Self Care Dare: Taking Back Fun Day

Sasha Worth is in a serious funk.  She's so bogged down by her job that she can barely function.  Making dinner seems like an insurmountable task, she has no energy for friends, and the only thing that comforts her is watching Legally Blonde.  So when a cashier asks her out, she tells him she's not interested in sex because it's just "genitals rubbing together." (14)  Pretty cringe, right?  But also hilarious and charming and stranger-than-fiction real.  Because this is Sophie Kinsella and her second-latest book, The Burnout.

That said, it's bizarre but not surprising when Sasha tears out of her office in a burst of can't-take-it-anymore anxiety and runs into a brick wall.  Emotionally spent, she takes a leave of absence and holes up at the seaside resort where she vacationed as a kid.  All Sasha wants is to be left alone.  But the universe has other plans.  Soon she befriends the quirky hotel staff, delves into a twenty-year-old mystery, and asks herself what she really wants.  And she does it all with a man who seemed awful but turns out to be just what she needs.

Every time Sasha stumbles or has a wish-the-earth-would-swallow-her moment, I feel like it's happening to me, and I bet other readers do too.  That's the magic of Kinsella.  She shows us the dark in the light and the light in the dark through the eyes of relatable heroines.  In a world where self care is often just a buzz word, Sasha asserts her worth and puts herself first, making The Burnout a standout.

So thank you, Sophie Kinsella, for giving us yet another wonderful read.  There's no one I'd rather have a breakdown -- er, burnout -- with.

B is for Books About Bunnies and Babies

Also, Becky Bloomwood.  But we'll work our way up to that.  First things first.  As you know, I can't let a holiday pass without reading a coordinating cozy homicide.  So this Easter hat trick of three novellas including Leslie Meier's Easter Basket Murder, Lee Hollis's Death by Easter Egg, and Barbara Ross's Hopped Along was just what the Easter bunny ordered.  Each story delivered on the irresistible cocktail of cute and creepy, although I enjoyed Death by Easter Egg the most.  There's something about the combination of candy and crime that's especially decadent.    

Kind of like childbirth and chuckles, which isn't decadent, but rather soothing.  Now that I'm in the last leg of my pregnancy (30 weeks!), I felt the urge to reread Sophie Kinsella's Shopaholic and Baby.  As the big day draws near, I knew that reliving Becky's hijinks would be especially entertaining and comforting.  And it was.  What I didn't expect was for it to make me cry.  (Then again, these days, there isn't much that doesn't switch on the waterworks.)  Because along with all the fiascos and fun is the heart that beats so beautifully in each of Kinsella's books.  As Becky persevered through her struggles, I knew that I could conquer mine too, and that in the end it will all be worth it because my baby girl is meant to be.

It's no wonder that this book was the first thing I slipped into my go bag.  

Immediately followed, of course, by a brand-new tube of Cherries in the Snow lipstick.      

Covert Missions and New Traditions: Home is Where the Tart Is

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Sophie Kinsella's stories make me happy.  These books are sunsets stuffed in cupcakes wrapped in rainbows.  So when it was my turn to pick for the book club I'm in with my mom and sister, I went with Kinsella's latest, The Party Crasher, a quirky family dramedy with all the feels.

Twenty-six-year-old Effie Talbot is devastated by her parents' divorce.  To make matters worse, her father has a sexy new girlfriend, a nightmare of a woman named Krista who's persuaded him to sell Greenoaks, the Talbots' beloved, so-ugly-it's-cute family home.  Effie's older brother and sister have adopted a stiff upper lip, but stubborn and sensitive Effie is having none of it, refusing to attend Krista's farewell gala, which she wasn't exactly invited to anyway.  But then Effie remembers that her cherished Russian nesting dolls are still hidden somewhere inside Greenoaks.  So she decides to slip into the party incognito to find them, without any of her siblings -- or her now-famous childhood sweetheart -- seeing her.  I don't have to tell you that this is a mission riddled with narrow escapes, epic eavesdropping, and surprises for everyone.  Throughout it all, Effie finds out that things aren't always what they seem, forcing her to finally, maybe, grow up.

Effervescent with all the madcap humor, warmth, and spot-on character insights that ignite every Kinsella novel, The Party Crasher is plus-one perfection.  I don't know how she does it, but, as always, Kinsella delivers a fun and witty confection of a story that also offers up truths about life.  She just gets it.    

The Party Crasher is one party you won't want to miss.

Sweat Suit Tribute: R&R: Reading and Relaxation

Sweat suit: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's; Blanket: So, Kohl's

Sweatshirt: Macy's

Sweat suit: LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's; Socks: GAP; Hair tie: Wild Fable, Target

Recently, I revealed how the quarantine has brought me closer to sweat suits.  And I'm as surprised as you are that it's taken me so long to join this particular pajama party -- and, ironically, to discover that there's more to lounge life than pajamas.  Because of all the stars in the sartorial spectrum, sweats are a special breed.  What other attire simultaneously says going for a run and sleeping 'til Tuesday?  

To that end, R&R usually means rest and relaxation (no, not rest and running, although that would fit nicely with what I just said, wouldn't it?).  But in this post, it means rest and reading.  And whether you're snuggling up to slumber or to a story, you want to be as comfy as possible.  

So here I am, not doing laps, but also not sweating the small stuff.  While wearing my brand-new sweats (try saying that five times fast) and reading two delightful but very different books: Laura Levine's Death of a Gigolo and Grown Ups by Marian Keyes.  If you've read Laura Levine, Marian Keyes, and/or this blog, then you know the drill.  Gigolo is a not-quite ribald romp of a murder mystery chockful of intrigue, hijinks, and, most horrific of all, part-time-private-eye-slash-ice-cream-addict Jaine Austen's (yes, you read that right) attempt to go vegan in the name of true love.  As always, it's cozy, crazy, and reminiscent of sitcoms, which makes sense because Ms. Levine used to write for TV.  Grown Ups, on the other hand, is a chick lit dramedy full of family skeletons, skirmishes, and a good old-fashioned dose of facing up to things.  Although nobody kicks the bucket (except for during a low-rent murder mystery weekend), it's grimmer than Death of a Gigolo.  Sometimes I think that Marian Keyes is the dark side of Sophie Kinsella.  Which is to say that her novels have wit and warmth and glamour -- but also demons.  Gigolo and Grown Ups are both great reads; Gigolo gets high marks for escapist fun, whereas Grown Ups offers a glimpse into the lives of people you probably know. 

Still, when even the land -- no, neighborhood -- of make believe (rock on, Mr. Rogers!) becomes too taxing, there are few things more decadent than grabbing a bookmark, thanking the universe for your sweats -- or for whatever makes you grateful -- and succumbing to sleep.            

Love Sessions, Life Lessons: All's Fair in the Baggage Claim Game

If books were ballgowns, then Sophie Kinsella's latest, Love Your Life, would be a ruffly pink number spangled with polka dots and topped with an appropriately British fruit tart fascinator.  Which is, of course, a fun way of saying that I gobbled it up like a crumpet.  Love Your Life begins when Londoners Aria and Dutch (not their real names) meet and fall in love at a writing retreat in Italy.  Per the rules of the program, everyone goes by a pseudonym, and no one is allowed to talk about real life (apparently, it interferes with the writing process).  Aria and Dutch share a magical, cocoon-like two weeks.  They're so besotted that when the retreat is over, they plan to continue seeing each other.  The catch?  In an effort to keep a good thing going, they decide not to divulge their pasts.  

But as everyone knows, no one comes home from a trip without baggage.   

Soon Italy is a mere memory, revealing the mysterious Aria and Dutch to be plain old Ava and Matt.  Ava is a bohemian, vegetarian freelance writer extremely attached to her destructive dog, and Matt is a by-the-book, burger-loving CEO who thinks that pets require boundaries.  Matt feels honor-bound to do things he hates, whereas Ava has dozens of dreams but never sees a single one to fruition.  It's a classic Dharma & Greg situation, and the surprise of it puts a strain on their fairy tale romance.  As Ava and Matt's conflicts escalate, they can't help but wonder if their vacation fling has what it takes to become the real thing.

Love Your Life isn't about loving your own life, but about loving the life of your -- not to put too fine a point on it -- lover.  Which is an interesting premise, because sometimes it's hard to forget that love's not built to be perfect.  That said, I could relate to some of Ava and Matt's struggles.  For example, the husband is an early bird and I'm a night owl.  He loves animals; I want critters to keep their distance.  He digs documentaries; I fancy fiction.  I could go on and on, but you get the idea.  Yet at the end of the day, none of those things really matter.  What matters is that we laugh at the same stupid things and, as the husband says, "care about each other's fiber."  That last bit is an inside joke about an old cereal commercial that's probably not funny if uttered outside our bubble.  But it means that we look out for each other and are each other's person, which is something that everyone understands.  I think that this is the essence of Love Your Life and what makes it special.  Sure, it's a rom com, but one that gently pokes at the genre in a way that's wise and whimsical and delivers the truth.  

Maybe Love Your Life is about loving your own life after all.  Because, to repeat something that might appear on a pillow on Aunt Gert's La-Z-Boy, you have to love your life and yourself before you can love someone else's.  

So, the only way to come home without baggage is if the airport loses it.  

In which case, maybe Aunt Gert will lend you her pillow.

Ship Shape Escape: Family Feud Unglued

I was on Amazon when I found a book by an author I'd never heard of.  The book was The Floating Feldmans, the author was Elyssa Friedland, and it caught my eye because of its cover.  I liked the way the characters' faces peeked through the ship portals, my favorite being Mr. Man Bun.

So, I added it to my wish list, and my sister got it for me for Christmas.  Last week I finally tested its waters.  Which is a dramatic way to talk about diving into a book, but you never know with new authors.  Or new anything.  It's like that Seinfeld episode where Jerry takes Bania out to dinner (and lunch) in exchange for a suit and mocks Bania's always-annoying commentary.  That is, if you order your go-to meal, then you know it'll be good but the same.  If you order something new, then you get to have something different, but it might not be as good.  To quote Jerry verbatim, "it's a gamble."  And that's just how I felt before embarking on The Floating Feldmans.  Which is fitting, because the novel's about a cruise and cruises are all about food.  Also disease, not to put too fine a point on it in the current coronavirus climate.

Anyway, the Feldmans are complicated.  You've got overbearing mom Annette and distant dad David with two grown children: overachieving daughter Elise and slacker son Freddie (he of the man bun).  Elise has an overachieving daughter, Rachel, and slacker son, Darius, of her own.  She also has a nice-guy husband, Mitch, making for a neat parallel with her bro's trophy girlfriend, Natasha, who, is also -- you guessed it -- nice!  "Wait a minute," you may be thinking, "How can a slacker dude score such a babe?  Are things -- dun dun dun -- not what they seem?!"  To echo the sound of the ship's casino . . . jackpot!  This family has more secrets than a prostitute's diary, and they all come out on the Ocean Queen.  It's all hands on deck for domestic discord, with jaded cruise director Julian at the helm.  Friedland pulls out every cruise ship cliche, from the passengers duking it out over the soft serve machine to the dorky dad sandals to the overpriced offshore excursions.  And it's hilarious!  Really, the perfect fly-on-the-wall situation where you can soak up all of the laughs and none of the calories -- or ptomaine.  Here are some of my favorite parts:

"How Elise craved that soaring spike in adrenaline that shot pins and needles to her extremities and sent butterflies to her stomach.  She sighed and looked back at her cart, fighting off the urge to calculate.  The total couldn't be much.  She had tossed in maybe eight or nine hardcovers at most, three frozen cakes, a few packages of T-shirts for Darius, and a bunch of sports bras she'd need now that she'd signed up for Class Pass." (11).

Yes, Elise's shameful secret is that she's a shopaholic.  Like Rebecca Bloomwood, but not as much fun and without the rich husband (Elise's better half is a journalist; need I say more?).  One of her more unfortunate splurges is family sweatshirts plastered with Annette's (rather angry) face, which she got on -- wait for it -- Etsy.

Still, all roads lead back to that other over-indulgers' paradise, namely the buffet:

"On average, passengers aboard the Ocean Queen consumed six thousand calories per day, sitting down to no less than five full meals.  The midmorning "snack" consisted of pastries, a full salad bar, and a taco station.  Afternoon tea was the least dainty meal Julian had ever laid eyes on.  Instead of finger sandwiches and bite-sized lemon tarts, the kitchen staff put out twelve-foot loaves of streusel from which the guests could hack off as much as they liked.  And, as far as Julian could tell, they liked a lot of streusel." (2)

"A middle-aged woman wearing a sweatshirt that said I Have No Cruise Control shouted, "Where's my free pizza?  I was told there would be free pizza." (134)

This book is zany.  But it's also a little dark and deep and gives you a look inside that cattiest of cliques: family.  Like the meanest of mean girls, the Feldmans manipulate one another and freeze each other out.  But unlike their middle school monster counterparts, they actually care about one another, a truth that surfaces like filet mignon from a sea of expired bologna.  And that's kind of comforting.  Because although families are never easy, they've always got your back.

Even if that back's wearing a day-glo sweatshirt emblazoned with the matriarch's mug.

Glad Tidings and Tidying

Betty Bright Side Necklace 

We've Got the Beat Bowtie 

 Outer Banks Pranks Necklace

Sweater: Cara Santana for Apt. 9, Kohl's
Coat: POPSUGAR, Kohl's
Skirt: Bongo, Sears
Shoes: Zulily
Bag: Betsey Johnson, Macy's
Striped bangle: Mixit, JCPenney
Yellow bangle: Silver Linings
Orange bangle: Mixit, JCPenney
Purple bracelet: Etsy
Green bracelet: Amrita Singh, Zulily

You know how Marie Kondo, author of The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up, asks you to ask yourself, "Does this spark joy?" when deciding whether to keep or toss that alligator-shaped back scratcher?  (And no, I didn't read Tidying; I'd rather drink vinegar than read books about cleaning.)  Well, this star-spangled, faux fur jacket that I got for my birthday sparks so much joy that it's like the Fourth of July.  Not that it was or ever would be a candidate on my "toss" list.  Still, I wanted to express how much I love it.  And also make a pop culture reference.  Which, as you know, is something that I love too. 

You know who else loves stuff and isn't keen on tidying?  Rebecca Bloomwood of Shopaholic fame.  I just read Sophie Kinsella's Christmas Shopaholic (perfectly acceptable, as I still have my tree up), and it was an utter delight. 

I'm just going to say it: Kinsella's Shopaholic series is one of the best ever written.  Because it's all about chasing joy (hear that Marie?) wherever it takes you -- even if it turns out to be the mall.  Becky is quirky and spunky and full of life.  Creditors notwithstanding, she spreads sunshine wherever she goes.  Which makes her not a cautionary tale, but a role model.     

Anyway, in this Christmas-themed caper, Becky's parents sublet their house and move to the city, asking Becky to host Christmas for the first time.  Which sounds simple but isn't because each guest has his/her own ridiculous expectations.  Also, Becky's college boyfriend, who's a moody music nerd-turned-rock god, has surfaced with his wannabe-mogul girlfriend -- and an agenda.  But Becky doesn't let any of this stop her when it comes to planning the perfect celebration for her crew.  And as the grandaddy of gift-giving occasions, Christmas is the ideal season to showcase her antics.  For example: Your husband asks for aftershave?  Join a men's-only billiards club to win him a posh portmanteau instead!  Supermarket sold out of Tofurkeys for your vegan sister?  Cobble one together out of glazed doughnuts!  Schooled by a snooty browser in your best friend's gift shop?  Make up a Scandinavian word so intriguing that your friend emblazons it upon a whole line of tchotchkes that sell like hotcakes (and catch the not-so-forgiving eye of a Finnish official)!  Mixed with Becky's usual cringeworthy consumer hijinks, these misadventures and others add up to one heady holiday cocktail.  Of the hot pink umbrella kind, of course. 

It's no wonder that I'd rather be Rebecca Bloomwood than Marie Kondo.  But here's a secret: I'm more like Marie.  True, I'm not a great housekeeper.  But I'm organized and responsible and I like to plan things (ugh, I know; that sentence is about as tasty as wheat germ).  That's why I love to read about Becky and other free-spirited heroines.  It takes me out of my rigid self and reminds me that I can be freer, too.     

Note to self: Hang on to that alligator back scratcher.

Kick Start My Heart: Feels for Heels

From left: Chase & Chloe, Zulily; Chinese Laundry, Zulily; Chase & Chloe, Zulily

I promise that I'm not getting an, ahem, kickback from Zulily to blog about these shoes. Although if Zu wanted to toss me that new pair of yellow Jessica Simpson ankle straps that I just bookmarked, then I wouldn't cry unethical. But if I can't get a pair of great shoes for free, then the next best thing is getting them for next to nothing. Because you can never have too many, and getting each pair cheaper means getting more.

It's a strong woman who can resist a new pair of kicks -- and an even stronger one who buys them anyway and endures the pain. A pain that comes, of course, from the bunions, corns, and hammer toes that are the price of fashion-forward footwear. Although today's trio isn't high on height -- or torture -- I wear plenty of pairs that rival skyscrapers. Whenever my feet sprout fresh deformities, I always think of that part in Shopaholic and Baby when Becky Bloomwood's gyno lectures her about her heels, tsk-tsking that fashion is bad for your health. This makes me angry. Becky already has to battle morning sickness and bloating; she shouldn't have to give up cute shoes, too. Then again, her gyno turns out to be a husband-stealing ass clown, so what does she know? Furthermore, the gyno's clothes are boring, which is a kind of symbol of her inner ass-clownery. You know what they say. Never trust a woman in sensible shoes.

They also say that beauty is pain. Which to me means the bunions are worth it.

Au Revoir to X: Autumn on Target

 Jazzy Jaune Necklace

Jacket: Wild Fable, Target

Top: Wild Fable, Target

Skirt: Wild Fable, Target

Shoes: Delicious, Zulily

Bag: Betsey Johnson, Macy's

Sunglasses: Wild Fable, Target

Eclectic Emoji Charm Necklace

Top: Wild Fable, Target

Skirt: Wild Fable, Target

Shoes: Ami Clubwear

Bag: Betsey Johnson, Macy's

Sunglasses: Rampage, Boscov's
Belt: Wild Fable

Yellow necklace: Kohl's

I used to think of fall as a time of darkness and death (I'm looking at you, Halloween), but now I see it as a chance for rebirth and beginnings, an opportunity to enjoy something old that's now new again.  Which is very fitting, because this fall, there's a renaissance of '90s fashion.  Remember that irresistible mash-up of grunge and glam?  Well, it's back: corduroy, mock turtlenecks, happy faces, crop tops, faux fur, checkerboard prints, rainbow stripes, plaid, and much more.  Then again, saying that plaid is big for fall is like saying that flowers are big for spring or that ugly sweaters are big for Christmas.  But this isn't any old lumberjack or prep school tartan.  It's Clueless plaid in all of its yellow pleated glory, reigning as the queen bee crown jewel in the tiara of Target's Wild Fable label.  (Hey, that rhymes.)  Surely you'e seen that Target commercial with the Cher, Dionne, and Tai look-a-likes kitted out in revamped versions of the movie's (and decade's) top trends.  Aesop would be rolling over in his grave if he knew that Wild Fable is the name Target gave to the brand replacing its longtime juniors headliner, Xhilaration.  Then again, maybe he's a fan of teen flicks and is doing an, ahem, wild jig.  

Now, at first I wasn't happy about this coup.  I have many an Xhilaration piece in my wardrobe and hated the idea of the beloved brand being edged out by some new kid on the block.  Much like when the Backstreet Boys edged out the actual New Kids on the Block.  Then I remembered that I like the Boys better than the Kids.  I mean, "Everybody" vs. "Hangin' Tough?"  No contest.  And that's when I took a good look at the racks and realized I love Wild Fable.  Its edgy elegance transported me back to the days of Seventeen and Saturday mall crawls in a way that Xhilaration's boho blouses never could.  I was captivated by the studded belts, colorful Lucite-like earrings, and novelty wristlets (although, oddly, not a chain wallet in sight), that made up these punk princess spoils.  But it was the display centerpiece that really transfixed me.  For, arranged on a table like so many treats were -- are you ready for this? -- Caboodles!   

Every '90s girl had one of these confection-colored cosmetics organizers.  I'll never forget when I got my own sky blue case one Christmas.  I was so excited!  It matched my bedroom perfectly, and I couldn't wait to fill it with treasures.  So, you can imagine my indignation when my (male) cousin referred to it as a tackle box.  Stash mackerel-gut slimed lures and rubber worms where my bubblegum Bonnie Bell lip balm should be?  As if!

So, I picked up this lilac Caboodle as well as the other nostalgic pieces in this post.  My favorite is the checkerboard jacket.  They didn't have it in my size at the store, so I went online and ordered it.  It's like Speed Racer and ska all in one.  Cue the trumpets, Mighty Mighty Bosstones!

Still, as thrilling as the return of all this throwback stuff is, some of it should stay in the moldy basements of our memories of retainers and school dance sobfests.  I refer to you, baby backpacks, flannel, and scrunchies.  (The aforementioned Clueless-inspired, yellow plaid separates are, sadly, flannel.  Otherwise, you know they'd be preening in pride of place here.)   I've made a solemn pact not to cave to the likes of these D-list reincarnations.  And that goes double for jumpers.  I tried one on, and it was hideous.  Which sounds about right, because whenever I hear the word "jumper" I think of a big, bulky sweater knitted by dear old Aunt Agnes with puce-colored, pill-prone acrylic instead of a dress worn over a turtleneck.  Thanks, Sophie Kinsella, Marian Keyes, and Maeve Binchy.  Soon I'll be expecting an elevator when someone says that they've called (a) Lyft.

So yeah, there's something to be said for fall fashion . . . and for fall.  For one thing, it marks the end of swamp ass, sunscreen, and mosquitoes.  But it's not the end of everything sunny.  I could go on about the magic of leaves changing from green to gold and the coziness of sweaters and the custardy coolness of Libby's pumpkin pie.  Yet the sign above the register at the breakfast place where the husband and I went this morning sums it up best:

"Everything will be alright in the end.  And if it's not alright, then it's not the end."

I thought that was beautiful.  (Then again, maybe I was still flying high from all the sugar in my super decadent strawberry cheesecake pancakes.)  It's a simple way of saying that no matter what your troubles or fears, the universe has a plan, and that that plan will take care of you.  Which, I realize, goes way beyond any wistfulness that the transition of seasons might bring.  But it's the little things that make a big difference.  And one of the biggest little things you can do is look for signs.

Especially the kind for 50% off on lunchbox purses.

Quelle Surprise: Color Me Scrappy

 Blue Bubble Necklace

 Pretty Prism Barrettes

Top: Marshalls

Skirt: Amazon

Shoes: Chase & Chloe, Zulily

Bag: Luv Betsey, Macy's

Belt: Izod, Marshalls

A rainbow is like a surprise gift from nature. Which is an odd thing for me to say, because I don't usually like surprises. Or nature. Nevertheless, last weekend, I read a novel called Surprise Me. Title notwithstanding, I knew what I was getting into because it's written by Sophie Kinsella, beloved author of the Shopaholic series. It's about a married couple that starts freaking out after some health insurance company-appointed doctor assess their life expectancy (I guess that's a thing in England) and informs them that they have a good chance of living until 100. Although Dan and Sylvie (those are their names) are in love and all that, umpteen more years of finishing each other's sentences seems suddenly daunting. So, Sylvie comes up with a grand plan to keep the spark going with little surprises. The story starts out sweet and light-hearted, shimmering with the kind of nervous energy that is the hallmark of any Kinsella caper. Then things take a turn, plunging Dan and Sylvie into uncharted territory and invoking the old caveat: be careful what you wish for.

The topsy-turvy plot serves as a wake-up call for Sylvie. Although she's a mother of two and holds down a job, she comes off as a little naive, trapped in an arrested development symbolized by waist-length hair and aggressively frilly clothes (which is something, by the way, that I appreciate only as a metaphor; stylistically speaking, I would never side with pixie cuts and pants suits). Sylvie needs more than a makeover, though. She must confront a painful secret before she can move on with her marriage. Some may say that this is too tangled a tangent for a book with a yellow cover splashed with pastel hearts. But I say that this is Kinsella's wheelhouse, sprinkling the spangly over the unspeakable. (Rebecca Bloomwood shopped, after all, to deal with all the little and not-so-little disappointments in life.) That's what makes Kinsella's books so good; like a well-dressed department store mannequin, they're fun and fashionable but have lots of layers.

Now, on to that rainbow. Rainbow rhinestone hairpins, that is. Rainbows, come to think of it, are a lot like Kinsella novels, in that they're masters at making the best of things that are unpleasant. The unpleasant thing, in their case, being rain. Anyway, I used metal slider barrettes to make this hair flare, and I like the way it turned out, flashy yet simple. Talk about an oxymoron!

Next I worked with the metal circle charms left over from last week's Ariel necklace. Sometimes that's the best part of buying supplies for "planned" projects, using the "scraps" to make something that never even occurred to you. I embellished them with cool-colored rhinestones to make this Blue Bubble Charm necklace. The purple, chartreuse, and turquoise remind me of a colorblocked silk blouse that my mom had in the '90s and that I once wore, tucked into chino shorts, on a ferry. (I have a picture, and it is not good.) But the mod-slash-under-the-sea aesthetic of that color palette stayed with me, and I was excited to recreate it in this necklace. It's a little slice of nostalgia, the pot of bold at the end of the rainbow.

Unlike the poison ivy that surprised me many summers ago on yet another, albeit non-ferry-related, vacation. Not a good slice of nostalgia, that.

I have my reasons for not liking nature.

Best Western: These Boots Were Made for Squawking

 Willa Western Necklaces

Tee: Kohl's

Skirt: Celebrity Pink, Macy's

Boots: 2 Lips Too, DSW

Scarf: Boscov's

Sunglasses: Relic, Kohl's

Green bracelet: Parade of Shoes

Beaded bracelet: Plymouth Plantation Museum

Green ring: Claire's

Orange ring: Gifted

Barrette: The Tote Trove

 Toothy Triumvirate Necklace

Dress: Lula Roe

Shoes: Nine West, Marshalls

Bag: Olivia Miller, JCPenney

Silver belt: Boscov's

Turquoise belt: Mixit, JCPenney

Sunglasses: Rampage, Boscov's

Royal blue bangle: Kohl's

Turquoise bangle: Mixit, JCPenney

Flower bangle: Mixit, JCPenney

Barrette: The Tote Trove

Snazzy Steer Necklace

Top: Xhilaration, Target

Skirt (a dress!): Target

Shoes: Worthington, JCPenney

Bag: JCPenney

Belt: Apt. 9, Kohl's

Sunglasses: Relic, Kohl's 

Sometimes you want to feel country but not be country . . . which is why they made glamping.  At least that's what it says in Sophie Kinsella's My Not So Perfect Life, a novel about a farmer's daughter masquerading as a city slicker.  Because if there's one thing that books and movies tell us, it's that people always want to be something they're not.  For example, sometimes I dress like a cowgirl even though I've always lived in New Jersey.  I realize that this makes it sound as if I want to be a cowgirl, which I do not, cow patties and stunt riding being a mall parking lot away from my wheelhouse.  But once in a while it's nice to enjoy the trappings -- and the rhinestones.  The result is always a Halloweenish, Hollywood version of what I think a cowgirl should look like.  Kind of like when Ree Drummond (yes, that Ree Drummond, of Pioneer Woman fame), dons her gussied-up version of dressed down to meet her boyfriend's parents for the first time only to find them in old clothes, giving her the once-over.  (In case you're wondering, this vignette isn't from Ree's Food Network show, but rather her memoir-slash-origin-story, Black Heels to Tractor Wheels: A Love Story.)  Ree's experience resonates with me because it makes a strange sort of sense.  Having style is -- despite what the fashion rags say -- defined as the dreaded trying too hard.  Fashion is frivolous.  If you're putting in the time to look a certain way, even if that way is I-couldn't-care-less-and-rolled-out-of-bed-like-this, then the jig is up.

But back to western wear.  Or should I say flair?  Or maybe even square . . . as in, dancing.  No, definitely not that one.  Too many flashbacks to fourth grade music class and the grand drama of being paired up with the class Casanova or the kid who always smelled like old cheese.  So, flair it is!  And I troweled it on when making these necklaces.  Impractical, kitschy, and showy, they're everything that a no-nonsense country girl isn't -- and still somehow capture her essence.  And who knows?  Maybe that girl is sick of wide open spaces and stores that only sell chicken feed.  Maybe she wants to light out for the city and kick up her heels and wear something sparkly, Bessie and her bum udder be damned . . .

Okay, time to rein it in.   Let's peruse a few pics of ranch-friendly stuff in my suburban-New Jersey-estranged-from-Mr.-Ed house, shall we?  I don't know about you, but I think a little frontier flavor makes any house homier.

And hits the spot when you want something western that isn't an omelet.   

 A painting I got for $5 at Kirklands. 

 Cacti and birdies, a.k.a. the "squawkers." 

Sunny side up with sunflowers. 

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.  

Sugar and Spice and Everything Dice: An Introduction

 Lovely Librarian Necklace

Top: Kohl's

Skirt: Marilyn Monroe, Macy's

Shoes: Betseyville, Macy's

Bag: Betsey Johnson, Macy's

Belt: Izod, Marshalls

Sunglasses: So, Kohl's

The sugar is Nicholas Sparks's Two by Two, the spice is Amy Schumer's The Girl With the Lower Back Tattoo, and the dice is Sophie Kinsella's Shopaholic to the Rescue, a tale that tells us how everything in the fictional -- and, indeed, real world -- is one casino game away from collapsing.

Because books are what make this post, er, cook, this Lovely Librarian Necklace is a willing and apropos mascot.  (And yes, I still think that libraries are gross and smelly and filled with books smeared with mystery stains.  But it's the spirit of the library that I celebrate.  Kind of like when I wax fanciful about flea markets.)   The books in question represent a souffle of stories, a trio of trials, and a network of narratives whose humanity can be conveyed by only good writing and imagination.  That and handicrafts made from stuff that belongs in a dollhouse.

So, stay tuned as I embark upon The Tote Trove's first ever three-part series (four if you count this introductory post, which I do) and indulge my hey,-here's-what-I-think bookworm ways.

But not real bookworms.  They're even more unsettling than real libraries.

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.