Another Awkward Week [5.23.14]

Hey buddies! What's up? It's a long weekend, whoop whoop! Well, in America, anyway. Sorry foreigners. Sucks to be you! I'm heading down to Pennsylvania for the weekend,  tomorrow I'm having a bridal shower (for ME!), hosted by my sweet Aunt Lena & cousin Lisa.  I'm so excited! And I'm excited that I'm excited which sounds nuts, but well, that's me. For a while I was being kind of a weirdo about the whole thing - I thought everyone would think I was being really demanding and obnoxious, asking them to drive all the way to PA, when they already have to travel for the wedding, and would I look like I was just trying to get more presents. For someone who purports to LOVE being the center of attention, I'm sort of freaking out now that my moment in the spotlight has finally arrived!

Luckily I have some smart friends and family who reminded me that I am a lunatic and I might need to calm down. That it is OK and not annoying  to be excited about my wedding. That people are travelling not because I'm making them, but because they want to, because they love me, and love Brian and are happy to celebrate our impending union. It's going to be such a lovely day with the most special ladies in my life and I'm already feeling very honored and loved.

And EXCITED. So excited that I've already said that word seventy-five times in just these four paragraphs! Get a thesaurus, Liz.

Fun fact: I have a really hard time saying that word, thesaurus. I always say suh-tharus, instead of the-saur-us. Ha! A few years ago I worked on a book about Roget, the guy who invented the thesaurus and the word was right in the title and every time I had to say it out loud I would get really nervous about messing up and inevitably mess up even worse and it was just horrifying. HORRIFYING! I totally forgot about that until just this moment and now I'm reflexively cringing, so embarrassed for my past self. GAH young Liz. It does NOT get better.

Ok enough rambling about bridal showers and thesarusues (thesauri?) and insanity. Let's take a look at what was keeping it awkward this week.

 

This Dress:

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Worn to Brian's sister's graduation on Sunday and COVERED in coffee.

We drove from NJ to PA early on Sunday morning and packed bagels and to-go coffees with sturdy, closeable lids for the ride.Brian's mom realized just moments after we pulled from the driveway that she had forgotten the roll of paper towels she meant to toss in, just in case anyone spilled.

"No worries!" chirped the grownup adult woman from her perch in the backseat. "We'll be fine!"

I was pretty good for most of the way until just a few miles from the campus, when I precariously propped my coffee mug in my lap without fully closing the lid.

Suddenly, Brian called out from beside me: "Liz! Your mug is tipping!" So I did what any rational person would do when a hot cup of liquid is spilling over on their thighs which is to flail my legs even more causing the spill to go from a minor drip to a full on drenching.

REALLY coulda gone for those paper towels right then.

Saving graces: 'twas a dark dress and I found a stray shout wipe in  my purse! That baby did the trick and more, by the time we made it to graduation the only remaining trace of the incident was a lingering smell of coffee.

Eau de floor of a Starbucks after a long summer's day.

Whilst at said graduation I acquired...

This Sunburn:

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First of the year! Complete with a weird little white stripe across the middle where my necklace was resting.

Happens every season!

I have to be careful this year...I have to somehow make it all summer without kooky tan lines, so I'm not covered in splotches and white patches in all of our wedding photos. I keep meaning to try my bikini top on under my wedding dress to see if I can wear it or need to get a new one. HA! Sounds insane butttt I think it is necessary. Maybe I'll just have someone sew me a dress in the pattern of my wedding gown and wear that all day every day so I have absolutely perfect lines come August 16?

THAT would be insane.

(orrrr would it?!)

This Skirt:

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That is a thick layer of dust...apparently the French Connection in SoHo cleans their dressing rooms about as often as I clean my house. Aka: never.

I visited this store not once but twice in the past week, along with probably every single store in the greater NYC metropolitan area, on an epic quest for the perfect dress for this weekend's festivities. I bought and returned and bought and returned several different options and ordered a few things online - one of which is lost in the mail and one of which is being held at a FedEx facility on 108th Street in Brooklyn. I didn't even know there was a 108th Street in Brooklyn but apparently they is and they are holding hostage a sundress from Piperlime. Can't wait to go pick THAT up.

After all of these shenanigans, I finally caved yesterday and splurged and spent basically all of my discretionary income on a dream dress from Kate Spade that I'd been lusting after for weeks. I've already justified the exorbitant expense,  by promising myself I will wear it at least three times a week until I die so basically this dress has pretty much already paid for itself. In fact, they paid ME! I hope everyone likes it as much as I do cuz y'all are going to be seeing a lot of it.

In other fashion news, check out the shoes I rocked all week...

These Moccasins:

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Yes, friends, that IS my big toe.

You may recall I shared these about a year ago when dat derre rip was juuuusssst beginning and here we are, a full year later and much much rippier (it's a word) and I've yet to throw them out.

I'd get a new pair but I just spent all my money on that dress so...open toed moccasins: the hot trend for spring! You heard it here first!

This Band-aid:

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I'm finally getting serious about my nail/finger biting problem, I can NOT allow myself to have bloody, ragged fingers at our wedding, I just can't.

My thumbies are my weakness, they're just so easy to attack, so all week I've been wrapping my thumbs in band-aids in an attempt to save myself from myself.

Unbeknownst to me I purchased a box of "designer strips" which means these are no ordinary bandages, OH NO, but beautifully ("beautifully") patterned fashion band-aids. So far this week I've rocked bandages that look like they're bedecked in sequins, in black lace, in some kind of modern abstract art, and this one, my favorite, which had teeny tiny photos of models walking the catwalk.

WHO EVEN CAME UP WITH THIS? Why would someone want to wear bandaids with tiny little fashion models on them? They're so small you can't even see what they're wearing! WHYYY is this even a thing that exists in the world and why do I own it.

Kids get Sponge Bob and Dora and grownups get mini little ladies shaking their little tushes on the catwalk. On the catwalk, yeah.

I'm to sexy for my bandaid, to sexy for my bandaid...

IF ONLY there was a designer band-aid for my brain that would make me into less of a weirdo. THE END of this madness, I am outta here. Have a spectacular Memorial Day weekend and if you think I'm not going to be back with a full report from my big weekend, you're drunk. My mom told me it is traditional for the mother of the bride to buy her daughter sexy lingerie soooo that blog post can pretty much write itself.

Smooches!

Liz Ho

 

Another Awkward Week [4.11.14]

Good morning everyone! What is up? What is the 4-11? GET IT?! Because it's April 11? 4-11?

No?

Whatever. I think it's funny! God, I crack myself up. WHAT A COMEDIENNE!!

How was everyone's week? I had these amazing intentions to blog up a STORM but...looks like that didn't happen. Whoops. But I definitely thought about it so that counts, right?

Next week! There's always next week!

And what's up for the weekend? I'm going to New Jersey tonight to meet a friend for dinner and then returning to Brooklyn and then going back to New Jersey tomorrow for a wedding (First of 9 for 2014!) so it should be quite the whirlwind. I was actually in New Jersey last weekend, too, visiting another friend.

Basically just call me JWoww. I'm all about that Jerz.

And now, because I'm writing this on Friday AM while I should be working, as I chose TV and painting my nails over blogging last night (I mean...partying! I was partying!) so I need to be quite quick about this. Let's take a look back at what was keeping it awkward this week.

 

This Hairspray:

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I am a total sucker for coupons and customer reward bonuses. I know they're basically a huge marketing scam but consider me scammed. If you mark something 2 for 1 or coupon it up I will probably buy it. Especially cosmetic products. I don't know the reasoning behind this but I am ALL IN for discounted lotions and sprays.

This week I had to go to CVS to pick up a prescription and oh look, also had $2.50 extra bucks on my ExtraCare Card (copyright CVS, probably) plus a whole bunch of coupons so I RACED over there and loaded my arms with discounted products: three canisters of shave gel, a family pack of toothbrushes (Brian's VERY particular about fresh tooth brushes like, every week. He's so weird!) and two canisters of my favorite hairspray, marked down to buy one, get one 50% off. BOOM.

My arms were full to the brim and I probably should have gotten a basket but I always think it's kind of weird to get a basket at the drugstore, I don't know why, don't ask. Maybe I just have PTSD for accidentally stealing one that one time?

At any rate long story SO SO extra long, I was waiting in the check-out line, my arms laden with ozone destroying aerosol canisters when a bottle of hairspray fell out of my arms and hit the ground causing the lid to pop off and HIT A BABY STROLLER.

I repeat: HIT A BABY STROLLER.

Ok just the wheel, no one was injured but they could have been!

And now I need to find space in my apartment for my 97 canisters of shave gel and hair spray.

This Umbrella:

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I left my umbrella at my friend's house over the weekend (housewarming gift for the Manley's!). It rained on Monday and Brian unearthed this bad boy from the depths of his closet. It worked for about 2.2 seconds until it oh, so didn't.

I needed to grocery shop on Monday after work and was planning to stop home, drop off my gym bag, pick up my reusable shopping bags and go to the nice grocery store a few blocks away from my apartment. But my commute home was a mess and I got impatient and decided I'd just get out a stop earlier than my usual and go to the other, grosser, lamer store on the way to my house, just to save time.

Huge mistake.

For some reason I thought it would be a good idea to buy the heaviest foods - canned beans, potatoes, gallons of milk - on the day I didn't have any sturdy bags, so on my walk home I somehow had to juggle six extremely heavy plastic bags, all on the verge of breaking, plus my gym bag, plus my umbrella, which essentially snapped in half one second after I walked out of the door, so that I was basically holding a stick with a floppy napkin above my head.

I struggled the short walk back to my apartment. Two blocks away from home a nice gentleman did stop to ask if I needed help but I was close enough to make it, so I declined. One block away from my house a less nice gentleman saw how burdened I was, shook his head and said "sorry."

Sorry?! FOR WHAT?! Are you going to offer to help? Put up or shut up, my fine friend.

I finally made it to my door where I abandoned the groceries at the bottom of the steps and demanded that my nice gentleman go bring them up for me.

What a mess.

Semi related, I just stopped in the drug store next to my office to buy a new umbrella, as today's forecast calls for rain and that green number certainly isn't going to cut it. They usually have a big display out but today I could only find one. I got to the register and the cashier told me the umbrella + tax came to $32.

WHAT THE WHAT. I told her to "cancel that order" and ran out of the store.

This Ensemble:

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I'm LOVING this warm weather, don't get me wrong, but it's hard to know exactly how to dress for days when it's 30 degrees colder in the morning than it is at lunch time. So I'm taking the layered approach: cardigan over a cardigan made infinitely sexier by the Melanie-Griffith-in-Working-Girl bright white sneakers for my commute.

Also This Other Ensemble:

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Was racing around to get to a work event when I managed to squirt under eye concealer all over my shirt. Turns out, the one thing concealer does not conceal is itself.

This Pudding:

As you know, I love a good superfood as much as the next cliched blogger and chia seeds are still pretty much the hottest thing going. I've been trying to cut down on my sugar intake, so when I saw recipes popping up for sugar free, dairy free chia seed pudding, I was all about that life.

I found a recipe via A Beautiful Mess that promised to be easy. Simply mix chia seeds, coconut milk, vanilla extract and a pinch of salt in a bowl or glass. Chill for a while and boom: delicious, healthy dessert.

If done right, it should look like the photo above.

Mine looked a little more like this:

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And tasted horrible. The milk never really thickened and the seeds stayed crunchy and it was just like, a bowl of the worst seedy, watery puddingy grossness you ever ate in your whole life.

And by ever ate I mean, literally ate because even thought it was grotesque, I still ate about half the bowl. WHY. Why oh why?

I'm still not giving up on the chia pudding though, guys. If at first you don't succeed, etc etc etc. Eating trendy healthy foods not only makes my body feel better but also helps me maintain a sense of superiority over others (real talk) so I will perfect this recipe if it's the last thing I do.

Foodie pals - help a sister out!

Also, for the record, I know now that Almond Breeze non dairy milks have carageenan in them which is apparently horrible for you and to be avoided but none of the other non carageenan-filled brands had unsweetened milk and I couldn't decide if artificial sweeteners were worse than carageenan so I just panicked and went with what I know I like. It was very stressful. Eating healthy is really hard! And I'm a yuppie white lady who is obsessed with reading about food so imagine how much more difficult it must be for people without access to all of the resources I have to obtain the right foods.

Just something to think about! Friday morning rant!

SHUT. IT. DOWN.

And that was my week. I don't think any of these stories made much sense but you know what? Life doesn't make sense. All I know is, it's Friday, I'm having a great hair day, and if I don't get to work like, immediately, I am in deep trouble. So the end!

Have a most spectacular weekend, my fine friends! Don't forget to pack a (working!) umbrella!

xoxoxo Liz Ho

Another Awkward Week [4.4.14]

Good morning, everyone! How's your day? Mine is already off to a very ... Liz-esque start. I wasted like 30 minutes this morning dealing with a hard-boiled egg situation. It's been what, like 2 weeks since I've done something weird involving eggs?

Basically I needed breakfast this morning and didn't want to buy because I'm trying to be responsible with my cash flow these days and I remembered I needed to make an egg for right before I wanted to leave for work, so I put it on the stove and finished getting ready and then remembered that hardboiled eggs need to chill before you eat them and how can I simultaneously chill and transport my egg this morning?

Option one: ziploc bag full of ice...leaked.

Option two: ice water in a tupperware container that guess what? Leaked.

Option three: This was the clever one - I'd fill my water bottle up with water, drop in the egg, drop in a couple of ice cubes et voila! A handy dandy egg-transporter-cooler. Except when I dropped in the egg it broke and then I realized my water bottle, which I like to drink from, was now filled with eggwater and the egg was inedible so the last 30 minutes were a waste and oh, look, I'm going to be late for work and still don't have breakfast.

And after all that, I'm out an egg and the five dollars I then spent on a breakfast sandwich. Worth it. Also, patent pending on an egg cooler transporter - it seems like an item EVERYONE needs in their life!

Anyhoodle - GOOD MORNING KITTENS!! Happy April! Were any of you fools this week? My roommate pulled a good one:

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Tee hee! Brian went to bed before I did the night of 4/1 and when I went in to use the lav before bed, I found the toilet lid shut. I didn't suspect a thing and surprise! Balloon! Good one, prankster.

And it's a prank that keeps on giving because, oh yes, that balloon is still sitting on the floor of our bathroom. We are nothing if not deeply committed to keeping a tidy home.

Le sigh.

Ok, I'll stop rambling about eggs and things and cut right to it. Let's take a look at what was keeping it awkward this week!

This Week's Spill:

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Black & white striped dress. Where do you think the salad dressing landed?

YUP.

This Bar:

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Last night one of my favorite authors was in town and we met for a drink - she also reads this blog. I'm really blurring the line between personal and professional these days. Whoops.

Anyway.

We met at this kind of hip (I guess??) bar in the West Village called The Other Room. It was a gorgeous night (FINALLY!!!) and the few seats set up outside the bar were taken when we arrived, but we were lucky to get second best: two seats at a little counter at the big front window. Score.

Except...maybe not. We got the sense right away that we were not exactly welcomed by the hipper than thou bartender. We asked for the cocktail list and he informed us they only sold wine, beer, port and sake. Port and sake. OH NYC you're the worst. We were struggling to order our wines without fully butchering the pronunciation (something called "gwendochino blanc, or something?") when another patron rolled in, an attractive woman with a serious 'tude. She was clearly upset that all the good seats were taken and complained openly about it to the bartender in the way that girls who think they're funnier and cuter than they are often do, a little too loudly, pretending they're 'just joking haha!" but actually quite seriously believe they deserve preference.

For the record, in case you can't pick up the subtlety, I do NOT find this charming.

"I wanted to sit outside." She told the bartender. "Can I at least sit at the window."

"Someone else took those seats," he replied with a shrug and disdainful look in our direction.

they both stared at us...trying to get us to move?

We muttered apologies, awkwardly chugged our grmuncmody blancs.

"Just wait it out til they get up and leave" the bartender said.

They (WE!) continued to gulp our wine as the bartender and Ms. Hot Shit talked loud and proud about how soon, so soon, "they" (we!) would just get up and vacate the premises.

It was overall a welcoming, warm and inviting bar!

And in the re-reading I'm realizing this might be one of those "you had to be there" kind of stories but sadly you were not there so you'll just have to go right on ahead and trust me and maybe just politely laugh a little bit to make me feel OK?

THANKS!

This Dress:

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Wrap dresses. They're all fun and games and figure flattery until the top won't stay shut, no matter the fact that you've afixed it to your bra with a spare bobby pin and multiple, and I mean MULTIPLE, of your coworkers have to casually pull you aside and politely whisper "Liz your, um...top" while trying not to stare at your exposed hooter.

This Picture:

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My camera must have gone off at some point? One hundred* dollars to the person who can correctly guess what this might be.

(* zero)

These Manicure Tools:

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I have a terrible habit (only one!) of biting and picking at my nails and cuticles. I know it is unattractive and unhygienic and all around gross but I love it and can't stop.

Brian's a biter too and we've realized we really need to curb this scene before the wedding - our photog will try to take those cute romantic shots of our brand new wedding bands and there will just be blood dripping everywhere. We can't have that.

So! Per a recommendation from Brian's sister (hi Emily!) I've been trying to use this Essy Apricot Cuticle Oil as a replacement - whenever I want to bite, I slather on the cuticle oil and it keeps my nails from getting ragged. Also it makes me smell delicious!

I also keep a bottle of clear topcoat at my desk because it's super appropriate and professional to paint your nails in your office (false). Earlier this week I week I slathered up my fingers with cuticle oil and thought something felt off - it was kind of thick and gloopy and OH WAIT, I just painted all over my fingers with nailpolish.

Thankfully it was clear?!

And that, my pals, was my week! How was yours? What's everyone up to this weekend? I'm reuniting with my college roomies at our friend's brand new house in New Jersey (adulthood!!) and we're going to gossip so effing hard, the world might collapse. I can't even pretend like we're going to discuss smart, valuable life stuff because we're super not. We're just going to dish on people we went to college with (maybe even YOU?!?!) and celebrities (I'm deeply concerned for Zac Efron) and drink so much wine and it's going to be Tony the Tiger style GRRRRREAT!

April Showers, May Flowers & Plenty O Pilgrims to you and yours, my fine friends. Have a great weekend!

xoxo Liz Ho

One Awkward Wedding: Dress Shopping Tipz from an Expert

'ello. Me again! What's that you said? You want me to talk EVEN MORE about wedding dresses? OK!!!

I could talk about wedding dresses all the livelong day so I think I just might. Now that I've shared the oppressively long and detailed story of my own personal dress shopping journey, I wanted to share a few tips & observations I learned while out in the field. Magazines and wedding blogs always tell you the boring obvious stuff like "know what kind of dresses you like" and "make an appointment" and "don't eat spaghetti while trying on wedding dresses" but there's so much more to this magical process and the world needs someone to share the real dirt. I can be that dirt person!

- Be upfront about your budget. 

This might be obvious and covered by other people but I felt it bore repeating. For serious, y'all, just tell these people what you can afford and stick to it. One thing I was consistently impressed with at all of the stores I visited was how respectful they were of my financial limits. I was nervous we'd encounter that seminal Say Yes to the Dress moment where I'd set a strict line for the budget and then someone would haul out a $4,000 gown and I'd fall in love and have some kind of emotional crisis but not one of the consultants so much as attempted to pull that move. They kept ME in check, pulling me away from more expensive gowns and showing me comparable options within my price range.  I was grateful and surprised by this. Other places might not be the same but that's all the more reason to stick to your guns. Financially speaking. I wouldn't advise bringing actual guns into a bridal salon...

ALSO: if this means that Say Yes to the Dress isn't like real life...what else do you think TLC has been lying about?!!

- Wear nude underwear.

Nothing ruins the illusion of a schmancy white gown like hot pink polka dotted undies shining through on your behind. I realized that the only nude underbusiness I own was of the thong variety and didn't know how appropriate that might be in a semi-public dressing room situation, so the weekend before we went shopping, I spent several hours on Friday night sitting on the floor of Target digging through bins of nude colored underwear trying to find just ONE pair of full-booty coverage bottoms in my size. I managed to find two pair (pairs? I don't know grammar anymore!) that fit, so I snagged 'em and never looked back. Turned out that both were lace and fully sheer, negating the modesty I'd tried so hard to preserve. Shoulda just gone for the thong!

Related...

- KEEP IT SILKY SMOOTH

Let's just cut right to the chase: when you're going wedding dress shopping, you might want to make sure your  whole downtown area is in check, if you know what I mean. Now, obviously I believe in a woman's right to style or not style her body hair as she sees fit, society be damned, however due to said society, many women (for example me) might feel insecure, for better or for worse (undecided) being seen in her skivvies with an unkempt bikini area. SO if you are one of these ladies, you might want to spend an extra few minutes with your Venus Spa Breeze (not an endorsement, but would love some free razors if you're offering, Venus) before you hit the shops, because your business will be on display for many and I mean MANY eyes.

Which brings me to this...

-There Is No Time for Modesty.

In the course of my shopping weekend, I think my bresticles (and more!) were seen by no less than 9 pairs of eyes, some belonging to strangers, some to friends, none, PRAISE HIM to my future mother-in-law. I'm all for casual nudity but there are some situations where you might just want to keep a little mystery alive, you know?  

All of the consultants I worked with were polite and offered to look away but honestly, I figured get over it. Again, as I said, I'm not that concerned in general about a little nip-slippage, who cares, (oh you just KNOW I'm going to be such a self-righteous public breastfeeder some day) and especially in front of these women. It's like being insecure when you go to the gyno. These ladies probably see like 30 pairs of knockers per day, minimum, they are completely immune and genuinely uninterested by your hooters. You can try to play it coy but that'll just drag everything out and make the whole day slightly longer and more complicated so I say just get over yourself and let those boobies fly.

Maybe don't accidentally wear see-through underwear, though, this isn't Showgirls. Sorry, sweet lady at Lovely Bride...that can't have been pleasant.

- CREEP ON EVERYONE AROUND YOU.

Y'all. The VERY BEST part of wedding dress shopping is the other shoppers. It is like physically being inside an episode of Say Yes to the Dress. A DREAM COME TRUE! The very first boutique I went to was tiny and was just me (snooze) but all of the others had open dressing areas. Well, open posing areas, I mean. We changed in private rooms (now THAT would be some casual nudity) but then all of the mirrors were in outside of the dressing rooms, so that the bride's peeps could see her...as could everyone else in the room. It was flipping awesome.

It's important to surround yourself with people who share your interests and hobbies, which is why I choose to hang around people who love spying on and judging other people's business so you can trust my entire crew was deeply, deeply invested in the lives of everyone around us.

There was the gal at Lovely Bride who was trying on exclusively 4K + designer gowns...all of which were hideous...and the other gal beside me who kept trying on really pretty dresses but then pairing them with like, bad accessories or mis-matched veils and Schmoops and I had to physically restrain ourlseves not to just take over her whole fitting and yell "you're doing everything wrong!"

She totally was, though.

At David's on Sunday there was this super cute girl trying on all these short, retro looking gowns and we all kept staring at her and at one point I gave her a thumbs up when I really liked what she was wearing (is is never normal/smooth to give a thumbs up, just FYI), she then started trying on traditional gowns and we all got really nervous and worked up about it because she so clearly was working the short look better...what would she choose?! She chose short and we all cheered (outloud) and clapped for her and she was THE cutest and I love her. Beside her were two Asian girls who may or may not have been friends OR they were both alone and became friends there. Hard to tell. I kind of hope they became friends there and remain life long besties forever. Wouldn't that be a great romantic comedy?! They kept swapping gowns and trying on the same looks. In our super humble, totally correct opinion, all the dresses they were trying were snooze worthy.

RK Bride was the best though, obviously. I mean, that place was out of control. At any given moment like 10 women were trying on wedding gowns and everyone was crowded around staring at them. I was sharing a 3 way mirror with the woman in the changing room next to me and according to my crew, she was having like a legit SYTTD experience. One of the members of her party, who turned out to be her Mother in Law, kept harshing on all of her choices and the consultant literally said "This is about you. This is your day. Not theirs."

Aaaaah! I die.

The next day when we went back to pick up my gown we had pah-lenty of time to kill just standing around like morons while the staff looked for my dress. We became BFF with this group of women shopping for a dress for a wedding the week after mine. We were suuuper invested in her search and she picked the dress we all liked the best!!! But then I found out she was having a beach wedding and I found her gown too formal for a beach wedding and was super upset she didn't ask my opinion first because I thought we were pals?! Girllll why don't you listen to my advice??

Thennn we went to Heartland Brewery near Port Authority to get burgers (unsurprisingly, the very worst burger I have ever eaten...here I thought the bus station was known for their haute cuisine) and who was seated at the table next to us but ANOTHER future bride we had been all up on that day! She and her mom were sharing a piece of cake (cuuuute!) and we basically accosted them, yelling "OH MY GOD HI!! You looked so beautiful! Did you pick a gown?!"

Annnnd they just stared at us in shock/horror and we had to introduce ourselves as fellow RK shoppers who had been staring at them the whole time she was trying on gowns and that's not weird at all. So lesson within the lesson: keep your stalking under wraps, you creep.

It was seriously so much fun. I half-jokingly but actually mostly seriously would consider just going and hanging around one of these salons some day just so I can spy on people buying dresses. Seriously I will do it. Would you like to come with me?!!

Ok, enough is enough, I will stop talking about wedding dresses now! I swear. Hopefully these essential, life-saving tips might come in handy for someone, somewhere, someday. Probably not but I just really like giving unsolicited life advice, so there ya go.

XOXO Liz

One Awkward Wedding: Get Down with the Gown

Excitement abounds, you guys. I have officially made the most important decision a woman could ever make in her whole life: I've said yes...to a wedding dress! SQUEE!

I lead with sarcasm because I continue to allow the feminist internet to give me deep guilt and anxiety over all of my wedding-related enthusiasm but there's no need to rehash that here. I'm quitting Jezebel, I swear.

Onward!

A few weekends ago I set out on an epic gown shopping excursion, visiting five stores in the course of three days and, spoiler alert: settling on a winner. The initial plan was to shop in  Lancaster and Elizabethtown, but a colleague suggested I should look here in NYC, as there might be more selection. To this suggestion I said "why thank you, I shall calmly and rationally consider this idea."

Juuuust kidding. I flew into a tailspin of worry and second-guessing and frantic g-chatting but I'll spare you all those details and just cut right to the fun stuff.

Joining me this weekend were my three "bridesmaids" (don't worry I have a whole long story coming about why I don't like the term "bridesmaid"... don't you just love me?), who are my sister Marge and friends Kathleen and Maureen and my Schmoopster, obviously, and I invited Brian's mom, too. I wasn't sure if she would say yes but sure enough, she did, so we were quite the crew. I was having a lot of emotions over bringing such a large group with me...was I putting too much emphasis on an antiquated gendered ritual enforcing the belief that a woman's value is only in her appearance?! Was everyone going to get bored? Were they going to resent me for forcing them to spend a day thinking about ME ME ME?

Possibly, no and NO.

If you're thinking "wait, I thought I was going to read about wedding gowns, why are you still talking about your insane emotional problems?" Um...are you new here?

Fine, fine, I'll get to it! This story is so effing wordy, I'm going to break it up into chapters to give the allusion of a break from the monotony. BUCKLE UP.

CHAPTER ONE: FRIDAY

My mom came up Friday afternoon and I left work early for "an appointment" which was not a lie AT ALL but also possibly misleading them to thinking I was caring for my health when in reality, I was on a shopping spree. (Again, I'm checking the mail daily for my Employee of the Year plaque. Do you think maybe FedEx lost it, or they have the wrong address?) We met downtown and visited two stores, just us. The first store was Saja Boutique on Elizabeth Street in NoLita. It was a super cute boutique carrying just this designer's wedding and bridesmaid dresses. They were all lovely - ethereal and floaty and flattering - but nothing super exciting. They'd be ideal for a beach our outdoor wedding or for anyone who doesn't want to look so traditionally "bridal." Turns out, despite the feminist internet, I definitely want to look bridal. So sue me.

Next up: Lovely Bride in Tribeca. This store was so gorgeous, it was like Anthropologie and Style Me Pretty had a baby - all glitter and chandeliers and vintagey details. I loved it and want to live there. Do you think they'd notice? It was essentially one long room - the front was partitioned by sparkly curtains and mirrors into a series of dressing rooms and in the back, they had racks and racks of gowns. We sat down with a consultant named Lauren who reminded me of a less obnoxious Natasha Leggero and talked about my likes and didn't likes and  most importantly budget and then she took me to the back to pick out some gowns to try on.

I tried on maybe 6 or 8 dresses here and was surprised to discover that many of the dresses look awesome. It helps that they pin and pull them so they fit you perfectly and your boobs are at once securely caged and perky and it's hard not to get swept up in the enthusiasm of the whole "IT'S YOUR BIG DAY!" scene, giving every gown an extra bit of oomph. I thought that trying on wedding gowns would be more  of a traumatic and painful experience...it definitely helps that I'm so vain and love staring at myself in mirrors.

My two faves here were a sparkly strapless number, which looked unlike anything I ever would have picked for myself (I'm more into a slim, sophisticated look) and this super cool slinky textural slip dress that looked like it was covered in little petals which was gorgeous but ultimately maybe not quite "me." At this store we were allowed to take photos and my mom brought her new tablet (a Christmas present from her perfect angel children!) and used that to snap photos...I felt like Michelangelo's David in the middle of a Japanese tour group.

It was awesome.

Here are some unflattering photos from this day. Schmoops is a gold medalist at cutting off heads in photos.

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We then went home to my house and drank wine and ordered Thai food and it was delightful! Dee-light-ful.

CHAPTER TWO: SATURDAY

Saturday was the big Ladiez Day on the Town, as it were, with my whole motley crew of attendants. Today's plan was to hit up this gigantic gown emporium in Midtown Manhattan called RK Bridal. It is impossible to accurately describe this place with words, so I will provide visual explanation by way of the hit 90's television program Friends. Perhaps you've heard of it?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pUMHDW3xG0M

I'm going to just assume you watched that whole thing and not get into summary but basically this place was a war zone hellscape. They do not take appointments, instead keep a sign up list in order of arrival, with groups waiting over an hour for a dressing room. While you wait, you can roam among the room, which is packed to the gills with racks on racks on racks of wedding and bridesmaid gowns. It is insane and stressful and horrifying and not quite the classy champagne-sipping experience you might dream of, but they do have a huge selection of gowns at a variety of price points so if you have a high threshold for insanity and know what you're getting into, I'd recommend it!

I was prepared. I had a bag of nuts, a bottle of water, a list of gowns I wanted to try on and five minions to help me find them. The store opens its doors at 9:30 AM so we arrived at 9. It was freezing cold and mildly drizzling as we huddled together like refugees on the sidewalk outside of the store. Eventually a staffer opened the main doors and allowed the congregated groups to move into the store vestibule. She passed around a list for brides to sign up...I was 6th. By this point other crowds of women were beginning to pour in and I was getting hella anxious. I get extremely stabby and stressed out in social situations where there is no order, like waiting for a dryer at the laundromat or trying to get on the subway in the morning. (Or basically all aspects of living in New York City...why do I live here again?)

At 9:30:01 a staffer pulled open the doors and bellowed: "YOU MAY COME IN!"

It was like the running of the motherflipping bulls, you guys. Everyone just started sprinting into the store in a gigantic herd. Imagine that scene in Titanic when they're all running for the lifeboats. A staffer was standing on a chair directing traffic - women shopping for wedding gowns were to head one direction, those looking for bridesmaids were to head another. We raced to the dedicated bridal zone, where yet another staffer was standing on a chair attempting to control the crowd. "IS YOUR NAME ON THE LIST?" She yelled? Several sad women who had yet to sign up pushed to the front, only to find themselves already on the second page. Once they'd gained control of the room, they began to read down the list name by name, assigning each bride to a dressing room and an attendant. I was in the first wave of rooms (BOOYAH) to be assisted by a woman named Janice.

Janice won't appear much more throughout this story - she talked with me briefly about my likes and dislikes and then set out to find me some gowns...she'd sporadically reappear to help me in or out of some gown or just sort of stand around staring while one of my peeps did her job for her. She was ... fine. I don't want to throw shade, but she could have been marginally more helpful.

Unimportant. Who needs ya, Janice. We had our own crew. This was when I really appreciated having this group with me - my crew and I fanned out throughout the store, in search of specific dresses I'd had in mind or others that seemed up my alley. I assigned Maureen the special task of bringing me stylish stuff I might not usually go for (she's a very snappy dresser!) and we all combed through the racks of gowns, pulling out our faves.

You were not technically supposed to take photos in this store, so I don't have any snaps of me (I know, you're like WHAT! We need more and more photos of you standing awkwardly alone in ill-fitting white gowns with your head cut off. Well sorry, guys, I can't help you here.) but did sneak a few of the scene:

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I tried on maybe 7 dresses here - a variety of different styles and cuts and once again I loved it. I meannnnn, standing around on a raised stage wearing a gorgeous gown while a crowd of people tell me how beautiful I look...um, sign me up to do this forever, please. Of these gowns, I was down to two favorites, but there was always one that stood out for me. There was no "oh mommy" (ugh) moment, no one cried, but I will admit, I'LL ADMIT that when I sipped into this particular gown ...I knew. I could see it accessorized, see it in photos, walking down the aisle. This was (probably!) THE ONE...but I wasn't quiiiite ready to commit.

First,we had to get the HELL out of that store and get some brunch. Ladies be brunchin'!

This was actually my favorite part of the weekend (even more favorite than all that spotlight time!). The six of us went to a cute little Italian restaurant near the store and got a great booth in the corner. They had delicious food and bottomless mimosas - something Brian's mom had never seen before. Needless to say, her mind was blown. We sat there for several hours just eating and drinking and laughing and it was just so nice. I felt very honored and special and loved to be spending the day surrounded by the most important women in my life, knowing they were all there to spend time with me.  It was a fantastic day and I loved every second.

Well, until  we split up and went home and I had my first Official Bridal Meltdown over the budget and guest list but that's another novella for another day. You're dying with anticipation, I'm sure.

One day left! Is anyone still reading this? OH WELL, no stoppin' me now.

CHAPTER THREE: SUNDAY

I woke up Sunday 99% set on the dress from HK Bridal the day before, but wanted to make one  more pit stop to that mecca of the WIC: David's Bridal. We had an 11 AM appointment at the David's flagship store where I did try on a few legit possibilities but mostly just took advantage of the opportunity to goof around.

My girls have this bridesmaid thing on lock, already showing up places in matching outfits:

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Well done, ladies.

Meanwhile, I tried on as many non-Liz dresses as I possibly could...like this ballgown:

image (1)

Which was actually gorgeous! But so not me. Too much fabric. How do you pee? And I couldn't go that voluminous...you've seen how slim my groom is. He'd be hidden!

I also tested out this sensual number that had like, chiffon wings flowing from the back. I made a turban. You like?

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And finally this severe trumpet number which admittedly did make my bod look pretty smokin...from the knees up.

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Better women than I have worn and will continue to wear these style gowns but they always make me think of the feather duster from Beauty and the Beast. Which, despite her obvious sex appeal, is not a compliment. Also, eating, dancing and walking are kind of my main priorities for my wedding (and life) so I remain miffed by this whole trend.

(No offense if you like this style!! To each their own! I'm sorry! How do critics live with themselves?!)

And here's my crew for the day. Maureen is on notice for not adhering to Bridesmaid Dress Code. One more stunt like that and she is OUT of the bridal party!

14 - 1 (1)

After about an hour of being weirdos, we decided nothing at David's was speaking to us and hauled booty back up to RK to make things offish with my chosen gown. The designer I chose was actually 10% off all weekend at RK (booyah!) so our gal Janice told us that as long as we came back a half hour before their 3:30 PM close on Sunday, we could just cut right to the front of the line and grab the dress at the sale price. AGAIN not throwing her under the bus here, but she was apparently semi-misunderstood...another attendant told us I had to put my name on the bottom of the full long list which at this point in the day was at about 640,000. Luckily some manager did intervene and said that since I was just trying on one dress I could cut the line. I'm sure that the promise of a swipe swipe of the ol' Visa had nothing to do with this decision. Now all they had do to was actually find my dress which was  nowhere to be found. Our group poured through the racks. The attendants searched every dressing room, accosted every other woman holding an armful of white fabric, looked over and under and everywhere and they could not find my dress anywhere.

Then a full hour later, just as I was on the verge of an epic hanger and stress meltdown, they realized they had another version of the same dress hanging in the back room the whole time and, oh, would I like to just try that one one?

UM YES PLEASE.

I stepped into an empty dressing room and slipped into the beautiful gown and as I caught my reflection in the mirror, I quietly began to sing Shania Twain's masterpiece "You're Still the One" ...to myself...and then the whole store joined in, a cacophony of voices ringing out through the store and many people were brought to dramatic weeping over the beauty of  it all.

Juuust kidding that definitely did not happen. But I did buy the dress! Well, not this actual dress, this was just a sample, mine is being made by tiny child slaves somewhere in Asia as we speak (I do hate myself, don't worry) and will arrive in the store for me to pick up in a few weeks. Yay!

It was a ridiculous weekend but in the end, I was super happy and y'all, I looked AWESOME I'm not even going to pretend to be humble about it, I looked effing stunning. We were allowed to take photos of the final dress selection, which I stare at daily on my computer but won't show here because I need to keep rolling this suspense out for 6 more months. It looks very similar to a gown that a married friend of mine wore in her wedding...but I won't tell you which friend!

And that, my fine friends, is that. WHAT an epic tale of shopping and social anxiety and female bonding time! I have a LOT more to say about wedding dress shopping in general which I shall share with you tomorrow (STAY TUNED!!) but for now, I bid you all adieu.

1 Million Hugs to all who read this whole thing. You must be very bored at work!!!

xoxo Liz Ho

Another Awkward Week [12.13.12]

Good morning, turtledoves! 3 posts in 3 days? A Christmas miracle! Speaking of Christmas, it is in 12 days. What?! Mind boggling, y'all. Have you finished your shopping? I have...not. Even close. Still plenty of time for me to run around the office stealing free books to hand out. It'll be fine!

Do you guys like Christmas music? OF COURSE YOU DO! What are you, monsters? My friend Kathleen recently turned me on to this internet radio website called Songza, which is like Pandora but better. You go to the site and they offer you a variety of stations based on your mood.

"Good morning" it greets you. "It's Friday morning. What do you feel like hearing?"

It then lists a wide variety of genres you could pick from - holiday, pop, classical, instrumental, et cetera- and then narrows those down even further. Do you feel "Too Cool for Yule"? If yes, would you like Indie Holidays or Christmas Schmaltz, which is holiday songs written by Jewish musicians? (Answer: both!) Do you want pop? If yes, you can choose "All I Want for Chrismas is POP!" (emphasis theirs) or Teen Pop Christmas, whose description reads:

"Embrace your inner teenybopper with these teen idol holiday hits. Whether you grew up in the Golden Age of Boy Bands or with the current crop of Disney stars, these songs will have you singing along."

I obviously listened to that one, unironically, for HOURS UPON END and loved every second.

I'm still not sure what an Ariana Grande is...but I like it.

So that's what's going on round there parts. Just a Helpful Holiday Tip from my home to yours.

Ho ho ho!

Now, why don't we take a look at what was keeping it awkward this festive, frigid week.

This Whole Thing:

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We had our company holiday party on Monday night, once again leaving me to risk ruining a day-to-night outfit by spilling my lunch upon it. Took the bib route one further by creating a full-body shield, consisting of a scarf wrapped around my lower half and my "desk sweater"  buttoned way way up to cover the top. My desk sweater is, of course, the cardigan that I leave at my office to wear on days when it gets nippy inside...I think it's been here for like 4 years and has never been washed. Haha GROSS LIZ.

Anyway, this was all a pretty smooth move to cover up, as it took me less than 12 seconds to cover my lap in salad.

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Not pictured: the chick pea that bounced off my knee and rolled under my desk. Don't worry, I found it and threw it away!

So this holiday party. As I may have mentioned before, my company merged with another big publishing company earlier this year (fascinating stuff), so this was our first holiday celebrating together. My company has never had a big formal Christmas party - instead we celebrate Halloween with our big, drunken in-office costume party.

The other company, however, does a whole big formal thang and this year everyone from both groups was invited to come party down in a hotel ballroom in midtown Manhattan. It was very swanky and fancy and very, very, VERY crowded. So I did what I always do in situations where I feel socially anxious and overwhelmed, which is zero in on the food table, load up a plate, find a corner to hide in and stuff. my. face.

I managed to drop a piece of fancy deli meat on the floor at one point and must have also dropped part of a pulled pork slider, because when I got home that night I realized that one of my  party heels was covered in barbecued pulled pork.

Smooth.

After gorging ourselves on too much salty Asian food (the buffet situation in this place was off the hook!), my colleague and I decided it was time to throw in the towel and headed off in search of large bottles of water (we were literally puffing up right then and there from all the sodium & wine) and trains home to bed.

Before we headed home we took a pit stop in the bathroom. We saw the sign for the men's room in one corner and couldn't find the ladies' anywhere.

A large man neither of us had ever seen before (he's probably like our new CFO or something, please no one fire me) was standing near us and noticed our predicament.

"Go in the men's room," he said. "It's for ladies'."

"No...mens' rooms are for...men?" We replied.

"Not tonight."

We couldn't decide if we were being tricked or if he was some kind of creep luring women into the men's room (again, potential new CFO, please forgive our misunderstanding! I'm sure you're a great guy!) so we tentatively walked over to the bano and sure enough, found this:

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SUPER CLEAR MESSAGING, guys. Men's room...Women Only.

I guess that the actual ladies' room was further away from the ballroom and since publishing is about 97.3% female, they figured they'd do the gals a favor and switch up the rooms for the night but it seemed a little unnecessarily complicated for my taste.

I sound SO ungrateful right now and I don't mean to! It was a really nice party and I appreciate that my company put it together for us ... I just thought this was funny. I also dislike large parties full of strangers and small talk and need to work on my social skills like STAT.

Let's look at another Christmassy moment...

This Coat:

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This is a terrible photo. ANYWAY, as you can see my puffer is covered in goop. That'd be tree sap, my friends.

Brian and I got a Christmas tree over the weekend from a vendor about a mile walk away and carried it the whole way home (#humblebrag) upon which point we were positively covered in sticky pine sap.

Both my coat and good leather gloves were complete disasters. I took to the internet to come up with a solution and they recommended peanut butter for leather (ok) and hand sanitizer for other fabrics. Doable!

I have scrubbed my coat three separate times now and it's still not all out...at least it's super germ free and sanitized? and the PB DID get the sap out of my gloves, but now they're covered in nut butter so...yeah. Upgrade?

And while I'm allowing snippets of sentimentalism this week (gross!) here is a photo of a very cute ornament that our friends Caitlin & Brian sent us. Our first ornament for our first Christmas tree together!!

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BARF.

And finally,

This Game:

Have you guys heard of Ellen DeGeneres? She's a famous television personality and super smooth dancer. She's also now the creator of this app / game thing called Heads Up and if you've not yet downloaded it, I recommend you do it IMMEDIATELY.

It's basically a digital edition of like, celebrity meets charades meets taboo meets other fun party games... just trust me, it's awesome.

One member of the group holds the phone to their forehead and presses play. The app will then display a word and the rest of the group will have to try to make them guess what it is using clues, be they verbal or physical or even humming. You can pick from songs or celebrities or news or a whole bunch of categories and it is SUPA FUN andddd doesn't require anything more than a cell phone which you probably already had out on the table anyway because your'e rude and addicted to snap chat so you can play it anywhere, anytime, with anyone!

My pals and I were out at a pretty quiet bar on Saturday night (where, side note, I tried whiskey again and NOPE STILL DISGUSTING!) and decided to play a rousing 750 rounds of this game. There were a few other patrons in the bar, most of whom seemed more delighted than annoyed by our antics...that is, until we got to the charades round, where I LITERALLY drove a couple from the bar while trying to mimic the word "hurdle."

I mean, sure you're on a date night, cozied up on a couch, enjoying some intimate cocktails,  but I don't see how a grown woman galumphing into your space, leaping and flailing her arms and screeching really ruins your night, party poopers.

Live a little!

Bonus fun thing for this game is that the app also tapes what the group is doing - so while the guesser is holding it up to their head, it's recording all the funny yelling and flailing and acting that the rest of the crew is doing. You can then send these videos right to Ellen and if they're good, she might play them on her show! It was too dark for us to capture clear videos but thought I'd share that fun fact in case you're trying to become the new Sophia Grace or whatever.

Woo woo!

And there you have it. The week that 'twas! Have yourselves a merry little weekend and if you're shopping for me, I'd like a unicorn, please!

xoxo

Liz Ho Ho Ho

Another Awkward Week [8.2.13]

Aha! The Prodigal Blogger returns! I am constantly peppering this blog with random, probably incorrect biblical stories. I need to brush up on my Old Testament. Do they have Vacation Bible School for adults? Meh.

Annnyway, I know, I know, it has been an eternity since I've bloggled. Ah! Life's been a little cray, as they say, between work and the big move-in situation. But things seem to be calming down in the office and on the home front we are fully wonen samen, to the max. So far, so good! I'll fill you in on the whole shebang soon but for now, we're off to a good start. 2 weeks and we still like each other (a LOT!) and the apartment is slowly getting into livable, organized shape. I am working on being calm, patient and laid back, three adjectives that I would nuh-heverrrr use to describe myself so we'll see how long THIS lasts.

I put my $$ on four more days.

I've ALSO been super busy watching Orange Is The New Black on Netflix. Are y'all watching? If you're not, just close out this blog, right now, and log into Netflix and get started. This show is THE jam. Darkly funny, compelling, complex and portraying a huge array of talented and unique women, which is rare, rare, RARE in entertainment these days and I just can't recommend it enough.

Go! I'll be here when you return, I promise.

Meanwhile, why don't we take a look at what was keeping it awkward these past few weeks:

This Trail of Kernels:

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Here's as good a place as any to warn you that my photos this week are ho to the riffic. I might be going blind? Potentially! Anyhoodle, earlier this week someone sent a goodie basket to our offices and it was sitting on the filing cabinet directly in my line of vision, so every time I looked up from my desk, thar she was. It was kind of a random assortment of things like rice krispy treats and strawberry jam and peanut brittle and mah fave: kettle corn.

I guess I was way into it, because when I left work that evening, I spotted a Hansel & Gretel style trail of kettle corn running from the filing cabinet and into my office. This photo does not do it justice, mostly because, as always happens when I'm doing weird shit at work, someone came across me crouching on the floor photographing my food mess and I got embarrassed and very hastily snapped a photo and ran towards the elevators.

Normal Normal Normal.

Speaking of embarrassing workplace behavior...

This Skirt:

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Is one of my favorites (from Target, obvs) and on solid rotation in my wardrobe despite the fact that it is certainly too short for the office (whoops!) and thanks to the flouncy cut, it's always threatening to blow up in the wind or get tucked into my underwear...a threat it finally made good upon this week.

I was making my necessary pre-commute pit stop to the ladies at the end of the day, doing my thang and ran into a coworker who is a very warm, funny woman but also my superior and also sort of intimidatingly brash and confident and she OH SO NICELY but still someone please kill me, pointed out that the hem of my skirt was indeed stuck in the waistband of my drawers, putting my derriere on full display.

At work.

She very rightfully and kindly pointed out that no one saw but her and not to worry a thang but STILL, you guys, still. I tucked my skirt into my underwear! This is the stuff that 7th grade nightmares are made of and I am living it, daily, as a grown-ass lady.

Mortifying.

I could have always covered myself up with...

This Sweater:

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Which I keep on the back of my desk chair and wear every day, our office is over air-conditioned to Antarctic temperatures. I was rocking it the other day and my sweet assistant pointed out that I had it on inside out and we had a good laugh and then instead of fixing it right away I kept it like that so I could take a photo for my blog and then forgot about it and she had to remind me two hours later that my sweater was still on inside out and maybe did I want to fix it?

And it occurred to me that sometimes I bring these things ALL upon myself.

But, of course, I still managed to sneak in a photo shoot between that revelation and changing my sweater because, you know, priorities.

I do it ALLLL for you, friends. All for you!

And finally, much like Vanessa Williams, I've gone and saved the best for last.

This Bike Parade:

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Allow me to assure you that the story is much, much better than the visual accompaniment. Now, let's take it back. Way, way back to two weeks ago. A heat wave has descended upon New York City and I am having the busiest week of my professional career, to date. I was up early every morning to meet authors for meetings and interviews and book club luncheons and was running on fumes and ill advised coffees, reigniting my caffeine dependence hard. By Thursday of this week I was burnt out, but knew I just had to make it through that one last day and I'd be over the hump.

I was meeting an author at the Sirius Radio Studios in Midtown Manhattan at 8 AM. The night before I tucked in early, set my alarm and prepared for the early morning. I had it down to a science. I knew that when I woke up I had 45 minutes to do my morning thang, shower, dress, check emails, before heading out the door and I'd still have time to grab coffee and a bagel and catch the subway with plenty of time to meet my author.

So the alarm rings and I fly into auto pilot mode, throwing on a nice summer dress and flat sandals (it's already 85 degrees at this point) and using the clock like a stopwatch rather than an actual time telling device. I have 32 more minutes...21 more...7 more...then dashed out the door. I was exiting the bagel shop next to the subway with an iced coffee and whole wheat everything, toasted, with veggie cream cheese and a slice of tomato in hand when it hit me like a bus: it was currently 8 AM. The time I was supposed to be meeting my author. I was an hour behind. For all my strict minute-by-minute plan, I'd forgotten to pay attention to the other side of the clock, the hour side. In my exhausted haze the night before, I'd set the clock to the wrong time.

A yelled a word that starts with F and rhymes with Duck and is fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuckkkkkkkk, grabbed my phone and frantically called the author telling him I'd had public transit problems and was hopping in a taxi. I failed to mention I was miles away from the studio. He's a self sufficient dude (and doesn't seem to like me much anyway) so he could handle it on his own for a while.

I hopped in a passing gypsy cab, which is an offensive name for unmarked, likely unlicensed cars that serve as taxi services mainly in New York's outer boros. We were moving along smoothly when the drive suddenly turned to me and said "Oh wait, you want to go to Manhattan? I don't drive to Manhattan."

I surely uttered the F-Duck word again, as he dropped me off on the side of the road somewhere in Brooklyn. Thankfully we were near a main throroughfare where it's easier to get yellow cabs, so I quickly hailed one and hopped in. I sat in the back frantically texting my assistant "OMG can you believe this happened?!" and shoving my bagel in my face. Stress makes me hungry. We were fine on traffic until somewhere in the East 20's at which point we started moving at about a block a minute. I had 30 blocks to go and was already 40 minutes late to meet this dude.

We made it to 50th Street and were heading West when we got stuck at the SAME light on Lexington Avenue for two whole light cycles. Five minutes. Sitting there. I couldn't take it any more. I threw money at the driver and jumped out on the side of the road. I started sprinting, full on SPRINTING westward, I had to get to 50th and 6th - five long blocks away - and the minutes were ticking by fast. My feet were rubbing raw in my sandals, I was breaking a serious sweat and carrying a huge totebag full of books that had to weigh 79 pounds. But I sprinted on.

Finally! I made it to 6th Avenue! All I had to do was cross over 50th street to enter the studio's guest entrance, when I was stopped dead in my tracks. They were closing off the street to make way for a parade of handicapped American soldiers riding special olympics bicycles. I understand every word in that previous sentence is offensive on every level but this was the bad place my brain was in as I stood there, among spectators waving flags and cheering for their heroes. Are you DUCKING kidding me, America. Do we really need a parade at 9 AM, holding up traffic?!

So I snapped a quick and terrible photo, ran through the middle of the parade (SORRY AMERICA!), then realized I actually HAD BEEN on the right side of the street before...so I ran back through again.

I finally made it into the studio a full hour after I'd told the author I'd meet him there. Sweat was pouring off my body. I know this is a common turn of phrase and might seem an exaggeration but in this case, it is not. Sweat was literally running down my face and back and legs like a momentous waterfall. My hair was soaked. I had blisters on the bottoms of my toes from my damn sandles and a bruise on my hip from where the book-laden bag hit me with every step.

So basically, I was a mess. But I had arrived! The author seemed to give exactly zero shits about my presence (YOU'RE VERY WELCOME!) causing me to briefly consider that I should have just screwed it all and stayed in bed but what fun would that be, really?

Publicist of the year over here, guys. They should have a parade for ME.

Annnnd that's what's been up! How have all of you been? Anything new? Life milestones? Vacations? Clothing mishaps? I've missed you!

Happy weekend! xo Liz Ho

PS - I've now watched that Vanessa Williams video three times in a row and it gets better with every viewing. What a masterpiece. Sometimes the snow comes down in June. Sometimes the sun goes round the moon,

Another Awkward Week [5.24.13]

Hola, lovers! How was everyone's week? Mine was equal parts amaze-sauce and bananagrams (both real adjectives). I'm going to just start with my very best foot forward right up front and beg forgiveness if I'm a little crazier than usual this next week or two. I'm going from vacation back to a short week into another long weekend into a nutters work week which includes this big (true), fancy (completely false), fun (debatable) publishing conference...I kind of already have no idea what day it is or where I am or really anything. All I know is that I'm currently eating chicken sausage and I really wanted to dip it in mustard, but my mustard bottle is basically empty - there's mustard up in there, but not enough to squirt (that's what she said?) (unnecessary, Liz) so I'm just taking little pieces of sausage and sticking them inside the bottle and scooping up whatever remains I can and surprise, surprise, this plan has backfired greatly and now I have sausage stuck in my mustard bottle. mustard

My new book HoBag, Party of One: Etiquette and Manners for the Solo Diner hits stores next month. Preorder a copy today.

Toldja - losing it!

How about we just stop here and take a look at what was keeping it awkward this week.

This Tote Bag:

tote dryer

One of seventy zillion in my possession and also my carry-on for my flight home from Chi-town this weekend. Just casually blow-drying it. Because it was wet. Because I needed to wash out the coffee I spilled inside of it mere minutes before we left for the airport.

My book of travel tips is still seeking a publisher. Any takers?

This Other Tote Bag:

CSA

Full of produce. My company (hint hint as to what it is in the first photo) participates in this amazing CSA, an acronym which either stands for Community Supported Agriculture (my sister's guess) or Crop Share Association (mine) and I don't want to look it up because I'm pretty sure she's right, she always is, and I don't need to be reminded yet again that she's smarter than me. My brother thinks it stands for Confederate States of America which yes, but also, no.

Oh hey, rambling diversion, good to see you here.

Anyway, whatever CSA stands for, what it does is deliver bags of fresh, locally grown produce to my office for participating members to bring home and cook up and enjoy. I'm pretty into it.

Of course they deliver veggies on Wednesdays and this particular Wednesday I had a semi-fancy event after work, so what did I do? Rolled in with a ginorm bag with leeks and spinach and chives poking out the top.

No regrets.

This Ring Finger:

knuckle

Ok so it's kind of hard to see in comparison to the rest of my bony alien fingers, but my left ring finger is decidedly crooked, thanks to a broken knuckle sustained on the soccer field in high school.

I mean, yes, I broke it but just running into a teammate. During practice. But still: sports injury!

I had to wear a ridiculous splint halfway  up my arm and it was a whole scene and the doctor helpfully pointed out that my finger would be permanently crooked and might make it hard to put on an engagement ring IF I ever got one.

Want to send a 16-year-old into a tailspin? See above.

Anywhoo, since the break, my knuckle is severely sensitive to weather patterns and I can always tell when it's going to thunderstorm thanks to a dull, steady ache radiating out from the center of my finger.

I am having serious trouble typing this here post thanks to today's weather fronts. If my magic finger is telling me anything, we're in for a surious storm. Hurry up, storm. I've gotsta blog!

I've also gotsta touch up my manicure, yiiiikes. And, yes, that is the toilet you see in the background. Our bathroom gets the best light! So sue me.

We already did have one storm today. How do I know, aside from me finger?

This Puddle:

galoshes

It's a little hard to tell in this professional grade photo but I'm standing in several inches of rainwater which DELIGHTFULLY decided to pool themselves all over the landing on the subway staircase, basically forcing passengers to swim to their trains.

I've mentioned my love/hate relationship with New York and I have to say, the needle has fully swung in the direction of the big, fat H this week.

At least I had the foresight to change out of...

These Shoes:

moccs

That slice of orange (technically Coral Reef by Sally Hansen, you know you were curious) on the top right is my toe popping out the front of my most beloved pair of Minnetonkas. Oh, how I will mourn them.

Have you heard of Minnetonkas? They're theeeee most amazing moccasins, essentially slippers that you can wear in public. They are the greatest and I am literally heartbroken that this pair has ripped. LITERALLY not figuratively, grammar Nazis,  my heart, like my shoes, is in tatters.

My favy fave outfit to wear is thus: these shoes, my softest black jeggings, a t-shirt and this jersey blazer that I bought from H&M that is a blazer, yes, BUT is also made out of sweatshirt material. Between the moccs and the jeggs and the blaze I have crafted an ensemble that is as close to pajamas as one can get while still wearing all public appropriate apparel. Cha-ching.

But now my shoes AND favorite pajama jeans have both gone the way of the dodo so I don't know WHAT I'm gonna do. Dress like a grownup professional?

No annnnd NO.

Oh, what did I wear this week?

These Getups:

blue week

Initially this week's sartorial theme was to be "patriotic" due to the impending Memorial Day weekend.  I dedicate these outfits to all of those who have sacrificed yourselves for our country. You are SO welcome. I did manage to sneak in red, white and/or blue each day, buttt my outfits mostly turned out apathetic and weather inappropriate. When it was cold, I wore one of my many way-too-short-for-work skirts with bare legs; when it was hot, I wore black jeans and what appears to be a painters smock and some attractive rain boots (still not unpacked suitcase comes bonus with that ensemble) but today I think I knocked it out of the park with this nautical inspired top which a friend once told me looks like part of a children's pajama outfit.

 All pajamas, all the time over here.

Fashion. Plate.

Speaking of pajamas, I just realized that the actual pajamas I slept in all week  are actually red, white and blue! Technically those are Christmas bottoms but we can make them Memorial Day for now?

pj

Also that's what I look like when I wake up in the mornings. Stars, they're just like us.

And on that note, THE END. Happy Memorial Day, my American friends and lest anyone take my ridiculousness for insensitivity, thank you truly to all who serve in the armed forces and to those families staying strong at home. And to my foreign pals, Happy Whatever Holiday Comes Next On Your Cultural Calendar. Live it up!

Peace, Love & Pajama Jeans,

Liz Ho

Another Awkward Week [5.17.13]

What's up, chicken nuggets? How was everyone's week? Mine was signifffficantly better than the last. Thanks to everyone for being so nice last week when I was so down. And belated thanks several weeks late to all who offered oh so helpful tips for hard boiling eggs. My egg eatin' life is bettah than evah. Y'all complete me. It's offensively early at the moment, but I don't mind it. I'm about to hop in a car to a plane to Chicago. My little brother is graduating from law school this weekend! Well, I don't know if he qualifies as 'little,' he's a six-foot-two, twenty-seven-year-old attorney, but I have to assert my older sister authority somewhere. I'm so proud of our Mikey boy, he's worked incredibly hard the last three years and landed a sah-weet job post grad. He's definitely a future Sandy Cohen or Jack McCoy so look out, criminals. I only wish Chicagy wasn't so far away!

You win some, you lose some. And now, quickly, before the sun rises, let's take a look at what was keeping it awkward this week:

This (Brand New) White T:

20130504_221753

Where my no-spill streak and Diet Coke cleanse came to a simultaneous end.

These Mangoes:

20130512_175722

You guys. This is a true story. So I'm still big into smoothies these days, now that I know how to freeze bananas (but I still prefer them regular, if anyone's curious) (no one is curious), and lately have been on a smokin' hot strawberry-banana-mango kick thanks to Trader Joe's handy and delicious frozen mango pieces. WELL. I ran out of frozen mango, a real #whitepeopleproblem if I've ever heard one, and didn't have time to hit the Teej so I popped into my neighborhood store and did they have mango pieces in the freezer section? No. They did not. I wandered dejectedly back to the produce section to just, I don't know, cry into some spinach or something and what to my wondering eyes should appear but some FRESH mangoes! Better than frozen!

All of a sudden realized The Stones' "You Can't Always Get What You Want" was playing over the grocery store loudspeaker.

"You can't always get what you want," crooned Mick Jagger, "But if you try some times, you might find..."

I reached out to pick up the glorious fruit and as my hand touched the mango...

"You get what you neeeeed!"

Believe it? Believe it.

I have always dreamed of having a life soundtrack and finally, my dream has come true.

Unfortch it seems I have absolutely no clue what to actually DO with a fresh mango, as I ended up with this mess:

20130513_075841

I theeeenk I might be better served sticking with the frozen fruits.

Speaking of food I don't know what to do with...

One of These:

artichoke

As I mentioned, on Tuesday night I met up with some g-friends and caught up over entirely too much wine and delicious food. One of those foods was steamed artichoke with lots of yummy dipping sauces. I've eaten artichoke hearts from a jar and a can and in salads and things but I guess I have never eaten a whole artichoke. Or watched anyone eat one.

Well.

Apparently when eating an artichoke, you don't eat the tough outside parts, but sort of pick off each petal and scrape off the soft, yummy insides with your teeth. Me, I didn't know this. And for some reason, didn't want to like, admit that I didn't know how to eat an artichoke. Or ask. And my powers of observation took way too long to realize that my compatriots were not, like me, struggling to chew and swallow huge, tough, inedible outer petals. I nearly choked like eight times. And yet, I soldiered on. Why, why, why?

If you are an uncouth slob like me, here's a helpful article on how to properly eat an artichoke: http://www.simplyrecipes.com/recipes/how_to_cook_and_eat_an_artichoke/

The more you know!

Also, this is a fact: pretending to know how to do something always ends up more embarrassing than just admitting you don't.

These Hot Wheels:

IMG_20130511_140118

I got a bike, you guys! I'm finally real hipster! I'm so in love with the old girl already. I'm considering naming her Saucy Sally, after a character in a great book I just read.

Why are cars and boats and things always named after women? As a feminist, am I setting the cause back by considering my bike a girl? Or is it a good thing, filling the world with more strong, sassy ladies, even if those ladies are inanimate modes of transportation?

I might overthink things.

Anyhoodle, this is my bike and I love it!

The one smidgeski of a downside: getting her into my apartment. I have nowhere to store my precious outside or on the ground floor, so, while carrying my heavy bike, I first must open up the front gate to my apartment building, then walk up three short steps, then some how set the bike down long enough to get out my keys and open the first of two front doors, then hold the door open with like, my foot slash butt, haul the bike into the vestibule, switch keys, open the second door to my apartment, repeat the butt-hold, yank the bike into the first floor of the building, realize it's facing a direction that makes it impossible to get it up the stairs, do a fifteen point turn to get it in the right direction, somehow yank it up just high enough to clear the steps and clang up the four floor staircase, banging the back wheel at every turn and acquiring a huge-ass bruise on my outer thigh.

Oh, while looking like this:

20130512_165515

There has got to be an easier way!

(And a friendly reminder, kidz, always wear your helmets!)

And finally..

These Duds:

Style 2

Just wanted to inform that my sartorial spirit week marches on. Last week I wore purple but the photos were terrible, as was my mood. But trust me. This week: stripes!

And there you have it! How was your week? What are y'all up to this weekend? Do you know how to eat an artichoke?

Huge Congrats to my brother Michael and everyone graduating from some place of education this spring. You did it! You really, really did it!

xoxo Liz Ho

Another Awkward Week [5.3.13]

Good morning, y'all! I caught up on a lot of Nashville last night, so I'm feeling especially twangy this morning. I'm also up before the sun, because the early bird gets the worm! But worms are gross, so I'm going back to bed. Blergh, I wish. I'm in the office way sooner than I'd like to be to tackle some serious werk, but I have a golden light ahead:  I'm leaving at 1 PM this afternoon to catch a  bus down to DC to visit some pals. Hoorah! I am tres excited for a little weekend get away.

I'm also really sorry I used the word "tres."

Forgive me?

It's too early, y'all. Let's see what was keeping it awkward this week:

This Shirtsleeve:

20130502_122243

This weeks' addition to the What Is Liz Spilling On Herself Now files. Trying to carry a cup of water from the office kitchen while my hands were full, I put the cup in the crook of my arm, started walking, and promptly tipped the whole thing all over myself.

Soaked.

Awesome.

Use two hands kids. Or just one hand. Elbows are not the best for carrying things. The more you know!

This Tupperware:

20130502_212825

I always pack my lunch and lots of rando snacks and end up lugging bags and bags and bags of tupperware with me, everywhere I go. Earlier this week I was shopping in Soho (ok, it was in an Old Navy, but it was in Soho, so, ho, it counts). I had something to return and of course it was in the very bottom of my tote bag, underneath a solid layer of dirty plastic containers, so in order to present it to the clerk, I had to dig throught my gross old lunch dishes like a hoarder. You should have seen the look on the checkout gal's face when I lined up all of my tupperware on her counter one by one by one before handing her my return item and then throwing them all back in the bag.

#classy

Related: Old Navy is having some serious sales in-store and online and their spring line is pretttttty OK you guys. This is not a sponsored post, because again, I'm not that bigshot, I just really like Old Navy and want to share my joy with the world. Only the fanciest brands over here!

Women be shoppin!

Also somewhat tangentially related (can you tell I'm writing this pre caffeine?):

This Egg:

20130503_070653

Or one of many like it. I've been eating a lot of hard boiled eggs lately because they are easy and good and cheap and relatively healthy and my body seems to be able to digest them. I bring them to work and mix up with half an avocado and salt and pepper. It looks and sounds pretttty gross but trust me, it is delicious.

A few things about this. 1) Hardboiled eggs are extremely difficult to peel. Does anyone reading have a trick? I've tried running them under cold water as I peel (which just leaves me with a mess in the sink) and boiling with oil in the water (which just makes them slimy) but I still end up spending forever scraping off tiny little shell pieces and wasting half the egg in the process.

Tips? I'd love 'em.

Meanwhile, thing 2) I found myself on the same kitchen schedule as our office manager, every day I'd be in the tiny kitchen, in the midst of mutilating my breakfast, and she'd walk in to refresh her coffee or get a snack or whatever and just kind of give me the side eye as I made a big 'ol mess. The other morning she walked in, did her thing, and on the way out just said "You sure eat a lot of eggs."

Um, yes?

Ah! That is just one of those open ended declarative sentences like "you got a haircut" that I hate!! Like, I am noticing your behavior/appearance enough to point it out but I'm not going to share any follow up constructive criticism or information, I'm just  going to call attention to whatever it is you have going on and then walk away and leave you standing there wondering what I meant by my cryptic comment.

Do I need to worry less about what other people think about me? Probably.

Do I need to eat less eggs? Perhaps. Perhaps.

This Tableau:

IMG_20130427_112647

So. Last week's stuffy headedness (real word) has only gotten worse. I woke up Saturday morning with a severe, wet, chesty cough & congested nose and the whole 9 and recognized the symptoms of a sinus infection right away. Not to brag or anything, but I've had a lot of sinus infections in my lifetime, so I know the signs when I see 'em. In the past, whenever this trauma has befallen me, I've rushed to the doctors, been prescribed an antibiotic, and been cured faster than you can say post nasal drip. So! When I woke up Saturday with clear signs of the plague a mild sinus infection, I quickly looked up a nearby walk-in clinic and hoofed it over there.

The clinic was clean and quick and efficient. I waited about ten minutes before being whisked into an exam room where a doctor looked in my ears, at my throat, listened to me breathe and told me to go buy some DayQuil.

Ughhhh. Apparently it is no longer popular within the medical community to prescribe antibiotics for sinus infections, instead they encourage patients to just ride it out. Just riiiiide it out. Just surf on a wave of phlegm until they either get well or die. Which, I guess is fine? I mean, I know that overprescription of antibiotics is an issue her in 'Murica and I'm all about the natural homeopathic stuffs but I feel like the meds have always worked for me in the past! And now they won't give me my drugs! And I feel horrible, still!

Plus, after all of that - those four minutes wherein a man condescendingly told me to go to CVS and stop being such a baby, I went to check out and was slammed with a $50 co-pay. FIFTY DOLLARS! For that! I actually made the receptionist spell it out for me, I couldn't believe him. It turns out the walk in clinic was actually an urgent care facility which I guess I knew? I mean, I knew, but I didn't know what that meant. I just thought it meant like, I urgently want to stop coughing, heal me, miracle workers. But under my medical plan, urgent care appointments, which I suppose should be saved for actual near-death ailments, run $50 a pop. 50! that's half of 100! For four minutes of medical care!!! WOOF.

I know I lean kind of hard into the messier areas of my life, because they're the funniest, but I mean, on the big things, I am actually slightly more together than I allow myself to realize. I have a job. An apartment. A fancy winter coat. But one thing I really and truly do not understand or even try to fathom, is health insurance. When I got my job six years ago, I just emailed all the options to my mom and signed up for whatever she told me to. I don't know how much I'm paying, what I'm getting, I don't know what a deductible is, I pay 50 bucks for pointless appointments and the only reason is sheer laziness. I just don't make it a point to figure out. This is ... not great. I probably should hop up on that, lest I find myself in even sticker situations than this. But I don't wanntttt to! I think that's the real issue with the American health care system. They make everything so freaking complicated that everyone's either too stupid or too lazy to figure out and then they just pay millions of dollars.

GRRRRRRRRRRR. I'm mad!

Oh well. Can't win 'em all. After my appointment, I walked home through the park and decided to sit and enjoy the sun. I ended up falling asleep face down on top of my coat, like a homeless person, and scored a wicked sunburn on the back of my neck. Sexay!

Oh, also! Duh, explain the photo. While I sat in the waiting room, I was reading this book (3 out of 5 stars) about a serial killer nurse who killed dozens, maybe hundreds, of patients over the course of a few years. NOT the best doctors' office reading, my friends. I kept looking around suspiciously, trying to determine which, of any, of the staffers in the clinic was most likely to murder me. Luckily, no one did. But still! Maybe don't read books about killer nurses while on an exam table. Just...don't.

Related...

This Neti Pot:

20130503_072057

Are you guys into Neti Pots? They're all the rage in the allergy community. I was into it for a while but stopped after a few people died from brain microbes after neti potting with contaminated water. I got back in the trend this week, in hopes it might help with this latest ailment. A trusted source informed me that if I boiled my tap water before pouring it in my face, it would be uncontaminated and non deadly. So I've been doing that for a week or so and was feeling totally calm and relaxed until last night, when Brian casually mentioned he thought you needed to boil water for at least an hour before it is clean. I'd only been boiling for like five seconds! I'd just put water in the teapot and when it whistled, I'd turn off the heat, let it cool, and neti it it up. So OF COURSE this new scientific information sent me on a wild internet anxiety spiral.

My current google search history:

Neti pot deaths

Boiled water and neti pots, how long

Decontaminating water by boiling

Desanitizing neti pots

neti pots + dead

Brain microbes, neti pots

Symptoms of brain microbes

Someone come over here and rip this computer out of my panicked hands!!

Luckily, from what I'm reading on the web, you really only need to heat your water for 3 - 5 minutes, so I should be fine. Probably. Maybe? AAAAH!

These Ensembles:

polka dots

Ok, so this is not a fashion blog and never will be, lord knows the internet has enough of those, but I did something super dorky this week and just had to share. On Monday I got dressed in a new polka dotted top and was thinking about how I had another outfit in mind for later in the week that also involved dots and decided that I'd wear polka dots every single day this week. And so I did! (It might be hard to tell in that masterpiece of a collage I made with the help of Paintshop, but trust me. ) No one noticed, except me, but I thought it was so fun. And it helped me think about different outfits instead of my usual black skinny pants + cardigan getup. Important life issues I'm dealing with over here.

I've decided I'm going to have a sartorial theme every week. It's fun! A confessed to a friend of mine and she said it was "very spirit week." Which, yeah! Some people live every day like it's shark week. I live every day like it's spirit week.

I just think the adult world would be a lot better with more pep rallies, is all I'm saying.

Aaand that was my week. How was yours?! Do tell!

xoxo Liz Ho

Another Awkward Week [4.26.13]

Happy Friday, all of you beautiful butterflies. How was everyone's week? I am happy to report that I made it through seven straight days without spilling ANYTHING on my clothing. A new record for sure. That said, a friend of mine informed me that she dropped a meatball down the front of her top and the first thing she thought of was not how she was going to get the stain out or whether or not the meatball was still edible but ME. My life is complete. Blogs (and you know, personal writing in general) are such a weird thing and it's not unusual to question what exactly you hope to get out of this exercise in narcissism and I realize now, that is just what I want: to be the first thing on anyone's mind when they spill food on themselves.

Also: to have a movie made about my life.

Just two simple, realistic goals.

My week was a little meh, I must be honest. I've been struck by severe seasonal allergies/ a spring cold and my head has been beyond stuffed up. I feel like I'm supporting a bowling ball on my neck and am totally fuzzy and lethargic and having a difficult time focusing, none of which is made much better by the Zyrtec I keep slamming, which just adds to my general air of complete confusion. So if I'm even loopier today than usual, forgive me. Between mother nature and allergy pills, I'm high as a kite.

ALSO, breaking news, I might have to take back what I juuuuust wrote four second ago about not spilling, because literally as I sat here typing this dumb post, our mail guy came in to give me a package and in reaching for the package I knocked a mug of tea all over my desk including my calendar and work notebook. Live from New York, I'm makin' a mess!

So...Days Without Spills: seven ZERO

It's a rough life over here. Why don't we see what else was keeping it awkward this week:

This Elevator:

elevator

On Monday I was riding down for lunch, standing in the back corner of the elevator, just totally spacing out. I guess I zoned so far out that we reached the ground floor and everyone else exited, leaving me just standing there staring into space. I came to and found myself facing a group of women staring at me curiously, debating whether they should just get on the elevator or say something to  me or I don't know, check my  pulse to see if it was dead.

I said "Oh geez, whoops!" and gave a THUMBS UP to the crowd of onlookers and then ran away.

Also, this just happened: I needed a photo of said elevator, so I went out into the elevator bank on my floor and surreptitiously snapped an image of a closed elevator door with my phone, and was going to just turn around and go right back in, but then decided I should make it look like I was doing something normal, in case the receptionist was watching me (she wasn't), so I boarded the next elevator to arrive - there was one other passenger, a guy, aboard - got to the lobby, exited, stopped and made a whole scene of patting my pocket and said "oh, no, I forgot my wallet" to the other passenger slash thin air, but I needed to make the whole scene look realistic in case anyone was wondering what I was up to (again,  no one was), then got back into an empty elevator, rode it up four floors and took this selfie on the way up.

NORMAL STUFF. Workin' hard.

Also: It's hard to view in this image but I am straight rocking this mint green zip up hoodie that I have had since 2001 and is now covered in weird rips and stains. I brought it into work to wear to the gym but instead left on the back of my chair and now have been wearing every single time I feel cold, which is every day. So, yes, today happens to be casual Friday and I happen to be wearing a highly professional flannel, but even days when I'm looking corporate chic, I end up covering it all with a ripped sweatshirt.

Employee of the Century.

These Flats:

flats

I got them at Urban Outfitters a few years ago and never ever wear them and this week was like hey! these shoes! who do I never wear them? And so I wore them...and remembered why. They're cheaply made and feel it - the soles are terribly thin and offer no support, so I added an insole. Except the insole makes my foot stand too high in the shoe, so I can't walk without them falling off of my feet.

I lost them walking down the hallway at work. Coming up the subway stairs (ew). Crossing the street to get home.

You'd think I might have switched out for one of the five pairs of shoes still under my desk, but unfortch that idea did not occur to me until right now. Too late.

If anyone wants a pair of crap flats that look cute when standing still but are 147% impossible to move in: they're alllll yours.

This Combo: 

gatsby

Some night over the weekend I was going to meet a friend and wanted a slim book so I could read on the subway without having to lug around anything too heavy at the bar, so I tossed The Great Gatsby in my purse, figuring I'd been meaning to re-read it anyway, and would be all caught up just in time for the movie, so I could fully engage in any highfalutin debates about why the book was better or how the themes didn't translate to big screen or how Baz Luhrman really missed the mark on using 3-D to engage viewers with the eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg or whateverrr.

I forgot how much I love that book. What a great read!

Also, I realized on the subway mid-week that in addition to reading TGG I was carrying around my Gatsby tote bag (which I won as a door prize at a work event, booyah), basically looking like some kind of F. Scott Fitzgerald Super Fan slash Super Huge Nerd slash incredibly fashion-forward literary type who matches all of her accessories to her novel. I'll go with the last one.

I guar-an-teeee you there is at least one weirdo working in publishing who does/could, in fact, pull off this nerdalicious fashion trend. I aspire to be that person.

This Sidewalk Crack:

crack

Did I trip on it this morning? Yes.

Did I fall and rip my jeans? Blessedly, no.

Did anyone see? Tons.

Did one of the witnesses say "Be careful and god bless you on your journey today"? You betcha.

This Tree:

semen trees

Because it is gorgeous and possibly the cause of my cotton head and also smells like semen.

Say wha?!

You heard me! These beautiful trees blossom all over NYC and the first spring I was dating Brian, he pointed out how smelly they were and told me how he & his buddies always said they smelled like sperm.

To which I turned up my prim nose and said 'you, sir, are an immature boar" and pranced away. Just kidding, I laughed and laughed and LAUGHED because I, too, am an immature boar and how funny is the word semen? tee hee!

Also, tis' true, these trees do reek of man juice. (Just, no one question how I know that.) (Sorry mom!) Now every spring, we walk around and remark "my my, what a beautiful semen scented morning!" or "Spring and sperm are in the air!" and oh, how we chuckle.

It's pretty sophisticated humor, you guys, keep up!

Turns out, we're not alone: several news articles have been written on this very subject, including one in the ever illustrious New Yorker.

Sooo, with jizz in the air, maybe it's a good thing I can't smell this week?!

This Cucaracha:

cockroach

Well, one of his real-life, much more disgusting counter parts, but I didn't want to put a real photo of a real cockroach on le blog because ew.

So Tuesday morning I was at Brian's house, he was in the shower and I was sitting on the couch in my towel, drinking my tea and reading the internet when I noticed a movement on the floor beside me and what to my wondering eyes should appear but a GIGANTIC COCKROACH scuttling all around the living room floor like he owned the damn place.

Now, allow me to make a momentary disclaimer lest you think Brian is some gross bug infested monster person, he is actually quite clean and if I do say so myself, adorable. But this is New York, the grossest city in the whole world and bugs (and rodents, yech) are basically housepets 'round here.

All of which might make you think I'd be unafraid of them, but you would be incorrect in that assumption. Apparently I am a squealy, squeamish, pathetic little girl for when I saw Old Roach Face, I immediately pulled my legs up on the couch and just started yelling "BRIAN! BRIAN!" but he didn't hear me over the noise of the shower. I thought about throwing something at it, but the only things within my reach were a drinking glass and Biran's work-issued laptop, neither of which seemed like good options.

So I just sat there like a baby and watched as the dumb bastard crawled around the floor and eventually underneath the coffee table, presumably into the running shoes stored under there, where he would live forever and lay eggs and mutate into a colony of one million killer cockroaches.

Brian got out of the shower and talked me off the ledge and I managed to muster up the courage to get off the couch and sprint over to the bed, where my clothes were tossed, so I could get dressed for the day. I had no sooner dropped my towel when this jerk of a roach came zipping out from under the coffee table, across the floor right next to me. Real impressive timing, perv, right when I was undressed!

I lept up onto the bed and stood there completely naked as the day I was born just flipping out. "Brian! Brian! He's back! He's going into your closet!  He's touching your belts!!" Brian bravely and calmly threw a giant math textbook (of course) at the beast and it didn't kill him, but did seem to scare him into the deep recesses of the closet, where he has not been seen or heard from again.

It was horrific.

Not so much the bug, but my behavior. When did I become, like, Gloria from Modern Family? Not in va-va-voomishness, of course, but in shrill hysteria? I live in a dirty city and have encountered skads of creepies and crawlies in my day and will likely encounter many more in my future and yet this one bug sent me flying into a butt-naked freak out.

Quite the scene, my friends. Quite the scene.

I will do my best to work on my bug bravery, but I can't make any promises. Yuck, yuck, YUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKY.

And on that note, the end! What a week, guys. I have already had four cups of tea this morning, to flush out this cold, and my head remains stuffed but I'm running to the ladies room ever 20 minutes. Can you pee out a cold? Is that a thing? Starve a fever, pee out a cold?

Oy yoy yoy. Enough.

Everyone, I hope your weekend is full of semen blossoms and empty of bugs and a delight from start to finish.

xoxo Liz Ho

Another Awkward Week [4.19.13]

Hello, sweet friends. How is everyone doing today? I think we can all collectively agree this week was...not great. From Boston to Texas and back (not to mention the disappointing news out of the Senate) it has just been a chilling, sad, scary week and my whole heart goes out to anyone affected by any of this week's tragedies and to all of us feeling a little less safe, less sure about the future.

One small light that has emerged from this week is the reminder that, even in bad situations, good people prevail. This article this roundup and this moving facebook post have all brought a smidge of comfort to me in the last week, and of course, this funnyguy brings a bit of much needed laughter amid the tears.

Love to friends in Massachusetts, Texas and across the planet. And everyone reading this, wherever you may be, do me a favor today, will you? Hug someone you love. Or if they're not a hugger, perhaps an arm pat. Pinch their behind. Smack them upside the head with a rolled up newspaper, gently, then laugh about it. Bring them coffee in the afternoon or a cookie at lunch. Snuggle a few minutes longer than usual. In whatever language works for you, show a little extra love today and this weekend. Life is short and scary and unexpected and impossible to predict, but it's also full of a lot of wonderful, beautiful things. Like love. Embrace it.

--------------------------

Aaaaand moving on to excessively more trivial matters, life is also full of humor and ridiculousness and vain people who like to talk about themselves on the internet all the time so let's insert a terrible segue from serious to silliness here (it absolutely destroys me that this is now the second time in under six months that I've had to make that joke) and take a look at what was keeping it awkward this week.

These Muffins:

muffins

My department made baked goodies to send to all of our sales reps this week, to thank them for their support and also to butter them up so they keep loving our books. Buttering up is probably what I should have done to these pans because my banana muffins (from a box) came out looking less than appetizing. I made it into the office with five semi-salvagable muffins. My teammates had beautiful boxes of cookies and brownies and homemade whoopie pies that looked professional and I had this hot mess. You're so welcome, sales staff. Keep up the great work, I know I will.

Want to know where I got the mix for such delectable muffins?  See below!

This Shopping Cart:

shopping cart

Last Friday night I met a girlfriend for happy hour and after a few glasses of wine, was walking to the subway when I realized, hey! I'm walking right past Trader Joe's. And they're still open! Why don't I drunkenly go on a shopping spree at 9:30 on a Friday night. And so I did.

This is my life now. Gone are the days of late-night shenanigans and inappropriate romantic decisions and pizza bingeing. Nowadays, my boozy impulse behavior is apparently just pillaging the hummus aisle and stocking up on dried fruits.

Party Animal.

This Balloon:

balloon

Over the weekend Brian & I were walking around Williamsburg (Brooklyn, not Colonial. I WISH!) on the way to a friend's birthday party when we encountered a group of people carrying huge bunches of turquoise balloons.

"Would you like a balloon?" one of the people asked, in a singsongy voice.

"YES!" I shrieked and ran to them, grasping at a balloon, ignoring the strange look on the person's face.

"I think she was talking to those small children," Brian said, pointing to the group of strollers and toddlers directly in front of us, which I had barreled through in pursuit of my shiny new toy.

Real, cute, Liz.

But, adults need balloons too! I call age discrimination.

I was going to give the balloon to my birthday friend, but when we showed up at the party we were super early and I felt weird and self conscious standing there holding a balloon, so I tied it to a post outside the bar. Sorry, friend.

This Laundry Bag:

laundry mixup

Because those are my clothes, but that is NOT my bag.

Here in the Big Apple (no one calls it that), drop off laundry service is incredibly popular for those of us without in-building washers and dryers.  It's relatively affordable and saves you from having to hang around the laundry mat, which is always just the best place in the world to spend your time. (<------------- lies.)

I usually don't do drop-off because it seems just too indulgent to me, even though it's not that exciting. I don't know why I put this much emphasis on it, but I feel like doing ones own laundry is kind of a grown-up thing to do and dropping off is just like, so excessively fancypants and snooty. Also I'm really particular about what clothes I tumble and what I line dry and I worry they won't do my wash in the right way, so I'd rather do it myself, even if it takes time. But, long story so, so, SO long, sometimes when I'm supremely desperate, I'll drop-off my tumble dry things (sheets, towels, gym clothes) before work, and then in the evening I'll pop in, wash just my hang-dry stuff, pick up my drop-off and bring it all back home, so I'm only wasting 25 minutes at the laundropalace instead of 2 hours.

Is anyone still reading this story? Good god, Liz, land the  plane.

ANYWAAAAAAAAAAAAAY this week was one of those desperate times and when I went to pick up my laundry, the clerk handed me my sexy backpack and luckily I looked inside for some reason, because it was filled with someone else's clothes! The fuck!

It turns out they'd mixed up my laundry with someone else's, putting the wrong things in the wrong bags. GAH. The clerk, who did not even pretend to apologize, took his sweet old time poking through the stacks of clean laundry bags, lazily checking to see if any of the tags matched my pickup receipt and after FIFTEEN MINUTES he finally located my clothes, then took fifteen more minutes switching the items into the correct bags, so I really saved myself no time whatsoever by dropping off and added a significant amount of stress to my life.

It took all the strength in my being not to lose my marbles on this man. I'm never ever a complainer, I'll eat burnt food and drink stale coffee and just want everyone to love me but sometimes, dudes, I can't. I managed to keep my cool - I figured this guy probably makes like $3 and hour and has to touch other people's crusty underpants all day long - but not without serious effort. He wasn't even PRETENDING TO TRY to look hard! He never once apologized for their friggin mixup and was beyond rude to me. MLKMAKDJYLUMKS.! That was me belatedly taking out my frustration on my work keyboard.

Felt good!

But, it turns out I can't really blame him for ruining my laundry life because...

These Camisoles:

camisoles

Used to be white but are now...that color. They were in the small batch of clothes I'd washed myself to hang dry. I must have let in something that ran because now all of my whites are greyish.

Just slaying it in the clothes washing department this week.

And then, less than 24 hours later...

These Pants:

avocado pants

From which I had literally just washed out last week's lotion stains and by 10:30 the morning after laundry night, were stained with permanent sharpie marker AND gloopy green avocado.

I am a mess. I'm going to give up on clothes all together. Laundry professionals can't handle them, I certainly can't seem to be trusted to wash them myself and I can't go more than 12 minutes without staining them, so I'm just going to start wrapping myself in plastic sheeting, like a mummy, and at the end of the day I'll just spray myself down with a hose.

Perfect.

And that is what's up 'round these parts. Anyone have anything exciting planned for the weekend? Tonight I'll be celebrating this gal's birthday and tomorrow my mama's coming to visit! We're going to go to the Guggenheim, walk around Dumbo and probably consume several gallons of pinot grigio.

Look out, New York!!

Happy weekend to all of you beautiful flowers and big love from me to you.

xoxo Liz Ho

Another Awkward Week [1.25.13]

If I were to run for president, which I would most certainly never do, the stress would literally kill me dead, but let's just say I had it in me to handle all of that pressure and decision making power, the very first bill I would sign up on Capitol Hill would be to enforce a mandatory four day workweek. Life is just 700% better with long weekends. Speaking of Capitol Hill, do any of you watch the show Scandal? I've been meaning to catch up but you know, life, can't win 'em all. I somehow just found myself watching one episode with absolutely no context or understanding of characters or plot and good GOD, I am hooked. This show is...arousing. How have I been missing this?!

Aaaaand moving on, before I need a cold shower, here's what else was keeping it awkward this week:

These Guys:

drama-breaking-bad-season-jesse-walter

(via)

Ok not actually awkward in the slightest, I just wanted to share my greatest achievement of 2013 to date: I finally caught up on Breaking Bad! Did I fail to blog on Monday because I was in the midst of an all MLK Day marathon? Maybe. Was it worth it? YEAH BITCH!

This Late Night Snack:

wineandchoco

Wine and chocolate sauce straight from the jar with a fork because that's what came out of the drawer first and I was too lazy to try again for a spoon. My clean & kind eating plan is going GREAT.

This Belt:

belt

I was pretty proud of this outfit, actually, don't I look preppy and put together, minus the hair/face? And the way my tucked in shirt kind of gives me a Santa belly? Whatever, I look great. You can't tell from the photo but the pants are hunter green. So on trend. But I forgot how annoying belts are when deployed for their actual purpose. I wear belts as fashion accessories over sweaters or shirts or what have you but it's been years since I've actually worn one around my hips, through my belt loops. WHAT a disaster. This belt was maybe .0001 inches too big for the loops so every time I had to pee, which was probably 47 times, I drink a lot of water, I had to get the belt out of the loops and it would get stuck in there and I'd have to wrestle it out and then unhook it and untuck my shirt and then retuck and rebelt and reloop and no thank you. Why would anyone ever wear a belt? I just want to wear leggings and Old Navy brand v-neck t-shirts all day every day.

But since I'm forced to dress for the outdoors I wear...

This Sweater:

sweater

Yes, that is my elbow today replete with gigantic holes, pulls and pen stains. But if I scoonch the sleeves up to 3/4 length, ya can't even tell! The holes have been growing and growing for months and I still won't throw this out our buy new clothes. Fashion Icon .

This Couple:

PDA

This picture is atrocious so let me paint you a picture. Or rather scan you a diagram I drew on a napkin right then and there so I could share on this here blog:

small bar

Ok! Over the weekend my friend Red and I saw Silver Lining's Playbook (really cute! But they needed thicker Philly accents. You don't set a film in Philadelphia and not have the characters say "wooter" at least 6 times, you just don't.) and then grabbed a few drinks at a nearby watering hole. The bar had these sort of high wooden cubicles with tables in them, which I tried to depict in my amazing diagram above. It sounds weird, but trust me. Because we were just 2 they sat us in a cubicle with two small tables pushed right next to one another. Red and I sat at one side(exhibit A) and no sooner had we ordered our first rounds of wine (of 4, I think...or 5? Yikes) when a couple was seated at the other tiny table in our cube, just inches away from us (that blue blob in the corner is my shoulder) and promptly started full on making out. Like, bumping, grinding, passionately going to TOWN on each other. Every so often they'd pry their lips apart but remain in full snuggle position, rubbing noses, whispering in each other's ears, nuzzling. It was horrifying. And hilarious. Red and I attempted to continue our conversation while surreptitiously snapping photos of the randy couple, which seems creepy now that I think about it but THEY STARTED IT! This went on for probably an hour and they did not seem embarrassed. Even when the waitress kept coming by to check drink orders, they'd just pull their lips apart, order another drink, resume. Our waitress didn't even blink an eye! Pervy if ya ask me! Why didn't we leave? Well: wine.

But SRSLY people. If I wanted to watch two people get that freaky on each other I would have gone home, put on some soft mood lighting, and fired up some Scandal. Holy White House Erotica, this show is bananas. Which is not a sexual euphemism, despite the context clues.

And that's that! Short post for a short week. What's everyone up to this weekend? I'm hoping for snow! I just pushed a wrong button on my keyboard and now my font is giant and I'm too lazy to figure out how to fix it. SORRY IT LOOKS LIKE I'M YELLING. EVERYONE HAVE A GREAT WEEKEND!!

 

XO Liz Ho. Now it's normal again! Technology!

One Awkward Brassiere

I really hate to be the gal who’s all “Monday, amirite?” but sometimes: MONDAY, AMIRITE??? I slept very fitfully last night. I kept having recurring dreams with themes of being disorganized or unprepared: going on a trip with an empty suitcase, trying to bake something and missing half of the ingredients, something involving being a part of a pop girl group, which actually would be awesome but in the context of my dream it was wildly stressful. I then spent the first 20 minutes or so of my wakeful day blow-drying my brassiere.

Yep.  You read that right. Just blow-dryin’ my bra. Totally part of my everyday routine. I like warm nips.

Gross, just kidding. Actually, in an early morning haze, I knocked a glass of water onto the floor where I’d thrown my bra before bed, either in a fit of passion or laziness, I’ll never tell (it was passion!) (Sorry mom!), effectively soaking it through. I’d spent the night at Brian’s and, of course did not have alternate underthings with me so it was either freeboobing in a white top to the office (aka “YOU’RE FIRED”) or emergency drying session. What a dumb way to start the day. Also, I know it is science or whatever, but isn’t liquid fascinating? Like, what amounts to a small cup of water when it is upright is suddenly an unstoppable ocean the moment you spill it on the floor / your unmentionables.

#SCIENCE!

So, as long as we’re already talking about bras, let’s just keep this going forever. I can so hear my mom thinking SHUT THIS DOWN, she always worries I’ll get fired if anyone at my job finds out how much weird, personal stuff I write on the internet, but this isn’t going to be as scandalous as it sounds. I actually have a bra-related story I’ve been meaning to share!

Every few months or so, some woman’s magazine or website or Tim Gunn or someone will release some list of “Top 10 Things Every Woman Needs In Her Wardrobe!” They are all the same and involve boring stuff like a classic trench coat, white button down and trousers. SNOOZE. I hate these articles, and ones like it. They’re framed as advice, but I feel they really perpetuate the idea of normalcy and standards and “If you’re not doing all of these perfect things you are failing, hard” and I hate that ish. Every woman’s wardrobe should contain10 things that make her feel like a goddess and if none of those things are sensibly tailored jeans, well, bully for her.

That said, I am beginning to trust their logic on one small item: the importance of purchasing   well fitting, well made (read: not cheap) bras. I’m always more of the mindset that you should just buy the cheapest possible option for everything, consequences be damned.

bra

(Via)

So last January, when I was perusing the lingerie department of my favorite retailer Target, and came across some standard t-shirt bras for $9.99 each (pictured above, DO NOT BUY THESE!!) I scooped up one in nude and one in black and never looked back. These bras were comfortable at first, but soon became the bane of my existence. You see, the straps are attached to the back of the band with little removable hooks that allow you to switch from a standard fit to a cross back and these dumb little motherfuckers slide out of place all the time, leaving me in public with my bra strap literally flapping in the wind.

I have felt my bra snap apart in business meetings, on Bolt Busses, while walking down the street. Once, one of them came undone while on the dance floor at a wedding, I went into the ladies to try to fix it and a stranger came upon me with my dress fully unzipped trying to rehook my bra in the bathroom mirror. She, this random lady I’ve never met before, helped me snap my bra back into place and rezip my dress, which I think is how that Good Samaritan story would be retold if the Bible were updated for modern readers. They always come undone at work when I’m wearing something really intricate, like a sweater over a turtleneck tucked into tights, and the only way I can fix it is to go into my office and shut the door and take off ALL of my clothes except my socks, basically, and rehook the bra. I’m waiting for the day one of the mail guys barges in on me in the buff.

It is out of hand. And yet, I continued to wear these dumb, piece of crap, $10 bras because I have serious problems.

But no more. After ONE FULL YEAR of dealing with this nonsense, with no one to blame but myself, I finally decided it was time to be a grown ass lady and bought some real bras. It’s been one week and my life is better already. Well, my life is pretty much exactly the same, but my chances of flashing the office been reduced drastically and my boobs are a definitely a whole lot happier.

They're feeling both uplifted and secure. Insert other terrible bra puns here!

MONDAY AMIRITE?

 

 

 

 

One Awkward Morning Commute

You guys! I’m having a weird day! Do you ever have one of those mornings where you wake up and all you can think is “blergh!”? Everything is just so blerghetyblerghetyblergh? You know what I mean? Well my day’s like that. Some people might say I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, but those people can shut it with their clichés.  I woke up in the middle of the bed, just the way I like it.  It was only after I got out of that cozy nest that things started getting weird.

Because I am a mature, responsible adult, I got up and out a little earlier than usual this AM to run some errands. I grabbed coffee on the way to the train and even managed to get a seat. Taking that seat proved to be a fatal error.

You see, friends, this morning being one of the last days of summer, I chose to sport one of my finest warm-weather get-ups, a floaty, breezy empire waist sundress famously (oh, so famously) worn by hilarious actress (and American Hero) Maya Rudolph in the classic film Away We Go, written by literary wunderkind Dave Eggers and co-starring everyone’s favorite boyfriend Jim Halpert. You can kind of see Maya rocking this ensemble here in some bathtub scene I do not recall from the movie:

You’re not supposed to wear clothes in the tub, sillies! What that photo doesn’t reveal is that she is pregnant, and also that the dress in question is a Mossimo Brand special from Tar-jay.  Classy shit. I topped this off with an on-trend cross body purse and an even more on-trend tote bag from my office holding my lunch. All the rage inNew York fashion: tote bags full of Tupperware and Target maternity wear on non-pregnant ladies.

So my fashionable get-up and I take a seat and quickly become engrossed in our reading (Bossypants for the third time, get a life, Liz) not looking up until we’ve arrived at our destination. Now, on my new hipster commute fromBrooklyn, I have to transfer from an express to a local to get to my office. It’s an easy commute, just a hop across the platform, and has yet to pose a problem. This morning my connection was waiting when I pulled in. All I had to do was calmly stand up, walk out the door and into my awaiting chariot. Easier said than done.

Somehow my stylin’ cross-body bag had slipped off of my shoulder, so when I leapt up upon realizing I’d reached my stop, it became more of a cross-leg bag and I was trapped. Somehow, book in one hand, coffee in the other, I had to sling my tote over my shoulder, untangle myself from my purse and not cause a scene. Literally impossible. Panicking that I’d miss the connection, I set my coffee on the seat beside me, did I-don’t-know-what with the tote bag and sort of just bunched the purse around my waist, grabbed the coffee again and dashed out of the station.

What happens next, I’m sure you all see coming. If not, you may need to work on your reading comprehension skillz. When hoisting my purse to my waist I managed to also hoist the skirt of my dress until it was, in essence tucked into the back of my underwear. As I sprinted from one train to the other, all lucky morning commuters got a fun glimpse of my hot pink booty. Charmed, I’m sure. And once I got on my connection, it took me a minute or two to figure out what was going on. I yanked down the back of the skirt but, thanks to however it was tangled in my purse straps, this just made the front fly up. I pulled on one side, the other rose to armpit level, exposing my full lower half. Kill.Me.Now. Everyone around me seemed to really be enjoying the show, you’re welcome, Uptown 1 Train. The attention which usually would fuel my fire in this instance made me more flustered. I mean, I was once on a full train with a homeless man throwing potato chips at everyone and not a single passenger blinked. But I flash my skivvies and errrrrybody notices. Gah!

What a commute. At this point, the day has no where to go but up and my skirt, god willing, will stay down.