Fantasy Vacation Shopping a la Anthropologie

Now that I've gone and blathered on about my study abroad adventures (or lack thereof) and other things international, I have the travel on the brain. I'm not complaining - much - having been lucky enough to enjoy a Mexican getaway just recently. I'm also, you know, sorta grateful for being employed at the moment. However, some Fridays a girl just wants to get gone, as in, seriously gone.

So when I happened upon Anthropologie's happy little January '09 catalog, as my Twitter lovelies know, my AmEx and my passport commenced their traditional two-step of anticipatory glee. To better allow you & me to jettison off to that imaginary happy, beachy place, or perhaps for those of you who are honeymooning or off to vacation paradise soon, I bring you my summery favorites without regard to expense or reality and stuff:

Clockwise from the top left:

Waiting-For-Poems Sheath: love the robin's egg blue contrasted with the coral bow-belt.
Dazzling Light Shift: perfect for summertime dinner on the patio, yes?
Pivka Necklace: I prefer to minimize the beachy vacation jewelry, but this is so simple &
ideal with a casual shift.
The Artist's Tote: too lovely for the beach, but just right for a nice dinner out afterwards.
Crocus Bud Peep Toes: Rare is the vacation day when I can be talked out of my flips, but these
would be ideal for an afternoon of window shopping.
Zois Bellflower Bag: also lurrvely for a summery night exploring a new town.

Happy travels, imaginary or otherwise, to you this weekend . . .

Etiquette Smackdown, Sort Of

Ladies & gentlemen, it is with regret that I must change this week's topic from other people's appalling behavior to my own.

Travelers & you former study abroad-ers in particular, please raise your hand if you've heard of the following, ahem, Theory of International Dating: once you have traveled across an international border, you are free to ignore the domestically delightful restraints of a romantic relationship in your native country.*

*It is implied that the partner left back home is to dutiful remain faithful and spend much time chastely pining for the traveling partner. Duh.

I hasten to add - I'm hastening so quickly, in fact, that I may trip over my adorable horsey boots here - that I myself never adhered to** this particular belief, as I'm sure none of you have either. I am also definitely, definitively not saying that I regret not grabbing this theory by its deliciously deceitful horns and dating that Ferragamo model during my study stint in Florence. Truly. Quiet there, you in the back.

**Nor do I now, obviously. Hello, Anonymous Husband!

Having so faithfully, ardently, ill-advisedly eschewed this line of reasoning before, I was aghast to discover this week that I've been applying my very own International Rule to . . . thank-you notes. Yes, that grandmother and Pretty-approved tradition was, until recently, apparently limited in my mind to the confines of the United States of Propriety here, as I learned upon receiving a rather lovely thank you letter from a friend currently working in Geneva.

Switzerland?!? I cried internally, upon seeing the address. Granted, Friend & I generally exchange letters & thank you notes, but . . . but . . . this means she had to go to the post office and buy fancy-pants postage and translate my address. The very thought had me diving for the pinot - not that it takes much - until I stopped to wonder where I'd come up with this odd international rule in the first place.

Why on Earth am I hung up on something like thank you notes when apparently we're all destined to lose our jobs and the economy still stinks and mysteriously hirsute now-ex-Governors are parading about the airwaves? It's the comfort of ritual, simply. When everything else appears to be threatening my cozy little world, and not in the good, boundary-expanding Oprah-fuzzy-lighting sort of way, it is a comfort to know how to act in at least one, albeit small, situation. Most importantly, it is nice to know that I can - or could, if I was willing to get up off my oh-so-comfortable couch and just go to the stupid post office already - inexpensively and quickly convey a kindness to a faraway friend in a non-computer, non-Facebook broadcasted*** manner. That's all.

***Now THERE is a topic for future discussion. Fellow Facebookers, you're on notice.

(Credit: I bring you my next thank-you notes, courtesy of the ever-correct Preppy Princess)

That isn't my actual name on the card; apparently they couldn't fit "She-Ra, Princess of Power".

So off I go to watch "Grey's Anatomy" even though it's utterly worthless now to put some notes in the domestic & international mail alike. As for Giorgio the model, we'll always have - or would have had, rather - Tuscany. Sigh.

21 Questions

THE Question. You know the one. Since the very moment I walked back down the marital aisle as Mrs. Anonymous Husband, it seems as though all that new acquaintance types (and co-workers, and family members . . .) want to quiz me about is when the Anonymous Husband and I plan to Go Forth and Have Babies. I realize this is hardly a new question for those of us past the college years, but it astounds me how often I hear this familiar, cliched, if usually (sometimes?) well-intentioned, refrain.

Having seen and heard from a number of you & my non-bloggy friends, it would appear that many of us are fielding the same infernal question, whether you are (1) like me and mentally preparing/wishing for future children and the related concept of 18-24 years of not sleeping in ever, or (2) not wanting any children of your own, at any point or (3) very much wishing to have children but struggling to conceive them in the first place. In short, many of us lady-types happen to not pregnant right this very second. We are also perhaps not eager to discuss that fact with, by means of completely random example, our boss' ridiculous secretary.

So I propose a strategy . . . I'm foolish, but not so much so that I think a boycott of the age-old question is going to get us anywhere. Thousands of years of bad behavior + reality TV culture = we're just not going to avoid it. And as much as I'd like us to have some sort of handy team uniform to succinctly convey our message - say nice jeans, plus a J. Crew cashmere crew-neck sweater emblazoned with helpful arrows pointing to our ladybits that proclaims:

"YES, THAT IS MY UTERUS! IT IS UNOCCUPIED AT THE MOMENT AND FOR THE FORESEEABLE FUTURE, BUT THANK YOU FOR YOUR INTEREST!"

Can't you just picture it - maybe in a shell-pink, loopy cursive?. . . I realize that this might encourage, as opposed to discourage, the questions. Hmmm.

Maybe instead of a Team Uniform, anticipating the future questions might help. Because if we can't beat the pushy questioners, at least we can have a few years to concoct a politely snarky retort. I took a look at THE Question - and there always is one, isn't there? - as it has evolved over my past 10 years to see if we could detect a pattern. Looking back, here's what the 10 year retrospective looks like:

Age 21: "Vodka or tequila shot?"
(Hint: Choose vodka. You can thank me later.)
(Double Hint: The questions grow more onerous from here. See Hint #1.)

Age 22: "Law school (fill in grad school of choice here)? Have a job lined up yet?"
Age 23: "Law school? Have a job lined up yet?"
Age 24: "Law school? Have a job lined up yet?"

Age 25 (as receiving diploma): "When are you getting married?"
Age 26: "When are you getting married?"
Age 27 : "When are you getting married?"
Age 28: "When are you getting married?"

Age 29: "When are you two newlyweds having kids?"
Age 30: "When are you two newlyweds having kids?"
Age 31: "When are you two newlyweds having kids?"

What do we think comes next here? "When are you having your next child?" "Have you submitted your union fees & soul to the local Mommy Mafia?"

Or should we just stick to the matching J. Crew sweaters?

The Grace Experiment, Part 1

No, not that Grace I usually blather on about . . . today's title refers to a blog experiment launched here and as written about by a host of other bloggers far more talented and interesting than little ol' me (like this one). Here's the idea - please brace yourself for the unicorns-and-rainbows, soft Oprah-lighting feel to this one - for 365 days, the blogger posts 5 things, mayjah or minor, which have graced his or her life.

Since I am obviously far too lazy / irreverent / bad at following rules busy and important to do a daily post, let alone one in which I set aside my snarkitude and act appropriately, I'm adapting this to a semi-sorta-regular weekly series. And so - ((deep breaths)) - I attempt to set aside bitter harpy-ness and bring you the five things for which I'm feeling quite grateful lately . . .

1. Men who cook willingly & well. Mine in particular is, at this very moment, making a big Italian dinner all by his very ownself.

2. Surprise phone calls - remember that funny device that makes the odd ringing noise, the one I generally prefer to ignore?* - from faraway childhood friends.
*Not to be confused with my iPhone, for which I harbor unhealthy feelings of devotion and adoration.

3. Overcast Sundays perfect for napping on the couch & starting a new book:

So long as we're getting obnoxiously warm & fuzzy, I'm pulling out all of the shameless stops, including gratuitous puppy photos. Yeah, I know.

4. Witnessing an important moment in American history , regardless of how you or I (you might be surprised) or your mom's gardener's waxer voted.

5. Finding my go-to-jeans on sale.

Pretty Beauty Lab, Winter '09

Enough about my being smug, let's talk about my being superficial. After all, this blog is largely dedicated to being Prettier Than Everyone Else, no?

I apologize to any B-O-Y-S who have stumbled across this today, since this will mostly be applicable to us lady types. Feel free to play along, of course, but here's one of my favorite candid Grace Kelly shots just in case. You're welcome.

But back to today's subject - my favorite winter beauty finds - I also realize it's difficult to take on faith, absent a picture of me, that I know that which I speak of here. Rest assured that I am not a 45-year old Peruvian father of three - much as I occasionally wish I were, of course - but rather a 30-something who is identical to the lady in the photo above. Except, you know, with freckly, fair, combination, 30-something white girl skin and a penchant for eating too many Wheat Thins.

Now that I've laid out for you all of the reasons you shouldn't listen to me, let me bring you my picks, both the proven winners and the ones I'm fiddling with:

Proven Winners




Going clockwise from the top left corner:

- Alba Very Emollient Body Lotion: rich without being sticky, with a beautiful, floral scent. For you Whole Foods types, this is also paraben, allergen, and fun free. $16 at Target, but a large bottle will last a good 4-6 months.

- Cetaphil: my a.m. cleanser. Cheap & you've heard about it before. It works.

- Natura Bisse Diamond Extreme Eye: This is - um - not inexpensive. However, if you're like me & willing to eat Top Ramen henceforth in exchange for combatting crow's feet, it's worth the splurge. Plus, if you're feeling brave enough to battle the obnoxious Neiman Marcus salesladies, you can wheedle some samples. Thanks to SLynnRo for the brand recommendation.

- Fresh Soda Shampoo: pricey again, but magically balances out my oily-at-roots, dry-at-ends fine hair. And - this is big - it smells faintly of root beer. Available at Sephora, who is good at giving out samples. (Thanks again to SLynnRo).

- DDF Brightening Cleanser: my evening cleanser. Glycolic acid is the freckly girl's friend.

In the Beauty Self-Experimentation (why does that phrase sound vaguely naughty?) Lab





Again, starting from the left:

- Revitalash: If you really want to hurt my feelings, don't bother insulting my intelligence or my soul; stick to my true Achilles' heel, my stubby eyelashes. After seeing Pretty in Pink Megan's miraculous results with this lash growth elixir, my paycheck and I decided to invest. Immediately. In any event, this potion goes on daily a la liquid liner before bedtime. Too early for me to see any results yet, but I will try to find a way to show you before and after results.

- Retin A Micro: You think I'm vain now? You should have known me during my engagement, when it was all skincare, all the time. Retin A Micro was a vital part of my covert complexion battle against acne and wrinkles. Be forewarned - you need a prescription for this stuff, and it can and likely will cause peeling.

- Fresh Supernova Mascara: Did I mention that I hate my lashes? This mascara is helping me defeat them, with its fantastic brush and ability to lenghen without clumpiness. However, it isn't an all-day mascara; I notice flakes about 5 hours in, so have started mixing this with my old reliable, Maybelline Define-a-Lash for greater staying power.

- Shu Uemura Mini-Eyelash Curler: Yes, it's all lashes, all the time here at the Pretty. Or would be, if I could figure out how to use this contraption. I'm sure it's just as brilliant as the full-sized version, but I need a few more hours in front of the mirror with this.

A Pretty weekend to you all . . .

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Smootches and many thanks to the fabulous Europafox, she of the adorable Lake District B&B and even more adorable son, as well as new blogette A Balancing Act in Heels, for honoring little ol me. Thank you!

The Dread Pronoun "We"

Forgive me, readers, for I have . . . er, not sinned, exactly. Let's go with egregiously boo-boo'ed.

I mean, seriously. Conduct unbecoming an aspiring Princess of Monaco.

You know those appallingly cliched things you swore you'd never do if you ever got married or otherwise long-term partnered up? The stuff that newlywed nightmares and Jim Belushi sitcoms are made of? On the level of referring without irony to your spouse as "the old ball and chain", complete with faux-exasperated eye roll? Or starting to dress and look like your partner or pet*, not necessarily in that order?
*Although if you are dressing your pets, or dressing like your pets, you might have more to worry about than mere Smug Marriedness. In related news, please ignore this post. Thank you.

Yeah . . . well, along these illustrious, utterly obnoxious lines, check out what I accidentally quipped to a co-worker the other day, apropos of absolutely nothing. Mind you that the Anonymous Husband had appeared nowhere in the conversation to this point:

"Oh, we did go see 'Revolutionary Road' the other day. We thought it was wonderful, but . . . you know . . . it could have used an upbeat musical number or two and some animated Disney characters."

!!!

Like with those delightful sentence diagrams from English class, let's dissect the various problems with the above sentence, shall we?

1) The use of "we" not in the Royal sense - as regular readers know, the Pretty is quite the fan of the irregular and inappropriate use of same - nor in the factual sense, but in the more sinister, Orwellian groupthink sense, "My husband and I think just alike about everything!! And do everything together! Nary an independent rattling around in this Pretty head of mine!! You poor singletons must be exhausted having to, um, have opinions of your own and stuff!

(Credit: Barnes & Noble)

I wonder if Mr. Orwell could have imagined being featured in an inane post about marital cliches. Sounds appropriately apocalyptic to me, for what it's worth.

2) The snootypants implication that the AH & I are the sort of people who see Artistic Movies on a regular basis, on purpose, of the sort that only play at one theater in a 500 mile radius. And, impliedly, watch PBS only and grocery shop at Whole Foods, vegan organic gluten carb free, while espousing the virtues of cruelty-free knitting.

3) Sigh. I'm just too disappointed in myself to continue.

Readers, will you forgive me? I promise, pinky swear, to only use the Dread Pronoun We in the irreverent, delusional sense henceforth . . . and endeavor to stop using terms like "henceforth" . . . and "endeavor" - oh, nevermind . . .

The "Couples Friends" Interview

On a slightly different note than excellent, yet vodka-inducing movies . . . one of the many splendored things I've come across in my impressive two years as a Smug Married newlywed is the heightened importance of couples friends. This isn't to say that the inclination or practice wasn't there during the dating years, just that there is a mysterious new sense of both joint effort and interest as the Anonymous Husband and I attempt to meet people together in our new town. To a certain extent, friends are friends are friends, but I've also found that there is a slightly different set of qualifications for Couples Friends than for those people unfortunate enough to spend time with me individually.

Please raise your hand if any of the following sounds familiar in your initial Couples Friends thought-processes:

- Do I like her ("Girl")? Enough that if the Boy & the AH leave for a joint bar trip, I won't fly into a secret panic over what to talk to Girl about?
- Do I like him ("Boy")? Can he do enough sports /business talk to keep AH entertained, but talk enough, um, interesting stuff to please me?
- Seriously, what do I have to do to get a margarita here?
- Oooh, look at her handbag. If Boy bought that for her, perhaps he can talk the AH into doing the same for me?
- Does the sound of Boy & Girl interacting as a couple irritate me to the point that a night doing taxes / watching LiLo movies / purchasing LiLo leggings (knee pads included!) sounds better? Minus 2 additional points if PDA levels appear high.
- OK, the margarita???
- Will the existence of babies (them) or lack thereof (us) make or break this?
- How likely is this to evolve into a board game night sort of friendship? And if I confess that I might actually be OK with that, does that immediately make me ancient?**
- MAR-GAR-ITA, MAR-GAR-ITA (now pounding fork and knife on table in time with chant)
**I am a little kickass at Trivial Pursuit & Connect Four. Not to brag or anything.

You'll be disappointed to know that I do not actually carry a checklist & clipboard to these dinners. However, a girl has to have some degree of people-watching fun . . . since I am now deprived of my favorite southern California observational pastime, cougar hunting, Texas couples are hereby on notice . . .

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Many thanks and unicorns-and-rainbows style feelings of delight go to two bloggers who've honored the Pretty recently on their fine blogs:

- News Readin Wife, who, if we ever have the good fortune to meet, I suspect would quickly qualify as both Couples Friend and Friend Friend.

- Christine, a sweet new addition to the blog world & fellow lady lawyer.

Merci!

"Revolutionary Road", aka A Yuppie's Torture

"How do you break free without breaking apart?" - tagline to "Revolutionary Road".

(Credit: Wikimedia)

@6:50 pm, Saturday, January 17th: Anonymous Husband and I settle in to our seats for that cinema du suburban nightmare, "Revolutionary Road".

@6:57 pm: Engage in covert armrest warfare with the lady to my right, as we struggle for room in the packed theater. Briefly note that my boots are much cuter than hers.

@7:00 pm: Get wholly engrossed in movie & neglect armrest warfare, to the delight of uncutely shod neighbor.

@8:56 pm: The AH and I stumble from the theater, shellshocked, viscerally affected, wishing for a drink, a distraction, an ANYTHING to ease the personal insecurities raised in the past two hours.

@9:00 pm: Drive home to Pretty HQ in silence, save a few muttered, barely audible words relating to vodka.

@9:15 pm: Liquor in hand, the AH & I slowly go about unraveling that which we just watched, simultaneously excited and daunted and horrified. The AH channel surfs between Big Hollywood Action Movies as I look for the answers in the delicate lines of my crystal glass. Wedgwood appears no closer to assuaging the fears than I do.

@12:00 am, Sunday: Fall into a dreamless sleep, grateful for respite from the questions.

@10:00 am: Drive to & from in-laws, with 80 miles one-way and nothing to do except think, again, too much.

@5:15 pm: Sit down for usual Sunday night blogging, attempting to summon perky powers to discuss favorite winter beauty products, only to find the thinking won't stop. Attempt to silence the unceasing questions via my kind friend, cookie dough, only to find I'm just more plump, yet no more content.

This not being the "I Pick Excellent Movies" blog, I prefer to leave such reviews up to the experts, hence this isn't exactly a review. This is more to say that sometimes a book, a song, or a movie just happens upon you. Doesn't need to be Art with a capital "A", or enjoyable, or even good in any quantifiable sense (if such a measure exists, which I question) - just something that speaks to the questions you hadn't realized you were asking yourself.

And so "Revolutionary Road" crept up on me in a month that has been prone to much navel-gazing and, admittedly, privileged-life ennui about things like What Should I Do When I Grow Up - a question only those of us fortunate enough to have choices can fuss over. A month in which I couldn't and can't quite identify what was the matter, and so I've wrapped myself in books and rediscovering songs I'd hidden away and such. So I'd expected to like this movie, but I hadn't anticipated being emotionally knocked sideways by the questions it raised. And that is one of many reasons why I'll keep going to the movies . . . but not without a pre-movie vodka soda next time.

Back soon with bright and sunshiney-y, Pretty product intel . . .

Pretty's Hierarchy of Moving Needs

First and foremost, my thanks and gratitude go to that Yummy Mummy in L.A., One Fabulous Mom, for honoring the Pretty on her lovely blog today. Please go forth & investigate her splendiferousness immediately. Thank you for your cooperation.

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But back to talking about myself . . . this being the new year and time for odious resolutions and reflection blah blah, it struck me that I'm coming up on one year of life in a new city. Having done this a couple of times in as many years, it seemed to me there was a bit of a pattern to this settling in to a new town business. Cribbing furiously from that Maslow guy and his hierarchy of needs, which I ever-so-vaguely recall from my college Psych course before I discovered that there was actual science involved in psych & dropped the class, my inner Type A Minus took command of my keyboard and came up with the following sequence of priorities I've somehow come to rely on in my moves. Starting with the more "primitive" needs at #1, I bring you the Pretty Hierarchy of Moving Needs:

1) Home / Job
2) Grocery Store/ Dry Cleaner (the latter being the bitchiest of them all to find, no?)
3) Reasonable facsimile of Southern California culinary staples: a decent late-night Mexican food source/ In-n-Out burger
4) Keepers of the Pretty - doctors, hair salon (also onerous), etc.
5) Finding the fun stuff / meeting people - decent bookstore, liquor source, cupcake source, theater, shops
6) Finding the Civic Duty stuff / meeting people - Junior League membership, etc.

Hmm . . . come to think, the bar & the bookstore probably come hand in hand with basic grocery store needs . . . aside from that, I do believe that in this current Austin abode, I've made it almost all the way through this odious list business and am only left at #5-6. Not so bad for one year, I'm surprised to find ((she says as she smugly in a self-congratlatory glow)).

This look about right to you? What are the first things you seek out in a new town?

Pretty Paper Alert, R. Nichols

We break from our regularly scheduled snark - and contemplation of miscast, ill-advised legal shows, thankfully - to bring you this important paper snob alert (all photos credit: R. Nichols)

R. Nichols, purveyor of paper adorableness, are offering $5.10 for an 8-pack of cards such as:









By the way, I only pimp that which I purchase. I'm not secretly coerced or paid to promote anything you see on these fair pages, although God knows I'm willing to be - hello, Grey Goose! Book publishers! Hermes!

Thanks to my dear friend & general international woman of mystery, the BF-J whoneedstostartherownblogrightthisveryminute, for alerting me to the sale. And now back to our regularly scheduled witchytude . . .

A Lawyer's Lament, TV Edition

You might have noticed a distinct lack of j-o-b talk here at the Pretty. The reasons for this are myriad, but chief amongst them is a selfish one. As I suspect your blogs do for you, this little space comprises my mental recess, my brain playground in which things like bullies and 100 page commercial leases do not exist.

Another motivation to keep the j-o-b talk to a minimum is my sincere wish not to besmirch the glorified, As Seen on TV version of the lawyer life (insert jokes here), that vaunted unicorn-and-rainbow universe filled with stirring speeches and defending the Constitution and bespoke suits. Not that I think you wise people really believe any of that, but it appears American TV writers do. Whether it be Tom Cruise bombastically EMOTING at Jack Nicholson in "A Few Good Men" (admittedly not TV, but appearing on cable enough to merit an exception) or the wacky dramedys like "Boston Legal" or "Ally McBeal", those odes to eccentricity that seem just incidentally set in law firms, I'm usually willing to overlook the outlandish errors and misrepresentations* in order to keep our rep (stop laughing) intact.
*Except for "Law & Order". Don't even go there.

There are times, however, when credulity is strained such that I cannot remain silent. I'm talking ridiculous on the level of, say, that Jonas Brother attempting to claim he doesn't use a flat iron** ***, or Cameron Diaz asserting that no, she actually didn't have time in the 6 months prior to the Golden Globes to get her roots done/ dress ironed/ makeup on. And so I bring you the next legal drama in the pipeline as starring . . . Hilary Duff:
**Men? Flat irons?? NO.
***Why, why do I know who the Jonas Brothers are??

(Credit: Entertainment Weekly)

Here's what Reuters - yes, that Reuters, as in the news service - has to say about this (following excerpt all credit to Reuters):

LOS ANGELES (Hollywood Reporter) - Singer/actress Hilary Duff is attached to play a young lawyer in an NBC sitcom that might be described as a legal version of "Doogie Howser, M.D."

The network has ordered a script for "Barely Legal," a comedy based on the true story of Kathleen Holtz, who in 2007 passed the notoriously difficult California bar at age 18 to become the state's youngest lawyer.

That sound? Is the remaining live bit of my soul crinkling up like so much tinfoil. What crazy legal hijinks do we think Lizzie McGuire here can get up to in her 1/2 hour time slot? Romantic rendevouz (rendevousez? rendevouzeii?) behind the file clerk's office, with Jonas Brothers' music sweetly playing in the background?

Raise your hand if you and your j-o-b (unpaid jobs included!) suffer the same TV-fied fate. What are the most laughable misrepresentations you've seen? Bonus points if your answer involves flat irons or boy bands . . .

Important, Special Note to Overly Aggressive Retail Salespeople

Pretty Headquarters
10 Witchytude Way
Principality of Monaco, via Austin, Texas

Internation Union of the Sinister Sales Arts
Attention: Neiman Marcus, Employee X
123 Ohmyeverlivinggodwouldyoupleasegoaway Lane
San Antonio, TX 78200

Dear Employee X, and Persons of the Label-Pushing Arts Generally:

Picture the scene: a girl and her BF-M are enjoying a girls' weekend getaway. Naturally, things lead towards the mall and the cosmetics counter in particular. Spending and product testing ensues, leading girl & friend in a frenzied, mascara'ed streak towards that ultimate mecca of treats they cannot afford but like to look at, Needless Markups Neiman Marcus. Upon entering that expensive air, the girls proceed directly to the cosmetics department, only to encounter not the outstanding customer service one might expect in such an establishment, but . . .

. . .Employee X, you of the unshakable persistence, in that I - er, the girl - and the BF-M attempt unsuccessfully to shake you from your salesperson stalkery*, time and again. After you've introduced yourself not one, not two, but THREE times - when I then assure you that I will come find you when the BF and I actually desire your help, are you thwarted? NAY, you will not be dissuaded. No mere CUSTOMER shall come between you & your commission.* When the BF and I then physically attempt escape by cutting a sharp left behind other customers/objects of prey? NO, you shall appear as if by magic (dark, obvs) beside me, proclaiming the virtues of another, more expensive elixir of youth.

(Credit: Natura Bisse, and SLynnRo from whom I learned about this stuff)

Exhibit A: Potential Pretty purchase, thwarted by insane sales/death pressure.

*Mandatory PC Disclaimer: Given these difficult economic times, retailers & their employees are most assuredly under a considerable and understandable burden to make sales. This does not give you license, however, to put me under unnatural pressure in manner of poor Eva Longoria-Parker's squished ladybits in that otherwise lovely Golden Globes** dress from tonight. (Gentlemen readers, just go ahead and click that link. You're welcome.)
**HA! Ahahahaha! Ahem.

Retailers & insane salesladies both, this is not to say us consumers do not want anyone persistently following us around your lovely stores - merely that you need to tweak the process a bit. For example, I might be more inclined to buy pricey potions if, say, Jake Ryan or Christian Bale were staring broodily and mumbling at me from behind the La Mer counter. John Legend could provide my musical accompaniment, while Jon Hamm or Patrick Dempsey man the formalwear department. Of course, D. Beckham and Tom Brady would inspire me to buy athletic wear, and a complimentary glass or five of the Veuve might color the whole experience in a bubbly, spendy glow. Easy, no?

To conclude, you purveyors of pressure, a girl shouldn't be forced to invent & act upon an imaginary restaurant reservation to elude Employee X and your nefarious, moisturizer-peddling ways. If I am to be lured from behind my kind, unpressured, discount-code providing laptop, I expect considerate service, even in these trying times. If said service is to be provided by, via completely random example, Rob Pattinson,**then so much the better . . .
**With bonus points awarded for RP also locking Employee X in the nearest supply closet.

Yours from My Keyboard, Since I Won't Be Darkening Your
Store-Step Again Anytime Soon,


Legallyblondemel,
Pretty Headquarters, January 2009

Signs You Are No Longer Dating, Friday Night Date Edition

Pre-Marriage Internal Monologue, 6 pm

"Oooh, Anonymous Boyfriend should be here soon - he is SO adorable! I wonder what fabulous restaurant he's taking me to this time? I'd better go re-check my outfit and make sure that these silver heels make my behind look good . . . shaving. SHAVING!! OHMYGOD (or "ZOMG" for the hipsters like myself) I FORGOT TO SHAVE!* Where is the emergency toxic-chemical Nair?" ((sound of crashing and cabinet slamming as search commences))

*In case my late Grandparents are reading this from their Heavenly MacBooks, this is not meant to imply that I had any actual need for shaving before dates. Nopety nope nope. La la la la . . .

Post-Marriage Internal Monologue, 6 pm

"Oooh, Target loungey pants. Sooooo comfy. I wonder if, once I arrive home, I can make it from the car to loungey pants in 60 seconds. And, somehow, convince the Anonymous Husband to cook dinner.** Maybe a movie later, even though this is high school date night & we'll have to wade through the hormones to find our seats? So long as it's not one of those WW II boy flicks out right now? More importantly, so long as I can remain in the loungey pants for the movie?"***

**I did! Singletons, never underestimate the wonders of a spouse who cooks well & willingly. Makes me nearly as happy as my loungey pants.

***I lost, both on the movie and the pants. But see above about the cooking!

The State of the Pretty

Ever have one of those weeks where you are entirely ravenous for good music and reading and writing and bad television? Pets, as I sit here in my DEEPLY IMPORTANT state of daydreamy mind we discussed last night, happily and woozily lost amongst my iTunes selections and fuzzy writing ideas not to mention attempting to be a normal human being and take breaks from re-reading Those Books, I realize I may have misplaced my Snarky Pants this week. Fear not, fearless ones - they're around, but I think I dropped them off at the spiritual dry cleaners this week as I'm sorting through the old ennui.*
*Including cassette tapes -remember those? Can you hear the creaking of my ancient bones as I type this?

In le meantime, I figured I'd wholly plagiariz . . . er, take inspiration from some of my favorite other bloggers and do a retrospective on my 2008 posts for which I harbor particularly fuzzy, unicorn-and-rainbow feelings.** *** Any new readers, I hope this may also give you an idea of what We stand here at the Pretty - in addition to the gratuitous and entirely random use of speaking in the 3rd person, that is. And so, while my Inner Introvert takes command of my keyboard and demands more more more good stuff, I leave you with - well, MY stuff, at least:
**If you suspect this is a clear case of writer's block, um, please keep it to yourself. Smootches.

*** Yes, this traditionally end-of-year practice is coming to you only EIGHT days after the New Year. Darlings, as we've discussed before, I am nothing if not late to the dance. Fashionably late, obvs.

August '08
Getting to know you (my first post) and hurling the snarky gauntlet at that Pretty Archnemesis, Paris (the strumpet, not the city)

In which we establish the first Pretty Icon, Christy Turlington Burns, and Not Just Because I Wanted an Excuse to Post Photos of Edward "Better than a Birkin" Burns

September '08

A tribute to that original Pretty muse, my late Grandmother

In which we discuss THAT uncomfortable drugstore purchase for the ladies. AAAAAGH

The Recovering Introvert*: ie, why I should have listened to my family after all
*Note to self: Might want to revisit this one, like, now.

October '08

In which I try to bludgeon my inner Type A Minus, who wants one of those odious 5 Year Plans

November '08

The Snark Report: Important, Special Note to Oprah

Month of Snark, Actually: Important, Special Note to Juicy Couture

December '08

What do you want to be when you grown up? (Answer = Anna Wintour)

The Posh Controversy

If you'll forgive me for this congratulatory review & navel-gazing, I'm off to do . . . um, more of exactly that. Plus, some actual, honest to goodness new writing and stuff, coming to soon to a monitor near you.

. . . In Which I Embrace My Shallow Self and Talk Target

For the past 48 hours, I've labored under some mysterious notion that the next post I brought you needed to be DEEPLY IMPORTANT and TREMENDOUSLY MEANINGFUL and CAPS-LOCKY. I say "mysterious" because I certainly haven't written anything like that before, so it's curious why this instinct struck now, but not to worry . . . I've cued up the appropriately self-important, angsty music a la junior high (think George MichaelPearl Jam and Richard Marx* Wagner) and sulked on the couch long enough now that I'm over it.
*Children of the 80s, like you didn't love him & his magnificent mane too? Please.

Hence I'm afraid you're stuck here with me talking new collections at Target shopping, based on a few daily recent visits. I wish it hadn't come to this, but this is all coming from the girl who had to Google "ZOMG"** today, so my quota of useful knowlege for the day is shot. Let's just agree that a smidge of budget shopping is useful for all of us in these times, shall we? Unless you'd like me to wax on about These Challenging Times in serious and stern ways? Anyone??
**I include the link here for my partners in the perpetually lame. You're welcome! I'm so old!

So from the DEEPLY IMPORTANT and TREMENDOUSLY MEANINGFUL Thakoon collection at Target, I bring you the apple of my coat-adoring eye:

(Credit: Target)

For once - hello, Target, PLEASE improve your web photos - this coat actually looks like this in real life. Gorgeous, vibrant pattern that is floral enough for spring, yet the colors are winter appropriate. I'd love it a bit more if it had a belt to cinch in the waist, but at $44.99, it shall be mine. One more note: it's a roomy fit, so you may need to size down as I did.

(Credit: Target)

Love the batik-y print and pockets - let's pause for a salute to the skirt pocket trend, by the way - but the colors and cut are classic enough to pull off in a traditional setting.

And from the equally ANGSTY Hayden-Harnett handbag collection:

(Credit: Target)

I can't explain the odd glass logo hardware you see on the left - perhaps it's a spare, extremely large monocle? - but I love the stud and chain detail otherwise. Very Jordan Catalano-worthy, so long as we're on the angsty self-importance track tonight, and nicely lined and put together in person.

(Credit: Target)

Again, I can't explain the looking glass thingy to you, but I'm convinced that it is DEEPLY IMPORTANT. Plus, from my inspection you can just remove it. This is a nice neutral bag for daytime totage purposes.

Anything else I've missed? Any other questions for me of Earth-shattering significance?

Easing Into Reality . . .

For those of us doing the job thing (or, nowadays, fortunate enough to have a job thing), let's all take a moment of silence to commisserate over the suckiness that was going back to work today:

(((pause)))

As us laboring sorts unite in our self-pity, I hope you'll forgive my easing slowly from nattering on about my beachy vacation into my usual delusions of grandeur and self-importance. After all, a girl can't just jump from poolside bliss to Judging Other People, from 0 to 60, overnight. Except that I so totally can, but am trying to Keep Up Appearances here. Thank you for your understanding.

In any event, an email chat with the original Retail Ninja, SLynnRo, got me thinking about the oft-colorful experience of being an American abroad. On my recent adventure, "abroad" = "sitting as still as possible in a Baja paradise", so I only speak from my particular poolside perch here.

As a Southern Californian by nurture and nature, it is my particular birthright to speak with innate authority on two subjects - cosmetic surgery (*not* that I've had any yet - truly - nor do I plan to yet) and appropriate poolside / beachy decorum. I imagine this is much like you Manhattan types hold the floor on sample sales & you Chicagoans can speak to abject political corruption.

In any event, I know these guidelines are redundant amongst my most attractive, intelligent, and genteel readers. Since I've got my complaining tiara on anyways, here are the Pretty Top 5 Rules for How Not to Represent Self and Country (USA) While in Beachy Paradise Abroad:* **
*Yes, yes - there are some very serious problems happening in the world right now which might - might - trump beachy rules in the grand scale of things. I hear those nice folks over at CNN cover that sort of thing.

**If you suspect I'm writing about this only to avoid talking AGAIN about Those Books Pretty Won't Shut Up About, you might be right. Look, I'm trying here. Thank you again for your understanding.

Rule 5 - Make out conspicuously in the pool/ocean, either while in full view of other patrons and/or in the same body of water as them. Because the ocean view princess suite you booked simply isn't sufficient to contain the intense flames of your poolside passion.

Rule 4 - If you are in a country where the primary language is not English, speak English in a loud, condescending to the resort staff and become irrationally irritated with them for not then understanding you.***
***Ask me how I feel about this one if a proposed Asia trip comes to fruition. I'm beseeching you to have a short memory here. Loveyoumeanitlater.

Rule 3 - Men and women alike, wear as much flashy jewelry poolside as possible. The more diamonds, the better. After all, isn't it a swell idea to advertise how much money you have while abroad?

Rule 2 - While you're speaking English, God's Chosen Language, say it loud and proud - at least two decibels above your comfortable "inside voice". If you see us flinch, that means we can't hear you yet.

Rule 1 - Ladies, please use your new Goyard tote or LV Damier Canvas hobo as your (sand filled, sunscreen spewed, pina colada drenched) pool tote. See Rule 3 above, then proceed to my lounge and deposit offending bag with me.

Lovelies, anything I'm missing here?

A Pool With a View

In case you were curious, darlings, about the sort of setting that could bring about a fit of unicorns-and-rainbows style self-discovery like this one from the other day, I bring a few views from my Los Cabos perch:








You can imagine the effort involved in removing myself from this spot of lounging & vampire book re-reading (yes, to the detriment of my social life & your viewing pleasure, I'm still blissfully lost amongst the undead), but I did muster up the courage to venture forth and have one of the best meals of my much-blessed life at Market, a Jean-Georges Vongerichten restaurant at the One & Only Palmilla resort:

(Photo & massive Photoshopping courtesy of Executive Traveler.Net)

Smooch your plate and propose marriage to the head chef (as the BF-M contemplated) level of delectable. As if this wasn't enough, we spied that reality celeb chef himself, Rocco di Spirito, holding court at the table just behind us**. Glorious eats + incredible company + "US Weekly" moment = worthy of temporary relocation from the pool.
**If you and Rocco are BFFs and you know for a fact that he was off treating the sick in Haiti last week, please keep me in the dark about it. Thanks! XOXO

Sigh. Off to prolong the vacaciones in my mind, one ignored laundry load at a time . . .

1 Pina Colada, 2 Flights, and 3 Hours by the Pool Later . . .

I want to write.

Um, yeah - so stated by the girl who has fiddled with this very blog these past six months.

I want to write.

And there it is, after some 7 years of higher education, 2 professional licenses, and thousands of miles and worries about The Life Plan later.

I want to write.

I can just barely see this, this - writing thing - standing outside of myself, head cocked, impishly smiling, looking kindly at me in bemused wonder at how this revelation (? idea? wild idea spurred on by too much sun exposure?) took so very long for me to come across.

Although I can catch the odd glimpse of this, this - whatever - the form remains blurry. Whether it be just continuing to enjoy you all here & chat about the direct and unfortunate correlation between my love for a handbag and its price, or creating something on an actual written page, here I am, befuddled and dawning upon happy all the same.

I want to write.

As I lounge here in this happy mix of beach and my Pacific Ocean and friends, looking at this writing thing, I'm oddly fine. Oddly due to the inner push, the inner Type A Minus harpy that is usually screeching for a plan, a solution, an easy answer to where this whole creativity thing is headed. The frustration that this wasn't somehow evident before. But it was, and it is. Wow.

I want to write. I am writing.
******************************************************************************************
Pets, I'll be back to my usually scheduled drivel, including but not limited to why Robert Pattinson is welcome to watch me slumbering at his convenience (love you, Anonymous Husband!), and commenting next week.