When you pin something with a grammatical error, I unfollow all of your boards.
When you pin something with a grammatical error, I unfollow all of your boards.
Last week, I saw a link to an article about how Pinterest can curb the urge to shop. After I read the title, I knew it was true, at least for me. Since I started using Pinterest in earnest, and combining it with my use of Polyvore, I have shopped significantly less. In fact, I am in danger of losing all my Foursquare mayorships at the mall.
For me, the most therapeutic part of the shopping experience is not the buying, it is the finding. To look through a store and find the one perfect thing I had in mind provides a lovely thrill. Browsing is pretty nice, too. Looking through lots of things to find a hidden gem of something on clearance, or a brand new thing that I have never seen before gives me a great feeling. I can replicate those feelings on Polyvore and Pinterest.
For example, I spent an hour building this set on Polyvore. I knew exactly where to buy several of the things in this set, but now that I have found them, I don't necessarily need to buy them.
Well, I do need a denim pencil skirt and some new panties.
I don't remember the first time I met Volodiya, but it was sometime in the first few months after I transferred to University of Alaska Fairbanks, so it would have been in the late Winter or early Spring of 1994. He was an RA in another dorm, but was friends with some of the girls in my dorm. He and I were friendly, but we didn't become friends until the Fall semester, when I became an RA and we worked in the same dorm.
Volodiya and I got into the habit of watching Letterman together. We'd order a Supreme pizza and hot wings from Pizza Hut, then go down to the little store in the lobby of the dorm complex to buy a couple Fruitopias while we waited for the pizza to arrive.
V spent a semester in France. He was either forgetful about the time difference or a very inconsiderate friend. Either way, I'd occasionally get a 5 AM call from him. He'd tell me about the boys he'd met and I'd catch him up on the gossip.
One year, for Spring Break, we stayed at a lovely cabin in the woods where V was housesitting for a professor. There was drinking, and inappropriate behavior amongst all of our friends, and it was so much fun.
One of our favorite bars to hang out in was the Captain Bartlett Inn. Volodiya would give me tarot readings there and tried to teach me the meanings of the cards. I have a terrible memory for things like that so I usually reverted to making things up based on the pictures when I would give him readings.
We graduated from college in 1997. Our class voted for Volodiya to be the graduation speaker. His speech was fun and nostalgic, like an internet meme. He talked about roller skates and parachute pants and Madonna.
Some time after graduation, when I was back in California, V was living with his boyfriend in Seattle. I visited them for a weekend. It was my first time there. I loved his urban life. Seattle was like Alaska Light. A lot of my college friends settled there.
The last time I saw Volodiya in person was about nine years ago. I went to Seattle for a visit and stayed with my best friend, Joanne. We spent one of the evenings with V and some others, hanging out like old times.
After that, we kept up through phone calls, but mostly online, through MySpace, then Facebook. A few months ago, when I posted a new picture of my slimming self on Facebook, he commented, accusing me of getting a facelift and saying he'd scratch my eyes out if I had.
Last week, I saw fake tarot readings in a sitcom and it prompted me to post that memory of us on Facebook. I tagged him in it and I am glad I did. Because of that post, one of his friends reached out to me today to let me know that Volodiya died yesterday, after a long bout of pneumonia. When he was living in Seattle, he contracted HIV, so the manner of his death does not come as a complete surprise. I did not expect it to come so soon, though.
I'll miss my friend dearly. He was the type of friend I could pick up with after many months without contact and everything would be just as it always was.
I saw this tweet today, and it got me thinking about national pride and patriotism.
I hope nobody will judge America by that disgusting half time show for the Super Bowl. What was that?! #Late #ThanksYouTube
— Jenni Blockey (@MissJenniPants) February 8, 2012
I was about to reply that I liked the halftime show, but then I stopped myself. That wasn't the part of the tweet to which I really wanted to respond.
I do hope that the rest of the world judges America by that halftime show. Think about all of the elements that were in it. A powerful, self-made woman has forged a decades-long career as an artist who has constantly pushed the boundaries of tolerance and censorship. She bared her body and danced in a way that is forbidden in many parts of the world, and even punishable by death. She shared the stage with women and men of different races and, presumably, different sexual orientations and religions. Think about how much our own country has changed. Can you imagine Madonna performing the Super Bowl halftime show thirty, twenty, or even ten years ago? I can't. She wasn't ready for it then, and it wasn't ready for her. The rest of the world watches what the United States does. Others take their cues from us, for better or for worse. For the most part, though, things are better here than elsewhere, and things are better now than they have been in the past.
It is election season and, even though we are only in the primaries, partisan politics are ugly already. Each side considers itself to be the true patriots, the true Americans, but both are wrong. Patriotism is a "devoted love, support, and defense of one's country," not one's political party. There are flaws in our system. Our country has its troubles but, if you are true patriot, you love it, you support it, and you defend it. That doesn't mean you have to accept the status quo, but you do need to acknowledge the things that are great about America. Our country was founded on the principles of individualism and equality. That is what has afforded you the right to express your opinion about a middle-aged white lady and fat black man singing on a stage halfway through an inexplicably popular sporting event. And I support that.
I heard about Blushington awhile back, when they first opened. It is a makeup bar with a concept like that of The Dry Bar. I've been wanting for an occasion to try it, so I was so excited to be invited to an LA blogger meetup hosted by Laura Tremaine, a.k.a. Hollywood Housewife, at Blushington this week.
Blushington offers a full make-up application for $35 in under an hour. (At The Dry Bar, you get a blow out for $35.) You choose from half a dozen looks that the makeup artist will customize to your face shape and coloring.
I arrived to the party ridiculously early because I took an amazing route from Santa Monica to West Hollywood, which I will never tell you about because I want it to remain my secret forever! I was glad I did, because I had a chance to chat with the lovely Laura before everyone else arrived.
photo by Laura Tremaine (clearly)
I chose the smokey eye look and asked the makeup artist to make it as dark as possible. I also wanted a neutral, shiny lip. The makeup artist, Angela, was talented and patient with all my questions about what she was doing and what products she was using. I loved the Stila items she used. They also use a line called Becca, that I hadn't heard of before. Here is my finished look:
I had a great time, sipping champagne and meeting new people. Here I am with @BlahBlahBlahger, @ShandiAlegre, and @sweetbbarnes. You'd think we were discussing the state of the global economy by the look on my face, but it was actually a very graphic discussion of bikini-area depilatory methods.
photo by Laura Tremaine
At the end of the evening, I went home with a swag bag containing a pair of Sanuk Sidewalk Surfers (so comfortable!) and a La Mer watch. I was thrilled about the watch. I have a beige La Mer watch, but I've been wanting a black one recently.
photo by Laura Tremaine
It was genius for the owners of Blushington to put their shop in right next to The Dry Bar. In two hours, you can have your hair and make-up done for under $100, including tip. That's a fantastic price. I'll definitely be back.
Disclosure: In case it wasn't clear, I didn't pay for anything I mentioned in this post. I was not paid to write this post.
I wish I could have found a picture of the Anthropologie sweatshirt I am actually wearing. It has this awesome bird and tree print on it, and is about six inches longer than the one shown here, but has the same asymmetrical hem. Also, I don't have that Anthropologie necklace, but I want it. The one have is similar, but has more chains.
I have been liking yellow and gray, and yellow and black lately. I'm normally not a big fan of yellow.
I read Dooce's post today about splitting up with her husband. I've been reading her blog for years and years. I never thought her marriage would end. She and her husband knew each other so well, were so in love, put so much work into their marriage.
It made me wonder, how much I really knew about their lives and their marriage and their issues. Dooce is so open about everything, maybe it gave me a false sense of knowledge, of knowing her. Bloggers show you only what they want you to see, but that isn't any different from anyone else. Two other bloggers I admire split with their husbands in the past year. One has found a fantastic new husband. The other has only just started picking up the pieces. Friends of mine are divorcing and it is ugly and cruel in a way that makes me question our friendship.
Maybe the problem is not keeping the truth about your marriage from the world, but keeping it from yourself. When I compare my marriage to the ones I admire, mine seems to fall short, but I am looking at mine with unflinching honesty, not through the veneer required for publication. Even so, I do have a public marriage and a secret marriage, but it's not because I have anything to hide, it's because there are two people in my marriage and that story isn't mine alone to tell.
