Dirt Chic

Morning Trivia

The visionary designer Elsa Schiaparelli was one of the first to use bright colors in clothing design.

She was known for her signature pink, called "Shocking".

There's a lesson here, and I know what it is. :)

Light on Winter, Heavy on Showers, and the Male Cardinal is Up to His Old Tricks...

It's spring.  Is this weird to you?  It's weird to me.  One day all flora was threatening greenness in a fuzzy, hazy kind of way, then seriously one day later it exploded into full-on springtime.  It's like nature decided to go apecrap with every seasonal trick in the book - tulips, magnolias, redbuds, daffodils.  And rain, and robins, and allergies.

I'm not complaining.  Even about the allergies.  It's just weird.  I don't mind not having had to wear my snow boots more than ONCE, but I was looking at all my sweaters earlier this evening, trying to apply my usual purging ethos "if you didn't wear it this year you should deeply consider getting rid of it" (who am I quoting?  I don't know) until I realized it didn't count.  There just weren't that many opportunities to max out the layering.  

So this brings me to what I suppose we could call spring cleaning, though I didn't think of that till just now; I'm trying very hard to get rid of stuff.  Like, get down to the stuff I really wear.  It's easy, and it's hard.  Mostly I just want to get rid of the ever-growing pile of discards.  Not sure how to go about that.  Don't feel like messing with Etsy - it's just one more self-starting thing, when my life is full of those (writing, looking for a full-time teaching job, writing... WRITING).  

Oh, and exercising.  That takes a lot of willpower.  I'm wanting to step up the yoga to daily practice, because I know it would further change my life.  I also want to be enriched by weight loss.  :)  Because.  Time to shed layers.  Time to wear... shorts.

Time to have jazz hands?  Is there never not a time for those?  

I can rock the pleated 90's shorts.  You bet your bottom dollar.  But, first, bet a larger sum that I will lose some pounds so that I feel less like my 13-year-old dumpy self and more my... I'm thinking my 28-year-old self.  

I'm 33 now.  I like it.  But sometimes I don't love my 33-year-old-face.  I was trying to self-start into selling some stuff on Etsy earlier today.  I fizzled out quickly, and read The New Yorker instead.  (David Sedaris.)  

I'm... 33.  I no longer enjoy selling stuff online.  I prefer article-heavy magazines over fashion rags.  The skin under my eyes is too thin and makes me look tired, and my eyelids are more droopy and make putting on my eyeliner an exasperating experience.  I am ready to move on with things and see more stuff produced and published.  I am happy to write and teach.  Ok - and I'm happy to keep doing a lot of what I always do.  Everything else.  All that.  More.  

Think I will get away from the magazines and into an actual book, now.  As in right this minute, not in general.  I bought myself (with birthday money) a lil' something I've wanted for awhile.

Avon Soft Pink bubble bath.  Old-lady soapy opulence.  I love it.  Tomorrow, I'll go to the post office and pick up my other two prizes.  I'm very excited.

But I must take a bath.  Right now.  With the window open.  I will sneeze.  Into a mass of bubbles.

Happy spring. :)

Discursive Excursions = Discursions

(Ha.)

I was thinking back on my Xanga days - anyone remember Xanga? - and how easy it was to just blog there.  Well, I was more thinking about how it was not only easy, but how what I wrote was actually funny and fairly interesting.  And varied.  Dirt Chic, right now, or as of late (geez) has been kind of catch-as-catch-can, but then again, this is indicative of my non-blogging life.  I feel like I've just been squeezing stuff in, with very little time to be deliberate.

However, my Xanga days were pre-MFA.  They were before I got a bit hyper about whether I could or could not write this or that.  I've always been a bit neurotic, and I don't foresee this changing, but I recently was musing (yes, musing - or perhaps a better word is chewing) on how this is just stupid.  I can write whatever I want.  The real question is will I take enough time to make the first go-around less sloppy.  As in, will I be a little more controlled with, say, an essay-ish blog post.  A short story.  A short play.  A poem.

I value my artistic sloppiness.  It's not really sloppiness, of course (someone said to me the other day, "I hate discursive thought", and I internally lol'd.  It's kind of my bread-and-butter) - it's more the license to be sprawling and not feel contained by arbitrary lines or boundaries.  But sometimes I just avoid form because I'm afraid of... well, the limitations.  Which is understandable.  But not ultimately worthwhile, because being afraid of limitations is, of course, eventually limiting.

NOT TO SAY I am afraid.  Because - and it's taken a frick of a lot of chewing to come to this understanding - I'm not.  Yes, I've had a lot of fake fear, a lot of topical fear, blah blah blah, la di da.  I really think it was just pre-MFA insecurity being extended a little too long.  No.  I take it back.  I've had fake fear and real fear - someone also said (not the same someone) that being an artist means you know what you want.  I've been afraid of taking what I want, in some ways.  That, I think, is the ultimate sloppiness.  The only sloppiness.

Or maybe not. ;)

Okay, the point is is that sometimes I get to a point, sometimes I don't.  Sometimes the point is not what you think it is.  Sometimes getting to a point is not important.  I could quote a popular line from Lord of the Rings right now but I won't.  I am both excursive and discursive.  Process is the thing, most of the time.  Process really has no limitations.  The only thing that really seems to get in my way, anymore, is time.  I can do anything I want to do.  My only real enemy is myself.  Okay, no.  Viruses and bacteria aren't my friends, either.  Or technology fails.  Or zombies.  Or raw tomatoes.  

So... now that I've written this post, I'll tell you what I originally got on here to say, more or less - I'll be around more, I do believe - to write about more things.  I'll make time. :)  

Scenes From Existence

On the road.

Walter.

Ernie sweater.

RPM.

Trusty steed.

Thrift weirdness #1.

Thrift weirdness #2.

Thrift... something.

Wrong.

Stay tuned.

Mesh.

Plastic.

Reading.

Plants.

Yes.

Interlude: Berries in the Snow

Scary.

But delicious.

Uploaded Happiness

Here.  Some things that are happiness:

A chipper chap.  

Being nice.

Bouncy ball clown.

Also try: Soggy Parallelograms.

Necessity for life.

Fruit Roll-Up without shapes or color gradations.

Extra-cheese pizza (all to myself).

Adult-sized PJ t-shirt.

Yarn witch at Mel-O-Cream.

Chair in SalArmy dressing room.

Amusing claims.

My dressing room.

Curls, fur, skeleton shirt, Diet Coke.

The End.

What I Did This Summer (Sorta)

I'm tired.

Do you ever catch yourself saying that all the time?  Like it's new news?  Like "I'm busy", or "I wish winter was over".  I say these things, I hear them said... yep.  I suppose these top the list under the heading STATING THE OBVIOUS.

Busy summer.  It didn't start busy.  It started with writing.  The writing, mostly, continued, though, even when it got busy.  Then I hit the road (and skies) again.  

Now, I've got more to do, and I'm happy with it all.  But I'M TIRED.

I do thirst for fashion.  I do I do.  Excited to not wear the same things for three freaking weeks. :)  Branching out.

After I rest.

Wyoming or Bust

It's been an odd 24 hours.  And an odd week or so.  I was at camp last week, which was great, but hectic - and the internet was spotty and TERRIBLE for uploading pics, so those will be forthcoming.  Monday, a quick and violent storm deposited a tree branch on my windshield, smashing it into brilliant spiderweb patterns.  I was only displeased because it COST ME MONEY.  Otherwise, not a big deal.

Then, thanks to hailstorm damage, my flight to Colorado was cancelled.  Fine.  Be that way, weather.  But I got on the phone with the airline, and 45 minutes and a pledge to extreme niceness later, I had a slightly later flight.  Score.

So yesterday, I drove home from camp, re-packed, and headed to the airport.  My dad deposited me, and then I learned my flight was delayed until 12:15am.  And then I realized I had forgotten my computer.  My writerly profession/habits deem computerlessness a PROBLEM.  This is how I felt about all these new developments:

Whatever.  I spent 2 hours reading up on my upcoming biography commission.  Then I had entertainment ADD (watched some of Insidious, muted, over someone else's shoulder; read a sample of Bossypants on my phone; re-read bits of The Lost Continent; watched 10 minutes of Swingers on my phone) because I tend to be that way after 10pm.

Then I got in the plane.  I waited to get in the line somewhat near the end because my seat was 6A.  I board and walked a few rows up, and realized I was at row 12.  Confused, I looked back and saw the rows started at 8.  Mildly alarmed and secretly fearing I had a nonexistent seating arrangement, I asked the flight attendant where my seat was. Tired and a bit exasperated, she looked at my boarding pass and said, "You're in first class!"  Whaaaaaaa?

This is how I felt about that new development:

Ha ha, I didn't suddenly look groomed or anything.  But I was very pleased about it.  Turns out it just amounted to having a lot more room (I'm sure there were other benefits but I largely needed to benefit from sleep).  Still. 

So anyway.  Hopefully I'll get my computer back soon, but its absence "forced" me into enjoying the morning at my dear Anne's house.  Been reading magazines and grooming for the first time in forever.  By grooming I mean applying cosmetics.  I always apply deodorant, etc., if you think that I mean I have forsaken showering, etc.  Heading into two weeks of a good bit of inter-state travel, writing, and visiting (and if you read this and are in CO I certainly want to see you).  Today is a bit of research-travel to MY FAVORITE STATE EVER: Wyoming.  (Well, my favorite state that I don't live in.)

I'll try to post more, and will post camp highlights when I have my computer.  Have to document the inter-state style. ;)

Reaping Repairs and Thriftily Non-Thrifting

I really am not spending money.  This is a point of discipline for me.  And like with other areas of my life where I have had to be more disciplined, it's not been easy to transition into, but now that I'm being more mindful, it's actually quite refreshing and interesting.  For one, it makes me think about how easy it is to spend money.  For two, it is nice to de-focus on shopping as a pastime; now I can focus even MORE on other pastimes, such as... reading and writing.

Yeah.  And then it hurts less to spend money where I have to: regular life expenses, and today - picking up some garments and shoes from their respective repair shops.  I guess I could've just left them there - that is free - but that would be rude, as the work has been done.  Nevermind that if I leave them there the owners have a right to dispose of them.  But $55.50 later, I have a hemmed shirt, the sequins on a dress repaired, the insoles of some gold shoes replaced, and my dadburned motorcycle boots re-soled.  I have to get this done at least three times a year, at $15 a pop.  My most expensive shoes ever.  But - I love them SO MUCH.

(NO, this is not an outfit.  It is me in a "cover up" polka-dot tube dress and the shoes and, for no real reason, my gold mesh bib necklace.  The fake reason is I just wanted to see if it looked cool with my hair up.  I'm still trying to figure out what to wear it with.  Note: not the polka-dot tube dress.) 

In other news, I will be doing my normal summer traveling, and besides regular life expenses (gas, food, lodging where applicable), I've decided to give myself a thrift allowance for those times I know thrifting will occur, despite my best intentions.  Because let's be honest.  (Do let's.)  I will thrift when I'm vacationing.  But I do not need to go hog wild.  I am enjoying this temperate state.  (Even though getting cool stuff feels good, too.  Admit it.)

And in today's final news (until whatever next news there is whenever), I can't wait to do some camping.  I love camping.  It removes a ton of normal sensory experience, along with all the taken-for-granted amenities.  But that's fine.  I relax.  I get more done, in terms of reading or thinking.  And I walk a lot more.  I will be updating from my various camping experiences when I can.  Assuming my iPhone even works out there in NATURE....

On Mental Breakdowns and Getting Rid of Stuff

I want to be doing this right now, but I have so much danged stuff I *have* to do.  By have, I mean there is so much I WANT to do, and being that it is mostly writing, I feel COMPELLED to do it, and while this is normally well and good enough, I sometimes overwhelm myself and then have a mental breakdown.  When this happens, after I go through acts of tears and violence (might involve throwing some offending object, such as a paper towel), I recognize that the only thing I can really do is to relax.  Such as with a choice summer issue of Vanity Fair.  But then I read an article that reminds me I have things I want to do, such as an article on musicals.  And then I go drink framboise.

That is yesterday.  Today should be better.  I exercised.  I read poetry.  I drank my full morning allotment of coffee (three cups, yikes).  Moving on.

As you can see, the scarf discovery really took hold of me.  It's a good antidote for my compulsion to thrift: I will still thrift, but just for scarves.  And even then, I will only thrift when absolutely necessary - when people want to go.  I love thrifting.  You know this.  But I need to get rid of stuff, not add more and more.  I HAVE NO MORE ROOM IN MY CLOSET.

As this is the case, and because I am smote at present by my abundance of worldly possessions, I am going to comb through my closet AGAIN to find things to get rid of... with a catch.  See, I have things I know I don't wear and probably won't wear.  But these are things I just don't want to get rid of - cool jewels, clothes with a nostalgic connection.  My solution?  First, I'm going to see if there is actually some way to wear the item (mostly in the case of jewels).  Then, I'm going to pack everything up.  And stick it somewhere else.  And take it out later.  And see if it's so necessary that I keep it around.  Maybe this is a dumb exercise, but I don't really know how to get rid of some things.  I admit it.  Maybe there are better strategies.  Maybe I should just suck it up, oust the guilt and OCD-ness, and just sell all the stuff.  Thoughts and suggestions welcomed....