Really, fashion magazines everywhere? Really?

I have to admit that I am in a bit of a fashion quandary. I am completely perplexed and unimpressed by the styles being shown for this Fall that, apparently, people are supposed to actually wear. Like, put on their bodies and parade around in. I mean, have you seen some of these styles?!?

Last weekend, I walked through Woodfield Mall in its entirety and could not find a single item worthy of my hard-earned cash. I mean, some of the things I saw were OK in a "I could see them looking cute on other people" sort of way, but nothing struck me as being appropriate for me.

First of all, let's start with the color schemes: blah and more blah. I have as much black and gray and tan as I care to own, thank you very much. But all I could find available in stores was any kind of apparel you could possibly want in varying shades of oatmeal. No thanks.

Secondly, I know I have a hard body shape to fit. I've known this for a long time. But everything--EVERYTHING--I saw in terms of tops is that awkward length that is supposed to come down a little lower than your waist, or even be that weird "hmmm, is this a shirt or a dress?" length. With an awkwardly short torso, I can't pull any of that shit off. That shirt length makes me look even shorter and fatter than I actually am, so I must avoid it like the plague. Basically, I may have to go topless until that trend passes. I may have no other choice.

Thirdly, skinny jeans: making even the anorexics of the world look chubby and dimpled. Why, why, why does this style exist?!?! Anyone with even a slight curve to their hips who sports this style ends up looking like a slice of pizza from the waist down. That's all I have to say about that.

Lastly, maybe I'm just being dramatic, but I feel like I'm at an awkward age for fashion right now. I'm not young or thin enough to pull of anything really trendy, but I'm not so old that I can (or want to) wear any of the more matronly looking styles. It's terrible.

So, here's my dilemma: I have a closet full of crap that is way out of style, doesn't fit well anymore, or is just in bad shape, and there is nothing out there that I want to replace it with. This is all the more reason to get in better shape. Otherwise, if I'm going to have to walk around naked until these trends pass, we're all in trouble.

You could be winner.

Man, it's really possible that five-year-olds have it all figured out. Maybe it's all very deep and mysterious -- at five you know everything but don't now it yet, so then you have to go through your whole life learning new things, meeting new people, going to new places until you're enlightened enough to realize that you knew everything when you were five. Yeah.

The other day I picked Eric up from school and he was telling me about a game he was playing at the after school program. "First they give you a car and then you have to get a girlfriend. And then you have to pick a job. I didn't know what kind of job I wanted, so I had to go to school. Then I went to school and I still didn't know what kind of job I wanted, so they just told me what kind of job I had. (Me: What kind of job was it? E: I don't remember. Something yucky.) Then I drove around and I had my yucky job and then I kicked my girlfriend out of the car because I didn't want a girlfriend anymore! Oh yeah, I remember now! The game is called Life!"

So true, Buddy, so true.

All about Ella, or Enough with the shoes already!!!

Oh, Ella, my poor little second child. See, dear, the thing is that when one's children multiply, her free time divides. That's all. You're not any less loved or appreciated than Eric, just littler. I swear. So, without further ado, this post is all about you.

Ella, you're a little pistol. You're full of spirit and fierce independence, but also empathy. You don't seem to be afraid of anything, and you enjoy taking care of everyone. You're full of giggles and hugs. You love to dance to loud music, play with cars and trucks and push your dolls around in a stroller. You're always carrying around a cell phone, or anything that looks like a cell phone to you--calculators, ipods, remote controls.

But the activity you love more than anything--MORE THAN ANYTHING--is putting on my shoes and wearing them around the house. The higher the heel the better. And seldom do the shoes match each other. Your favorite pair right now is a red patent leather pump and a brown strappy sandal--both left shoes. And, truth be told, you're pretty good at walking around in my shoes. Except when you aren't, of course. You've been know to topple over and knock your noodle on something, just to get right back up, yell at the shoes for making you fall, and put them right back on, showing them who's boss. Lots of times you're both sporting my shoes and "talking" on the cell phone.

You're also have lots of cute words right now. You get up in the morning and ask me for a fafo (Ellish for waffle). You do not, however, find it amusing when I ask you if that is a breakfast delight from the Grecian island of Fafos. Before you put on your shoes, you have to put on your gocks, and your affirmative response is, "Yesh." It's actually a pretty mean Sean Connery impersonation. Even though you know what a banana is if asked to point one out, you still insist on calling it an "appo" if you want to eat one. Your favorite things to drink are "appo duce" and "moke". You also enjoy nutrition-packed dinners consisting of "hockogs" or "peeta". Often times, you don't care if our meals are identical, you prefer to sidle up to me, bat your big old eyelashes and say, "Bite?"

Last but not least, you adore your big brother, "Ermo." You follow him around, doing everything he does. And you're absolutely convinced that you have the motor skills to do everything he can do. You're always trying to help him, though he often doesn't appreciate it, although he does adore you too. You guys are often partners in crime, and many times I can't figure out whose bad idea it was in the first place.

So, Ella, there's you in a tiny little nutshell. And even though I'm frequently forced to do horrible things to you, such as change your diaper and brush your hair, I want you to know that I love you very much. You're the best little girl I've got!

(And, for the record, you just walked past in the strappy sandal and the red heel...)

Oh Nine Divine.

So I wrote this whole long post welcoming 2009, and explaining some hopes I had for the upcoming year and some goals I made for myself. But then it was too long to send from my phone, so I guess those goals weren't meant to be and I should just forget them. Just kidding. But they weren't really that exciting anyway.

So instead, I'll leave you to ponder this: Who would win in a fist fight between Aunt Jamima and Mrs. Butterworth?

On being a better self.

I often joke that being a stellar employee is the only role at which I have never failed spectacularly. It's true though. I would be mortified at work if I didn't bring my A game and a boss called me out on it. So why, then, am I so willing to accept mediocrity in other areas of my life? Why is it OK to let myself down but not others?

These are deep thoughts for this lunch hour. I'm thinking I'm going to actively need to work on this though. I hope it's an achievable goal to do things simply because they are right and good for me or my family. I hope that's not too much to ask in this lifetime.

Now with more white space!

Oh dear. Forgive me blogger for I have sinned. It has been one month since my last confession post. I don't know what to say. Literally.

I guess I'll start with this: Go America! Apparently we all, or, well, 53% of us at least, managed to come together and elect Barack Obama president only because of the color of his skin. Furthermore, it is so clear, and has been since the dawn of time, that John McCain was purposely trying to lose this election (hello, Sarah Palin?!?) because why in the hell would the Republicans want to go in and mop up W's mess?

In other news, I've been spending some of my non-blogging internet hours perusing the web-rantings of Bitter Republicans. Because they're HI-larious. Seriously, Bitter Republicans? He was only elected because he was black?? What do y'all suppose we should call that phenomenon--reverse racism? And John McCain purposely foiled his own chances of winning? Really? Was it all just a publicity stunt to drum up a little business for Joe the Plumber?

All sarcasm aside, I truly am very excited about the results of the election. I've always kept myself an arm's length away from politics. It always felt to me that politics bred angry and narrow-minded passion in some people, and sparred the kinds of arguments that lower my comfort level to somewhere close to steel wool rubbing on bare skin. I simply can't handle opinion-based debate. So you like wine and I like beer, who the hell cares? No amount of you spouting made-up "Anheuser Busch eats babies" statistics is going to change my palate. So let's shut up and drink already. But I digress.

It's not that I don't have political opinions, it's just that I form them and then keep them to myself. I've always seen politics as a necessary evil. But this time around, I must admit, I really got into it! For the first time I really felt some of that passion. It wasn't a my-side-is-better-than-your-side passion, but more of a yearning to be part of something great. I can't really explain it. I just wanted to get involved.

In any case, it's late and I'm rambling. It's time for me to turn in.

[Upon a quick re-read of what I've written, I feel the need to elaborate on two points, because I know that tone is hard to gauge through writing. 1) I do not believe that all republicans are bitter about the results of the election; I was simply referring to a specific few who made some ridiculous comments that I read. 2) I also do not believe that all people who are passionate are angry and narrow-minded. That is simply not the case. ]

Wherein I reveal that I think I am The Funny.

Sure, my kids are funny. But I really must say, they are not as funny as I am. I mean, *I* have a whole autograph book from my senior year of high school in which a great number of people wrote, "You're the funniest person ever! KIT! TTYL." So, that obviously speaks for itself. But. BUT. The only person who really knows how truly funny I am is me. And, quite often, I'm the only one around to appreciate it anyway. And even if there are others around, they usually don't appreciate it as much as I do. So, what this boils down to is that I'm a terrible comedian because laugh at my own jokes. Usually before I'm even done telling them. So, I've tried to combat that by working on my deadpan sarcasm, which, let me tell you, is misunderstood far more often that it is appreciated. ANYWAY, I don't really know how I got off on this rant about how I'm my own number one fan, but I'll give you a little example of how weird I am. Things were a little slow after lunch today at work, so I started putting together a newsletter to send out to my office re: upcoming holiday plans for the office. I was using a template in which there was a section at the bottom telling people where to direct comments or questions, and giving them an option to unsubscribe by clicking on a link. Well, this won't be a newsletter to which anyone actually subscribes. Quite the contrary, it will be maybe one step up from unsolicited erectile dysfunction spam (except for the part where I reveal when and where they need to be to claim their free holiday lunch and booze). But, I decided to leave that line in the newsletter nonetheless. And I linked it to the state Department of Employment Security website, with the locations of the unemployment offices listed on it. Did I mention I have a bit of an evil streak? My ass you'll be unsubscribing to my newsletter. And for that, I was just so pleased with myself all afternoon--like giggle-every-time-I-think-about-it pleased. I'm sure some unfunny person will make me take it out when and if the newsletter actually gets sent. But for now I'm enjoying my own antics.