Writing 101: The Fashion Blog You Never Knew You Needed

I can’t pretend I’m even a little bit interested in the prompt for today (and by today I mean Wednesday). One of the suggestions: a series of vignettes connected by drinking your signature drink. This would be easier if my signature drink wasn’t tea and sadness. And by that, of course, I mean tea brewed with my tears and sweat. (Ugh, I’ll stop, I promise. I don’t want to be responsible for you being unable to drink another cup of tea again.)

So let’s talk about what I’ve been doing with my thrilling weekend. Today’s task (besides getting caught up with blogging, cooking, and watching Filth): sorting out my closet/making room for my nice new professional wardrobe (ha).

Honestly, I really, really like throwing things away. I have too much stuff, largely comprised of books, kitchen gadgets (you will pry my brûlée torch from my cold, dead fingers), and clothing. I also have a large collection of Beanie Babies in the basement that I was completely ready to donate, but my mom didn’t want to get rid of them (you’re part of the problem, Mom).

Since I know this sounds like the most fun ever, let’s play a game where you guess if I kept that piece of clothing, threw it away, or denied all knowledge of its existence (as in went back into old photos and edited it out, Stalin-style). Except not really a game because I’ll tell you immediately what decision I made. It’ll be more like I invited you over and told you we’d have a fun afternoon, but instead you got stuck with me interrogating you about my wardrobe decisions (and then completely disregarding everything you suggest).

We’ll start with an easy one:

Keep. Obviously.

Outfit I wore for the freshman dance in high school. Throw away. Why do I even have this still?

This one was hard because the fish are so cute, but the shirt is a bit on the short side. Throw away.

Felt weird about throwing away since I’ll be working for my alma mater in a few short days (4!). Keep even though I have never in my life worn spirit wear except when gardening/cleaning. As my mom helpfully observed, “You could wear it when you’re outside. Welllllll, you’re never outside, are you?” Thanks, Mom.

I have no recollection of ever wearing (or buying) this. Why on earth do I have anything with such a large bow in my wardrobe? Throw away. Really not a bow kind of person.

Much as it pains me, throw away. Those owls are adorable, but this shirt is much too short.

Keep. Duh.

Bertha Mason passed judgment on this one, so throw away. “I call this a statement piece. It makes the statement ‘I have no taste in fashion.'”

How did you do?  And, more importantly, how did I do?  In 10 years am I going to look back and think my life could’ve been completely different if only I’d kept that dress with the giant ass bow?

Writing 101: My Fabulous Life

Fuck it, guys. I’m just barely hanging on in terms of Writing 101. Instead of motivating each other to keep going, Christa and I have fallen into a black hole of negativity that we just keep pulling each other further into. I’m cool with that—it’s what we do.

“What do you do when you’re not writing?” is the question I’m addressing. Which I interpret as “What did you do today?” in a way that isn’t just polite—you really want to know every minute detail of what I did today.  Here it is, guys.  My fabulous life:

After I woke up, I found 2 lip balms under my night stand. I decided today was going to be a good day since I’ve gone from known locations of 0 to 2 (of 4) lip balms, BERTHA MASON.

Obviously the first thing I did with intent was make a cup of tea. Day will be off to a bad start without a cup of tea. This is approx. 7:30 am, btw. I can’t sleep in anymore, which is pretty upsetting when you consider how much I love sleep. I sat around for a while trying to convince myself to work on this post. Didn’t happen.

After about 2 hours of debating if I should do something more productive with my morning, I made a hash brown casserole. Then I remembered how terrible I am at waiting and ate pumpkin waffles with apple cider syrup for breakfast instead. (That casserole took AN HOUR to cook, you guys. It was really good and contained way more cheese than any other ingredient, but AN HOUR.)

I decided to take my (brisk) walk for the day after breakfast. Bertha Mason helped with resistance training by sitting on my leg as I stretched.

If anyone doubts my commitment to the care of my sweaters, I hand washed not one, but TWO sweaters. And by that I mean I kind of swirled them around in the bathroom sink with some laundry detergent and then let them sit for a few minutes. They’re clean now, right? Super fucking clean.

At this point I kind of forgot I was working this afternoon, so I had to run around simultaneously putting away groceries, finding business casual-y clothes to wear, and speed eating lunch (a little bit of hash brown casserole and a little bit of lo mein. It was fusion cuisine).  Bertha Mason once again offered her assistance by running after me and trying to bite my ankles.

After work, my mom and I made veggie soup with grilled brie, turkey, and cranberry sandwiches. Have I mentioned I’m ready for Thanksgiving food? Because I am.

Since then, I’ve been working on this post and drinking a lot of tea. My goal is to keep blogging…but you know me too well to believe that’s going to happen. I’ll probably be watching Star Trek: TOS and eating cheesecake.  What I feel you should take away from all this is that, on a typical day, I eat a lot of cheese, drink a lot of tea, watch a bit of sci-fi, and lose some blood to Bertha Mason.  If it’s a good day.

Writing 101: Cats = Love

Yeah, let’s just be honest, guys: uncertainty/regret were the words that jumped out to me from today’s prompt. However, I’m sick to death of those words. Instead, I’m focusing on love because I LOVE my kitten and she is underrepresented on this blog (in contrast to my Instagram).

We do not talk about Bertha Mason. Largely because I don’t trust you not to steal her, people of the internet.

Bertha Mason takes her name from the madwoman in Jane Eyre. I’m hoping we can avoid a situation in which she burns the house down and severely injures any members of the household. It hasn’t been quite a month since Bertha Mason joined the family, but I’m already insanely attached to her. Since she was a stray, she’s still a bit skittish, though she’s very affectionate and quite brazen. The other cat, Joey, is 10 but has already succumbed to her intimidation techniques.

BM on left.

Bertha Mason’s rules for intimidation of other creatures are as follows (apparently since I started making lists I can’t stop):

1. Make eye contact with your object of intimidation while biting the shit out of something nearby: wicker chair, a beloved toy, stairs. Pretty sure this is also a mafia intimidation technique.
2. Follow him constantly. CONSTANTLY.
3. If you see him approaching, run up, swipe at his face, hiss, and run away. Repeat.
4. Make yourself look huge even if you are only 5 pounds. It’s helpful if you’re really fuzzy.
5. Chase him around the house and don’t relent. Once he’s on the run, keep him on the run. (Bertha Mason is preparing for her future as a military strategist).
6. Sit or stand above him and try to hit him in the ear.
7. Eat his food slowly and deliberately while making eye contact. Do this even if you’re not really hungry.

In the past month or so, Bertha Mason has become a lap cat without losing her edge. She has to wear cat hats occasionally, but not too often because I love her and want her to be happy. I don’t think it’s possible to love her more.

Cathatted.

I’m already not looking forward to getting her spayed. I know it’s necessary, but I feel like a Nazi for essentially forcing her to be sterilized. And I really hate making a decision that chooses fewer kittens over more, but they would be kittens of neglect and possibly grow up to be serial killer cats. …Or President of the United States. Sorry, I think the pro-lifers have gotten to me.