Welcome To The Party, Bad Wolf!

Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to introduce my main partner in crime for the last 11 years and the baddest bitch I know. Rosie (aka Bad Wolf) is now contributing to the blog. If you think I am warped, just wait until she unleashes.

On an admin note, the blog might be undergoing some altercations... er, alterations in the next few days while the two of us figure out the best way to set this up. Have patience with us!

My Style Icon This Autumn

They always say that moving to a new town is a clean slate. Although I don't want to completely transform, I am going to embrace the opportunity to fine tune one aspect of my life: my wardrobe! I have gotten complacent the last few years. Khakis, V-necks and ballet flats are my go-to uniform for work. I always used the weekends as my chance to bust out the fun clothes but lately you are lucky to see me outside of sweats, flip-flops and a T-shirt on a Saturday. My general attitude has been "Why bother?" I am seriously teetering in to "What Not To Wear" territory, and have found myself looking over my shoulder to make sure Stacey and Clinton aren't going to swoop down on me.

I have gotten crazy inspiration from my new TV obsession Mad Men. My new style icon is the sexy office vixen Joan Holloway.

Proof that curvy girls are sexy

This lady totally makes me want to grab a box of bright auburn hair dye, slap on some red lipstick and sashay around the office in shift dresses and heels. I am bordering on girl crush territory here.




I already have the hips for it. The clothes in the stores this season support the look. Only thing is I have to find a good stylist to do something with this dark blonde mop that I have been sporting on my head lately. Otherwise... think I can pull it off?

The Sound Bite That Became My Tipping Point

I am that elusive creature that all the political pundits have dedicated endless hours of speculation to: the bitter, disenfranchised Clinton supporter. Not quite a PUMA (party unity my ass) but very close. I admire and respect Hillary Clinton. When Kerry lost in 2004, I comforted myself by saying that everything would all be alright when Hillary took over in 2008. In the early days before the primaries, I was positive that Clinton would hand that punk Obama a piece of his own ass.

Obama had never really inspired warm and fuzzy feelings in me. I believed that he made a pit stop in the Senate just to get directions to the White House. I thought he talked a good game but lacked the fortitude to back it up. Biden as his running mate didn't help. Although I had quit believing in the fairytale of a Obama-Clinton ticket, Biden struck me as a pompous, sneaky Beltway insider; a Democrat version of Cheney.

Despite being a life-long Democrat, I found myself taking a look at McCain. A very quick look since I am as left as you can get on most social issues. And even though American women have possessed the right to vote for less than a century, I kicked around the idea of just sitting this election out. When I was in the Army, I used to chastise fellow soldiers for not taking the time to vote. "What other job to you get to choose who the CEO of your company is? We get a say in who our Commander-In-Chief is going to be... how can you throw that away?" I would preach. Quite the hypocrite, aren't I?

I wasn't expecting much from the Democratic National Convention but yet I found myself getting energized. Not surprising that Hillary Clinton's speech was the one that convinced me that I couldn't sit on the sidelines for an election this important. She was on fire! Even 2 days later, these words keep ringing in my ears:

"We don't need four more years of the last eight years."

No we don't, Senator Clinton...no we don't.



I tip my hat to you, Hillary Clinton. You are a strong, admirable woman who continues to be an inspiration. Your gracious backing for Obama proved that you could check any ego at the door and put your country's needs first. I would have loved to seen you sworn in as the first female president but I won't let my disappointment cloud my judgment.

Dirtbag Alert: Dante Moore

Dante Moore, a computer engineer who was fed up with being a nerd who got no play from the ladies, has taken it upon himself to write a "help" book for single women. The advice found in "The Re-education of the Female" (ugh... just typing that title made me break out in to hives): Learn how to cook man-friendly meals, do as you're told, stay pleasant and non-confrontational and, above all else, DON'T GET FAT!

Here is a little sample from his manifesto:

"The fatter you get, the more you decrease your potential single-man pool. Let me give you an example. When you go to the grocery store to shop, do you pick out the nastiest-looking, most rotten, smelliest fruit or meat you can find? Oh, you don't? Why not? . . . It's the same with men when they see baby elephant-sized, out-of-shape women."

Even better is:

"Here's a little secret, ladies: men never really ask for anything. They command. . . . And believe me, what you won't do, ten broads around the corner will."

Thank you, Mr. Dante Moore. Reading your vile excuse for advice made me vomit. Looks like I found a new diet plan. Maybe I should pick up a copy of your book, so every time I get the urge to eat, I can just read a passage and completely lose my appetite. Maybe I will lose the will to express my own opinions since I will be so weak from calorie deprivation. Then I can be really skinny and submissive and get a domineering, arrogant douchebag like you for a boyfriend.

A Pox On Both Their Feet

My afternoon meeting got canceled so I spent my gained freedom doing something extremely productive: browsing fall fashions online. Perfect timing because the storm hovering off the coast has made for a very cool and grey week, putting me right mindset to think about cozy cashmere sweaters, riding boots and wool coats. This is the first time out of several seasons that fall fashion has me excited. Gone are those awful sack dresses and 80s revival looks of last season. I saw some serious tailoring in the new line-up and a nostalgia for 50s and early 60s. Very Mad Men.

I met a friend for drinks after work then had to run to Target for a few things (me in Target... shocker, I know!) Inspired by my afternoon research, I answered the sirens call of the clothing and shoe departments. As I was debating whether the ruby red high heeled spectator-ish Mary Janes were really my style, I heard a girl in the next aisle exclaiming to her friend, "Oh My God! These are so bizarre... but I kinda like them... but what a weird material... aren't these like so wacky?" I rolled my eyes and grabbed the box of 7 1/2s. You never know until you try, right? I made my way over to the mirror, trying to ignore the increasing louder chatter from one aisle over.

Once the shoes were on my feet, I had to laugh and suppress the sudden urge to click my heels together and murmur "There's no place like home."

All I need is a basket to put Toto in

Weak from laughter and the dizzying height of the Dorothy shoes, I almost wiped out as the magpies from the next aisle pushed their way over to the mirror. They were about 16, so I was already feeling the generational divide. Their shrieking and the fact that they almost knocked me over without remorse didn't shrink the gap. As I was changing back in to my shoes, they kept debating the merits of what they were trying on. Upon glancing down at their feet, I had a horrible flashback...

NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!

Dear God! I hate Jellies. After 10 solid seconds of hearing "I dunno... they are kinda comfortable.. but they are so weird... who ever thought of these?... aren't they the weirdest shoes you have ever tried on?", I decided to revel in my old lady status and dispense a pearl of wisdom. "They are Jellies," I told them, "and they fall apart in a few weeks... but only after they have inflicted the worst blisters known to mankind because they make your feet sweat something awful. I can't believe I ever wore those."

Was my helpful advice met with gratitude? Sure... if by thanks, you mean vacant stares and lips curled with slight disgust. I hope they bought those ugly ass shoes and get the biggest, gnarliest blisters possible. Brats!

But, then again, would you take advice from a lady wearing a pair of Dorothy shoes?

Welcome To The Island: Early 90s TV Hunks

Everything old is new again. 90210: The Reboot is about to premiere (Complete with Brenda. Oh yeah... The Bitch is back!) We have seen the return of pegged jeans and crimped hair. New Kids on the Block released their first single since 1994 with an album and tour to follow this autumn. Since early 90s retro is enjoying its minute in the spotlight, I decided to induct some familiar faces from the past on to the island.

Rosie's pick: Brian Austin Green. Yep... little David Silver is all grown up these days.

One condition: NO MORE RAPPING!

My choice, you ask? None other than everyone's favorite guitar-playing uncle who lived in a room with pink bunny wallpaper. Yes, I speak of John Stamos aka Uncle Jesse.

A mullet can't even mar this perfection

But this... yummy!

John Stamos is one of those guys who just gets better looking each year. Sure, he likes to get drunk and babble incoherently on Australian talk shows but who doesn't? He is so hot; he almost makes the Beach Boys look cool when he tours with him... and that is no easy feat.

You are still holding it down well, Uncle Jesse. Rebecca-whatever-the-hell-her-name-is is a moron for dumping you for that fat kid from Stand By Me. You are welcome to the island any day!

A Little Salt For Your Fresh Wound, Mam?

My friend Rosie rocks. We met 11 years ago when we lived in the same dorm (yay Virgin Vault!) at Purdue. She was a super shy chick who used to let her hair hang in her face and spoke in monosyllables. All I saw when I looked at her was raw potential: I just knew there was a wild bitch within waiting to break loose. She just needed someone to corrupt her a little.

Rosie didn't disappoint. We have jumped out of an airplane, hosted a radio show, danced on bars and drank our way across most of the South (New Orleans, Memphis, Pensacola, Norfolk, Richmond, Louisville and Myrtle Beach). Her sense of adventure and dry, biting humor carries us through any mayhem we get involved in.

But this...

Not funny, Rosie!!!!

Just wait... her 30th is less than a year away!

Sitting On The Floor Is For The Dogs

I had gotten rid of my old living and dining room furniture, limiting me to my office chair or the floor for 4 days. Boo to that!

Behold the world's most comfortable couch!

Try explaining the concept of an accent chair to my father:
"But it has no arms..."
Scratches head.

The new dining room set. So much more compact than that huge hand-me-down I used to have!

The living room is a little cramped right now but I only have a week and a half left in this apartment. Can't wait to see the new stuff in the new place!