Summersummersummertime

Ah. It's officially summer. Not that we needed a date to tell us that. It's been 90+ degrees everyday for weeks now. The heat is really mucking things up for me. A) I want to drink waaaay too much cold beer. B) Since I sweat every time I step outdoors, I figure that suffices as a work out. Needless to say, this is not a good combo. Know what is a good combo? The Fresh Prince and DJ Jazzy Jeff.

If you are contemplating your 10 year high school reunion*

don't go. Let me tell you why. Basically, unless you are 1000.5% happy with the trajectory of your post high school life, it's not all that much fun. First, if you left town to go to college, one that was 2000 miles away, and come back to live here again sans super awesome job or adorable family, people will look at you with failure. Two, everyone is married, pregnant or nursing, so you're the only person who gets tanked on the free beer. Finally, if you graduated in 2000, reunion organizers think it's cute to play late 90s/early 2000s music, and we all know that era blew balls. Hard. Don't get me wrong, everyone I blathered to was perfectly nice and well adjusted, but it just wasn't inspiring or even the least bit fun. I'm hoping that at the 30 year mark, we're all rich as fuck and know how to actually throw a kick ass party (still with free beer). In the meantime, must begin scheme to evacuate the OK. I think it's time.

*sounds like a Belle & Sebastian song title, no?

holy flooded downtown metro!

This morning, when I got in my car at 6.45am (yes, 6.45am) to travel to work, I had no idea that three hours later, I would still not be at work and could've been to Dallas. Sure, the commute's a bitch, but not like this! It was smooth sailing for most of the trip north until torrential rain came down making every slow down to about four mph. Then the shit really hit the fan. Every exit I could take to get to work was closed by the highway patrol due to high water. So, I headed downtown to take an alternate route and shit just got worse. Hours later, after driving through many of ill-advised puddles, taking a break in a parking lot, turning around on closed roads, scooting around abandoned, submerged cars, I finally thought I'd schemed a way out of of the mess by heading west then north. But, turns out I headed west then south, because I am awesome at directions. South means home, so home I am. I only have one car. If it gets effed , I'm effed. Now I'm at home, safe and sound, catching up on work, Glee and Jezebel.com. Ah, Oklahoma weather.

This is from msnbc.com, but it's pretty much what it looked like this morning. For realz.

In a related story, doesn't Helen Mirren look stunning (as seen by my fortuitous perusal of Jezebel). On that note, I would like to marry both Ryan Reynolds and ScarJo.
Holy crap are they hot.

It's starting to storm again. What the face, OK?

Question:

I accidentally bought a straw fedora last week to celebrate my staycation (which, in all likelihood, I will never, ever wear). Does this make me:

A) 33.3% douchey

B) 69% douchey , or

C) 100% douchey

I cannot stay away, yet cannot pull off trends - not only because I look like poo, but also because I end up feeling like a huge tool. I mean, really, who wears a straw fedora except UrbanOutfitters models. Enjoy my closet, hat.

(Not to mention I have a super weirdly shaped head, among other things. Date me!)

Anthnooooooooooo!

Boy howdy. I have a new (unhealthy) obsession (is there any other kind?). It's a blog. Or, rather, a new genre of blogs. Blogs completely dedicated to the 20/30 something girl heaven known as Anthropologie. I first discovered Anthro when I lived in New York for a summer (way back in 2000) and wandered into one in Soho. I bought a ton of stuff because it was so unique (read not from the Gap or Banana, which is all we have in OK - this was before we got a JCrew) and cheap! Well, cheap when you have a credit card and no student loans. I was very well heeled for about six months (which is when I moved to Mass and looking cute was not really a priority to anyone, anywhere).

Right, so, there's this whole world out there of Anthrophiles. It's simultaneously inspiring and depressing. I wish I had a million dollars and somewhere to wear all of this stuff. On the bright side, I was inspired to edit my closet and toss out the crap I can't, won't or don't wear and drag all of it to a trendy clothing resale shop (Daisy Exchange) to make some moolah to purchase a few items from Anthro. I walked in and immediately felt out of place because everyone was literally at least 10 years younger than me, but I could hear the girls rifle through my piles and piles (and piles) of clothes without laughing, so I took that as a good sign. I ended up making bank AND the youngin's said I had good taste and super cute clothes. Kudos, me. And then I spent my earnings on awesome things like a teeth cleaning, wrapping paper for wedding gifts, getting Zeb neutered, gas, etc. Needless to say, Anthro items are not in my immediate future, but a girl can dream. And get help styling what I have from living vicariously through the closets of others.

Read 'em and weep.

Anthroholic (as mentioned before and what got this ball rolling)
Infinite Whimsy
Love at First Shop
In Pursuit of Pretty Things
Little Girl Big Closet

And there's like a thousand more. I. Can't. Stop. Also, how do these people afford this habit? I can barely keep up with my Target and Forever 21 addictions. Dang! Finally, I obviously need more belts in my life.

I wanna be a yuppieaire so frickin' bad

Sometimes, I am overcome with feelings of yuppieism. I can't stop myself from imagining my life as a proper yuppie, rather than my current existence as an overgrown college student (although, in a related story, I now sleep on a bed as of yesterday, instead of mattresses piled on the floor!).

The yuppie life of my dreams includes, but is not limited to the following:

Subaru, obvs. Although, the 'trix is close.

Duh.


No duh.

Wardrobe from here

and here.

Trendy exercise a la Bikram. Also, rock climbing.

Compulsory Costa Rica vacation.

West Elm parsons desk from which I produce wildly popular blog.

Dinner parties replete with locally sourced ingredients, brilliant pictures, stylish/worldly friends. Via Sunday Suppers.

iTampon

Unique engagement jewelry (assuming adoring, successful beau). Via St. Kilda.

DIY wedding. Via a backyard wedding.

And much more, obviously. I'm not really this kind of person, per se, but somewhere between style blogs and Facebook, I feel like I should be. Hmm.

The one where I won't hold your baby.

via A Cup of Jo

Yesterday, the BF and I went to his dad's house for a Memorial Day cook out. The BF's dad is recently remarried to a lovely woman with two grown daughters, one of whom just popped out a kid (like six weeks ago). The whole fam, blood, in-laws, steps, halfsies, everyone was there, including the baby. I don't do babies. That came out wrong. What I mean is, I don't know what to do or say to your baby. I don't know what to say to you about your baby. It's not that I don't like babies or kids and whatnot, I'm just not around them that often and don't know what to do. Plus, babies have that soft spot on their head and I don't want to be the one that ruins them because I don't know how to hold them properly. So, when K's dad asked if I wanted to hold little Nate-dog, I said I was all set. He looked at me like I'd just run over a unicorn. I started explaining how I'm just not a baby person and that I'd even texted Lacey (the baby-whisperer) to find out what to say, when I realized I sounded totally selfish and insane. So I went to get a brownie and left him there, probably thinking that at least he won't have to shell out for baby gifts for me anytime soon. So, that's good.

In the meantime, am I supposed to wake up one day feeling all maternal? I'm coming up on 30 and the baby fever hasn't hit me yet. Should I be worried?

In a related story 10 Ways to Avoid Hipster Baby Names.