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Now, I can dress myself. Rather well, I might add. BUT.

I am, like most of the female population, one of those girls who never has anything to wear. I can barely get into my walk-in closet thanks to all the crap in there, and this is still the case. I buy pieces that I love, but have trouble turning them into outfits. It takes me twenty minutes just to pick my clothes in the morning, and I generally go through five outfits before I find something I don’t hate.

This should not be the case.

So when I saw the opportunity to have a “strategic shopping” session with Kaarin Moore of Closet Caucus that promised to help me sort through my wardrobe woes, I was curious. And after I googled a bit, I decided that she sounded legit (and just lovely to boot), so why not give it a shot?

(She’s also on Twitter, which automatically makes me like any company about 50% more.)

Before our session, she asked me a zillion questions about my style, personality, and what I liked to do. (Me: “Does ‘mimosas’ count as a hobby?”) So when we met up in Georgetown last week, she already had a solid idea of where I was coming from and what I needed to accomplish. We spent a while discussing what I had in my wardrobe already (thereby determining which staples we were on the hunt for that day), and discussing strategies for optimizing my closet as a whole, so that my pieces would all easily fit together and I’d never be left struggling with that WHAT TO WEAR?! question again.

Next, we hit the streets. First, I needed the perfect Little Black Dress, as I hate the 10 or so already in my closet. About five minutes later, we walked out of White House Black Market with an absolutely perfect, high quality, flattering LBD. You’ll probably see it on me at the next happy hour, so get ready, y’all.

After that, JEANS. We headed into Levi’s (Her: “Levi’s has been doing great things lately…” Me: “I don’t care what the label says, as long as they make my ass look good.”) and headed upstairs… to see 4,294 pairs of jeans. I trembled in fear, while Kaarin marched me to a dressing room and returned in five minutes with three pairs.

The first fit well, but wasn’t quite IT.

The second was so perfect, I didn’t even try on the third.

Yes, that’s right. Homegirl found my Cinderella Jeans in TWO. TRIES.

We hit a few other stores where I found some perfect summer dresses for my weddings and conferences I have this summer, a couple adorable cardis, and more. The whole time I was completely comfortable – shopping with Kaarin was honestly more like shopping with a BFF who really knew her shit. (I didn’t hold back – she got the full Rachael… and she didn’t bat an eye. This chick? Is cool.)

The one thing I couldn’t find was the perfect black blazer. A few hours after our session, Kaarin emailed me a link to the exact kind we’d been looking for.

She also sent me an invite to ideeli.com, which, after looking around there, means my wallet is in a LOT of trouble. (If you want an invite, let me know in the comments. I’ll make it happen.)

Now, I know this whole thing sounds like she paid me tons of money to write it.

She didn’t. Not a cent. But after telling a few of my besties about it, they all said they’d be interested in something like this, so I wanted to share. (She’ll also come over to your house and clean out your closet for you, which will probably be my next purchase…)

Anyway, the only thing I’m getting out of this writeup is a 10% discount for you:

Closet Caucus is a fashion and wardrobe consulting company located in Washington, DC. Stylist Kaarin Moore was inspired to start her own business when she found herself becoming the go-to shopping companion for her friends and their friends. Kaarin has a passion for helping clients, from those who are body conscious to clients who are completely uninhibited.

So go forth and fix your wardrobes, ladies. And do it under the guiding hand of Kaarin Moore. (Cinderella jeans. TWO TRIES. You just can’t beat that.)

Mama said share.

So, I may have mentioned before that I’ve never seen Glee. And before you yell at me and tell me how zomg it is the amazeballs!!!!! - it’s not that I didn’t want to; I just missed half of the first season and I can’t stand starting shows halfway through YES EVEN IF IT DOESN’T REALLY MATTER FOR THE STORY (call it an OCD thing), and then suddenly it was season two and then two and a half or some shit and frankly, I have like 9 seasons of the Real Housewives to keep me occupied so I figured I’d just get around to it sometime, ya dig?

Well, I’ve recently discovered that A) you can rent awesome shows from iTunes and play them on your iPad for 99 cents, and B) 45 minute elliptical workouts are a hell of a lot better when you’re watching something that you adore and not freaking ESPN 8, a la Espanol to one side and C-SPAN to the other because apparently the people on either side of you at the gym prefer to be BORED OUT OF THEIR SKULLS on the treadmill. Maybe it’s a tactic to black out ever having gone at all, so you don’t remember how miserable it is? Either way, not my cup of tea.

SO. Once I put this magical possibility together in my head, I realized that Glee is available for iTunes “renting” and it is a glorious 43 minutes per episode. AKA the perfect length for a workout, and bonus- whenever I’m feeling extra tired, a musical number kicks in! THANKS KURT-AS-BEYONCE, I NEEDED THAT.

Now sneak attack back to the ring!!!

Mmmm hmmmmm. Work that sass, ladiiiiiiiiiies!

Anyway.

So yes, folks. I am officially a Gleek, and loving it. The hardest part is that I’m only allowing myself to watch it when I’m working out, so I foresee a LOT of gym hours in my future.

(Clearly, I’m not above treating myself like a five year old who wants a candy bar if it will get my ass on the treadmill. Only my Snickers is the Acafellas, and my Reeses is watching Sue Sylvester take you down a peg or eighteen.)

Oh and, sidebar… make sure no one’s around when you watch the scene where Kurt comes out to his dad. Because HOLY TEARBALLS, BATMAN.

If you like this post, I actually run a community blog called In It To GYM It with 100+ contributors, all… you guess it… In It To GYM It. If that’s your bag, feel free to check us out over there.

Mama said share.

Ahhhhhhhhh it’s been two weeks!!! What the what? How in the???

I missed you guys.

SO. Yes, the shiny new job is everything I hope it would be and more. I am a lucky, lucky girl… DON’T I KNOW IT.

There is so much going on my head is spinning, LIT-RALLY, but it’s all good- nay, great- so you won’t hear a peep of complaint out of me. I’ve been trying to scale back all those extra little projects I constantly seem to take on, but I think at my core I’m happiest when I’m busy and plotting planning and meeting friends and making connections, so as long as I’m “juggling” rather than “burning out at a terrifying pace”, life is what it is- one big, happy, crazy mess of STUFF ‘N THINGS that I adore.

For example, DC friends! It’s been far too long since we clinked a beer together. Let’s fix that at Tonic (Mt. Pleasant) on Wednesday, Jan. 26th, mmmkay? They’ve recently renovated the upstairs bar (next to Radius Pizza) and it is THE GORGEOUS. My dear friend Patrice, the best bartender in the world, will be personally taking care of our group, so RSVP here (no physical ‘ticket’ needed to come- that’s just Eventbrite’s way, just sign up and you’re good to go) and I’ll see you then! (Half-priced burgers, beers, and more… and don’t forget, Tonic is the king of the tator tot!)

Now! For everyone NOT in DC, it’s also been too long since I saw you. Particularly if we’ve never met.

Let’s fix that.

This May 19th-22nd, bloggers from all over the USofA and beyond will converge on America’s Playground, aka Las Vegas (Vegas, baby, Vegas!!!) for the renowned BLOGGERS IN SIN CITY ultimate meetup. Four days of drinking, bonding, sun, drinking, unicorns, hugs, dance parties, and drinking. All the info you need is here, but feel free to ask me any questions in the comments if you’re thinking about coming (please do!) It was an absolute blast last year, and with more organization and some crazy awesome sponsorship, this year promises to be even better. What what!!!

Next up: I finally decided to make one of those rad “Facebook pages” the kids are all talking about for this here blog, so if you want to add a little glitter to my day, head on over to the ‘book and LIKE this crazy thing. I’ll also be deleting my “blog” profile in lieu of that page, so if you wanna KIT, that’s where to do it!

Finally (housekeeping! You want me fluff your pillow?) – after a wonderful year as a contributing editor with DC Blogs, I’ve decided to relinquish my Tuesday slot to someone who has more time on their hands and is able to truly find the best, the brightest, and the most colorful from around the DC blogosphere. If you’re interested in being a weekly contributing editor at DC Blogs, shoot them an email with your info (name, url, etc.) and why you want to be a part of that stellar community (and trust me, it is).

*phew*

So that’s my news! What’s yours?

Mama said share.

If you’d told me a year ago that while in the throes of a horrible job search, I would jet off for a weekend to the crunchiest, hippiest, patchouliest, most adorable town on earth to spend two days with a couple girls I’d only met a handful of times…

Well, let’s be honest. I probably would’ve shrugged and said, “Yup, that sounds like me.”

And it does, because I did, and honestly? It was just about the most perfect girls’ weekend in the world, wrapped up in a big “cutest town EVER” bow.

I don’t think I stopped laughing from the moment I climbed into the periwinkle blue 4-runner with Doni and beelined for Boulder to meet Chels for a much needed hair-of-the-dog lunch. Three grilled cheeses and a strawberry-bourbon shake later, we were well on our way, and it didn’t stop until the moment I boarded the plane home.

There was Girl Talk and pizza and SO MUCH BOXED WINE. There was a VHS viewing of Britney live in Vegas, and choregraphed singalongs to boot. There were talks about Those Heavy (But Important) Things you can only discuss with kindred spirits (preferably over one too many glass of bubbles).

There was traispsing through an adorable saloon-style town with hippie boutiques where our tarot card reader told us we were not, in fact, drinking too much booze. (Hefty tip much??)

There was a spider in a brunch plate that bolstered our ability to consume many, many mimosas… instead of the eggs said spider had been drowning in. There were street performers and skipping tipsy through the streets with Ashalah and gigantor moose statues…

…and Christmas tree lightings…

…and tigers, oh my.

And while at times all the hippie-ness was just a tad overwhelming for a jaded city girl like me, and more than once I just wanted to just stand on a park bench and scream “I EAT OFF PAPER PLATES AT HOME!!!!!!!!”…

…Saturday was an absolutely lovely day of brunching, pregaming and bar hopping, and I wouldn’t have changed a thing.

Especially when, at midnight, it seemed only logical that we should descend on the local strip club to put the debaucherous cap on our evening. Many singles and quite a few motorboats later (hey, at least they asked our permission first?)…

Afterwards, Chels and I headed home for some late night beers with a past Top Chef winner, who shall not be named. This was just lovely for me, as an avid TC fan, and through talking with him I discovered that a) said Top Chef winner is totally not a douchecanoe, despite the way the show portrayed him, b) Tom is truly as kickass as he seems and my chefetish is entirely justified; and c) Alex absolutely did NOT steal that English pea puree. (While this winner appeared on an earlier season, I asked his professional opinion as someone who’s been in that environment, and he confirmed that there is NO way that could have happened without the cameras seeing it. And also that a freaking pea puree takes about two seconds to make. Well, Alex, my official apologies. But despite that, you still are a douchecanoe, IMHO.)

So, all in all, it was the absolute perfect weekend escape, and if I ever decide to go Mormon, you can bet your ass Doni and Chels are the ladies I want at my marital side, singing karaoke Carrie Underwood at the top of our lungs in the living room over a box or three of wine every night.

Amen, prospective sister-wife. Amen.

Mama said share.

One of the assistants I work with is newly knocked up. (Yes, it was on purpose, but using that phrase makes me feel like I’m fighting back- just the tiniest bit- against all the MIRACLE OF LIFE talk up in here since she announced her Baby On Board status).

This event, of course, has given every woman in our very large department cause to stop by, congratulate, and of course, share their own entirely-not-work-appropriate pregnancy and labor war stories. As I sit a mere half dozen feet away from said assistant, it has been my distinct displeasure to hear every. single. ONE of them.

And I sit at my computer and type away furiously, ignoring them as hard as I possibly can… that is, until yesterday:

Random Coworker: When I was pregnant, I had this big bump under my belly button. We thought it was the baby’s heel, so we kept telling it “oh, we love you! Look at your strong feet!” etc. etc… Then I went to the doctor for an ultrasound and she told me, “Oh, that’s a hernia.”

Preggers: Oh… my… um… what was it like?

Random Coworker: Oh, just this large, spongy tissue thing. I had surgery to have it removed afterwards.

Me: *VOMITS*

Let’s break down how I felt about that, a la GIFs that @elizabethtalks sends me all day at work to cheer me up:

First, it was a whole lotta this:

And then a hefty side of that:

Topped off with a healthy dose of this:

And, from now on? I will be taking an unscheduled pee break whenever someone comes by and sing-songs How ya doooooin’?? to Preggers. Because, frankly, I like my lunch to stay in my stomach.

Also? Someone PLEASE to find me a new job. Seriously. Email me. … Preferably before we enter the third trimester.

***Don’t forget to check out my DC Blogs round up today!***

Mama said share.

I keep my promises… without further ado, living proof my my bull riding experience at the The NYC 20sb Happy Hour… cape and all.

*shame

*wait no

*quite awesome, actually.

Mama said share.

Welcome to Part Dos of my BlogHer experience! (Numero Uno is here.)

I nursed my hangover by donning my keyboard cat shirt (play him off, Keyboard Cat!), which is scientifically proven to cure all ailments:

If there ever was a crowd to appreciate this shirt, it’s BlogHer. Trust. (Aren’t we all just crazy cat-lady bloggers on the inside, after all? I thought so.)

After some more Expo Hall swag-gathering, I met up with my darlings from Bloggers in Sin City: Katelin, LaceyBean, and Jessica B.for some good old-fashioned s’mores making.

No, seriously:

(photo via Diane Bondareff Photography)

Down the hall in the Serenity Suite, I finally got to meet the has-no-right-to-be-that-gorgeous-with-three-munchkins Kate from The Big Piece of Cake. (Never mind the fact that she lives, oh, two miles from me, and this is the first time we were able to meet.) Heart you, lady!

Then it was time to Swag Swap with Katelin, Lacey and Jess; AKA get rid of five pounds of stuff I didn’t need (read: couldn’t fit into my suitcase), and pick up a few choice items other people had decided to leave behind.

Imagine my Complete and Utter Joy when we discovered…

A FEATHER BOA AND CAPE, casually discarded like someone’s holey (not holy) granny panties!!! I instantly knew they were meant for me to give them a good home.

After we got all touristy with it, traipsing around Times Square (boa and cape included, of course), it was FINALLY time for…

The NYC 20sb Happy Hour!!!!!!!!!!!

I would love to list everyone who was there, but I would undoubtedly forget someone near and dear to my heart, so this will have to suffice:

(Click through to see those who RSVP'd)

(Shamelessly swiped from Katelin’s flickr stream)

Johnny Utah’s was a fantastic host to us 20sb-ers. I have no words for the amazing sauce of this evening… but I can show you it.

(Shamelessly swiped from Doni’s TweetPhoto stream)

(Shamelessly swiped from Katelin’s flickr stream)

Heart you, @missheidi !!!

Then we made our way back to the Sparklecorn and Cheezburger parties at BlogHer for epic dance parties and… well… other things that must be seen to be believed.

(Shamelessly swiped from Katelin’s flickr stream)

And because it’s just too good not to share:

So, yes… I had a Fucking Lot of Fun.

But more importantly, going to BlogHer and spending time amongst all these beautiful ladies (and the two Matts!) made me want to write again, which is something I haven’t really felt since all that MTV jazz began and I didn’t have time to think, breathe, eat or sleep for a month. It reminded me of all the great people I’ve met, people I’m proud to know and call friends, from all over the country, America’s hat, and beyond, who I desperately want to stay in touch with.

BlogHer, to me, wasn’t about the sponsors, or the lectures, or the swag. It was about meeting people, making new connections and reaffirming the old… the very reason I started this goddamn blog in the first place. I feel like through BISC and 20sb and BlogHer and PB AND TUNA ON OCTOBER 23rd!!!! and gchats and grabbing a drink when we’re in town, we’re really and truly friends. And that, that is a fantastic feeling.

P.S. Bull riding pics/video to come tomorrow…






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Mama said share.

Move over, Sandy. (Too soon?) America has a new sweetheart, and it’s Betty White. Her new show “Hot in Cleveland” just got picked up for Season 2.

This time, Betty gets to be the Blanche. Me OW.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lilo (girl needs to change that nickname, stat!) will be taking FIVE prescriptions with her to jail.

Don’t worry... I'm sure they're actually for Michael anyway.

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Worst. Headline. EVERRRRRRRRRRRR.

I'd like to award this a giant honorary Fail Whale.

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The drama with Mel continues: Oksana claims she secretly recorded him admitting to hitting her.

"That's what happens to douchebags," said the devil, as he removed his boot from Mel's ass.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kendra may have just released her book, “Sliding Into Home,” but apparently, her new hubby’s sliding intro strippers.

Mama said share.

So, last night B and I are deep into our newest television fling, Rescue Me…

Love these boys.

…and the firemen are sitting around having an old-fashioned “We are men! Measure my penis!” shoot-the-shit kinda conversation, when one of them says this:

“That’s the thing with older vs. younger women. Older women are more skilled, but they’ve done it so many times, it’s mechanical for them. Younger women may come up short in the talent department, but they’re so eager to please.”

*contemplative pause*

Another fireman responds:

“If only there was a way to combine the two, to find a happy medium.”

First fireman:

“Oh, there is… 26, my friends. 26? Is the sweet spot.”

At which point I looked over to B, and yell

“HEYOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO”

because whoa!, I am 26, so that’s pretty awesome, right? Lucky man!

And my darling dear, he eyes me carefully, and he says…

“So, how many months you got left?”


P.S. Obviously this is a rather ridiculous notion. I just thought it was awesome because they said 26 and hey, it’s kind of an obscure age. We don’t get much else.

Also, excuse to post a picture of hot firemen? Yes and also please.






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Mama said share.

~Hey! Are you reading this in a Reader? That’s cool… don’t want the man to see you being lazy, for sure. But do me a wee favor and click here, just for a second, if you don’t mind… *vague and mysterious ftw*~

Well, it finally happened.

I knew it was going to. I could have stopped it. I could have prevented it, if only I had taken a precious few seconds of my life to think before I acted.

Ok, wait. Let’s back it up. (Ha. That will be punny in a moment.)

Every once in a while, I have to pee. Consequently, I will, at times, use a restroom. Sometimes I even do it at work.

But, see, here’s the thing. I have this really bad efficient habit of, um, “getting ready” before I enter the stall. “Making preparations,” if you will.

Must’ve been all those years of Brownies.

(And by years, I mean one. One class. Brownies freaking blew.)

So, yeah, without fail, I begin the pulling-down-of-the-pants, or the pulling-up-of-the-skirt, before I am actually within in the confines of a specific cube of bathroom privacy.

Which means that anyone walking in said bathroom would unwillingly be privy to a sneak preview of my bathing suit area.

Given that this is A) a women’s restroom and B) a place of work, I’ll go out on a limb here and say that none of the potential viewers want a piece of that.

And I KNOW this. I think about it every time I go to the bathroom, and think,

“Damn! I did it again! Moron… one of these days it is gonna happen, and it’s not going to be pretty. Check yoself!”

But I still do it every. damn. time.

And yesterday, Wile E. Coyote finally caught the Road Runner.

Or something.

Basically, I mooned my boss.

I'm slightly better looking.

No, that’s not accurate, actually…

I mooned my BOSS’ boss.

Is there a someecard for that?

Mama said share.