Fall Fashion Conundrum

Ugh, Mail.

Typically, I enjoy getting mail. I even welcome the familiar stack of "pre-approved" credit card applications that make the bi-weekly journey from my doorstep directly to my trash can. But some days, the awaiting delivery turns out to be my complete undoing, almost as if the mailbox had transformed into Pandora's Box while I was slaving away at a hospital night shift.

And why the sour attitude? Well, every once in awhile, a fashion brochure (how the hell do they find me?) will turn in up the mail, and it's usually not all that threatening. Granted, the floral day dress on the cover of the spring issue will absolutely not go unnoticed (and will probably end up in my closet), but summer catalogs with "perfect" women in their "perfect" bikini bodies on "perfect" yachts rarely tempt me into digging out my credit card. Typically, I throw them out after nothing more than the casual flip through.

Until the fall issue, that is. The fall issue, without proper warning and preparation, can be devastating on my budget.

Fact: I'm a huge sucker for fall clothing. The coats, the boots, the hats, the sweaters...it's all gold. I love the coziness, easy sophistication and simple stylishness of it all. Each article of clothing is meant to wrap you not only in a plush, soft fabric, but also in a feeling of confidence and stylishness. Suddenly, it becomes chic to cover up. The skin-showing overload of summer gives way to the tasteful body-conscious silhouettes of fall. I'm already on the prowl for a long sleeved minidress...

And those damn coats and scarves hanging in store windows...brutal. It's safe to say I'm a ridiculous fan; scarves are indeed my kryptonite, and as such, they belong in my closet, adding to my already substantial collection. I've also been craving a red peacoat since I was old enough to figure out what they were. It's always been a fantasy of mine to be the lone lady in red, walking down a silent street of white. I've had my eye on this one (pictured left) for the last two years.

Not so fast sweaters, you're not off the hook either. Sweaters shout at me from holiday magazine covers, and I feel I absolutely must have one for the upcoming snowed-in nights I'll be spending curled up by the fireplace, on a fur rug, drinking a glass of wine and eating chocolate truffles. See the crazy vignettes my brain creates to justify my purchases? We don't even own a fireplace. Or a fur rug.

And boots...oh don't get me started on boots. In my mind the only reason a leaf would fall from a tree is so it could be stepped on by a fashionable knee high boot. Right now I'm obsessed with anything that's worn and weathered. I don't want a new pair like the ones in the magazines (who am I kidding, I'd never turn them down), but I'm craving something that has a story behind it. A pair that looks as though they were formerly worn by a sheepherder in northern Ireland. Preferably with a heel so I can feel appropriately matched with my 6'5" boyfriend, but I'm not too picky. Oh and straps and buckles, lots and lots of straps and buckles, regardless of their uselessness in the real world.

So while this may be my favorite time of year, it's also my most difficult. We've already canceled the cable and I've gotten a second job, so I'm not about to do something stupid like buy a pair of boots.

God I love a good pair of boots...maybe just one pair...I've been so good...

Focus. I need to get through this. Sorry awesome fall coats, boots, hats, sweaters and scarves, but you're just going to have to wait until next year when I can buy you in a thrift store for 1/10 the price. Of course, I do have a closet swap party coming up on October 14, so lets just focus on that.

So tell me, what do you like about the fall?

New Page: Weight Loss Community

In this post, I explained that I am currently trying to lose 20 lbs within 62 days. Recently, I've gotten so many comments and emails about people who want to join in along with me, that I've decided to do just that; make a way for people to join in!

So I'm making a new page for all of us! I'll update it daily as I update my own progress. Just email me or comment with your name (or code name), height/weight, goals, and progress, and I'll add you to the display!

Oh and if I don't hear from you after a while? I'll email you to check in, and see how everything is going. Hopefully it'll help to keep everyone on track. Actually, let me know if you want to have your email displayed I'll even leave a spot available for it. Think of it as your own little healthy community. We'll be each other's fan base and support system!

I'll make the page as soon as I get a few more emails to get everything set up. Let's see how this goes!

 

Three Weddings And A Baby

It's roadtrip time again!

Because of my boyfriend's insane schedule (he's a baseball coach for the university during the school year, then coach's legion during the summer) we have about 3 weeks before September to see some friends and family. So we're cramming it all into 8 days.

One wedding in Bozeman, Montana last night, another this evening in Belgrade, Montana, travel to Ogden, Utah to see my brother, his wife and my niece for 3 days, then Denver, Colorado for another wedding, then back to good ol' Billings, Montana for a little recuperation.

I'm always excited to see what goes wrong on a roadtrip, for some reason I always think that's part of the fun. And weddings are just awesome so...yeah let's get this party started.

Lesson 11: Blessing In Disguise

Well I got fired yesterday. First time ever. Brutal.

I really can't say I was surprised. I couldn't help but have this overwhelming feeling that I'd been hired as part of a sick joke, and everyone was waiting for me to quit. The first week I felt awkward, but I tried to convince myself it was all a part of just being new. By the second week I was excluded and ignored, then after my boss "had words" with me, I felt like everyone was confused that I kept showing up. If I asked a question I was ignored, and if I made a statement I was met with condescending stares and then a rapid change of subject. The pit of my stomach grew heavier by the day.

Finally, when my boss made a snide comment yesterday morning about whether or not I was "capable" of doing an aspect of my job (something an 8 year old could've done), it was that last straw. "It's a shame you feel I'm incapable of doing my job," I said. "Because I know I am fully capable of doing it, and doing it well. If this is how it's going to be than you need to make an executive decision because I'm not going to be bullied into quitting."

Well apparently an executive decision was made, because as of 2:00 yesterday afternoon, I was told I "Just wasn't a good fit." No sh*t I wasn't a good fit. I was miserable. I've been losing sleep for the last two weeks. I typically go for a run or a swim everyday, but the last 14 days? I've gone twice. On Tuesday my boyfriend and I were driving around town looking at future dream houses when he said, "I wish we lived in that house." I replied with, "I wish it was Friday," and started crying.

Here's something that will put it into perspective. Last Wednesday, after finishing five hours of typing while incarcerated in my solitary cubicle, I opened my notebook and wrote this:

There's nothing quite as depressing as the sound of silence in a cubicle.

The incessant buzzing of the air conditioner and the relentless squeaking of a run-down office chair fills the air, broken only by the telltale sound of an employee attempting to surreptitiously remove the Ceran wrap from her late lunch. Fingers scurry across keyboards, mouses click, and chipper voices answer phones with that identical artificially caring voice they've used for the last 10 years. I sit in the back, as close to the only window as possible, undaunted by the measly view it provides. The sight of the adjacent building, just two feet away, is the only connection I have to a world outside my own. This, ladies and gentlemen, is my nightmare.

I have decided that an office is the ultimate prison; one designed to keep its prisoners willingly confined, brainwashed by the sight of the strategically placed metaphorical carrot just inches beyond their grasp. I feel as if I have signed a contract without reading the fine print, ushered ahead to the next important benefit while passing over the sacrifices needed to reach said benefit. Even the fluorescent lights above flicker to remind me of the task at hand, like the most effective of prison guards; jarring and emotionless.

I stare at the computer screen before me and click my pen against my teeth, the scent of Windex and carpet hanging in the air. This is not my computer. This is not my desk. This is Patty's desk, and hers is the bar to which all following cubicles will be measured. Her functional knick-knacks confuse me, and I feel even more out of place. A container of goo meant to make your fingers sticky (for turning pages) and a bottle of Germ-ex sit directly next to the keyboard. I do not own a bottle of Germ-ex. I welcome the dirt and grime of the natural world. Oh how I long for the touch of grass...

Next to a colorful array of pens (the likely only allowed form of creativity or self-expression), is a palm tree post-it note container, symbolizing the relaxing beach she has probably desperately been saving her vacation days for.  Everyone knows Patty doesn't like to travel though, her cat gets car sick. It's a shame, really. She has months worth of vacation days saved up, and her cat no doubt could benefit from a day outside its one bedroom apartment. Her planner hangs on the cork-board to the right, rows of assignments filling it: typing, filing, interviewing, typing, staffing. Every summer this will be how I spend my time. I am the next generation of Patty's.

But the most disheartening trinket of all, is the digital calender on her computer that displays a different "inspirational phrase" daily.

Today's? "Smile. I like your sense of humor." Wait, what? A computer is telling me it likes my sense of humor? I have already discovered that no one in this particular job likes my sense of humor, so it's ironic that a computer would have that opinion. Rather, I think it's mocking me. Mocking my lack of humor and instead exposing my dutiful, uninspiring appropriateness that has replaced it. Within three weeks my wit has given way to internal cynicism. I used to be funny.

My stare is broken by the flicker of the fluorescent prison guard. Back to work. Deep breaths...

So it's safe to say I'm quite relieved to not have to go back on Monday. Also I believe I have now developed an irrational fear of palm tree post-it note containers.

New Page: It's OK

So since I've had so many incredibly crappy days this week (read this if you're at all doubtful) I've added a new page to my blog. I'm calling it the It's OK page, and it's pretty much a list of everything I do that makes me feel guilty that shouldn't. So I'm going to keep doing them anyway.

I'm sure you have a similar list. So what's yours? Let me know, I might add them onto mine!