Discombobulation Station

Halloween - Costumes Good & Bad

Ah, the popular subconscious. Why is it that you inevitably see multiples of costumes each year? It was actually a treat for me not to have to host a party - getting out and about in the city (three nights in a row) I got to see a good sampling - just taxing through the city, glancing into the 7-11 or on the street corner is such a delight. Here are the duds:

* Snookie. We knew this was going to happen. But at least its mildly funny, and probably fun to wear. Snookie count: approx 4.

*Sookie: Not to be confused with the above reality star, Sookie Stackhouse is the blonde, slightly dippy southern fried star of HBO's True Blood, of which I'm a fan. However, the costume is too easy - Merlotte's t-shirt and some short shorts, a bite to the neck. The Queen of Louisiana would have been more unique choice, and anyone can do it better than the dreadful Evan Rachel Wood. Sookie Count: 5+

*Brett Michaels. Wasn't his show the hottest last year, or the year before, with Rock of Love Bus? Was it all his medical problems that brought him to the fore? I did even see one Brett Michaels in hospital scrubs. Strange. Brett count: 7.

*Katy Perry & Russell Brand. I think most men secretly loved doing Russell - the open shirt, the crazy black hair, the freedom to get totally messed up. I also saw one Katy Perry on her own, sporting the whipped cream bustier. She informed us gals in the bathroom they were empty of cream, but since it was an ad industry party I told her to watch out for nitrus seekers. Best catch - an actual Katy/Russell couple had a blown out fight in a hallway. The spirits haunt. Total count: 4 couples, one Katy.

*Waldo. My friend Claire does Waldo best (see pic) but for some reason I saw quite a few at a party on  Thursday night. It can be done badly, as its too easy. Waldo count (yes there's more than one): 4.

So on that note, on to the winners!

On the kids trick or treat count, there were two Marie Antoinettes but they were so different and so amazing that I give them both kudos - one was headless. And one of my friends needed to be reminded as to who Madame Antoinette was, which goes to prove that schools are doing a heckof a job in Chicago. Also, why were there two Marios and a Luigi? Mario Brothers making a comeback! The Madeline across the street just about melted all of us - she had the little yellow hat and everything.

I saw this couple on Friday night, and although they were wasted they were still slightly put together and friendly as they should be. They're WASPS.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our friend hosted a party, and since she's a DJ she was ahem, musically inspired. F*cking magnets, how do they work?

 

 

 

Altho this couple stole the show, don't you think? More magic.

 

 

 

 

On to the recovery now.

E.

Le Tigre? Ferrari? MAGNUM?? **Update with Photos!**

Friends! Chez A. is all a-twitter (not like, on Twitter, we don't get Twitter)! Twit-twit-zing-eee!!

I have a bad habit of entering email-type contests and then forgetting what I done (see: Nerve.com near-miss-nude-photoshoot debacle of '07). Not even drunk! Just out of boredom, and too much internet. A couple of weeks ago, I apparently entered a contest for a makeover, courtesy of a local salon. Fun! I thought. Maybe they'll make me look less like a suburban housefrau for a minute. And then I forgot.

UNTIL. I got an email this Tuesday from the salon: CONGRATULATIONS! YOU WIN A MAJOR AWARD!! And I did a little girlish jumpy dance thing and jitterbugged into the other room to tell the FYD.  He keeps saying, with maximum loyalty and cuteness, but you don't need a makeover.  He's super biased.

So -- tomorrow night, I am going to get my hairs and makeup did all fancy, and strut my formerly-hot-mama stuff on the runway backed by the sounds of The Grant Street Orchestra.

The stylist even mentioned something about teasing my hair, so perhaps I WILL end up with a Snookie-bump. Just for my co-bloggess!

So Nervous/Excited. What if I pull a Bradshaw runway-roadkill dive? What if they do me up like a MAC-Clown? What if I get my PICTURE in the PAPER? Eep!

Just keep reminding me, this is for a good, good cause:

My vanity, and latent exhibitionist streak.

OK, not ONLY that, but also kids with cancer.

Oh, indeed: pix to come!

xoxo, A

**UPDATE**

Yes, the moment you two have all been waiting for!  Zee recaplet, avec fotos: After a looong Saturday-day (with concurrent creeping dreads/head cold) the baby went down for her afternoon nap. I did some quick yoga, took a shower, got in my all-black outfit, as mandated by the makeover host salon, and jetted. 

Before: Maximum frump-age! And a peek-a-loo at the TODDLER BOMB that used to be my living room. Sigh.

During: It turned out to be a blustery, chilly evening.  And, in a stroke of...errr...genius, the salon had set up a small platform at the festival for the cuttin', stylin', and make-uppin'.

The stylists were not psyched, but made the best of it for all 10 of us.  Only a little hairspray to the eyes/falling off the platform/wind-related mascara-poking misfortunateness.

And yep, in spite of my stylist's assurance during our Friday consultation that I would keep most of my length, go straight straight straight and simple, I got a collarbone-dusting bob all curled up...with a POOF. Have never had the POOF before and my hair is still recovering from the crazy teasing and spraying and teasing and spraying. I don't know how the daily-poofers do it. Every day. POOF. 

See?

After: The makeup was awesome. If I ever got dressed up ever anymore I would totes go buy all the stuff she used. But--I am still getting used to the haircut. It is much, much shorter than I have had in ages and when it's not all curled up and POOFED, it makes me look about 15.

Here's a Fembot Pose in honor of 60s styling! (p.s. the stylist behind me is as crazy as her face would indicate.) I wish I had gotten a decent photo of my whole outfit. Was super cat-burglar style.

Lastly we are glad to report that I didn't fall off the stage during my "catwalk,"  I had a fine time chatting with the salon ladies over a Cosmo after the (sparsely attended) show, and all in all, it was a fine good time.

And here's me, fabulously going to pick up sushi to bring home after the show. We couldn't get a sitter, so the only place I took my new look was to our living room.  Fabulous!

Anyway, it was a super-girly good time, and lord knows I needs me more of that in my life. Yay to getting dolled up!

xoxo, A

You're Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile

Summer in Maine is always a sartorial treat, from the natives wearing their finest Birkenstocks-with-socks to the French-Canadians tourists with their banana hammocks. With the craptastic weather we've had up here, the fashion has been rather dreary -- til now. The sun has been shining a fair bit, and with it, the special fashion has ARRIVED.

On my weekly walks by the water, I have seen the following fabulousness:

A raggedy, methed out looking girl with raggedy, freshly chopped-off dreds wearing pink socks with her high-heeled clogs.

A middle-aged mom (with her 4-year-old daughter) wearing a tight t-shirt with the message "Can't Tap That!"

A young couple, he wearing a t-shirt that claimed "I'm a Pepper!" He was holding a Dr. Pepper. She was wearing a "Do the DEW!" t-shirt. And guess what she was drinking? Yeah. (Do they walk around like that all the time? Was it a bizarre coincidence or were they possibly SPONSORED walkers?)

An older gentleman riding on a sort-of homemade hybrid scooter/BigWheel, wearing the tiniest wee jogging shorts, a white dress shirt, and a cycling cap.

Summer is the BEST.

xoxo, A

Let's Be Friends

Everything I read about Heidi and Seal makes me want to hang out with them. How do you think we could make that happen? Without a restraining order?

xoxo, A

Monday Update

Oh there is a lot going on for the unemployed gal too, you know. But first, a huge congrats to A and her big news! And I'm putting a ban on wayward Portland doggies stat. Bag doggie. Good on A tho for being careful and staying put till she knew she was ok. 

Am currently excited about a few things. One, this documentary I saw last night at the Chicago Underground Film Fest. Song Sung Blue. I thought it would be a little tongue in cheek bio about this couple from Milwaukee (one of my most favorite cities) who have been a local legend in their Neil Diamond impersonation band. I had no idea I would be moved so much. They are a truly unique couple who have been following their dreams, and there is a lot to say for that. It resonated with me quite a bit. It's not available on video yet but is making the film festival circuit so keep an eye out for it.

Also, motoboy somehow secured tickets to the Obama rally tomorrow. As a history student I want to be nowhere else but in my hometown when justice prevails and this country begins to right itself. Apparently there will be a street parking ban for the entire downtown area, and they are expecting perhaps a million people. I guess we are lucky to have tickets, and I am going to train down as his bike will be securely parked in a garage for the evening. Musical surprises and hopefully (please god!) good news!

Then Friday I am taking the boy to land o cleve to visit the parentals and go to a family wedding. After much back and forth and some hurt feelings, we are going to stay at home. It has been made clear to me that two bedrooms will be ready with the requisite "clean sheets" and all. Also: chipped beef on toast. It wouldn't be home without that. Hope he likes it. 

Am considering waiting tables at a place I worked at TWELVE years ago. Am I really that old? But I was in there for brunch on Sunday and just remembered how nice and easy and neighborhood-y it was. The owner was delighted to see me and I have a call into the manager. Evil previous job is contesting my unemployment insurance so I guess I have to do something in the meantime. Like get out of the house. 

Our Halloween party was a smashing success, I'll leave you with these pics. We had an impromtu costume change after midnight. We gals all morphed into Russian millionairesses, and soon after that we went "trashy" and it got even worse (better). Don't say I still ain't got it, party-wise. It helps to have a really awesome roommate who is a genius at fake botox lip application. 

xo

E.

Secondhand Queasiness

God I used to remember how much fun I could have in a thrift store. A few weeks ago, roommate Bef went down to the Village Thrift on Lawrence and came back with a haul - a really sexy pair of strappy heels, a few cute and warm sweaters, and a short white fur coat that seemed to be in great condition - all for only $40. I had been planning on going, and even though everything is half price on Mondays, I needed a little Halloween costume addition for this weekend. So off I went on my bike in lieu of the yoga studio (an hour and a half - I just can take it - give me an hour long class and I'd be there every day!)

Unfortunately it's a lot closer than I thought so I was there in no time. Parked the bike, tried to get in the door, but someone in a cart was actually blocking the entrance to the store. Keep it movin old man there's plenty of shopping to be done INSIDE. As I was navigating the front area a service announcement came over the loudspeakers, as if for my benefit:

(Cue nasally Chicago accent): Attention shoppers. Please keep your valuables on you at all times. Do not leaves purses or personal items in carts. Beware of pickpockets in this store.

Well if that innit a vote of confidence I dunno what is. They pretty much guarantee that there is a pickpocket in there at all times. This is actually not surprising as I had an incident at a Village Thrift some years ago. A friend of mine was in town, en route from Hong Kong to California, and we decided to re-live our college ways and visit the ole Roscoe Village location. She grabbed a cart, pointed to the toddler seat section, and said, "throw your purse in there!" I had been living in the city too long to think that was a good idea, and said no way, but I forgot to tell her why. Her purse was gone within a half hour. We frantically searched everywhere and upon coming outside we found a large family all bundled in a circle looking at something - looking at my friend's camera. They refused to give it back even though her pictures were pasted to the outside (those teeny tiny Asian photobooth pictures were all over her shit). Finally, it took me running down the middle of Roscoe St. in high heel sandals and jumping into a cop car to get them to hand it over. It was all very exciting and thank god her purse was found inside, stuck on a hanger in some anonymous rack. Her car keys and passport were still intact. So anyways, yeah I know about the pickpockets in the thrift store.

But something about that initial announcement made me paranoid of all the people around me - and since 99% of them were immigrants, the personal space issue was non existent. I was waiting for that pickpocket to approach me. Is it this downtrodden old lady? Maybe she's s gypsy! Gypsies pickpocket for life I think. Is it this weird man wearing two pairs of trackpants? Oh its this older couple that smells like bacon! Gah keep going, weirdos!

And as I was pawing my through the jackets section (looking for a late '80s style lady's blazer, hopefully black with some blue patchwork on it), I had the sensation of my hands getting dirtier and dirtier. You know they don't wash these clothes. They come in from peoples homes, attics, closets, under the bed, god knows. And they hang them up and staple a price to them.

I tried to get into it, I really did, even circling the store and looking for any section that piqued my interest. Oh a whole aisle of red oh my! Wow a bunch of junk, like baskets and horrid knick knacks. VHS delight!

I finally checked out with my charcoal gray blazer and a .99c electric blue silk shell top that I am going to turn into a fanciful flower for the breastpocket. I couldn't wait to get home and wash my hands.

I can't decide if I've just grown out of my thrifting ways or if I'm getting weird because I'm spending so much (delightful!) time alone during the day.

E.

Perfect End To A Moanday

Thank you nice boy, who I almost cut off turning the corner in my neighborhood. There I was, walking along at the end of a dreary Monday, when this boy passed me on the sidewalk. He said, "hey those are great shoes."  I looked up, surprised. "And those are great tights too." I was wearing these shoes (except cooler, if you can imagine, and last season) and these hot pink tights, with a black above the knee skirt, black duffle coat, and a striped black newsboy cap.

As he walked ahead of me I tried to figure out if he was gay, he had great shoes himself, and designer jeans, but it was hard to tell by his walk. It didn't matter. The shoes had been bothering me on the way home, but suddenly they didn't anymore. And hot pink tights make it easy to cross Lawrence at the crosswalk.

Thank you nice neighborhood boy. And this is why I know deep down I'll never change. Because my response to him - "thank you! I - umm - got a deal!" He smiled.

It's always about the deal girls.

luvvies

E.

Carry Your Cup in Your Hand

Since moving back to the homeland and starting the whole working from home thing (my home "offices" have been: a table in the front room, a file cabinet in the living room, and the FYC's kitchen table) I have made it a special point to, at the very least, GET DRESSED EVERY DAY. We didn't want to go down the road of wake up, don't shower or brush teeth, throw a sweater on over PJ's, go to bed in same state 18 hrs later thing, as we have read (from other bloggers) is a danger to the housebound employee.

So, I get dressed. Always! I swear! And I always brush my teeth. I put shoes, the whole nine yards. And sometimes even a bra, but only if I am walking farther than the coffeeshop. But my level of self-consciousness has gone down so drastically that...well. Today I didn't realize, until the FYC came home for lunch, that I am in this, well, "depressed mouse" costume. Grey jeans, FYC's comfy grey sweater, red clogs. Really, you have to see this horrible outfit.

See?:

 

Damn. Maybe a LITTLE bit of a vanity would be helpful?!? City gals, be fabulous for me today, please.

xoxo, A

Lump Lingered Last in Line for Brains

We're watching the Hillary-Barack show the Democratic debates and it's already a shouty ol' mess.  Dems getting feisty! Biden's rather hilariously and particularly caustic. Sigh. Maybe this tough talk will last for the next 400 or so days!

Politics aside, I must address a serious issue facing Americans. As some of you may know, I am beginning a job in the world of retail (for the first time in my life!) tomorrow.  This company has probably a very typical dress code: white polo or oxford shirt, khaki pants, and brown or black shoes.

Since I have been a 'fancy business lady' for so many years, and haven't lived in fucking BOSTON for as long, I no longer own khakis. Easy-peasy to fix though, right? Just run down to ye olde Target or Old Navy and stock 'em up!

WRONG. Democratic candidates for President, I ask you:

WHERE ARE ALL THE KHAKIS? AND WHITE POLOS??

I went to Target AND Old Navy AND the Gap, (and looked in the windows of Express, Ann Taylor Loft, and effing Abercrombie and Fitch!) burning precious natural resources (gasoline, my sanity) and found nary a white POLO (all the polos at Old Navy had stripes, or dragons on them!) and a dishearteningly SMALL number of acceptable khakis.

IS THIS NOT AMERICA? Land of  the free, etc.? If we cannot have white polos even in November in Maine, are we truly free? Can I not spend my hard-earned dollars on proletariat garb as I desire?

WE, the citizens of, err, the East End of Portland Maine, demand ANSWERS!

xo, A

p.s. obtrusive italics brought to you by The Society of Compulsive Readers of John Irving.

Wardrobe Malfunction

Thank God A posted because I thought I only had a half hour to tell this story.

So this morning I decided to wear my semi-new skirt, coupled with my shiny pirate boots, a black sweater and my capn's hat. Never mind the strange fashion. I later decided that I was a weird sortof Russian soldier. Halloween never ends around here.

I bicycle to the train sometimes, which I call lazy, and others call industrious. I call it lazy because I get there in a third of the time and can wear whatever ridiculous heels I like. I sat on he train for the requisite hour, not bothering to change to the red at Belmont because I like my seat and my read by then. Got off in the loop. Went down the stairs. Was actually feeling quite sassy in my outfit. Got about 5 feet from the train stairs and realize...something is wrong.

The top of my pantyhose was resting somewhere around my lower hips. Not good. They're meant to be hiphuggers, actually given to me by my old roommate L. But since I hadn't worn them since last winter I had no idea the elastic had gone to waste in the interim. I started thinking that maybe it's not so bad. I'll give it a quick urban tug, in the foot traffic, and everything will go back into place. But oh no. These babies were on the downfall. Literally. And the more I walked, the more I realized how things were going from worse to bad.

I had a good hold on one side, gripping it with one hand through my thick skirt as I held my tea in the other. I stopped before the alley midway between Wacker and Michigan. Realizing they were now sliping past my crotch completely, I turned towards Ann Taylor, where I once dropped in to get a pair of flip flops on a morning commute. Am I really going to buy new tights at 9.30am? Oh and also I was late, which is normal. But I had a lot going on this morning, already taking a call from my producer at 8am. "I'll do it when I get in to work!" I consoled her. It was going on 9.40.

I barreled on, crossing Michigan Avenue and giving my nether regions a good ole city tug in the middle of the street. I ducked into my usual breakfast buffet bar in the Prudential Center. Asked the surly cashier if they had a bathroom. They did! I was happy enough to get in there. Figured I could tuck the tops of my tights into my boy strength underwears. (Don't ask, it's my new favorite kind.) They seemed to be in place so walked out, up a short escalator, only to realize that nothing was going to hold for long.

Resuming mid-thigh clutch I decided I could make it to my cubicle. I would put out an all alert email once I got to my office and shed myself of the evil non-tights. (Gettit? No longer tight.) A coworker greeted me at the elevator banks, let me enter first. What a gentleman! We got to our floor and I let him walk ahead of me, only to have him open the door for me too. Dammit. Now he's walking behind me but at least my grip is in the front. I hobble immediately to the ladies and slam the handicapped door behind me, take off the pirate boots and shed the horrid sheaths. Put my boots back on without socks, throw the tights away and am much relieved. The skirt, which is basically made of sweatpant material, was sticking to them anyway.

I spent the rest of the day in bliss. I have to say there's something about wearing a full, wide, comfy skirt and your best pair of new shoes, from late last season, with no socks.

Everyone give your elastic a good trial run before going very far this autumn.

I blogged before midnight. Happy naplablogmo or whatever its called. Disco Station will be busy in November hurrah!

E.