City Mouse

If you ask me what my number one indulgence in life is, I won't skip a beat with my answer. It isn't Godiva chocolates (although they're lovely), Manolo Blahniks (although I have 73 pairs of shoes), or fancy cars (although I appreciate a vintage Aston Martin). No. If I had unlimited cash, I'd spend it travelling the world.  Seeing new things, having new experiences and creating memories that will last until my final breath on this earth are what cause me to be liberal with my credit card number.

My favorite places to visit are cities. I have lived, all my life, in a mid-sized Midwestern city known for its cashew chicken, its single, strangely phallic skyscraper, and its friendly, safe and welcoming feel. I love my hometown - it will always be where I hang my hat. Well, at least 50-95% of the time! I enjoy the fact that I can go to my local stores and see familiar faces and schoolmates. I love the street that my salon is on. It's a wonderful place, and it is home.

But, while I love the smallness of my city and the people in it, I also crave the motion and energy of a big city. To me, there's nothing like it. Maybe its the ability to disappear that I enjoy - the feeling of being a tiny platelet rushing along in the bloodstream of a behemoth.  I've never wanted to be a big fish in a small pond. The city affords anonymity - the ability to disappear in a crowd. I'll never, ever forget the first time I went to New York City and got swept up in the human tidal wave on Madison Avenue. It was exhilarating. Different cities have their own identity, their own spirit. I felt like a true American in New York. To me, it's the most patriotic city in our nation. I've been craving it lately.

Speaking of cravings, no city can ever replace New Orleans in my heart. It is my soul's mecca. I miss it like I'd miss a lover.  That may sound a bit much - trust me, for me it isn't. Not to belabor a point, but there is something about that city that draws me. It isn't just one thing; it's a culmination of so many dizzying factors that combine into the perfect maelstrom of what makes me tick. I take a deep breath every time I set foot in that city. I love the smell of New Orleans. I love the people. I love the way it FEELS. It is ancient, immovable, and unapologetically true to itself. Someday, my husband and I will have a second home there. It may be a tiny closet of an apartment, but it doesn't matter. Going there is a pilgrimage to me.

There are many other cities I have visited. Chicago, with it's relentless cold and gorgeous parks and theaters, Dallas with its ribbon-candy network of freeways, and Kansas City, which we visit almost monthly to see my in-laws. Each of these places have left a mark. I love getting caught up in them - the differences are fun to see. The citizens of these cities have their own style of moving, their own ways of dressing, eating and even loving. I can't wait to be introduced to the West Coast. LA, San Francisco and Seattle are all on future itineraries.  And I really want to go to Boston - I think I would love it.

While I enjoy a relaxing weekend in the country, I also need the rhythm of a city to show me what the rest of the world is like. People of many races, languages and cultures. The ability to walk to get the perfect cup of coffee and a gyro from a real Greek restaurant - these are the things that a city provides. Catching a train or a streetcar to get from one end of town to another is so much more exciting than driving there. The subway is a free form of late-night entertainment in NYC!  Could I live that way all of the time? Probably not. The fast pace would wear on me after awhile, and I would miss my home base. It is, after all where I was born and raised.

And I have to admit, my pillow feels  pretty nice after my travels  -  even when this "city mouse" has insomnia and is using it to prop herself up in bed as she writes. ;)

Wedded Bliss...and All That Jazz

Entre deux coeurs qui s'aiment, nul besoin de paroles. - Desbordes-Valmord
"Two hearts in love need no words."

Our wedding day, November 20th, 2011 was a combination of many emotions, as are most weddings. We celebrated in New Orleans, with a smattering of our closest friends and immediate family. New Orleans is a place close to my heart; it's where Ryan and I got engaged last year, where we took our first trip as a couple, and a place I have visited every year since 2005. I truly believe it is my spiritual "home", the place on earth that seems to resonate with everything that I love and appreciate about life: good food, amazing music, and a rich cultural background flush with indomitable spirit.  When Ryan proposed, we decided immediately that we would marry there the following year.

Like any bride, I found myself suddenly immersed in the planning of my wedding. While we wanted a small, intimate ceremony, I still needed a dress, attendants, and all of the accoutrements that a wedding needs. I didn't get that the first time around, so I wanted it this time. Especially since I'm never doing it again!

My dress was found at a Black Friday sample sale. I had gone into a bridal store, merely to try on dresses, and came out two hours later with my dream dress! I knew that I wanted a vintage-style dress, and as vintage wedding gowns are hard to come by, and even harder to alter, I knew I would probably need to settle with an inspired piece. Ryan's sister, who went with me, said that she knew the moment I put on the dress that it was perfect for me.  The dress was a dream; golden-champagne satin and rhinestones- something that Jean Harlow or Rita Hayworth would have worn.  Even better, it was 80% off! That gave me plenty of money to buy my bridesmaids' dresses. Since I was asking them to travel all the way to NOLA for me(Australia was the farthest!), the least I could do was buy their dresses.

The next year was spent making invitations and all of the paper-crafts to compliment them. I had A LOT of fun doing these! I promise, I will post a tutorial on how I made them, so that other brides can use them as a template. You can easily substitute papers of your choice to personalize them. I received many compliments, and they were so easy, and saved us tons of money. I also made the votive candle covers, and welcome boxes for our guests that stayed in the same hotel as us during the wedding.

My sister, with the help of my MIL, did the flowers - which we placed in antique milk-glass and hobnail containers. I wanted a wild-flower and English country look to the bouquets - nothing too precious or perfect. The flowers we chose were dusty miller, allium, chrysanthemums, Queen Anne's lace and Bells of Ireland.  My own bouquet was a brooch bouquet with vintage heirloom jewelry from mine and Ryan's family. It's a gorgeous keepsake that I will always have - and it sparkled so beautifully the day of the wedding.

We chose the Benachi House and Gardens for our wedding and reception location. It is located in the Esplanade Ridge area of NOLA - a beautiful divided street cutting through the middle of New Orleans. Whereas the mansions in the Garden District were built by wealthy white plantation owners, the Esplanade area was developed by free people of color and Creole gentry.  The area is very diverse and eclectic, and is breathtakingly beautiful with gigantic live oaks spanning the neutral ground.

The day of the wedding was gorgeous, sunny and HUMID. The weather was unseasonably warm, even for New Orleans, with temperatures rising to the low 80s by the afternoon. I started prepping for the wedding at 8AM, after a nice breakfast at the Degas House, home to the famous French painter's family. We spent our wedding night here as well, and I would highly recommend a stay there. My daughter and I started  putting together the plastic wine glasses and organizing the decor in piles so that it would be easy to locate once things got busy. (It didn't stay this way, but, hey - that's a wedding for ya!) I put the Marco Negri in the fridge to chill, and made some lemonade for the reception as well. My sister, mom and MIL arrived at 11:30 and started prepping the flowers. We started up the music and enjoyed the next few hours of hard work and scurrying around like mad-women.

We started taking photos around 2PM, so I was dressed and ready by 1:30. Since our wedding was an outdoor ceremony, we wanted to make sure that we got plenty of photos before we lost light. My friend, Rebecca Arvizu and her daughter Sophia were our photographers. They got some great shots. My favorite moment was when Ryan and I had our first-look. The expression on his face when he turned around and saw me is one I will never forget!


And then, suddenly it was time to decorate and get ready for the ceremony to begin! The next hour and a half was a flurry of activity. The caterers were late - throwing all of my well-orchestrated plans into chaos. This kept us from being able to decorate the tables and get the bar set-up until 4:30, which was only half an hour before we started! Bridesmaids, groomsmen and even some of our guests were running, manically trying to get everything set up. I was somewhat crippled by my dress, and people kept telling me to sit down, so I finally took their advice. A flustered bride isn't a pretty bride!

Somehow, it all worked out. And then, it was time. The musicians began playing, and the girls started to walk down. Our entry music - the cello line of "Secrets" by OneRepublic began, and the world just slipped away. I squeezed my daughter's hand, and she escorted me down the aisle. I was smiling so hard my cheeks hurt. Everyone looked so beautiful and happy for us. It was everything that I had always dreamed of, when I saw my groom waiting for me at the end. He didn't run away! That's a miracle!

While we were saying our vows, a car-alarm (which I didn't even notice!) started going off. This got some laughs, and it was the perfect antidote to any remaining stress we were feeling.  You can plan a wedding perfectly, but something is ALWAYS going to go wrong! It's part of the fun. Kids are going to get tired and cranky, you're going to get a stain on your dress, and the music isn't going to play on cue. The goal isn't to have everything run like clockwork, but rather to enjoy the company and love of the human beings who have come to celebrate with you. The rest is just lagniappe. ;)

And celebrate we did! The next few hours were spent dancing, dining on the spectacular food that we had chosen, and laughing and talking with friends and our families. There were lots of special, unforgettable moments. Funny toasts, a competitive bouquet and garter toss, and kids running and playing.  Later in the evening, a gorgeous fog rolled into the area, cloaking everything in a mystical veil. It was like being transported 100 years in the past... the gas-light era of Southern romance. This is what I love about New Orleans - she always finds new ways to enchant you.

By the end of the night, we were tired and ready to rest. We  cleaned up the venue and packed up the car with the help of our friends, and said our goodnights and good-byes. So many people came up to us and told us it was the most beautiful wedding they had ever been to. That made all of the planning, money and time spent on the details so worth it! I truly felt like I had gotten the wedding of my dreams. Even though some of our best friends and family couldn't make it, we still felt like they were there celebrating with us in spirit.

Our wedding day was a time drenched with emotion, and we were so happy that we could share our moment with the ones closest to us.

(All photographs by Arvizu Photography)

Cereal Bonanza!!

When I was a kid, I looked forward to my morning bowl of cereal every night before I went to sleep. I would drift off into dreamland, snuggling my chubby cheek against the pillow as visions of crunchy, sugar-coated goodness danced in my head. Not much has changed. I have a constant cinema of food-porn racing through my head at any given moment.  I'll always be a fat kid at heart.

I had my favorites, of course.  These are my Cereal Friends:

Number one on my list was ALWAYS Cap'n Crunch with Crunch Berries. This was the Jenna Jameson of my food fantasies, the ever-loving carbohydrate star. Even though it would cut your mouth to pieces after the first bowl, I'd always go back for more of those little golden nuggets with their artificially-colored spherical  buddies. I'd save the berries for last, chasing them around my bowl till the milk turned pink.

A close second was Cookie Crisp. The wizard on the box was creepy, and again, they made your mouth raw, but whoever figured out how to shrink those cookies was my hero. My mom would get pissed, but I would forget to roll the inner bag down on purpose, because I liked them a little stale. Sometimes, stale is better. I like donuts this way as well. Call me gross.

In third place was Corn POPS!  Can't forget the all CAPS - that's important!  Whatever high-fructose ooze they coated these babies with, it was delectable to my twelve-year-old taste buds. My fiance preferred the much touted "Mom-tested" KiX  corn cereal when he was a kid. His parents were health-conscious, I guess.  Mine, not so much. Hello childhood obesity!

Honeycomb was probably the "healthiest" cereal I consumed as a child proper. I think I thought it was healthy because it always had soccer players and other various athletes on the box. I was never a various athlete.  Maybe I thought Honeycomb could magically make me hit that softball and not get picked last for the team.

Next was Fruity Pebbles. It could have been because I loved "The Flintstones" and wanted to be Betty Rubble. But, I really think it was picking the dried, crusty leftovers off the rim of the bowl. This was the best part. I watch in amazement when I see my daughter do the same damn thing.  I let her. Those crusties are friggin'  hard to get off before you run that stupid bowl through the dishwasher.

When I was in high-school, I finally shed my so called baby-weight (I don't buy that. I think that is a lie from the pit of hell. The only time you shed "baby-weight" is after you spawn.)  In any event, I was trying to be conscious of the invisible highway from my hand to my mouth. I elevated my tastes to Raisin Bran. I would carefully measure the 3/4 cup serving, put in my skim milk, add more raisins and a heaping tablespoon of sugar. Don't judge. My Rocky Mountains still fit.

Cereal is great - while I have moved onto Kashi GoLean! with those ridiculously happy people of various ethnicities on the box, I still turn to cereal in times of food woe.  I still read all the information that surrounds the package, and peruse the nutritional information.  I take great pleasure in pouring the milk, hearing the crunch, and enjoying this all-around bowl of happiness. Where would bachelors, time-crunched single-moms, and various athletes be without it?





Tell me your favorites...

To the Ladies of "Mad Men"

I discovered Mad Men about three years ago.  I was wanting something new to watch. I was single, with a TV (gasp!) all to myself!   Let's be honest here - I love Carrie Bradshaw and her shoes, but I wanted something a bit meatier to sink my fangs into. I was channel-surfing, and this Hitchcock-esque image of a dapper man with a cigarette, lounging on a couch flashed across my screen.  I kept watching. 10 minutes in, I was hooked. 

It isn't just the "Vertigo" - inspired opening credits, the machinations of 60s corporate life, and the mystery of Don Draper and his identity that keep me coming back... it's the girls.

Let's start with Betty Draper.  Betty is the perfect tragic, selfish and pristine Nordic anti-heroine.  She is also a shitty mother. Yes, I said it. When I saw Sally wander into the room with the dry-cleaning bag over her head, I was horrified that Betty scolded her about leaving the clothing on the floor, and not the SUFFOCATION risk.  I get that it was a different time, and that the dangers of drinking out of the garden hose and eating desiccant were as yet, unknown.  But Betty, for all of your Grace Kelly ice-queen perfection, you are a mess. I know your first husband was a cheater. I get that it's hard to give up your dreams to be a suburban housewife; I couldn't do it. Your therapist was a quack, and I am sorry that Lilly Pulitzer can't solve all your problems. But Sally is going to be a tequila-swilling, sexually promiscuous pothead if you don't stop ignoring her, threatening to cut off her fingers, and calling her fat.  But... I still like your clothes, Mommy-Dearest.

And on to Joan. If I could be any woman on Mad Men, I would LIKE to be Joan Holloway.  That chick has swagger. When I first saw her sashay her rump onscreen, I had to pick my jaw up from the floor. I'm sure 99% of the male population had the same reaction. Finally, a WOman!  On the television!  She navigates the secretarial pool at Sterling-Cooper like a barracuda, terrorizing the underlings like a red-headed, bengaline clad goddess.  Thank you for bringing back the cantilevered hourglass. Thank you for bringing back the Bitch.  Not since Erica Kane have we seen a character who can convey vulnerability and contempt with just a glance. I loved it when she told Peggy to "Stop dressing like a little girl."  This is a woman with few female friends. She knew how to be the Alpha, and to work with the "system".  So, you're gonna treat me like a sex-object? Fine. I'll manipulate you until you're putty and THEN get what I want.  Sure, she's jealous, hot-tempered and devious. What's wrong with that? And you gotta love a girl who can sing in French while playing a mean accordian.

Peggy. Peggy is the 60s woman. Pure and simple, she shows the transition from old-fashioned mores into the sexual revolution and equality in the workplace. She's my favorite character - I identify with her. I understand the ambition, the drive to be considered an equal. When she showed up at the burlesque club in Season 2 to hang with the boys to celebrate a successful ad campaign, that took moxie. Ladies didn't do that back then. Peggy wasn't concerned with being a lady. She wanted to be seen as just as important as the men at  Sterling-Cooper, and she was. More so, in fact. Don Draper's grudging support of her, and their symbiotic relationship shows just how intelligent Peggy Olson really is. She didn't go the route of seduction, like Joan. She went the direction of careful and studious observation. That's one of the things about quiet people. They see a lot, and absorb more - their life is a careful chess game.  Peggy may have looked like a hick-girl off the wagon in Season 1, but that girl knew what she deserved. And thankfully, it was NOT Pete Campbell. Eww.


There are so many things to love about the show - the clothing, the decor, the alcohol. There is the romance of a time past, as well as the ugly underbelly of misogyny and politics. The women make the show. I found out recently that most of the writers of the show are female. I think that is astounding - and it really speaks to the fact that the series is honest. It shines a true mirror on the 60s.  For all of their flaws and their dependence on girdles and long-line bras, the women of Mad Men are US -  our mothers, our grandmothers. Those women fought hard for us to be able to vote, to become CEOS and business-owners, or even to choose to stay home with our kids.  I think about that every time I put on a vintage dress - I wonder who wore it before me. Times may change, but women stay the same.

Daughter, This is Life

Last night, as I was giving my daughter a bath, she suddenly burst into tears. I was dumbfounded. Her seven-year-old world seemed to be crumbling as she twirled her fishing boat aimlessly around the tub. Then her angler-fish devoured her sea captain, and I knew we were in full-blown Greek tragedy mode. I thought I had at least five more years before this began!

"I hate my life! I hate my hair! I hate my friends! I wish Mr. Caleb wasn't leaving!"

Wow, even in my most FML moments, I lack the emo capabilities to articulate my frustrations so succinctly, and LOUDLY.

I comforted her the best I could, and twenty minutes later, she was happily watching Spongebob and eating her night-night PB&J. The angst had been neutralized with a few hugs and some carbs. All was soon forgotten. For her.

I've been musing all day. Seven-year-old Paige doesn't yet have the perspective to realize that these issues will plague her throughout her life. While we all wish our children a lifetime of effortless happiness, time has taught all of us thirty-somethings otherwise. Life is so incredibly hard at times. One day, you are floating; sipping your latte and watching birds fly by on a park-bench. The next, it's sleeting, you forgot your ice-scraper and your heater went out three weeks before. You should have made a trip to the mechanic instead of buying those shoes. Yes, that really happened.

So, this is my love-letter of sorts to an older Paige. I'm imagining her at 21, in a tiny apartment with a radiator that clangs loudly, and cats. Because she grew up with cats. Let's start from the last statement:

* "I wish Mr. Caleb wasn't leaving!"

You remember your first crush, right? Probably an older boy with a soft spot for flipping your bra-strap and making fun of you in front of your friends. Paige was lucky; her first crush was pretty darn nice. He made her paper cranes, spoke her strange little artistic language, and didn't call her "shy." That's a big deal. He had a Euro mohawk and a chiseled face like Prince Stefan in "Sleeping Beauty." Of course she fell hard. They would skate hand-in-hand at the roller rink, and he cast her as a Ghost Wolf in the school play. And then, his student teaching gig was up, he graduated college, and is leaving for France to teach English as a second language. I'll miss him too.

It's hard to tell your daughters about heartbreak: it's really something they just have to experience for themselves. As I watched her sob into the soap bubbles that night, I wanted to tell her about all the boys down the line. The unattainable jock, the bad-boy, the sweet guy that she probably won't give the time of day to. All those archetypes. All of those missed opportunities, and then those nights soaked with too much rum and little common-sense. It's going to happen. It happens to us all. Hopefully, she'll wait until she knows herself REALLY WELL to marry, and have the maturity to recognize a good, Jon Cryer thing when she sees it.

It took me long enough.

* "I hate my friends!"

This is a hard one. Friends are wonderful and awful at the same time. After a little delving, I found out that Paige had been excluded from a game of tag with her little peer group. While the mother-bear in me wanted to slap them, the mature adult in me that SOMETIMES claws its way to the surface realizes that this is just the way it is.

Sorry, Paige, but you're not always going to be the star. While you're perfect in my eyes, sometimes you aren't going to be the cool kid.

You will have friends that are lifers, or at least there for decades. These are the friends that will pass you a Xanax when you are putting your dog to sleep, and then drive you home and tuck you into your duvet. They'll forgive you when you forget about them while you are dating Mr. Wonderful and be there when you break-up with him, martinis in hand. They'll make you puke when you've had too much to drink. These friendships are rare. Treasure them.

Then there are frenemies. They will compete with you. They will show up at your wedding, dressed like a femme fatale just to try to steal a little bit of your glory. And when you call them on it, they will laugh at your irrationality. If you're lucky, you'll have a gay male friend who will put them in their place. They are good at this. Trust me.

And that leads me to male friends, straight or gay. Because, in my opinion, men make great friends. Don't get any crazy ideas that they are going to be a romantic interest - don't make that mistake. Take it for what it is, and you will find someone to bounce advice off of, laugh at your silly jokes, and dissolve drama. Every group of girls should have their token male. And that way, when he starts dating someone that you love, or hate, you will be close enough to tell him the truth. He should do the same for you. When I look back at my childhood friends, it's the boys I remember fondly. You're already one step ahead, because you are a phenomenal tomboy. Perfect.

* "I hate my hair!"

This one hit me kind of hard. She has beautiful, flowing cornsilk hair. The kind of blonde hair that people pay me hundreds of dollars a year to replicate. I told her all of this. No way. She wants hair like mine.

I have a secret to tell you, Paige. I hate my hair, too. It is a beast. It's curly, thick, and I break a sweat just thinking about blow-drying it. I stand behind the chair at the salon every day, helping women learn to love what they have. All of us struggle with our looks. I don't care if you are a size 2, with a perfect smile and breasts that point heavenward, you are going to find something to hate about yourself. It's part of being female. Blame Hollywood, blame magazines, blame Calvin Klein and those damned Brooke Shields ads. (I'm showing my age.)

The truth is, we just have to learn to accept that there's always going to be someone prettier than us, someone skinnier than us, someone curvier or taller than us. It's ok. If we all looked like a row of paper-dolls, it would be a plain oatmeal world. I'll take mine with butter and brown-sugar, please!

*"I hate my life!"

Yep. I have days where I have Coldplay on repeat, and want to bury my head in a trough of self-pity till Armageddon comes. It's ok. Some of your best artistic inspiration will come during times like this. You have that temperament. Blame your Irish and Native-American heritage. You come from volatile stock, babe. Embrace that and use it to your advantage. Do you think it was easy for Jim Morrison and Charlotte Bronte? Heck no! And let's not even go into Picasso. The people that love you will weather these times. They will put up with your mercurial cycling, and see your soul. Your soul is beautiful. Even the dark places.

You're a fighter - it's the thing I love most about you. I'm not ever going to lie to you, something I promised you when you were a tiny baby. I will always tell you the truth, even when it hurts me. Even if it stings your ego and makes you angry at me. But I CAN tell you one thing for sure, life is worth those lattes on the park-bench. Hold those moments close, and let the others roll off and away. Live a life without regret, and never stop learning. And bubble baths are good for you, even when you're 36.

In Celebration of Midge

Growing up poor makes you creative. Forced to find our own fun diversions while other kids were playing with their Ataris, my sister and I invented lots of games and activities. One of my favorite memories is the covered wagon we rigged up with coat hangers, old sheets, and our poor dog, Rocky, as the horse. We were watching too much Little House on the Prairie, obviously.

One of the other projects I enjoyed as a child was making doll clothes for the rag-tag band of Barbies that I owned. We pilfered most of these from yard sales, and my favorite was my Midge doll. She was my muse. Not many people know about Midge; she was usually in Barbie's shadow. Barbie's great, but she's not such a great role-model. She's just too perfect. Young girls can't live up to her standards. Veterinarian one day, teacher the next, then super-model. How does she have time for it all? And that body...well it defies gravity.

Midge was REAL. (As real as a plastic person can be, that is.) She was a kind of everywoman, with a smattering of freckles, a snub-nose and a tangle of red hair that flipped out at the ends. She was perky and cute. What she lacked in sophistication, she made up for with personality. In all of the coloring books and ads, it's Midge with the sassy look on her face, and the gleam in her eye. I guess I relate to that. I'm seldom, if ever the most beautiful woman in the room. I've always relied on my wit and intelligence to carry me through life. That's what happens when you're awkward as a child - you learn how to adapt to whatever life throws at you. You know how to chop and change.

Many of my friends are Midges. Even if they blossomed later in life, they usually didn't start out privileged that way. One was self-conscious of her buck-teeth and grew up just as poor as I did. She now models. One was extremely tall at a young age, and is now a statuesque beauty who is proud of her height. One was a tomboy, and didn't wear makeup until she was in her twenties. One was chubby as a child, and is now a personal-trainer. One was petite and always mistaken for being much younger than her age. It serves her well now! I love it. None of us depended on our looks to get us by, and neither would Midge, I'd imagine.

There was quite a controversy about Midge in the early nineties. She turned up pregnant (even though she was married), and there was an outcry from the public. Mattel discontinued Midge from production, and we haven't seen her since. Vintage Midge dolls are now collector's items. They sometimes go for thousands of dollars. Even though my daughter doesn't play with dolls, I wish Mattel would bring her back. Barbie is pristine, beautiful, and perfect, but give me moxie any day!

There's nothing wrong with wanting to be pretty and glamorous; I enjoy dressing up and being a girl just like most women do. But there's something to be said for making personality a priority. Magazines and movies paint an unrealistic portrait of what a modern woman should be. Somehow, we are supposed climb the ladder of success, be sexy for our men, and raise happy, healthy children all while looking like a cocaine addict. Who can attain all of that and maintain their sanity?? I sometimes look like a psychotic cave-dweller going to the grocery store. Something's gotta give, people.

I guess the point of this blog is to love who you are. I adore the Lady Gaga song, "Born This Way." It really brings home what I'm trying to say. I never want my daughter to feel like she needs to change who she is. I love her attitude; her ears that stick out ever so slightly, her blackened fingernails from playing in the dirt. I love that she can hang out with the boys; that she can make anyone laugh with her absurd sense of humor. I'm not trying to turn her into an idealized image of what I want her to be. I see this a lot in my peer group. It makes me sad. It will always lead to rebellion or a crushed spirit. Neither is good for a child's self-esteem. We need to give our daughters the gift of self-expression.

Let's start a movement. Let's bring back Midge.

Wedding Lockdown

Ryan and I are getting married in November, which is just a few short months away!

With the reality of the wedding beginning to set in, I am busy DIY-ing my heart out in preparation. The wedding will take place in New Orleans, so the invitations need to go out earlier than for a hometown wedding.

I am hand-making all of my invitations and favors, which with the budget we enforced early on, is a must. Invitations are ridiculously expensive, in my opinion. Sure, some people keep them as remembrances, but most end up in the trash. I can't imagine throwing a ten-dollar invitation away, now that I know!

I would highly recommend that thrifty brides design their own stationary. It's fun, usually much cheaper, and it gives you a chance to really express your personality as a couple.

I designed my wedding aesthetic around New Orleans in the 19th and early 20th century, while my dress takes much inspiration from the 1940s. I just couldn't pick one era, I love so many. The wedding venue is beautiful, and I can't wait to deck it out in preparation! I am so lucky to be surrounded by so many talented people that love me. My sister is doing all of my flowers, and one of my best friends is a phenomenal photographer and is giving me my wedding shoot as a gift! Lucky!

Great weddings can be done on the cheap - destination weddings give you opportunity to be a little more casual and not quite as concerned about the finer points of etiquette you must observe for more formal, larger weddings. Our recessional is funny and irreverent, for example. I like to break with tradition just enough so that everyone is in on the joke, but not offended either.

We have lots of creative ideas for the elements of our wedding, some traditional and some not. The overall look and feel is going to be very retro and fun. I am looking forward to sharing our special day with everyone involved!

Bettie Page and all things Pin-Up

"I was not trying to be shocking, or to be a pioneer. I wasn't trying to change society, or to be ahead of my time. I didn't think of myself as liberated, and I don't believe that I did anything important. I was just myself, I didn't know any other way to be, or any other way to live."

-Bettie Page

I'm a little obsessed.

I first saw Bettie Page about ten years ago. I was looking at a website about Marilyn Monroe, another favorite, and saw this gorgeous brunette with the most intriguing look I had ever seen. She had a see-through negligee on, and a come-hither glance that spoke innocence and naughtiness at the same time. Her photos seemed to leave much more to the imagination than many of her contemporaries. She was the classic girl-next-door, with a bite.

It may come as a surprise to you, but I really like vintage Playboy magazines. The articles are good, and reveal a lot more about the time than the candy-coated women's magazines. They are excellent social commentary. Plus, the nudes are tasteful, not raunchy. And they are full of kitsch and charm. I guess that's why I like Bettie. Some of her pictures are goofy, some are sultry. She wasn't ashamed of her body. I like that, and you got the sense that she was really enjoying what she was doing, not being exploited. Also, Bunny Yeager, the photographer that took the iconic "Christmas Ornament" photo for Playboy in 1955 had great sensitivity as a female photographer. I can imagine them having lots of fun at those shoots. She was the second centerfold for Playboy. Marilyn Monroe, with her strawberry-blonde curls, was the first.

Her beauty was accessible. In a time when plastic surgery and PhotoShop reign supreme, the image of a little tummy and boobs that have a "just-so" droop are wonderful to see. This is how women are supposed to look. Obviously men still like women to look this way - otherwise she wouldn't still be so popular, and neither would Marilyn.

She really was such an innocent Southern girl. In interviews I have heard, she recounts how puzzled she was by people viewing her as a sex object. And she also was confused why people had such a problem with her nudity. The way she saw it, God created us nude, we came into this world nude. To her, it wasn't a sexualized thing, but a natural thing. Naive, maybe. But I've never felt "dirty" looking at her pictures.

I love all the pin-up girls, they all have their appeal. Betty Grable was always my dad's favorite, and she really was a true blonde bombshell. Burlesque and pin-up are seeing a resurgence and I love it! It validates things for me - I always wanted to look that way, ever since I was a young girl. I cut the Bettie bangs for the first time 5 years ago, because I have a humongo forehead and I thought - "Eh, what the heck, hair grows." It has since become my go-to look. My fiance thinks I look like Bettie Page as a redhead, but he's biased.

But even with all the tributes and look-alikes, there was only one Bettie. In the end, she was a minister of the Gospel, working for Billy Graham. She never recanted her photos, never was ashamed of what she did. The sweet girl from Tennessee became immortal, but she never really cared about that. She just wanted to smile.

I Loved a Physics Geek

So picture me, 1987. I'm sitting in my 7th grade science class. I am chubby, bespectacled and AWKWARD. My earth science teacher has this ancient reel-to-reel projector that he is setting up to show us a film on nuclear fission and fusion (Reagan-era kids. Let's give them nightmares!)

Mr. Yonke does not realize that he is determining my future.

The film starts to play, with it's crackles and off-key music and strange strands of fuzz that have gotten onto the film-tape.

And then the scientists show up, mixing strange chemicals and talking about reactors and plutonium and all kinds of crazy shiznat that will melt your skin off. And they are hot - the scientists! They are smart and they know math equations and they can tell you how the earth was formed. And that's where it started in my adolescent crazy hormonal mind. And the computers they were using were as big as my house. I have one of those now! The scientist, not the house-sized computer. But he COULD run it with all of it's inefficient retro algorithms. And he wants to teach physics someday, and reads Stephen Hawking before bed with his crazy, thick glasses.

And I think I'll keep him, because he's smart in a different way than me, and that is perfect. :)

Why am I named this??

My blog just asked me that. Crazy blog can talk...

Rorschach: Because I have done a couple IQ/psych tests in my day, the ink blot test always kind of freaked me out and inspired me at the same time. I was always looking for the glint of judgment in the test facilitator's eyes when I saw frolicking satyrs or jelly doughnuts. "Does she have an eating disorder, or some strange addiction? Is she really that blind?"

But Rorschach tests are really cool, because every person that looks at them sees something different, and that's probably why they appeal to me. I have spilled my coffee at times and it's fun to Rorschach the -

Coffee: Caffeine probably accounts for at least 75% of my bodily chemistry. Plus, I like the whole aesthetic and feel surrounding coffee-drinking. It makes your hands warm in the winter and there is a whole culture built around the enjoyment of coffee. I think today's coffee shops are the equivalent of the bistros and absinthe dens of yesteryear. Creative types tend to like them. I tend to like creative types. We like caffeine.

1963:

I love anything pre-1980. I loved the eighties, don't get me wrong, lots of great memories of that time in my life. But I never felt like I fit into the modern world. Yeah, I have lots of modern sensibilities and I probably would have not done well in the more chauvinistic eras. But the music, clothing, cars and just the STYLE of the past spins me. Particularly the Victorian era, the Roaring Twenties and World War II eras have always fascinated me. Things were made better, even plastic was awesome, and there is nothing like an Eames chair, people. Rita Hayworth in Gilda changed my life as an impressionable teenager sitting in the library one summer afternoon. I was really homely. She wasn't.

But why 1963?

Kennedy, of course. It changed our world when one of our last great presidents died in Dallas. Seeing the footage of beautiful Jackie trying to frantically reassamble her dying husband's skull in her flawless Chanel suit was gut-wrenching. And I wasn't even alive yet when it happened. My mom was, and it really was the day the music died, for everyone. But 1963 does it for me for other reasons. Probably my single favorite year for fashion, for automobiles (I had a '63 Dart), and just the general feel of the time. Women still had womanly figures, and girdles weren't a dirty word. You had to have a girdle to look good in a pencil skirt. Now we have Spanx. Thank God!

America was starting to wake up to women's rights and equality in the workplace. Women were going on birth-control, and the seeds of the sexual revolution were being sown. But there was still that tinge of innocence...at least until November.

I guess that's why I love the show Mad Men so much. It shows that transition, in a truly fine way. The characters change with each year that goes by, and are a microcosm of society for the decade. You love and hate Don Draper with equal fervor. I want to steal Christina Hendrick's wardrobe and I wonder if the perpetual scotch is REALLY scotch or iced tea. Otherwise the actors are gonna need rehab after the series ends...which it will have to. Eventually.

So that's blog post number 1!! I think that one will be the hardest.