Some Stuff So Nice I Wore it Twice: Pairs and Pears, No Gala for You

Flower clip: Capelli ULTA; Necklace: Amrita Singh, Zulily

Chase & Chloe, Zulily

Skirt: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Bag: Zulily; Sunglasses: Amazon; Rings: Express; Bangle: Don't Ask, Zulily; Flower clip: Claire's

Yellow bangle: Mixit, JCPenney; Coral bangle: Silver Linings, Ocean City; Floral bangle: Zulily; Chartreuse ring: Claire's; Flower Ring: Seahorse Designs, Etsy; Parrot ring: Francesca's; Wristlet: City Streets, JCPenney

Flip flops: Katy Perry Collections (They smell like coconuts!)

Skirt and top: So, Kohl's

Top: One, Marshalls

Shoes: Katy Perry Collection

Shorts: Merona, Target

Bangles: B Fabulous; Sunglasses: Party City; Bag: Ella & Elly, Amazon

Shoes: Impo, DSW

Top: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Red bangle: XOXO, ROSS; Wristlet: Circus by Sam Edelman, Kohl's; Sunglasses: Wild Fable, Target

Ah, Hawaii.  The pineapples, the poi, and the party-time prints.  It's like summer in a bottle.  Or a message in a bottle -- a cinch to get in, but a bitch to get out.  Much like that bottle, Hawaiian shirt time has rolled around again (two years in, and it's a thing).  Because even if summer is ending, I refuse to renounce my hot tropics togs.  

I had such fun mixing these patterns, the cherry florals and banana palm trees, the blue Hawaii blooms and jade tiki huts.  All of these clothes are old except the turquoise top and skirt, which I got this summer.  Although they're a matched set, each piece was sold separately, which was nice because it meant that I could get different sizes.  Smaller on top and bigger on bottom, I'm no stranger to the pear-shaped game.  Speaking of which, in the third outfit, I'm wearing a pear in my hair.

Fabulous Felt Banana, Pear, and Apple Barrette

I sold its twin some years ago, but this one lives on in my tresses.  On Antiques Roadshow, one of those bow-tied appraisers would be all, ah yes, you can tell that this is an early Tote Trove piece because of the rhinestones, which the artist didn't use much in later years, and also because there's an absence of a stem on the bananas.  It's a little crude, but it has a kind of carnival glamour.  Conservatively speaking, on today's market, I think you could get a bushel of apples for it.  Red delicious of course, not gala.   

Which is fine with me as long as no one has to bob for them in this COVID -- or any other -- climate.  Bobbing for apples is nasty.

Style File and Young Love's Denial: The Legend of Zelda, Game Over

As you know, during this pandemic, I've enjoyed watching TV and movies that might have otherwise remained under the rubble of my entertainment to-do list.  And I'd always wanted to watch Amazon Prime's 2015 limited series Z: The Beginning of Everything.  But back in 2015, I hadn't yet figured out how to stream Amazon on my TV.  Oh, pandemic, how much you have taught us!

Most people know that F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald had a tempestuous relationship.  But it's a hiccup of a historical note often obscured by the glamour of Jazz Age glitter.  Z: The Beginning of Everything tells a different tale, showing Scott not to be the love of Zelda's life but the reason her life was ruined.  

Zelda Sayre (Christina Ricci) is the high-spirited, sought-after southern belle daughter of a respected Montgomery judge.  Spoiled and mischievous, she can have any man -- and dress -- she wants but is bored by a world that's become claustrophobically provincial.  So when dashing F. Scott Fitzgerald rides into town with nothing to do but wait to be deployed (it's World War I time), she's ripe for the picking.  From New York City by way of Minnesota, Scott is an aspiring writer and possesses a savoir faire and intellectualism that Zelda finds refreshing.  Her father is less enthusiastic, and her mother thinks that she should marry the kind and rich, if vapid, John Sellers.  Yet smitten or not, Zelda tells Scott that she won't marry him until he publishes his first novel.  The war is soon over, and Scott gets to work only to have his book rejected.  It's only after he rewrites it with passages stolen from Zelda's letters that This Side of Paradise comes into being and hijacks the zeitgeist.

Zelda and Scott say their I dos in the back of a New York City church that might as well be city hall.  Afterwards, Scott sweeps Zelda off to a raucous party where it's clear that she's an afterthought.  In the days that follow, Scott and his literati set, which includes Edna St. Vincent Millay and Tallulah Bankhead, haze Zelda, criticizing her southern penchant for ruffles.  In the shadow of this sophisticated and self-satisfied circle, the formerly feisty Montgomery maven becomes equal parts attitude and fragility, her big city dreams smoked to cinders.

The turning point comes when Scott buys Zelda an exorbitantly expensive and matronly black suit.  When Zelda wears it, she gets so angry that she chops her hair and buys the spangly dress that she originally wanted, emerging in yet another incarnation, this time as the first flapper.  Zelda's new look, combined with her innate charm and intelligence, lands her her own artistic opportunities.  But Scott squashes them all, insisting that he needs Zelda to be his full-time muse.  Yet it takes more than a muse to inspire this cruel, lazy, and alcoholic party animal predator to just sit down and write already.  Watching his trainwreck behavior, I couldn't help but wonder how he managed to write a single sentence.     

Z: The Beginning of Everything is the rare story that shows the dark side of star-crossed young love.  It doesn't dress it up in romantic ribbons, insisting that the rougher the road, the more profound the connection.  Instead, it suggests that Zelda would've been happier if she'd married John Sellers back home in Montgomery, or maybe even no one at all.  Although the series ends when the Fitzgeralds' marriage is still in its infancy, its haunting final episode sets the stage for the heartbreak -- and breakdown -- that we know to be Zelda's destiny.  To say that it's sad is an understatement.    

We'll never know how much of Z: The Beginning of Everything is fact and how much is fiction.  But either way, one question remains: 

Why do so many men in American history turn out to be such assholes?

Maybe someone should write a book about that.

Shady Ladies: Slumber Party With Sophia and Dorothy

Tonight we say hey to Florida's finest.  And no, I don't mean Miami Vice.  I mean Dorothy and Sophia! (Although I wouldn't want to meet Dorothy in a dark alley.)  These golden girls boast one of TV's most beloved and complicated mother-daughter relationships.  Sophia's ornery antics and Dorothy's no-nonsense demeanor highlight all the tension and laughs that would inevitably erupt between a mama bear and her grown-up cub spending their golden years under one roof.  (And yes, if your ears are tingling, then it's because "Mama Bear" is Dorothy's odious ex Stan's pet name for her.)  Sophia skewers Dorothy for her nonexistent love life, and Dorothy regularly threatens to send Sophia back to nursing home from hell Shady Pines.  Yet despite all their issues, these two share a quick wit, a disdain for Stan (except for those occasions when Dorothy falls off the anti-Stan wagon), and a bond that can never be broken.  

So, I was as happy as a Miami Dolphin (I know nothing of sports, but dolphins are cheerful, yes?) when my sister presented me with this pair of Dorothy and Sophia-themed pajamas for no other reason than that she found them on clearance at Macy's.  I especially love how Dorothy is characteristically angry, her disapproving mug presiding over her ominous catchphrase, a.k.a. the only thing that could shut Sophia up: "Shady Pines, Ma, Shady Pines."  

The pjs are as comfy cozy as The Golden Girls itself, and I expect them to go through as many wash cycles as my TV goes through reruns.

So, Dorothy and Sophia.  Sophia and Dorothy.  So shady.  Such ladies.  

May they and all of their fans have sweet dreams -- and even sweeter cheesecake.

Summer Rain Gain: Here Comes the Sundress

Bag: Ella & Elly, Amazon

Rainbow bracelets: So, Kohl's; Ring: Express; Giraffe bracelet: Target

Dress: Mudd, Kohl's

Sandals: So, Kohl's

Tank: Arizona Jeans, JCPenney

Sunglasses: Target; Green necklace: Target; Ring: Mixit, JCPenney; Rainbow bangle: B Fabulous; Pink bangle: Mixit, JCPenney

Dress: Lily Rose, Kohl's

Bag: Gifted from parts unknown

Sandals: Bongo, Sears

Bag: H&M; Sunglasses: Brigantine beach shop; Chunky necklace: Gifted from parts unknown; Jelly bangles: Target; Polka dot bangle: Mixit, JCPenney; Pink bangle: Silver Linings, Ocean City; Pink stretch bracelet: Amrita Singh, Zulily; Ring: Francesca's  

Dress: Monteau, Marshalls

We all know that clothes make me happy.  And when it's summer, my favorite thing to wear is a sundress!  Simple yet stylish, this girlish garment takes me from garden party to seafood swap meet.  Not really, though, because these days I'm usually home.  Also, I would never go to a seafood swap meet (if there even is such a thing).  Although I once went to a farmer's market with a tent full of raw scallops sweating in the June sun.  Nothing like a side of ptomaine to spice up your scampi!  But enough about suspect seafood and nightmare-slash-magazine-spread-style outings.  This post is about my love for the sundress and how it can cure what ails you, no matter how horrific.  Behold my attempt to say so in verse:    

Ran into your ex

After bouncing ten checks.

Here comes the sundress.

Broke your new heel

After botching a deal.

Here comes the sundress.

Got stung by a bee

After losing your key.

Here comes the sundress.

Got fired by a jerk

Then saw your mom twerk.

Here comes the sundress.

Ate chocolate goop 

That turned out to be poop.

Here comes the sundress.

Blew out a tire

Then started a fire.

Here comes the sundress.

The world tumbles down

And knocks off your crown.

Here is the sundress.

As they say, into each life -- and wardrobe! -- a little rain must fall.  But if the rain is the curveball, then the sundress is the parachute.  You know, like that game in gym class where the gym teacher tosses the multicolored balls inside the big red-and-white-striped parachute and you have to shake the parachute so that the balls bounce around like popcorn.  

Hmm.  Maybe that was one metaphor too many.  Still, the sundress is like that parachute, colorful and uplifting, a beacon of hope when you're hurtling through a sky full of vultures.  

Rainstorms -- and firings and fires -- don't stand a chance.

Nor does ptomaine.  

Resort Report: Message in a Throttle

There's this realtor (I refuse to use Realtor) who sends the husband and me promotional postcards all the time.  We always laugh when we get them.  Why isn't important -- mostly because it may expose us as terrible people -- but also because it has nothing to do with fruit, summer fun, or this story.  Anyway, we got one today, and I was especially happy because the vibrant sailboat image was perfect for the flat lay I was building around my new Tropical Fruit Barrette Brooch.

Tropical Fruit Barrette Brooch

Picture it.  The sun on your face, the wind -- and this super-strong-not-going-anywhere-even-in-a-gust barrette -- in your hair, a cooler full of fruit (and sandwiches, because sailing makes you hungry and sometimes bananas don't cut it) chilling starboard while "Brandy" (from Looking Glass, not Norwood) blares in the background.  What could be better?

Because a new house is like a vacation is like a new hairpiece.  And I don't mean toupee

Looks like Prince Postcard isn't the only marketing maven.

Party of One, Party of Fun: One Isn't the Loneliest Number

"You need to get out more."

We've all heard it, whether in fiction or in IRL.  Sometimes it's tossed off in an all-in-good-fun spirit ("What, you've never been to the Cheesecake Factory?!  You need to get out more!").  Other times it's snarkier ("How do you not know who Jim Parsons is?  You need to get out more."  Insert eyeroll;  bonus points if it's lazy.).  But there's no mistaking that it's never a term of endearment.  That's because the speaker (we'll call him "the extrovert") deems himself worldlier and worthier than the speakee (that would be "the introvert") and therefore justified in dispensing his glib, disingenuously cruel-to-be-kind advice.  But I've always been of the opinion that it's not getting out more that grows a more knowledgeable, interesting, and ultimately more empathetic human.  It's staying in.     

So you can imagine my delight upon finding Hallie Heald's 41 Reasons I'm Staying In: A Celebration of Introverts.  If ever there was a book that countered the aforementioned life-of-the-party propaganda -- or, indeed, that was designed for the new normal shelter-in-place lifestyle of the COVID pandemic -- then it's this one.  Dedicated to "all the introverts I've met and may never meet," Heald's strange and fanciful picture book challenges the inherent shame of the home-alone-on-a-Saturday-night stereotype, elevating solitude to an art form.  Her forty-one for-one activities range from the hilariously selfless "midwifing for my gerbil" to the self-indulgently creative "designing my Halloween costume" to the downright dark "making voodoo dolls of my exes."  Each pursuit illustrates (both literally and figuratively; the pictures are a hoot) that it doesn't matter what you do in hermit mode as long as it makes you feel like you, a commodity that's all too elusive when in a crowded club or conference room. All of us feel like this some of the time, and some of us feel like this all of the time.  And I for one am a homebody who firmly falls into camp number two.  

And that's why it's so great that 41 Reasons I'm Staying In applauds those of us who prefer our own company.  Because sometimes being alone isn't about being on the outside looking in.  Sometimes it's about being on the inside looking out.  Not in envy, but in the kind of comfort that can only come from being where you know you belong.

You know.  In your favorite chair knitting a tracksuit, singing to a sourdough starter, or curating a cicada circus while The Big Bang Theory hums in the background.  

Game, set, and match, lazy eye.

Filtered Pop and Photo Op: I Like Cold Beverages

Tee: Macy's

Sandals: Arizona Jeans, JCPenney

Skirt: Modcloth

Scrunchie: Macy's; Cream bangle: Mixit, JCPenney; Bag: Circus by Sam Edelman, Kohl's; Midnight Magic Necklace, Sunglasses: Betsey Johnson, Zulily; Love bangle: Boscov's

Skirt: Mossimo, Target

Flip flops: Sea Star, Brigantine

Bag: Circus by Sam Edelman: Kohl's

Tee: Kohl's

Jeans: City Streets, JCPenney

Tee: Kohl's; Sunglasses: Amazon; Shoes: Katy Perry Collection; May Berry Charm Necklace; Bag: Betsey Johnson, Modcloth 

When I was a kid, I thought that soft drinks got their name because the bubbles made them feel soft and airy as they made their way down your throat (so, the opposite of one of those half-chewed, pointy Doritos).  It was years before I realized that "soft" was a negative space term created to counter hard drinks like rum and tequila.  And that disappointed me, because it implied that soft didn't mean dreamy and delicious but weak, denoting the consolation prize for people who couldn't have or didn't want a "real" drink.  

So it's no wonder that I'd advertise my lifelong love of Coke products and Icees by parading these pop culture tees.  Not only are they cute and colorful, but they bring me back to the days when the most decadent drink I could down was one that was carbonated.  If this post had a theme song, then it'd be G. Love & Special Sauce's "Cold Beverages," that iconic '90s toe-tapper that pays equal tribute to martinis and root beer. 

I even wore my blink-and-you'll-miss-it Fanta tee to the beach -- and then ordered an orange Fanta!  

 

By the way, this was my first -- and so far only -- restaurant visit (albeit al fresco, not, ha ha, a Fresca) since before the pandemic.  Sometimes it's fun to leave my bubble.  Or to exchange one kind of bubble for another.  Or to bubble over with enthusiasm for, yes, bubbles.

Okay, I'll stop.

Suffice it to say that I look forward to my next outdoor soda.  As do the tropical creatures hanging out by my head.  

I wouldn't blame you one bit if you thought there was vodka in my cup after all.