(Faux) Fashion Files

Let's start a new fun game.

We shall call it the (Faux) Fashion Files,

where I pretend I'm a fashion blogger . . . 

(stop laughing)

even though at best I'm a total wannabe.

I used to love reading fashion blogs . . .

 I actually still do but I also recognize I have absolutely no little self-control and sometimes it's best just not to tempt oneself.

Cute outfits . . . out of sight, out of mind.

It's easier to carry on in one's sweatpants and oversized hoodie if I don't know the options exist for looking something other than hobo-ish. 

But in all honesty,

I LOVE clothes and I love shopping.

I just get lazy the minute I get home from work.

I'm trying to work on that in 2015 . . .

but I have low expectations for myself.

I'm calling this (Faux) Fashion Files because I also don't have the budget the legit fashion bloggers do,

so  it's like knock-off fashion.

You won't be seeing any Louboutins around here.

Although I wish I did,

I don't have the innate ability to be cute or trendy or hip or any of that either.

BUT, 

I love Pinterest and am a master copycatter of others adorable ensembles.

The days I do throw together something marginally fashionable,

full disclosure be made it's because I stole the idea from Pinterest.

So let us begin.

I have been super obsessed with all things Navy lately.

And leopard.

I enjoy pairing leopard with everything truth be told, 

whether it's acceptable to do so or not.

Cardigan- Limited

Lace peek-a-boo tank- Limited

Maxi skirt- Limited

Shoes- Dr. Scholls viz DSW (hahah, sooooo not Louboutins)

If I continue this little post series,

you will quickly note a trend.

Almost everything I own is from the Limited. 

And most of it is vintage . . .

and by vintage I really just mean old.

But vintage sounds better.

Oh and to prove how fashionable I am?

That watch?

"Vintage" Target . . . it doesn't even show the right time,

but I can't figure out how to get the little do-dad on the side pulled out so I can wind it up and fix that.

It also gives me a horrible rash on my wrist but I still wear it.

Because I think it looks cute,

and the girls in the Pinterest pins I like always have chunky watches on.

Granted, theirs are Michael Kors or Burberry . . .

My watch was $10 and is likely made of lead and a blend of other cheap metals that will eat through your skin before turning what remains a lovely shade of green.

But again. It looks cute.

The Time Machine Known as Music

I'm having an affair. 

It's been a lifelong thing, really, and I'm so head-over-in-heels in love.

Now before you think this is some racy, adulterous admission,

it's just not. 

The love affair I'm talking about is the one I have with music. 

It started when I was young . . . and once I fell in love,

there was no going back.

Music became my muse. 

My therapy. My escape. My sanity. My celebration. My release.

My voice when my own couldn't find the words . . .

Have you experienced this?

The overwhelming, soul-consuming powerful force that is music?

On more than one occasion, I have been driven to tears by the lyrics of a song,

the sound of a melody.

When I was sixteen, I got a speeding ticket on the highway . . .

and I still blame Prince. 

I had been driving home from my job at the mall, 

and I was listening to Delirious.

The song was so incredibly full of life and energy and ecstasy that I had to crank up the volume and dance. 

The club beat pulsated through the speakers of my dad's 1992 Pontiac Bonneville. 

I get delirious whenever you're near
Lose all self control baby just can't steer
Wheels get locked in place
Stupid look on my face

I sang at the top of my lungs and pictured myself in a music video,

and then a dance club,

and then my thoughts drifted to the boy who had turned me on to the song,

and well . . .

the red and blue lights of the police car behind me interrupted what would have come next. 

But I know to this day it would've been good.

I had gotten so lost in the song and the world it created for me that I must have driven a bit over the legal posted speed. 

Lose all self control baby just can't steer

Yup. Literally.

I was inspired to ramble on about all of this because of a song that popped up on my shuffle this morning as I work away at my desk . . .

From the first note, a tidal wave of nostalgia hit me,

and I had no choice, no say, I was powerless to fight it.

I was instantly taken back in time and I don't even know if I closed my eyes,

but despite being in my chair, at my desk,

it wasn't my office I saw anymore. 

The first note was all it took . . . 

and then the sound of Christine McVie's voice flooded my mind with even more memories.

I was standing in the corner of the tiny dorm room I inhabited in 1999.

Columbia, Missouri.

The walls were purple and my steps squeaked from the water squishing between my shower shoes and my feet. 

I had a towel turbaned on my head and a toothbrush poking out of the pocket of my bathrobe. 

I don't know why, but every morning when I would get ready for class,

I would listen to Fleetwood Mac's Everywhere. 

And because of it,

for the rest of time,

I will always always be taken back to 1999, to that Mizzou dorm room whenever I hear that song. 

There are so many other songs that are linked to memories like this for me.

I can still name all of the songs on the mixed tape I got from my first real high school crush.

No matter how much time passes, if Del Amitri's Roll to Me happens to play,

I can sing all of the lyrics.

Blind Melon No Rain means I'm sitting on Susan Tibbetts' roof, with our gang of friends, doing nothing really but having the time of our lives.

Train Hey Soul Sister will always make me smile, reflexively, as I think about LG and Count and law school.

Dave Matthews Crash was the soundtrack for my drive to Ripon to visit my high school/early college boyfriend. 

The Righteous Brothers You've Lost That Loving Feeling means a road trip to a Haunted House in Green Bay with my besties crammed in the backseat and a bunch of the football team in the back of my Dad's Jeep serenading us.

I could go on and on . . . forever really.

I love my love affair with music.

I love what music means to my soul and the emotions it can stir up in my heart.

And most of all,

I love the memories I will be able to share with my daughter as she gets older,

because a song comes on the radio,

and a part of my life's story is replayed for me. 

I hope her story has it owns soundtrack someday . . .

life is damn beautiful but somehow everything is just a little bit sweeter when there's a song playing in the background.

T.G.I.F. That is all. The End.

Work . . . is . . . insanity right now.

As in, if I cloned myself and there were four of me doing my job,

the fab-four posse of mes would still be drowning in too much shit to accomplish.

So you know, 

this.

Although it's not like a real Friday for me because I will be taking up residence in my office all weekend long.

Before you express sentiments of pity for me,

know that I am actually totally pumped about this.

Besides the fact I am a quasi workaholic,

 I love knowing that I will be able to get at least a little caught up by Monday.

And the 6 pack of Angry Orchard I plan to bring with me doesn't hurt my enthusiasm either.

The Tiny Human and legal husband (again, not to be confused with Husband, the professional football player and leader of the Pack) are venturing off for his family's belated celebration of Christmas in a few hours,

and I I will remain here,

 digging myself out from the piles and piles of shit-on-a-stick that are consuming my office (and my soul) and causing me ulcers and anxiety attacks. 

I have an appeal brief to write and a memo to research and draft on choice of law provisions between Wisconsin and South Carolina . . .

wait, what?!? 

You got bored and stopped actually paying attention?!!?

Shame. Shame.

Not.

True Statement. 

T.G.I.F.F.

If you aren't keeping up and haven't figured out what the extra "F" is for,

we likely shouldn't be friends.

Happy Friday all and let the good mojo juju vibes begin for Hubs and my Packers!

How We Roll On Our Crazy Train

I feel like my last few posts have been a bit heavy . . .

so in attempt to get back to what we (mostly) intended this blog to be,

I shall present a real life example of why LakeGirl and I are soul mates. 

The short answer is: we're the same kind of crazy and we embrace being weirdos whole-heartedly,

without ever passing judgment. 

For example . . .

as I was "cleaning" and purging my Pinterest boards,

because really, who doesn't do this now and then for fun,

cough cough OCD Type A freaks like me aside cough cough,

I came across this picture and the following two-year-old exchange between me and LG.

Caption: Well hello there Vampire Bill.

LG: I'm really distraught because it appears true blood is NOT available on nextflix. what. the face.

SWMNBN: Well that doesn't seem appropriate. Also. My phone is dead but we seem to be pinning at the same time. So I needed to tell you I saw the preview for The Lucky One. 1) Zefron. Woah. No words. 2) See Number 1 Again please. 3) We MUST see this. I sense Charlie St. Cloud. But hotter. And better.

LG: um 1) I never actually saw the previews, just a movie poster. will be fixing immediately. 2) what's wrong with violet now?? 3) I enjoy how we've replaced FB wall-to-wall posts with pinterest pin-to-pin posts.

LG: well shit. just watched it. and woah. agreed no words. we're seeing this the day it comes out. no question.

LG: p.s. I think he got hotter.

LG: p.p.ps. it appears there is once again water in this movie. which is great news.

SWMNBN: This is my new Facebook. Fo' Sho. Homeboy. And... yes. Hotter. By a lot. Didn't think that was possible. Further, he has a tattoo. I realize it is a fake for the movie, but still. You know how I feel about ink. Pretty sure I should rewatch the trailer now. happy Wednesday morning to me.

So like I said. Absolute crazy. 

And to fully appreciate this, you need to understand our own weirdo language, 

and the fact we name inanimate objects in our life.

Violet = my phone.

Phillipe = her Keurig

Frank = her old Tahoe

etc, etc, etc.

And I'm sure there's more underlying weird back stories you would need to fully appreciate or follow along with this pinterest comment discussion,

but you should get the point.

She's one million percent my weirdo equal. 

And I love her to pieces because she embraces loving the silly randomness in life right along with me.

New Year's Resolutions

Happy 2015 all!

My house is still knee deep in the plague . . .

so our New Year's Eve, which also marked my 34th year on Earth,

was pretty low key.

For the two seconds I was able to distract the Tiny Human away from the TV long enough to pause the Sofia the First episode we've been watching on repeat for days in order to steal a glimpse at the raucous debauchery that was taking place in Time's Square,

I had to chuckle to myself.

It really wasn't that long ago I used to leave my house to ring in the New Year . . .

I would wear sequins and sparkly things and heels and make-up.

I would toast my friends with a glass filled with some variety of adult-oriented beverage,

and actually be awake as the ball dropped while one year conspicuously become a part of our past while a new one took its place as our present. 

As I sat in my bed this New Year's Eve, 

at 7:00 p.m., 

wearing elastic-wasted sweatpants and a ratty sweatshirt, 

which was entirely crusted over on one shoulder with dried snot from the wiggly little human with unkempt hair who was picking her nose next to me because she had already overused my arm as a kleenex,

the cheers and noise I heard were not coming from a party-loving crowd but from that same tiny little human,

who was demanding we put Sofia back on while at the same insisting I refill her sippy cup of milk.

I grabbed her cup,

which was next to mine, filled with extra-strength Mucinex dissolved in apple juice by the way,

and had to laugh.

I think for the most part I had always, always wanted to be a mom . . .

but do any of us as we dream of being moms really dream of this?!?

Probably not. 

And yet I would not have wanted to ring my new year in in any other way.

Not gonna lie . . .

I do miss the sexiness and glamour and spontaneity now and then of my life-before-the-tiny-human.

But I miss it for mere minutes. 

Fleeting moments at best.

This little girl of mine is the absolute love of my life.

I would trade a sequined-mini-skirt and a night on the town any day of the week for an otherwise mundane night-in with her.

So the new year's resolutions I plan to make have less to do with bettering me,

and more to do with bettering us. 

I think life is so much about balance and I totally admit that I want to and need to get back into doing some things just for me,

because a happier, healthier me will mean a happier, healthier mama for her.

And I owe her adventure and exploration and fun,

and I plan to do my best to fight against the excuses I have let bog us down along the way,

with the result being a stale routine where more often than not we go through the motions and check things off a list instead of really truly living.

Not a bad start, this list.

I plan to take more deep breaths. React less and appreciate the moment more.

Be less uptight.

It really will be okay if the laundry doesn't get folded tonight or we go to bed with the family room a messy disaster. 

I will be more patient and pick my battles.

I will forgive more and then try to forget, too.

I will continue to screw up and fall short and do things I wish I hadn't,

but when I do I will be quick to say I'm sorry,

and be an example that it's not perfection we should seek but a constant and vigilant desire to always be a little better than we were before.

I think this is going to be an amazing year. 

I can just feel it.

So what do you say?

2015- let's do this. 

Like a boss.