I have an exciting weekend to tell you about. First though, I want to acknowledge all my readers who are clicking on the ads: Thanks! I've made $21 since Wednesday! Drinks on me!
So, on Saturday night I went to a friend's vow renewal. It was her and her husband's 20th wedding anniversary, and they really put on the dog. It was in their house, with valet parking and a DJ, and an unlimited amount of champagne, and fabulous food, and I was glad to have been invited. The ceremony was brief, and was a standard exchange of vows that you'd see at any wedding, but it dawned on me that it was actually much more meaningful than a first-time-around wedding. I confess that I didn't think too much about the whole thing beforehand, I mostly obsessed about what I would wear. But it occurred to me that, when I got married anyway, nothing had happened to me yet, nor to my husband. We hadn't lost any of our parents, we hadn't struggled to have a baby, we hadn't HAD a baby, we hadn't bought a house, I hadn't almost died yet, and we didn't have anything so we hadn't lost anything, we had no idea what those vows we were making actually meant. For richer and poorer, in sickness and in health, in good times and bad; its all theoretical when you're 25 with some valium in your tummy and a white veil over your face. But after 20 years they mean we've been to hell and back together, we've periodically wanted to kill each other, and I still love you, and I want another 20 of whatever you got. So, congratulations to Tim and Jen!
There was also a bitter angry neighbor who called the police complaining that she couldn't hear her TV because the party was too loud, and they came and told us to to turn it down... at 7:30 p.m. on a Saturday! Can you believe that? Welcome to the suburbs, now shut the hell up!
The next day, my pseudo-sister-in-law (we're all just sitting around, yawning, waiting for the damn ring) came over to give my wardrobe a makeover. Once upon a time, I had some style. I knew how to put things together, I knew how to accessorize, I knew how to dress myself. That knowledge has disappeared bit by bit, with every little ounce I gain, and now I pretty much hate all my clothes. I buy clothes I don't like because I know I can't walk around naked (no one deserves that) so I just grab cheap, plain T shirts, jeans that don't fit, sensible shoes, and I wear the same boring earrings every day of my life.
K. is a little fashionista. She works in fashion, she has a degree in fashion (and not from some online school based in an industrial park in Phoenix, its a real degree from a prestigious school) she's young and hip and knows her way around a mall. She brought over enough fashion magazines to keep my recycling center busy for weeks, and she had already ripped out pages of "looks" for me. Then we made a kamikaze trip to the mall, and now I'm decked out in dolman sleeves, little scarves, ballet flats, and tops that are not plain cotton t-shirts. I don't think I've ever tried on more clothes in one day. I actually hate shopping, but it doesn't make me want to kill myself when I'm going with someone who knows what they're doing and is honest about how stuff looks on me. AND I think I taught her something about dressing girls with big cans: no boatnecks. Boatnecks = bad.
Then! We came home and I had a margarita. She and Leila sat on my bed and we went through my entire closet. I got rid on a ton of stuff. Clothes that, every time I opened my closet I thought, I hate that effing sweater, and I want it to die. She showed me how to make old boring clothes new and hip, told me what had to go, and didn't yell at me when I put things that are now too small into clothing purgatory, in case I can one day fit into them again. Dare To Dream.
And somewhere in between, we ate tacos.
I think everyone needs a fashionista in their lives. We all need personal shoppers; people who will go through stores and make us try on things outside our comfort zones, who wont judge our huge cans, and a professional discount certainly doesn't hurt... Thanks K!
What would Tyra think? Do I have smeyes? I just have to add here how incredibly lame I felt taking these pictures. I even changed outfits a couple of times. But, for you, dear readers, anything. Now click those ads, I need a second pair of shoes!
p.s. that armoire on the left is for sale. Just sayin'...