Life Imitates Heart: Putting the Moves on Movies

Not Like the Movies is like the movies because it's a novel that's rom com gold.  Kerry Winfrey's (and no, she's not related to Oprah) sequel to Waiting for Tom Hanks has it all: romance, snappy dialogue, and baked goods for days, and it picks up right where Tom Hanks left off.  Big things are happening for Annie Cassidy.  Her first screenwriting coup, Coffee Girl, is about to debut, and she's tying the knot with her very own Tom Hanks, actor Drew Danforth.  But in Not Like the Movies, the spotlight is turned on her bestie, Chloe Sanderson.  Wise-cracking, colorful inside and out, and with a life that's in shambles, Chloe is every inch the quirky, chick flick sidekick.  She struggles to look after and financially support her father, who has early-onset Alzheimer's, while slogging away at a coffee shop and finishing her degree online.  Her only bright spots are the unusual pies she bakes (whiskey apple, anyone?) and the rainbow-rific clothes she wears, both of which help her avoid the mini breakdowns that she refers to as "Five-Minute Cries."  (There's a whole sequence where she mocks marketing her time-limited tears strategy in an infomerical.  Hilarious.)  But as it turns out, Chloe's troubles are only beginning.  Because Annie's movie is all about her and the will-they-won't-they thing she's got going with her boss, Nick.  Chloe doesn't want anything to do with Nick.  He's crotchety and set in his ways, a reluctant coffee shop owner who's thirty going on sixty.  He likes his broody indie rock, thank you very much, a passion he gamely defends to yacht rock-loving Chloe on a daily basis.  He's like Ray from "Girls."  Only cute and not a sad sack.

Unlike Annie, Chloe isn't a disciple of rom coms.  Actually, she hates them (true crime is her thing) and is intent on avoiding love -- making her, as Annie is quick to point out, just the sort of woman-who-has-no-time-for-love about and for whom rom coms are made.  But the thing is, Chloe's likable.  And it's fun -- if sometimes sad -- to join her on her journey of getting knocked down and back up again.  Even when she tries to distract herself from Nick by glomming on to a dense but affable stoner named Mickey Danger.   

Sounds like everything else you've read, right?  Some of it is -- which is what makes it comfy.  But some of it's not, which is what makes it clever.  The real beauty of Winfrey's writing is that she (lovingly, reverently) lampoons rom coms even as she celebrates them.  She's a smart, funny woman who owns her adoration for all things girly -- so, a goddess.  She doesn't take herself too seriously and in doing so (not doing so?), shows us that rom coms are -- wait for it -- not always the stuff of fantasies but sometimes the stuff of real life.  And there's no better heroine to deliver this message than Chloe.  She's believable because she's so against it.  Kind of like someone who hates marshmallows (not that I imagine such a freak of nature exists) but then is force-fed a bunch and admits they're delicious.  

Which brings us to the point in the book report post where I share my favorite parts.  Or, as I like to call them, passages, because it makes them sound like secret passageways.  Only they're not so secret because I'm telling you.  

On Chloe walking down the lackluster hallways of her dad's assisted living facility:

"But that's why I'm dressed in one of my favorite outfits.  A red skirt that flares out to my knees, and a shirt with red and purple flowers, topped with a bright yellow cardigan.  Some may call it "kindergarten teacher chic," but I know what it is to me: a slight pop of color in a world full of beige." (96)

On the outfit Chloe wears to Annie's premiere:

"I chose a sexy/funky dress, one that shows off my body while still mixing patterns, with stripes on top and a green-and-purple floral pattern on the bottom.  It says, Yes, I'm quirky, but also, boobs.  It's kind of like if ModCloth and some skanky store at the mall had a baby." (214)

Yes, both of these "passages" are about clothes.  So no, ahem, secret there.  But they're also about so much more.  Because clothes make the woman.  And this woman's a winner.    

That said, Not Like the Movies is as magical as an outfit montage.  Buoyed by a supporting cast of returning characters such as trips-over-his-own-feet barista Tobin, Wookie-suit-wearing Uncle Don, and ferret-obsessed shop regular Gary, it's weird in the most warm-hearted way.  Will Chloe sail toward true love or end up alone like that classic yacht rock heroine Brandy?  I'd say you have to read the book to find out, but let's be honest: rom coms aren't about the world's Brandys.  They're about happy endings, life's pie a la mode. 

And that, of course, is why we love them.

Give 'em the Slip Skirt

From left to right: Vylette, Kohl's; Vylette, Kohl's; Candies, Kohl's

Remember the '90s, when slip skirts and dresses came into style, and people were worried about girls going out in public in their underwear?

Yeah, me neither.

Well, these not-so-slinky styles are back.  To, you know, not cause a stir.  Sometimes, seeing old stuff resurface makes me feel -- well, old.  Like, if I last wore something in high school, then how old does that make me now?!  I say this a lot -- but that's because I feel it a lot, especially as I edge toward forty.  Mind you, it's not that I feel decrepit.  It's just weird that I've been around this long.  That said, getting older isn't all bad, especially because it means getting to be part of history.  And when it comes to fashion, everything old becomes new again, proving that old things are not only still relevant, but sometimes better than new ones.  Kind of like when you find an old jelly bean stuck under your couch cushions and discover that not only has it not lost its flavor, but that time has made it tastier.  So, I snagged a few.  Slip skirts, not jelly beans.  (I don't know about you, but I have no desire to end this trend rebirth train with a trip to the gastroenterologist.)  The skirts that I scored are satin (okay, a satiny polyester), that fabric of fabrics for grunge era wannabe lingerie.  The dress has a sheen, too, although it's more matte.  It was fun shopping (online) for them, like I was in Wet Seal burning up my Fashion Bug paycheck, only not in Wet Seal and with more money to spend.   

Speaking of old vs. new, I had a rager of a time pairing my new old threads with the ones already in my closet.  So, what delightfully mad mix debuts in outfit number one?  Why, it's my new tie dye slip skirt with my beloved old Polaroid tee!  You may remember me wearing it here and here.  What can I say?  This tee was made for pictures.

 Striped bangle: Mixit, J. C. Penney's; Other bangles: B Fabulous; Bag: Sugar Thrillz, Dolls Kill

Outfit number two is all about this leopard slip dress.  The husband said I look like I'm (angrily) waiting for my prom date to get out of prison.  I disagree, though, because 1) this dress is nowhere near prom level formal and 2) this leopard is more Barbie than Bratz.  Still, it makes a statement.  And that statement is, "Don't mess with me, or I'll hit you will my "kiss my patch" purse."

Bag: Olivia Miller, J.C. Penney's; Sunglasses: Mudd, Kohl's; Maroon bangle: Iris Apfel for INC, Macy's; Pink bracelet: Amrita Singh, Zulily; Other bangles: B Fabulous

Belt: Belt is Cool, Amazon; Shoes: Chase & Chloe, Zulily 

Finally, outfit number three brings a cold front with an Icee tee.  It was a gift from the husband, and I've had it forever.  When I put it on, I was surprised by how long it was, then I remembered that that was the style circa 2010.  One hair tie later and it cropped up and got with the program, all the better to flatter the red slip skirt.  Rock on, Ronald McDonald color palette!

Bangle: Gifted; Black and white bracelet: Mixit, J. C. Penney's; Choker: Kohl's

And that about does it for this '90s throwback.  It's been real.  Thanks, slip skirts/dresses.  Also, Courtney Love and Cher (of Clueless, not Sonny and Cher) and every other '90s icon who wore you so well. 

Next up, crocheted beanies with matching hacky sacks.  Just kidding.  

Or am I?

Find me on the quad to find out.

If I Dreamed a Desert . . .

 If I Dreamed a Desert Barrette Brooch

Glamp Fire Girl Necklace

Rustic Rose Earrings

Top: Marshalls

Skirt: H&M

Shoes: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Bag: Apt. 9, Kohl's

Belt: Belt is Cool, Amazon

Red/orange striped bangle: Target

Mint bangle: Decree, JCPenney

Rainbow striped bangle: ZAD, Zulily

Red bangle: B Fabulous

Pink bangle: Don't Ask, Zulily

Orange Bangles: B Fabulous

 . . . then it would look like this:  

Bold, bright, and sunny.  And with a Coca Cola waterfall cascading just out of range.  (No, your eyes aren't deceiving you; there's no waterfall here.  Just think of it as a mirage).  As you know, I'm fascinated by deserts.  Well, by the way they look, anyway.  Not by the way they are or feel or weigh on your skin and soul (see above for my need for ready liquids.)  I think it all began with my parents' desert-themed bedroom.  This was in the early '80s, so we're talking dark and a little foreboding, not at all like the airy pastels of today's succulent-studded decor.  I had a sort of love-hate relationship with the bedspread and matching curtains (not the brown corduroy boyfriend pillow; I straight up hated that).  Even now I can see those brownish-green saguaros standing so stalwartly -- and, yes, a little menacingly -- against the backdrop of blistering sunset.

Thinking about my childhood makes me think about bedtimes and how I never had one.  My mom used to joke that "round here we stay up very, very, very, very late."  You know, like in the Counting Crows song (yes, we've now fast-forwarded to the '90s).  Which is funny because Adam Duritz was certainly singing about something more chilling than snubbing sleep to watch more Nick at Nite.  What's more, that song mentions the ocean, so there isn't a desert in sight.  Still, it has a desert kind of feel.

When I was looking for a song to sell this post, maybe I should've gone for "A Horse With No Name."  It too is a little creepy.  But at least it has a desert.  And a horse.

Anyway, I wanted this barrette brooch (technically, it's a barrette because it's a clip, but even I know it's probably way too much of a wide load to wear in one's hair) to be as memorable as that bedspread.  Although on the flip side of "love," instead of "hate," I'd rather have "makes you laugh so hard that limeade comes out of your nose."  The limeade thing happened to me yesterday, so it's fresh in my mind (and nostrils).  I teamed it (the barrette brooch, not the limeade) with more timid accessories to really let it shine.  Kind of like how you serve spicy meatballs with unseasoned rice and Brussels sprouts.  Not that I eat Brussels sprouts.  Or spicy meatballs.  Rice is okay; I like to think of it as the Coca Cola of starches. 

In case you're wondering, pasta is the root beer.

Island Life: Down Home Hawaiian

To some people, paradise is a plane ride away and requires the suave of a skilled concierge.  I used to be one of those people, even if my airplane was an aging Honda and my concierge was a cashier at Kohl's.  The point is, I equated good times with travel, even if the trip was just a few miles down the road.  And summer, that grande dame of good times, demanded the most travel of all.  Forget its laidback, the-living-is-easy persona.  That's just good PR from the Good Humor people.  The real summer is a dance-on-the-tables diva out for her pound of sun poisoned flesh.  If by mid-July I hadn't been out for ice cream, eaten fried seafood alfresco, or smelled the ocean, then I worried that summer was slipping through my fingers and that I'd better crank up the fun quotient already.  Now that I've been home all this time, I see that this mindset is silly.  Kind of like spending December chasing that perfect present or cookie recipe instead of succumbing to a hot cocoa coma under the tree.  It's a relief to just read a book on the couch with the sun streaming in through the windows and think, ah, this is summer.  And it's okay that the indoors version isn't that different from winter, that the only distinction is that Mother Nature shuts off her porch light at nine, not five.  (Not that bonus daylight is any small thing; pre-dinner blackouts are all kinds of depressing.  Stay tuned for November and that rant of a post.)  No, all I need from summer is sunshine -- window-screened, at-a-distance, no-sunblock-required sunshine.  Not some taskmaster of a list ordering me to collect seashells or else.   

That said, to celebrate the height of the season, I'm showing off my Hawaiian shirt collection.  At home, in my yard (except for when I'm standing in front of my beach towel-draped mantel), safe and chill on my own little Oahu.  I've shown you my luau shirts before, but now there are two more.  Who needs the beach when you've got palm tree-print polyester?

Clockwise: Candie's, Kohl's; Lily White, Marshalls; LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's; Lily White, Marshalls

They say that no (wo)man is an island, and maybe that's true.  After all, I have the husband here with me, and I couldn't quarantine without him.  Still, there's something soothing about this exile, however horrific its reason (don't come around here, COVID-19; I've got PocketBacs and I know how to use them).  There's a kind of security in surrounding myself with internal adventures and pastimes, having a high old time while I weather the storm.  Even if that storm lasts forever.

If that happens, then I'll start collecting umbrellas.

From the Oregon Trail to a True Fairy Tale: Sweet Stuff for Spilling the Tea

May Berry Charm Necklace

Dress: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Shoes: Penny Loves Kenny, DSW

Bag: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Sunglasses: Wild Fable, Target

Whimsical Watermelon Necklace

Top: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Skirt: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Shoes: Shoe Carnival

Bag: Glamour Damaged, Etsy

Belt: Belt is Cool, Amazon

Sunglasses: Wild Fable, Target

Bangles: B Fabulous

Cherry charm: Carole, JCPenney

Pompom charm: A.C. Moore

Plate barrette: The Tote Trove

Bow barrette: Carole, JCPenney

Blossom Bunch and Rambling Rose Barrette Brooches

Dress: ELLE, Kohl's

Shoes: Ami Clubwear

Bag: Macy's Backstage

Belt: Belt is Cool, Amazon

Sunglasses: Wild Fable, Target

When this floral, prairie-style, LC Lauren Conrad dress arrived from Kohl's, I was as excited as a pioneer saddling up on a Saturday to stock up on sarsaparilla at the general store.  Still, something was missing, and when I noticed the ladders climbing the dress's bodice and hem, I knew what it was.  Ribbon!  Luckily, I just happened to have roll upon roll of it in the perfect shade of scarlet satin.  Over the course of several days (it was a tedious task), I worked to weave it through the ladders like old-timey licorice (stay alive, general store simile).

Embellishing this dress felt very homey and reminded me of that scene in Cinderella where Gus and Jack remake Cinderella's mother's old dress into a beautiful pink and blue confection.  I always thought that dress had much more personality than the frosty frock that her fairy godmother bibbidi-bobbidi-booed.

Still, it wasn't without a little fairy dust -- or perhaps I should say tea leaves -- that I poofed up this post.  Yep, I started this journey on the Oregon Trail, then slid down a rainbow into Disneyland, and am now hosting a one-woman tea party.  And why not?  Tea is a timeless and restorative elixir designed to cure everything from torn gowns to broken hearts and all the evil stepsisters in between.  It's as cozy as it is civilized and has inspired many a cute expression: high tea, spot of tea, and tea for two to name a few, as well as "I'm a Little Teapot."  If it were an animal, then it would be a cat.  As in tea is to tabby as coffee is to corgi.  Oh, analogies!  I've abandoned my finger sandwiches only to flail in the viscous veggie soup that is the SATs.  I'd rather take my chances in the covered wagon.

Standardized tests notwithstanding, I've put together the kind of girly getups, right down to the fruit and flower accessories, that one can wear where they pour the Earl Gray.  Not, mind you, that they're for second bananas or shrinking violets.  I had so much fun making these necklaces and barrette brooches, and I made them to stand out.  I like to think of them as pretty and proper but laced with lemon zinger.  A little salt and citrus never hurt anyone.  Especially sailors.  Which are the opposite of pretty and proper, but then, where there's a will, seamen find a way.

May Berry Charm Necklace

Blossom Bunch Barrette Brooch

Whimsical Watermelon Necklace

Rambling Rose Barrette Brooch

And so our voyage concludes, predictably or not, on a pirate ship.  Because similes and analogies and metaphors are like Jell-O: there's always room for more.

Speaking of the wiggly one, make mine orange to stave off the scurvy.  

If These Corns Could Talk . . .

Top row: Anne Michelle, J. C. Penney's; Mix No. 6, DSW; Mix No. 6, DSW; Betsey Johnson, Macy's; Impo, DSW; Jessica Simpson, DSW

Middle row: Qupid, Ami Clubwear; Bucco, Kohl's; Impo, DSW; Mix No. 6, DSW; Kenneth Cole Reaction, Marshalls; Two Lips Too, J. C. Penney's

Bottom row: Shoe Republica, Ami Clubwear; Nine West, Kohl's; Naughty Monkey, Zulily; Mix No. 6., DSW; Breckelle's, Ami Clubwear

. . . then I'd be all ears.  And by corns I mean the ones on your toes that you get from wearing stilettos.  (By the way, if you're wondering what corns would say, I think it'd be something like, "Thanks for being vain and giving me life!  Don't ever switch to Easy Spirits!)  I've never met a heel that I didn't like, but this quarantine has changed my favored footwear to slippers.  Also, flip flops when I take out the trash.  Yet in a strange way, not wearing my shoes makes me appreciate them even more.  Instead of being (albeit beautiful) necessities to get me from point A to point B, they've been elevated to works of art above the indignities of dirt and toe sweat.  Wearing them seems like blasphemy.  After all, parking lots are minefields of old gum, lugees, and cigarette butts.  And those are the nice ones.

Before the pandemic, I wouldn't think twice about putting on a pair of skyscrapers and traipsing all over Target.  (To be fair, I'd usually been to work first, but still, wearing heels never stopped me from shopping.)  Sometimes people (usually old ladies) would stop me and say, "How can you walk in those things?!"  I'd smile and say that I was used to it, then go on my merry way, praying that I wouldn't fall on my face.  But on the inside I was always annoyed.  Now that the most uncomfortable thing to pierce my sole is a tread-studded slipper sock, I've gained a different perspective.  Because those shoes were painful.  Maybe those ladies weren't so much catty as concerned about my arch support.

That having been said, here are some of my most striking clodhoppers for your (and, okay, my) viewing pleasure.  I love how snug they look in their happy box beds, all arranged like tarted-up tessellations.  It's tough to pick a favorite, but if pressed I'd have to go with the Impo red rainbow wedges.  Which is ironic because they're completely canvas.  I usually avoid buying sandals with any kind of fabric inside because I hate that mark your skin leaves on them (toe sweat strikes again!).  But this summer I knew I'd be wearing them for a few minutes at most just to take pictures and thought, why not?  Thanks, COVID-19! 

I've yammered on about heels enough for one post.  But am I any closer to deciding if wearing them can be rationalized away with a glib, too-glam-to-give-a damn, insert hair toss, "Beauty is pain"?  Or, is this so-called fashion statement as barbaric as foot binding in ancient China?  As much as I love giving my bunions a break, a picture's worth a thousand words.  Or, as is the case with this picture, steps.  Which is my way of saying all hail the heel.

So, here's to having your corns and eating them too.

Look out ladies of Target.  It's on.

Just for the Taste of It: Diet Broke

Bag: Betsey Johnson, Amazon; Charm: Carole, J. C. Penney's

Disney, Target

Charming Charlie

Happy birthday, America.  I know you've been sick for awhile.  May I suggest a nice, refreshing Coca-Cola?  It's sweet and fizzy and will put pep in your step.  Once upon a time it was made from cocaine.  Maybe there's still some in there. 

To celebrate your big day, I'm breaking my quarantine.  A little.  I'm considering it quarantine jailbreak lite, a diet jailbreak, if you will.  I've been in my house since March 16 and have left only three times, just to pick up orders.  But my parents, who have themselves ventured very few places, asked the husband and me to come over for a socially distanced, outdoor BBQ for the Fourth of July.  They specified that it would just be the four of us, and that I didn't have to come if I didn't want to.  The thought of busting out made me uneasy.  Not necessarily because I thought I would catch corona from my parents or give it to them (although I realized that both were a possibility), but because I had a weird sense of pride about my unbroken quarantine streak.  I had everything I needed in the self-contained bubble of my cozy Dutch colonial, with groceries, books, and various fripperies arriving on the regular.  So was a holiday, even one with my parents, who are caution itself and with whom I'm very close, really a good reason to break this seal? 

In the end, I decided it was.  My parents are my people, after all, and I miss them.  So, armed with my mask and antibacterial gel (now again available from Bath and Body Works!), I'm braving the wilds of the other end of Atlantic County for the USA's b-day. 

Wherever you are and whatever you do, I wish you a happy Fourth of July.  Have fun and be safe. 

In other words, don't do cocaine. 

Oodles of Noodles and, Yes, a Caboodle

One of the good things about this quarantine is getting lots of time to read.  And as you know, there are few things I find more comforting than a good old-fashioned murder mystery.  The cozier the better.  And when it comes to gimmicks?  Bring 'em on!  That's why I was so happy to stumble upon Vivien Chien's noodle shop series when browsing books on Target.com.  In them, Cleveland-based heroine Lana Lee is fueled by a main course of managing her family's Chinese restaurant with a tasty side order of sleuthing.  The other characters almost always call her by her full name, which makes her sound like a superhero and/or Dave Kim from The Goldbergs.  Before you ask, yes, she's dating a detective, and, yes, she's smarter than he is.  Oh, and also, her family drives her nuts.  But whether she's dyeing her hair a new crazy color or scarfing down her beloved doughnuts, Lana doesn't let them -- or Detective Trudeau -- get her down.  I don't even like Chinese food, but I've gobbled up three of these books so far, and they've been chockful of chow fun.  Here are some of my favorite parts, most of which don't involve murder:

Death by Dumpling

"Jasmine's great.  She gets me.  And she gets my hair.  Hair's important to me.  It's a statement.  Hair and shoes.  If you have those two things going on, you're pretty much solid." (68)

"As I stepped inside, I stopped and took a deep breath, closing my eyes and taking in the intoxicating smell that is the Modern Scroll.  This was my favorite store of all.  It was a small slice of heaven, and I came in any chance I got just to be around the books.  Books were my solace, my escape." (97)

Egg Drop Dead

"Saturday evening should be spent either doing something incredibly fun, or doing something very relaxing.  It should not be spent talking about murder suspects with your significant other while you binge-eat cheesy popcorn and doughnut holes." (199)

Murder Lo Mein

"The bathroom was immaculate and might have been nicer than my apartment.  At times, I wished there was such a job as restroom connoisseur.  I would have a blast rating all the bathrooms in the city . . . and there were quite a few that would make it on the . . . well, you know what list I'm talking about." (192)

"He was the professional, and I was just a gal with an overactive imagination and a ratty notebook." (238)

Most of these are about the kind of human interest minutiae and humor that I find so delightful.  Except for the last one.  That's about Lana Lee questioning her whodunit prowess thanks to Trudeau, who, under the circumstances, I feel compelled to call a private dick.  Thankfully, Lana rises above this nonsense, proving herself to be more than, as Gwen Stefani put it, "just a girl."

But enough heaviness.  Chien's books, along with Jewel Divas Style and Pinterest, made me want to take this picture of elbow macaroni in a Caboodle:  

Elbows may not be lo mein, but they're what I had on hand (see above about me not eating Chinese food), and I figured that one weirdly staged carb is as amusing as another.  Just think of the pompoms as meatballs.  Also, that's my elbow in the mirror, so happy pic pun accident.  Anyway, Jewel Divas is a blogger who loves -- and writes -- about Caboodles more than anyone ever.  And Pinterest has provided me with many a Caboodle pic to add to my Righteously Retro '80s and '90s Childhood board.  Pinterest is also where I learned about Violet Tinder Studios, which photographs everyday objects in unexpected and glamorous ways.  My pic in no way reflects the sophistication of that outfit's output.  But Violet's spirit still shines through my effort, and so I must give credit where credit is due. 

So, that's lo mein (sort of) and Lana Lee.  She's a Nancy Drew disciple (she said it, not me) who rocks takeout and taking out bad guys. 

And who sure knows how to use her noodle.