I have jury duty tomorrow. Mother fucking jury duty. And while my Princess Leia costume is unfortunately at the dry cleaners, I'm thinking just being my regular, panicky, neurotic self will do a good enough job to get me out of serving. Truth is, I'm kind of FREAKISHLY excited to serve tomorrow, for the sole purpose that I can't wait to tell people about it, which is counterintuitive and apparently illegal, no? I overthink every decision I've ever made down to Orbit flavors at the Duane Reade and can't keep my mouth shut, like, ever, so I'm uh pretty much the worst possible candidate for a murder trial. But, thankfully, I'm pretty sure that'll shine through within three seconds flat that I speak to anyone who works for the state for a living. Fingers crossed this shitshow ends quickly.
Due to unforeseen circumstances I ran out of exercise clothes, which resulted in that non-sartorial display above of a drinking term t-shirt — which, by the way, is made of some poly-cotton blend that does not breathe — and polka dot shorts straight from the '80s-slash-my mom's closet, which I stole from her last time I was home. I quickly realized that, oh right, you can only wear goofy workout clothes when you have muscles bulging out from them, so I inadvertently made the whole gym assume I hadn't worked out since the late eighties . Don't believe me? A suited, classy ass man with a teensy little leather gym bag practically closed the door on me while entering because he (righfully) assumed there's no way someone dressed like a tall second grader would be hitting the same Equinox as him.
Oh, that? Just the second-best New Yorker cartoon I think I've ever seen. Number 1 would have to go to this bad boy, which, even without a caption (!), is the best representation of my physical being I've ever been privvy to witness. (Life through my eyes does indeed consist of egg sunrises and sausage clouds, but also Nerds rope necklaces, lemon square dresses and brownie pillows. It's basically a Willy Wonka paradise up top in my skull space.)
When it comes to blogging, Chelsea Wears is kinda like my ghost BFF. I've never met her in person (which is blasphemous, at this point), but I find myself watching twelve-minute long videos of her talking about the best-ever spring lipsticks for 2013...despite the fact that I flat out refuse to paint colors onto my mouth curtains. Earlier this week, her boyfriend posted his version of her what-i-wore videos, and it's aaaaaa thousand times incredible. Best part is, he's kind of amazing at it. Three thumbs up all around.
Oh my god, Of A Kind. oh my god. A Patti Mayonnaise style guide?! You had me at Mayonnaise.
I wrote about this insane metallic Neapolitan two-piece street style look for Refinery29, only to find out it's by a brilliant designer called Kika Vargas who I've fallen down a rabbithole of discovery and love for. We're talking next-level, walk-in-a-room-and-make-everyone-else-feel-bad-about-their-clothes-selves-and-lives kinda shit. Shiny brocade skirts?! Statement coats with over-the-top detailing with all-grown-up Free People vibes, only without looking like it was accidentally put in a washing machine like all their shitty fringe stuff? A bubble skirt that goes all the way to the floor?!? So outta da box, yet oh so good. Kinda wish I could swap out everything in my closet for one of their printed caftans, but considering how much food I spill on my nice things, it might not work out so well in the long run.
When people I'm lucky enough to know write poignant things that deserve to be shared, I try to spread the word, and my pal Cassie Marketos' blurb about quitting her job is incredibly worded and beautifully insightful. People who can fully embrace change open themselves up to a world of possibility (I know, I sound like a mom, but hush), and I cannot wait to see what magic she comes up with next.
My prom dress experience was a bit of a disaster — let's just say last minute tailoring + playing the hope-it-fits lottery did not work in my favor — but I can't get enough of Marisa Meltzer's pieces in The Times about modern day prommin'. The one about girls seeking out Oscar-inspired looks for the big night makes me simultaneously over-the-top intrigued and floored that I stupidly didn't think beyond the three stores in my neighborhood, and the other recounting a high school's Facebook group in which friends post pictures to make sure no one doubles-up on their dresses, a la the Seyfried-Hathaway Debacle of 2013, is teenage brilliance. Incredible, no?
WAIT WAIT WAIT. The guy who plays Councilman Jamm on Parks and Recreation is the same guy who plays Laird, the Pom Wonderful-swilling neighbor on Girls?!?!