I'm tapping out

Hey friend, would you like to come over tomorrow night for an "impromptu" dinner party?


I'll be serving tap water.


God, what was my life before Sweatercups "perfected the art of casual dining?"

"Over the haul" is the new old

Oh no.

You guys.

Help.

I just made the mistake of watching another haul video.



And just like before, I'm left feeling old, disenchanted and like I might migraine at any second.

What is it with young girls these days and their need to "haul?" Can't they just be happy that they bought some cute shit at the mall? Why do they feel the need to point out very last nuance of their purchase in front of the world? I've never looked at anything I owned and had the desire to point out the "leopard print detailing." Does that mean that I don't truly appreciate the little things in life? Am I too moldy to notice details like the awesomeness of "Love" and "Piiiink" on my basic black hoodie?

And then there's the fact that she went to the Victoria's Secret Semi Annual Sale TWICE IN ONE DAY!!!! If that's not the stamina of youth I don't know what is. I can run a half marathon but any time I step into a Victoria's Secret I become instantly fatigued. Do you think her secret is chia seeds? Is the Pink line carrying them along with body spray and zebra print water bottles?

I think this video is particularly disturbing to me because last night I dragged my poor friend Sarah to this very same sale. After 45 minutes of pushing and pawing through racks of neon bras and thong panties we were both so wrecked that we had to find solace in cappuccinos and a Nutella crepe.

Pretty sure this is how menopause starts.

Sparkly Sunday Sloths

On gloomy Sunday afternoons like today, I often find myself reading trashy magazines and mindlessly snacking on whatever junk is in the cabinet. Thanks to the Internet, I've learned that that I'm not alone in this practice!!! Such a relief!!! Cue the Oprah reruns!!!

I don't know about you, but when I'm acting like a sloth, I dress like one. Why take off your pajama pants before noon if you don't have to? While CouldIhavethat shares my love of Sunday snacks, last weekend she wore this because...



"...it made the day feel just a little bit fancier."

Oh.

I was totally kidding about the pajama pants.

Could you hold my peanut butter? I'm just gonna go change.

Thanks to this apartment, I now need therapy

I read this post a few days ago and it's been haunting me ever since. On any given day Apartment Therapy is intimidating, but this particular home tour really messed with my head. I think it's the way the author framed it:

"A few weeks ago I was hanging out with some friends at the building across the street from Il Borghese. I was admiring the building and told one of my friends that I would love to see the inside of one of the units. I had no idea that my friend, Bill, would actually approach someone coming out of the building, which would lead me to meeting Kristin. Il Borghese and Kristin's apartment did not disappoint!"

Wait, stop right there... You're telling me it's now kosher for strangers to approach one another on the street and ask to see their interiors? I'm just getting to the point where I shower before running my errands, my house is certainly not ready for unexpected photo shoots!

Here's just a smattering of what they saw at Kristen's house:

Kristin's dining room


Kristin's bedroom


Kristin's bath


And here's what they would see in mine if they rang my door bell today:

My dining room

And you know what? It's normally messier. (The table cloth is paper and left over from a bridal shower I hosted 3 weeks ago.)

My bedroom

Does a cute dog make up for the fact that I forgot to make the bed?

My bath

It's pretty when the cabinet is closed... which let's be honest... is never.

"Fuck it" indeed Kristen. "Fuck it" indeed.

Some days...

There are some days I really wish I was a super beautiful fashion blogger with really expensive Karen Walker sunglasses.


And others when I'm really glad I'm not.

Headscarves hurt my head

I think girls who wear headscarves are a different breed. Like the girls who can pull them off are also the type to party on private yachts, show up in July wearing fur and/or are one of the Olsen Twins.

Watching this video (for the 5th time) I began to wonder if the key to happiness is simply the ability to go out in public looking like kind of an asshole and not giving a fuck.

Or maybe it was just the music.



Do you think anything is wrong with the bottom of her face?

Oh crap, it's Coachella

Today on Twitter, Whitney Port asked me (and her 654,067 other followers) what we thought of her "festival style." It was lunch time and I was bored. I clicked on the link ready for some glossy gloss. But then my stomach dropped. How had I not realized this? Coachella. Is. Here.


Every year around this time, I find myself out to brunch in Silverlake wondering why I didn't have to wait for a table at 11:15 am. Then I realize it's because half the city has made the epic trek to desert.

(Secret: I've never been to Coachella. I know it's crazy. I'm like those girls who thought saving their virginity for marriage was a good idea. In college it made them different, something to flirt with guys about at parties. But the older they get, the weirder it becomes. Suddenly, they're 35 and have missed out on this HUGE aspect of life and guys are now scared to date them because they don't want the pressure of being the "first.")

Anyway, after my quiet brunch, I inevitably logon to Facebook and spend the rest of the weekend looking at "artistic" pictures of my extended acquaintances dressed up like sweaty (albeit attractive) hipster assholes.


I wish I could eloquently express why Whitney Port's Coachella Style Guide made me feel so strange. I think it's because she seems to take going so seriously. I mean a "Style Guide?" This isn't a trip to Paris, you're traveling to a town who's name sake is a grapefruit.


Whitney writes "For first time Coachella goers, packing can be a painful and confusing experience." What? No! My virginity metaphor was a joke!! It's a music concert. It shouldn't be painful or confusing! Whit, I love you! Stop confirming all my past judgments about Coachella! I don't want you to prove that it's totally not about the music anymore and it's just about what you look like and what VIP tents you can get into.

But then I ask myself why I'm getting so hot and bothered about this? I've never been. Who am I to use phrases like "it's not about the music anymore?" I need to get a life. Or buy a ironic T-shirt that has that printed across the front. Hey, that gives me an idea..