Old bag

Summary haiku:

Thirty-fifth birthday.
My youth is up in smoke, like
Snoop Dogg's Philly blunt.

Advice from an image consultant

Yesterday, I interviewed a woman who works as an image consultant and got a bit of a reality check. Most of the time, I feel as though I'm fairly put together, but learned that I probably am not. Ah well, live and learn.

Anyway, here's some of the advice she gave, which actually makes a lot of sense and isn't really that difficult to achieve.

1. Every, single item in your closet should be a 'wow' piece. Meaning, it should either make a strong statement, or you should love it so much that merely laying eyes upon it gives you heart palpatations.

My source -- a wealthy woman who could probably afford to fill all the closets in her large home -- said she doesn't have many clothes at all. But she's chosen wisely, and wears them in different ways.

So in a perfect world, she said, nobody would go to their closet and groan, "What should I wear today?" They would instead approach their closet, and, overwhelmed by their exciting, tasteful choices, exclaim with joy: "Wow! What should I WEAR today?"

(That's a fine theory. And sometimes, I do exactly that. But more often, I'm afraid I'm 'wow'ing for the wrong reasons.

As in:

"Wow! I wonder how long it will take for the wrinkles to fall out of that shirt, which I refuse to iron because ironing is a tedious, soul-sucking activity!"

"Wow! I used to fit into these jeans. What the hell happened?"

I need to work on this.)

2. Don't save it for a special occasion. Wear it whenever you want.

What are you waiting for? You only live once and you might as well go about your days wearing something that makes you feel awesome and pretty.



Finally! Validation for wearing my electric purple or gold shimmer eyeshadow during the day!

3. First impressions do count.

According to her, a person makes a judgment about another person in 1/48 of a second and it's based on their clothes, because that's usually the first thing you notice when someone is headed in your direction. In that split second, they can decide what your personality is like, whether they'd want to be friends with you, your intelligence, your social and economic status, etc.

It may not be the right thing to do, she said, but that's what happens. I guess I we all know this on some level, but it's nice to be reminded.

Anyhoo, just food for thought.

I might actually iron something tonight just for kicks. And while I should probably kick my smorgasbord of awesome Smashbox and MAC eyeshadows to the curb, well, that's just not gonna happen quite yet.

Baby steps, people. Baby steps.

Thank God for TV news

Summary haiku:
Thank you, TV news.
For without you, I'd never
be so well informed.




All day today, a local TV news station has been airing teasers for one of its big stories for the day: "Do you know where your clothes go once you dump them into the donation box? We investigate!"

So I'm thinking, Oh my God! Are my too-small tops from Express funding terrorists? Are my faded INC jeans being used to strangle puppies? Is someone using my out-of-date Nine West heels to bludgeon grannies as they tend to their shrubbery?

You know what I found out? The company, U'SAgain, which claims on its boxes in bold print to recycle textiles for various uses actually -- drum roll, please -- recycles the textiles for various uses!!!!! Can you fucking believe it?

This enlightening revelation required a two-minute story (an eternity in TV time) and even warranted a live shot conducted from the deserted parking lot in which one of the boxes is located.

The intrepid reporter spoke to a guy from the Salvation Army to find out if these boxes were lessening the amount of donations they were receiving. His answer: No, not at all.

So to recap: The company does exactly what it claims to, and local non-profits aren't losing donations because of it.

Never in a million years did I expect to think, "I'm missing 'The Real World' for this?" while watching the news.

But I stand corrected. And that's what I get for being too lazy to retrieve the remote from the chair across the room.

Shit!

Summary haiku:

Car wash demolished
by unsavvy parking spot
and accurate birds.

A place to call home

Summary haiku:
Is it possible
to find the perfect house on
the first weekend? (Shrug)



The hubby and I have resigned ourselves to the fact that we're going to be in Louisville for a while. (Don't get me wrong -- we like it here. But we hoped we'd be moving back to the West Coast after putting in a few years in the Ville. I just feel a desperate need to be near oceans and mountains. I don't enjoy the middle.)

So, anyway, we're buying a house. We took our first jaunt with our buying agent today and saw 4 different places. It's our first time buying a home, so I was really surprised at how things went down. We'd looked at them all online, and were pleasantly (and not so pleasantly) surprised.

In person, we really liked one that we only felt so-so about prior to our visit. It was really open and clean, had tons of space and updated in every way. Brand new windows, awesome kitchen and bathrooms, large 2 1/2 car garage and a fantastic back yard. Even a basketball hoop for Kyle. It was the very first one we looked at and we were both like, "I could totally see us living here."

And then the house we thought we'd love, we didn't. The inside was really awesome and current and cute. But the yard was jacked up and small, and the house smelled musty. (And a bit like cats and baby diapers -- yum!) I could smell it on myself for a long time after leaving and it was gross.

Even worse, while we were there, Kyle saw somebody he knows from his job who lives in the 'hood. She told us all these great things about it -- it's quiet and clean, she'd lived there for years and loves it. But then she slipped in that within the past year, a woman had been beaten and raped on that very street at 6:30 a.m.

Now, that could happen in any neighborhood, I suppose, but it just turned both of us off. I actually felt like I was going to throw up on the spot.

So, the search continues. But we found one today that will definitely be in the running, and that's a pretty cool feeling.

Hooray!

Your breath smells delicious!

Summary haiku:
Clean teeth are even
more important on dogs, even
though they don't smile.






When we first got Archie in June, he wasn't in the greatest of shape.

He'd been dumped out of a car, was missing all the fur on his tail, wasn't neutered, showed signs of possible abuse and had the most disgusting brown, tartar-caked teeth I'd ever seen on a dog -- and he was only 4, which seemed too young for such dental peril.

We hooked him up with love, health care and toys and most of his issues have been fixed. And after a few months of chewing rawhides and Nylabones, his teeth have gotten so much better.



Even so, his breath could still peel the paint from the side of a school bus.

But in order not to give him a complex(and to try and trick myself into thinking it wasn't so offensive), I'd compliment him daily, comparing his stench to things that made me happy. I made sure to use different comparisons each time.

"Oh Archie, your breath smells delicious. It smells like pumpkin pie and fresh spring showers!"

"It smells like banana bread and barbecue!"

"It smells like tandoori chicken and buttermilk pancakes!"

"It smells like freshly brewed coffee and peppermint sticks!"

But then one day, I had to face the facts: His breath smelled like a sack of wet, dirty socks and cooking broccoli.

So today, he had his teeth cleaned. They are sparkling white, and guess what? His breath -- it smells like Thankgiving dinner and Nag Champa incense.

For real, this time.















(Disclaimer: The first picture is not Archie's mouth -- he's too grouchy from his vet visit to be doing all that to his face right now -- but it that fresh and clean.)