becomes absorbed by the celebrity world of paparazzi, red carpets, and -- but of course -- vintage boutiques. Through her signature grace and grit (okay, Lucille Ball-like hijinks and groveling), she manages to gain the confidence of more than one celebrity only to find that they are not the macrobiotic and social network-abstaining paragons she's she's met in magazines, but rather nacho-binging TMZ addicts who manipulate the media's every move. I know what you're thinking. What?! Celebrities who aren't what they seem?! But Kinsella avoids what could be a cliché, traversing old territory with all the novelty and wit of someone describing never-before-touched ground. Her humor ranges from the screwball to the satirical, and her heroine is so charming that you can't help but root for her even when you know she's wrong. And she's wrong a lot, as documented by the well-intentioned but nonetheless annoying commentary of her feet-firmly-on-the-ground husband. Because the thing is, Becky's well-intentioned, too. However ill-advised, morally questionable, and naïve, her tireless pursuit of her dream is as inspiring as it is entertaining. I suppose this has always been true of Becky's exploits, but it wasn't until I read this book that I realized that Becky isn't so much the cool girl in school as she is that somewhere-in-the-middle girl who's this-close to achieving cool status herself if only she plays the game a little bit harder to get in the cool girls' good graces. In the end, she realizes that she's got what it takes, but that she doesn't want "it" anymore. It's a classic story, the central conflict in everything from middle school chick lit to grown-up courtroom dramas. It's such stories, and such characters, that make us want to read fiction. Not that Rebecca Brandon is Atticus Finch. I mean, she gets thrown off of movie sets and buys whole wardrobes for people she's never met. But in a way I think that makes her better.  She's fallible, yet even at her most scheming, refreshingly innocent.  Best of all, she never apologizes for what many may deem to be a frivolous lifestyle, instead celebrating it with the kind of gusto that must have been in the mind of the person who came up with the phrase "owning it."

Owning it.  Ha.  I like to think Becky would like that.