“Can anything be so elegant as to have few wants, and serve them one’s self?”
-Ralph Waldo Emerson
A storage receptacle, NOT our future home, yeah!
Once upon a time Venice got married (while I was out of the country and couldn’t come to the party!) and moved into an amazingly inexpensive apartment. A year later, C. was proposed to by J. and thought, “Gee, not only would it be awesome to live by somebody we actually know instead of moving into a new complex surrounded only by perky, happy newlyweds whose major life ambition seems to be reproduction as soon as possible, but it would also be awesome to not have to spend nearly twice as much on a place as I do now while halving the space. I wonder if there are any openings in their building?” And behold, there were! Yes, ladies and gentlemen, we are not going to kick off our married lives in a cardboard box under a bridge somewhere, we will be card-carrying adults with a place of our own!
Pity our respective men, we’ll be living two doors down from one another!
Now, the moral dilemma. I have a rather nice tax return this year and no computer, do I use part of my return to buy myself one, or do I put it all towards outfitting my newly acquired flat? The correct answer of course is, “furnishings,” but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss having a computer.
There are other options as well, should I use the money to help my parents out with the wedding? Pay for at least part of the photography J.’s parents have very generously offered to take care of? Sleep on an air mattress and use crates for furniture, and investing the money in a valiant attempt to stimulate the economy? Turn on a really big fan and dance around in a rain of cash? (The first two have obvious karmic potential, the third I’m nixing for obvious reasons, the fourth is oddly appealing…)
“Remember that always dressing in understated good taste is the same as playing dead.”
-Susan Catherine
This is a momentous week, my friends, and even before I tell you why I can feel the judgement emanating from your eyeballs as you read this. The answer is simple, it’s my own little Fashion Week in Small Dog Syndrome Land: Oscars last night and America’s Next Top Model starts this Wednesday. See? I feel it already.
Growing up I wasn’t exactly a tomboy so much as I never learned how to be a girl. In middle school Peregrine tried vainly to force me into blow drying my hair regularly, then I lived on Guam during high school where hair product and makeup would have come to a sticky and unattractive end anyway so no one bothered, and THEN I moved to a university where lots of the girls tend to have hair and makeup that would rival any beauty queens in both height and thickness respectively. But slowly and surely I gleaned the necessary skills to keep from looking like a gorgon OR a Blondezilla and now I (think I) have my hair and face under control.
However, even when I was myself hopeless, I have always loved fashion! I have always liked it when people find a way to make practical things interesting and beautiful, Fancy food, lingerie, fun architecture, even colored post-it notes are great, anything that does a job but looks good doing it is worth the time and money. And clothes? They keep you from being naked but they also show your personal taste, demonstrate solidarity with groups or complete independence, convey position…they just talk and tell stories. And they’re such fun! So obviously watching the Oscars is like being a kid in a couture candy store!
My thoughts on the night’s gowns? Read on, let me know what you think:
So close! I LOVE me a red dress, but the carpet matching hurts.
So close again! If only you'd worn your Prada dress instead of your Prada sheets!
– I really wanted to like Amy Adams’ dress, Carlina Herrera, in another venue I probably would have but she looked like she was emerging from the red carpet and so I’m going to have to regretfully say no. Her Fred Leighton necklace though? To DIE for!
– Jessica Biel’s dress wasn’t entirely off, Prada is always stunning and I do like structured bodices, but this one hid too much of her fabulous form. The color and the fabric are beautiful, but she looks a bit too much like she just rolled out of bed. And not in the good way.
Two thumbs way, way down. Beyonce, this smacks of your mother's designing...
Taraji, too elegant to be shunned.
– Beyonce. Beyonce, Beyonce, Beyonce…you coined the phrase “bootylicious,” why must you encase yourself in a black and gold monstrosity? The bodice cut would have even worked if you didn’t have the weird graphic, but I absolutely and forever will hate fish-tail dresses.
– Taraji Henson’sRoberto Cavalli gown was so elegant! It was almost too bridey for me, but when I tried to think of another color it would have been equally stunning in I couldn’t so I’m going to have to let this one slide. Ethereal and graceful. The hair was a bit boring but still equisitely ladylike, and I’m going to say redeemed by the pop of her red bag. Nice sparklers around the neck too.
Gorgeous, but still too bridey!The dreaded fish-tail strikes again (see Beyonce above). It just doesn't work, please let it go.
–Penelope Cruz’sPierre Balmain gown was lovely in its own way, but again with the bridal thing? Her’s even has the big skirt and sweetheart neckline. Pretty dress, but I didn’t like it for the Oscars.
–Melissa George. Dolce and Gabanna let her wear their stuff? What were you thinking?! That is all.
Not all the pundits agree, but I thought she looked great. Classic black always works, and goodness knows I love my emeralds!Evan wins for the evening, in my book at least. Favorite look of the night!
– I love Angelina Jolie (post Billy Bob Thorton) and I think that she always looks elegant. Maybe her style isn’t as flashy and provocative as some people would like, but I think her choices tend to be pretty good. There was a forgettable Armani Atlier once and a mumu-esque mistake for her Changeling premier, but by and large I think her minimalistic style really works. She wore an Elie Saab in a classic black. Hate away stylists everywhere, I liked it!
– My favorite look of the night was Evan Rachel Woods in another Elie Saab. Also understated, but beautiful lines, gorgeous detail work on the bodice, and suited her peaches-and-cream complexion perfectly. Subdued but fabulous earrings, and dark nails (love ’em!).
I am deeply in lust with these sparklies. My most coveted item of the night.
Since I’m still poor I have to live vicariously through the TV. Margot and I met up with Angel at her house to watch the Oscars, make last minute bets about which movies/people would win, and (for me at least) drool over the dresses. Unfortunately I think the Disney Princess Leauge gowns were bad and there were way too many bridal looking gowns (No, I’m not being selfish and self-centered, I just don’t want to see brides on the red carpet. Mine isn’t even white, back off!)
Lest we forget, the accessories were lovely: Taraji Henson’s bag and Amy Adam’s necklace being in the top three, but I love emeralds. Love them. My engagement ring attests to that. Ergo I must must must find a way to steal Angelina Jolie’s Lorraine Schwartz earrings.
Finally, the WORST looks of the night? Miley Cyrusin Zuhair Murad. Scarlett O’Hara managed to make drapes look good, what’s your excuse? And Sophia Loren? Goodness knows we love you but WTF?!
GAH!
What is this? Fish scales meets dirty south? Fire whoever told her to wear this, stat!
“I wish guys got some sort of engagement ring. Here I’ve got this thing that says, ‘BACK OFF,’ and what’s he got? His integrity? Fah.”
-C.
Something’s in the water, that’s the only excuse. We have four, possibly five I’m not sure, upcoming marriages in my office alone and my fingers are crossed for Hennessy and her man (no he should not buy a big screen TV, he should buy her something much smaller and shinier).
SCARY!
Best of all, my friend Kays is engaged to her boy, congrats! Never thought that my roommate from freshman year and I would be sporting rocks at the same time, but it’s pretty fun. I think she’s either exceptionally brave or recently sustained a devastating amount of brain damage because her big day is in mid-May and she’s got a little over two and a half months to throw things together. Her family is all nearby so she’ll have plenty of help (which may or may not be a good thing, families in this area being a particularly “frenzied about weddings” breed and all very opinionated) and she’s going to be a beautiful bride. I’m so excited for her, even if I think she’s adorably nuts.
Caring too much about ridiculous stuff can produce the above effect. Avoid! No one wants to marry Bridezilla.
There is a dangerous side to well meaning friends I’ve discovered. Daae, who took over Hennessy’s position when she moved up, used to work for a wedding planner and occasionally asks about my wedding plans when she walks by my desk. And when I shrug helplessly she gets this big grin and starts giving me ideas. Dangerous, interesting, attractive ideas where previously I was happily apathetic. Ignorance is bliss. Besides, with so many other engaged people around me, no one’s going to want to talk about mywedding plans and the more I’d think about it the crazier my ideas would get and with no one to bounce them off of I’d go quietly mad. I’ll let my friends have the psychotic freakouts and just keep a supply of ice cream in the freezer at all times.
“A woman in love can’t be reasonable, or she probably wouldn’t be in love.”
-Mae West
I never thought love made you stupid. Oh boy…read on.
So…sometimes I can overreact just a little (Shut up! Stop sniggering at me! This means you!) but in my defense it usually takes quite a combination of things to tip me over the edge. Yesterday, after a long staff meeting, no food, and a lunch break spent getting told that my computer was worth more as scrap metal than getting fixed, my dad iced the irritation cake by sending me a book the subject of which is “marital relations: why it’s good to have them, and don’t feel bad because God approves” without any warning. Wow…really not your business, Dad, but thanks for the…support? Goodwill? What is this exactly?!
I worked myself into a completely pointless rage, sent of a snappish email to my father which I instantly felt bad about (but it took Guilt and his hired guns Remorse and Self-Loathing another six hours to find me, work me over, and force me into apologizing), gnawed all my fabulous long nails off, and was moody the rest of the day. Which only gave me a tension headache, so I don’t know why I did it.
I've discovered drama. It's inconvenient.
But then I read my darling Margot’s dramatic rant againt the Universe (careful, the universe answers!) and felt a bit better about my own overreaction.
I wasn’t nearly this much of a girl before I started dating J. Really. I promise. Stop sniggering at me! Anyway, maybe love has a weird effect on me, it doesn’t make me stupid so much as irritable; a fact that J. finds hilarious. Which irritates me more. Vicious cycle.
“Yes, we’re supposed to carry them but we don’t. The State building does, but they’re closed on Fridays, and so does XYZ Law Firm, but they’ve closed early for the holiday.”
“At 1pm in the afternoon. Makes perfect sense. So, can you tell me where I can get them?”
– Postal worker responding to my inquiry as to the location of tax forms, and C.
We are in a recession aren’t we. The government is making getting any money at all impossible: not only are we spending about $800 billion we don’t have, it’s now resorting to hiding tax forms probably to discourage people from trying to apply for returns. Ha! Sneaky government I laugh at you! And I’d better get something back this year.
Somewhere in our military storage (the location of which I can roughly narrow down to “somewhere on one of three continents”) there is a photo album. In this photo album is a picture, that my parents find hilarious, of me as an infant dressed in a once-white onesie and absolutely covered in spaghetti and sauce, and completely thrilled about the situation. Though I can’t remember the incident it seems to have kicked off a lifetime curse of being messy/klutzy/generally imparied when it comes to cleanliness, pasta sauce, and white shirts.
Eating luch at J.’s I was attacked by a tortellini shell which took an enthusiastic dive off my fork and straight down my best white shirt. Luckily we have a bunch of (horrifically ugly) department shirts in our supply room so I found the smallest one I could and made the switch…and then doubled over laughing in the closet. I dashed to Susie’s office to show off the marvelous sight of this “small” shirt ending somewhere around my knees, the sleeves of which extended long over my finger tips with armholes that take up half of my rib cage.
I had to tuck what feels like a couple yards of fabric into my trousers, which needless to says feels unbecomingly bulky, and roll the sleeves up three times to get them to just below my elbows. I look like I’m having an illicit affair with a police dispatcher and had to sneak out in his shirt this morning!
“I’m not bride-y, I’m just a planner. I don’t care so much as having things done a certain way so much as a I care about having them done.”
-C. to Venice
My mother would be poleaxed to discover what a (relatively) organized adult I am. I can’t begin to count the fights we got into over the state of my bedroom floor as a teenager. Looking back I think I battled cleaning and organization mostly because she told me to clean and organize, logically flawed now but made perfect sense to my adolescent mind at the time I’m sure.
If done properly I'm sure I can get a lot of superfluous people to "unfriend" me on Facebook...
Now, having to organize a wedding, to say nothing of the far more important stuff that comes after like housing, insurance, banks, furniture, etc, I can be glad that I grew into such a planner. The little things like keeping my bedroom 100% neat and tidy may forever escape me, but the big crisis sort of stuff I’ve found I can rise to spectacularly. My goal for this week was to have the dates all locked in for the actual wedding and reception. Happy to report as of 4:30 pm yesterday, all is secure. Date is July 1, marriage place set, reception center booked. Want to talk about providence? The day before and after were both taken but the day we wanted everything was clear, I may or may not have heard a faint rendition of the Hallelujah Chorus in my head somewhere.
I promise not to be too annoying about the whole process. Mostly I'll just be confused
J. was a good sport coming along to make sure the place was one his mom would like (because keeping one’s potential MIL happy is vitally important, the women in my family have a history of marrying into families that disapprove, I’m trying awfully hard to break that particularly vicious cycle!). When asked if he had any strong opinions on the stuff we were looking at he, very correctly, responded, “Whatever makes you happy.” Right answer, but I’m afraid I don’t have a lot of strong opinions either. I’m still trying to formulate a plan of attack in my head. Right now the only sort of goal I can articulate is, “Classy.” I should probably solidify that idea at some point…
“Another brother?! I already have two!”
-Snickers, my 11 year old sister
J. asked, I said yes. And ever since then I’ve had a perma-grin plastered all over my face. Plus a Miles-ian litany of “I’m getting married. To this man. Isn’t he handsome? And smart and funny? Mine, mine, all mine!” running through my head on a non-stop basis.
Since J. and I have tended to be rather closed mouths about the whole thing (see Fig. 1), here’s a few useless facts : we’ve been dating almost 11 months, known each other for 3 years, have about 50 mutual friends, have 7 siblings combined, and have a foot height difference between the two of us. There, now you know us.
Fig 1.: "No One Must Know"My big crazy, problematic, globally based, hyper family. J.'s is much more sedate, thank goodness!
J.’s family was quietly happy when he broke the news, mine shrieked the roof down. J.’s the youngest in his family with three married older siblings, so this sort of occasion is more or less family business as usual…I’m the oldest child, oldest grandchild on both sides, the oldest female cousin, and the only one legally old enough to get married. I have no idea what I’m doing throwing a wedding together and my family is on another continent, unable to be press ganged into service.
Now, your millions of questions:
1) The ring is fabulous! It’s an EMERALD solitaire (for all of you who didn’t know, I don’t like diamonds)
2) Date is tentatively July 1st
3) Yes, I know what the dress is going to look like (don’t you wish you did!)
4) I have no idea what I’m doing but have determined to fake it charmingly!
5) No, I don’t know what “our colors” are going to be, nor do I much care. Stop asking.
6) Mine, mine, all mine!
“Do you just hate happy people today or something?”
“Yes.”
“Well, knock it off.”
“This? Coming from you?”
“Exactly. Consider the source. If I’m saying it, you may have crossed a threshold.”
-C. and Marie
A few lessons gleaned from this week, a few frustrations, and a few observations:
Where is this job?!
For all you would-be moguls out there, may I offer a humble tip towards being a good boss: Listen to your secretaries. They are the people who are responsible for keeping your megalomaniac ambitions logged, organized, and proceeding according to schedule. Lt. Citrus and Lt. Figaro both laid a project each on me this week without warning, which while it more than quadrupled my workload wasn’t too bad. The instructions, on the other hand, were maddening.
Quoth Lt. Figaro, “So, I’d like you to update this directory of every employee in the department. We haven’t done it in three years or so and it’s entirely obsolete. Theeson was the last person to update it” [Theeson was replaced by Tink who was replaced by Wise who was replaced by me, just for a time frame reference] ” but no one else ever really used it except me, and since she quit I’ve done without it, but I’ve decided I’d like a new copy.”
My thoughts exactly...
I tried to tell him that 1) we were hiring and firing half a dozen people within the week so the list would be obsolete by Friday anyway and 2) that I kept an up-to-date roster on the department server already complete with names, call numbers, and personal and professional contact information. “Well, just make it for me then if no one else will use it,” he smiled and went back to his office. I tried not to cry and mentally cut back my lunch hour.
Lt. Citrus’ project was validly important to the university, but the instructions he gave me to do it all came in the wrong order, with outdated software, and logically confusing interjections of last minute ideas, corrections, or modifications. And since it involved the creating, labeling, stuffing, packaging and mailing of literally 100 packets, by the end of the second day I had papercut my fingertips to shreds.
It’s been a long, hard week and I’m intensely glad it’s Friday. And I want Tink back desperately, work without a good friend to grumble about assignments to is drudgery.
“So, I was going to ask, you’ve been dating your boy about as long as I’ve been with J., do you have any ideas of what to get him for Valentine’s Day?”
“Oh no! I was going to ask you!”
-C. and Hennessy
Oops. J. and I sort of revealed we’d nearly gotten the same things for each other for V Day. Now I know and can rectify the situation, but what now?! I managed to get him a fabulous birthday present but I have now discovered the danger of setting the bar too high. And next month is our 1 year whatever (I have an aversion to the word “anniversary.” Since neither one of us had ever dated anyone that long, when we hit 6 months J. suggested we should call it a “milestone” instead) and what am I supposed to do THEN? I’ve never had one before! Is it in bad taste to break up with him for about a day or so?
Kidding. Seriously, kidding!
In the spirit of Valentine’s Day Gift Buying Despair, I humbly offer up the following Demotivators:
There are other options as well, should I use the money to help my parents out with the wedding? Pay for at least part of the photography J.’s parents have very generously offered to take care of? Sleep on an air mattress and use crates for furniture, and investing the money in a valiant attempt to stimulate the economy? Turn on a really big fan and dance around in a rain of cash? (The first two have obvious karmic potential, the third I’m nixing for obvious reasons, the fourth is oddly appealing…)
We are in a recession aren’t we. The government is making getting any money at all impossible: not only are we spending about $800 billion we don’t have, it’s now resorting to hiding tax forms probably to discourage people from trying to apply for returns. Ha! Sneaky government I laugh at you! And I’d better get something back this year.
Small Dog Syndrome 