Important, Special Note to Tory Burch

Pretty Headquarters

10 Malevolence Manor

Principality of Monaco, via Austin, Texas

March 31, 2009

Tory Burch Upper East Side HQ

456 Please Don't Screw This Up Street

New York, New York

Dear HRH Tory:

Like that glorious VH1 show of old, I love the '80s.  If I'm driving a car, Wham! and Def Leppard are likely involved.  If I'm gazing into my closet, a small (albeit ashamed) part of me misses those neon blazes of glory known as puffy paint shirts.  If I hadn't met the Anonymous Husband, I'd still be gazing earnestly out my window, waiting for Jake Ryan to slowly drive up*.

*Best.  Scene.  Ever.

Although your provenance does not extend back to that storied time of slap bracelets, Tory, my ardor for you is nearly as strong.  You manage to make clothes both classic yet not boring, traditional but also modern.  Your clothes reference the past, but are not entirely beholden to a certain era as it is with so many of your counterparts.

Which is why I'm so perplexed by these:

(Credit:  Saks)

Like, these are SO not tubular.  Not tubular at all. In fact, I'd trade you my circa 1987 Madonna cassette tape** if you can tell me why I should pay $95 for a pair of jelly shoes that would have set me back one week's allowance in Huey Lewis' day.

**"True Blue", the best

HRH T, we have a good thing going here.  I adore your clothes.  You look very nice, if a tad perfect and thin; naturally I prefer to keep those designations to myself, but I will be generous here - particularly if you'd like to underwrite this blog.  No?  In any event, let's stop this silliness now.  Be warned, if need be I will break out my personal, entirely punitive "Living on a Prayer" rendition, because I - and Jon Bon Jovi, presumably - take fashion seriously . . . 

Warily Yours,

Legallyblondemel

The Pretty Travel Itinerary

Darlings, despite my best intentions to bring you a deeply moving and painfully important post today, w-o-r-k and other fun stuff intervened.  And, if I'm being honest, my mind has been off in a happier, more passport-friendly way today, as I begin to think over my upcoming travels.

I bring you the following shots with this caveat - I am not posting these with boastful, "Look at how fabulous and interesting I am!  Envy me, minions!" intent although that would be a most felicitous side effect*.  Not not not.  I bring you these simply because I love to travel & suspect a few of you may as well, and with the full knowledge that I am extremely fortunate & luckier than I deserve, particularly in These Difficult Times, to be able to see different parts of the world such as:

*Particularly if you're a minion or know of a good one - I'm in the market.

Any guesses?

(All photos credit to Wikimedia Commons)

The Grace Get-Together, Part 10

My weekly attempt to begin the week on a grateful note, which usually devolves into me just bragging about myself.

Loath as I am to show emotion here - I trust you all can find the Hallmark Channel for your sentimentality needs - I have to confess what a tremendous night I had meeting up with the blog geniuses behind Make Mine a Mojito; Eat, Drink, Marry;  Elefantitas Alegres (best wishes!); Milltini Straight Up; and SLynnRo.  As I suspected, this is one fun, funny, honest, and - it must be said - extremely Pretty group of women.  Shenanigans* ensued. 

*And horrendous pick-up lines;  favorite dog names, anyone?

Honorable Mention goes to the Anonymous Husband, who accompanied me to no less than three of "my" events this Saturday including the "invisible internet friends" meet-up, with nary a complaint and minimal scotch consumption. Of the many things I don't deserve but am happy to have anyways, marrying a man who knows no stranger is up there on the list.  

Back to our regularly scheduled bitchytude tomorrow . . . 

In Which I Abandon All Pretense of Substance & Talk Shoes

(Credit:  Stuart Weitzman)

These are red.  These are shiny. These are splurge-worthy, yet do not cost an actual mortgage payment like those intergalactic beauties.  My mother would not approve*.  Maybe these are coming with me to Vegas . . . 

*Although she intentionally wears Tevas and Crocs - ! - so I think we can lovingly agree that her vote is disqualified.  

Happy weekend & pretty shoes to you all.

For Those Who Tweet

Loves, for those of you not in the Twitter game, please feel free to skip ahead to tomorrow, by which time I hope/ pray to the shoe deities that I can actually find a picture of the perilous heels for which I need (need!) your opinion.

For those of us who dabble in 140 characters or less, realizing there aren't any correct answers here per se, I'd like your take on the following:

     - Do you try to follow everyone who follows you?  The non-sketchy followers, that is?  If so, do you do so because it is polite? Because it drives up your following numbers?*

*It's OK - we can be honest here today.  But just today; I mean, who isn't a fan of polite lies?

     - If you do try to follow everyone back, do you find it possible to meaningfully interact with that many people? 

Edited to Add:  I have not been following everyone back up to this point, mostly for this very reason; I so enjoy the banter & keeping up with the people I follow, and am afraid of overburdening my reading (and therefore cutting down on the interaction) as I have occasionally with blogs.  

     - Do you ever unfollow? Even if it is someone you "know" via your blog or theirs?

     - Should I be concerned that so many, ahem, "life coaches" want to follow me?

If anyone prefers to email me about this, you can find my address in my Blogger profile as always.  Thank you in advance!

You Only Do It Once - In Memoriam

"You only do it once," intoned my late grandpa time and again whenever I, nosy child that I was (am), asked about that whole getting married thing.*  

*And you saucy readers (my favorite kind) thought that title meant something naughty. 

One week ago today, on St. Patrick's Day no less, would have been my late grandparent's fifty-bazillionth anniversary.  Since I've been terribly busy expanding my, um, cultural & musical horizons going to too many concerts and staying up too late, I neglected to mention this at the time, but it has been weaving in and out of my thoughts over the last few weeks.  

Given the incredibly private people they were - Betty & Don Draper have nothing on them in the Keeping Up Appearances department - I won't dishonor them by delving into their private affairs here;  suffice it to say, theirs was not a perfect marriage. I often mused over why two people who were virtual strangers in some aspects remained married.  I also wondered how I was lucky enough to be related to & raised by two such exceptional, if exceptionally different, people.

However, whenever I am mentally meandering and remembering them, I go back to my grandfather's timeworn saying.  My grandparents came from a time, generation, and socio-economic stratum that perhaps expected different things in a partner - not necessarily better, I hasten to add, just different.  Grandpa would be wildly amused, for example, that I expect the AH to chip in with the household chores & be my best friend**.

** AND cook dinner sometimes & keep me in Good Jewelry, but I won't push my luck in case Grandpa is listening in via Heavenly WiFi.

When I'm sitting here, missing them, almost smelling his pipe tobacco and seeing her lurid blue eyeshadow in all of its Estee Lauder glory, I take comfort in remembering their marriage.  Not that I'd want to emulate parts of it; this Gen X child of divorced parents still doesn't wholeheartedly understand the dynamic.  But. The devotion, the integrity, the quiet love - that I can only hope and pray the AH & I achieve someday.

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On a lighter note, many thanks to those two lovelies and blog favorites, the Misses Bama Belle and Preppy Princess, for respectively honoring us (We utilize the random third person for such formal occasions) with blog awards.  I, ahem, We only wish we could adequately express how much we enjoy reading your each & every post.  Thank you.

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On a lighter, lighter note, pretty shoe post, complete with a photo, coming up next.  We'll liven things up here shortly.  Pinky swear!

Why I Like Being Old, aka The Grace Moment, Part 9

My weekly feature in which I ramble on about myself under the guise of noting a few small things for which I'm grateful.

I love that I can want to go to this show and this show and that one, that I have a kind husband who will traipse along with me, and that unlike junior high school, those choices don't entirely define who I am ;

. . . that I can call it a night at 10 pm because I am tired & want to feel decent in the morning, without an ounce of guilt or fuss from friends;

. . . that I can have one drink, or none, or (on rare occasion now) 50 thousand, and that's OK too;

. . . that I can go to shows with people of different labels and appearances than mine, and not worry that I don't fit with the crowd.  Because they are just clothes, people.  Just clothes.* I may not like your ironic Che t-shirt and skinny jeans**, but until proven otherwise, that doesn't mean I think you're actually a bad person or that your mother hates goats.

*JUST CLOTHES!!! (hits head repeatedly against keyboard)

**Although I will blame you for keeping skinny jeans in business - MAKE THEM GO AWAY.

Important, Special Follow-Up of Important Specialness to Important, Special Note to Coach

MEMORANDUM

To:  Pretty, Witty Readers

cc:  Coach Intergalactic HQ du Tacky

From:  Legallyblondemel, Pretty HQ

Date:  March 22, 2009

____________________________________________________________________

Sweethearts, I'm here to share some encouraging news with you! It appears that my old favorite handbag slinger, Coach, has taken heed of our public laments and find themselves just as amused by their recent, logo-fied craptasticness as we have been:

(Credit:  Coach)

Look, they're even laughing at themselves, so vile has the situation become!  I mean, surely this is the only explanation for an insult to fashion - a $358 insult, no less - like this?  

Oh, Coach, if you're going to go down in a burning, tragic heap of flames, I hugely appreciate that you apparently have a sense of humor about it.  After all, if we can't laugh at ourselves . . . now if only I myself could get away with charging $358 for each time . . . 

Smootches,

Legallyblondemel,

Pretty HQ

In Which I Make Excuses for Being Missing in Action

Darlings!  I've missed you - much like I've missed having free time or sleep.  I apologize for the lack of snark here this week, and am afraid to report that it is only likely to continue into this weekend given my work / play schedule.

Yes, yes.  Please take a moment to absorb this.  I understand.

In the meantime, perhaps you can amuse yourself with this visual - me (so envision Grace Kelly, obvs), attempting to mix tonight & tomorrow with the hipsters / techies / hippies downtown at that annual multimedia festival everyone makes a fuss about.  And if that amusing picture isn't enough, I'll be checking in as usual on Twitter; if you're nice, I'll even let you in on my Fug Madness picks.

More to come this weekend, including news of a wildly exciting giveaway just as soon as I figure out what the Hell to give away and more . . .

The Pretty Nightstand

As longtime readers will recall, I stand for being prettier than everyone else, not more original than everyone else.  I mean, a woman only has so many hours in a day, and I'm devoting mine to cheese and chemical peels, not creativity.

Hence, on this fine St. Patrick's day, I bring you a post idea I spied over at as copied from the ever-fabulous May December. Given that you're (a) fascinated by me; and (b) hopefully as much as a book / magazine hussy as I am, thought I'd show you my current reading - if only (c) to prove that I am not still entirely immersed in Teenage Vampire Land:

There's an Economist at the bottom of that pile!  Never mind that it's from December '08 and I have yet to read it.

Please feel free to discuss in the comments how incredibly well-read and interesting I am.  

The Grace Experiment, Part 8

My attempt to start each week off with those things, big or small, that make me happy and potentially annoy (but hopefully also delight) you.

1.  Fug Madness, a tournament for the rest of us.

2.  My weekend hanging out with my delightful little brother, who may or may not be on his way to Iraq shortly.  Having a tough time believing this, since he remains to me the little brat who plays GI Joe in make-believe, not real life.

3.  Bought tickets to fly home soon.  My occasional homesickness had been on the wane, until I stumbled across this modern, California-style beauty with a view:

(Credit:  Architectural Digest)

I adore it here in Texas, but there's just something about home.  Helps if "home" = "Southern California", I'll admit.

4.  The arrival of my Revas, ie Pretty Shoes, followed just days later by the arrival of more Pretty Shoes.  In related news, I'll be in the back of the Internet Sales Anonymous (Tory Burch subcommittee) meeting down at the Y tonight.  See you there.

5.  Meeting my workout goals for the week.  In case you were wondering what those are - and why wouldn't you be, since I'm spectacular and all? - I try to get some Hateful Exercise in 4 days per week.  If I actually do this, fine; if not, I live to elliptical another day.  

Ladies & gentlemen, there is just too much champagne to be had to sweat this stuff. Quite literally.  

Winter Product Test Results

Darlings, I'm simply delighted that you are all so eager to join my media empire.  After all, a girl cannot become an omnimedia titaness all alone. 

A girl also cannot take over the airwaves while looking a mess, unfortunately, hence my recent fiddling around with some new beauty products.  In my ongoing quest to be Prettier Than Everyone Else - except for you, dear readers, of course - here again are the beauty products I've been testing out and my overall impressions:

Going counterclockwise from the top left:

     Revitalash:  my dreamed-of magical elixir of eyelash growth has worked, eh, OK.  Some noticeable difference when I apply mascara, but no magical results of the sort to justify the splurge-worthy price.  Will be testing out this next (thanks to SLynnRo for the link).

     Retin-A Micro:  fabulous, fabulous stuff.  It will not wholly erase the wrinkles you already have, from what I've seen, but it softens everything.  Much like a certain media empress with notoriously flattering lighting Oprah; not to worry, we'll employ the same lighting tech for our world takeover. Again this potion is prescription only, and has a host of side-effects (drying, etc.) that makes it not for everyone.  

     Fresh Supernova Mascara:  as I initially suspected, this is fantastic in the short term, but doesn't have the legs (lashes?) to go all day.  Good for a night out, although for pricey special occasion mascara, I'm probably returning to the inimitable Diorshow.

     Shu Uemura Mini-Eyelash Curler:  I can think of many uses for this item - miniature bagel slicer, a bris - in short, an occasion calling for a sharp removal instrument.  Sadly, my goal is to extend my existing lashes, not painfully pluck out the puny ones I do have.  Ladies, stick with the gold standard, the Shu Uemura Eyelash Curler (normal size), and leave this one to the experts.  Or, come over right now & show me how to use this.  Thanks!

Happy weekend to all . . .

For the Rest of Us . . .

Brave blogfriend Kate over at Elefantitas Alegres did a fun post the other day revealing the contents of her fridge, a classic show of one of the small but many inglorious bits of being a professional female type.  And as I sat last night punching furiously at my DVR remote, incredibly vexed that it has thwarted me once again by not taping the ONE SHOW which I NEEDED TO WATCH in the ONLY HALF-HOUR IN WHICH I CAN SQUEEZE TV TIME, I got to thinking along related lines . . .

. . . where is the multimedia empire for us youngish, maybe working, maybe parenting, maybe not, maybe all of the above types? Can you name someone, or one magazine, or a site that talks about what we're actually doing?  I'm feeling under-represented here.  

Don't get me wrong - I adore Aspirational Housewifery Reading (here's to you, Queen Martha) as much as the next lawyer lady - but I read it much like one reads a travel guide to an exotic land you strongly suspect you'll never visit.  My efforts to sway the AH into allowing me to lead the life of Trophy Wifery I so richly deserve have gone, er, not well.  I am therefore no more likely to cook a one four course meal on your average Wednesday night as I am to leave Pretty HQ clad in nothing but a Snuggie.* I fervently desire to be that lady, but alas, I am stricken with a condition that requires me to have 8 hours of sleep each night.**

*Although this would seriously help both my South Austin & internet cred, so I'm thinking about it.  After all, there's a pub crawl at stake here.

**The condition being that I am Hell on heels without 8 hours of sleep each night.  

(Credit:  Martha Stewart Omnimedia)

I'm not one to let a lack of talent interfere my ambition / megalomania, however, so let's get to work on what our youngish, professionalish, no-way-in-heck-am-I-doing-the-laundry-this-week-honey network might resemble:

- Magazine:  how to make dinner in 10 minutes with nothing but a rind of moldly Parmesan, Wheat Thins, and 1/2 glass of leftover chardonnay ;  how to convince your significant other that cooking/ cleaning / etc. takes time away from him or her, hence it is to be avoided;  how to find a dry cleaner or post office open past 5 pm e.g. NeverNever Land.

- TV Show:  featuring ME, of course, interviewing such inspirational luminaries as David Beckham, Tony Bourdain, and . . . er, hmm . . . some bright young professional people types. 

And so on and so forth.  We can do this, right?  WHY isn't anyone doing this yet?  Oh, right, it's because we've got day jobs . . . hmm . . . anyone care to join me in my after-hours attempt to build a media empire?

I Must Confess, I Still Believe . . .

You know the drill.  It's Friday afternoon, and you're trying to sneak out of leave the office for an early start on your weekend, when the phone starts to ring.  And ring.  And ring.  Only to be joined in agonizing, simultaneous chirping by your cell phone. 

And so it was last Friday, as I sat stuck on a delightful conference call, watching the many other missed calls and lost minutes eluding I-35 traffic pass me by.  Drumming my fingers against my ancient desk, miserably unable to focus on anything except the growing traffic and litany of missed calls, the other line and usually beloved iPhone kept me prisoner.

After addressing the worst of the crises, I stumbled out the door to my rental car - turns out my insurance company AND car dealer have decided I am sacrificing car ownership for Lent - and sped away, only to have the gas light flip on.  It wasn't the only thing flipping at the moment, but I mustered whatever remaining logic I had and, muttering some very un-aspiring Princess of Monaco curses, pulled into the nearest station.

You know what happens next - the cell phone starts ringing again, this time from a BF calling with important news, so I pick up and start fueling Vile Rentalmobile at the same time.  To the disappointment of urban legend-tellers and my parents, this did not cause me explode.

No, no - the explosion came as I, distractedly chatting on the phone, attempted to remove the gas pump without switching off the auto-pump off.   Oh, did it ever remove - all over my preptastic, ridiculously on-sale, dream of this sort of outlet mall find, beat-up-yet-still-favorite ballet flats.* Pretty pink bows and all.  Since gasoline-soaked shoes weren't enough, I doused the hem of my jeans for good measure as I screamed and flapped around.

*This admittedly helps justify my recent Revas purchase.  That I ordered them one day before this happened is wholly irrelevant.

I'll admit there may have been times when I've desired to look like a certain Miss Spears, circa her 1999 Apex of Cute, but going barefoot in a Small Town, Texas gas station in 2009, down one pair of favorite shoes, isn't one of them.  At all.

The Grace Experiment, Part 7

My weekly attempt to amaze and, incidentally, annoy you with 5 little things for which I'm feeling grateful.

1.  My little brother* actually buying his plane ticket to come see his object du lurking  me.  Turns out the whole arranging transport thing is a critical component to visiting someone halfway across the US.  I trust those of you with younger siblings can relate.

*Show of hands - who lives in southern California & wants to date a super-adorable, twenty-something military officer?  Also, am I writing this just because I know it would embarrass the life out of him?  

2.  Sprinkles Cupcakes

3.  This March J. Crew catalog, which I want to frame and cherish forever.  Reads more like a gorgeous photo album than a catalog, although I am of course covetous of most contents.

4.  A good dose of perspective.  Turns out my not being able to afford the J. Crew canon - or any of it, if we're being all factual and stuff - isn't the biggest problem going.  I know!

5.  Reveling in this early spring weather:

Gone Geeking

Pretty HQ announces a temporary Texas relocation to the city of fine shopping and God's Chosen Cupcakes:

(Credit:  Sprinkles Cupcakes)

Due to weekend networking obligations, I will be unable to conduct my usual autograph signings and reader meet-greet. Not to worry - I've pulled a Mesnick on the personal assistant responsible for this scheduling conflict and seen to his public, humiliating firing. Of course I did not convey the reason behind the termination - that would just be ridiculous - and immediately re-hired my ex-PA.  In related news, look for a media blitz explaining why I am not an utter jerkface for this firing, coming soon to a computer screen near you.

Happy weekend to you all . . . 

Cue the Fuzzy Oprah Lighting . . .

Excited excited excited, scared scared, excited excited excited, scared scared . . .

I've outed myself here as a Recovering Introvert, so regular readers will recognize the above thought process as my usual social interaction mindset when meeting new people.  I'm almost entirely thrilled at the prospect of doing so & do generally enjoy myself once I'm out, but oh, that 1% . . . it's already back on the Pretty HQ couch, eager to dive into my "Real Housewives" archive  a new book or blog or some other solitary, safe pursuit.

So tonight I salute, um, myself, for not only going to a happy hour full of new and cute and fun ladies, but actually organizing it myself.  Not to brag or anything - oh, nevermind, why wouldn't I, I'm tremendous and full of merlot - but I'm kinda proud of it.  And relieved to find a group of women also looking for friends and things to do here.  Not precisely a novel concept, I realize, but one I tend to forget during this number:

Excited excited excited, scared scared, excited excited excited, scared scared.

PS - Pets, how long can I milk this "new girl in town" act?  I'm coming up on one year, so maybe one more? Two more?  Help a newbie out here . . . 

Hello, Wednesday . . .

(Credit:  Saks)

I generally try to avoid post intros like this picture, in a laughable attempt to eschew "Confessions of a Blogaholic", fashion-obsessed, just-another-chick-lit influenced blog comparisons.*  However, I find myself heading into this work day desirous of an inspirational cheap thrill. Or an absurdly expensive one, if we're slavishly adhering to actual facts here.

*Although I adore fashion and the occasional Sophie Kinsella / Marion Keyes / the like, so I can't explain this. At all.  But I, like, listen to NPR and twice a year or so read "The Economist", so it's OK!

So to usher in this vexing day on a high note, I bring me - er, you - the Very Galaxy Platform Pumps.  I find these to be impractical, slightly garish, shiny, ornate, painful-looking, glorious, gorgeous, and wildly expensive.  I'm not at all certain that I would like to wear these** so much as I want to prop them on a pedestal and admire them at a distance, like a museum piece, grateful that they exist somewhere in the world.  

**However, if Santa felt like being insanely generous & a tad early, these would be the ideal getting in trouble shoes for my upcoming Vegas adventure.  

Happy Hump Day, to you and your fashion inspirations  . . .

The Grace Moment, Part 6

My weekly feature in which I annoy you with 5 things for which I'm feeling grateful, except that I'm feeling a smidge bored with the concept and am just going to list one standout for the week.

Using words like "smidge" officially indicates my old age, yes?  Moving right along .  .  . 

"So in 5 years , when we're here again, there'll be kids here too?"  I highly recommend throwing this line out if you're ever trying to provide collective cardiac problems to a party of late twenty/early thirtysomethings.*

*Just kidding, friend S! 

Heart failure aside, there was also something wonderfully comforting to me in this statement, mentioned in passing as a group of us stood around a campfire**.  NOT THAT I'M PREGNANT, OR THAT EVERYONE SHOULD HAVE BABIES, BECAUSE IT IS, LIKE, TOTALLY FINE IF YOU DON'T WANT THEM.  AND I AM NOT CURRENTLY PREGNANT NOR TRYING TO BE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOT.  LET'S JUST STOP THE UTERUS TALK RIGHT NOW, OK? AAAGH.

**Note: campfire was part of a ranch outing, not camping, because - me? Camping?  No.

Ahem.  As I was saying, the comforting statement .  .  . there was something about enjoying the moment where we were - well, except for the brisk Siberian (35 degrees!) breezes that night - but recognizing that we were doing great in the life stage we were in, for as long as we choose to be in it, but that we would also be fine once some of us try and do the family thing.  And it wasn't meant in a lemming, we all must do the same thing sense, although like the Cirque du Wedding that has taken over my past three summers, I suspect the same domino effect may occur when it comes to the family thing.

Of course this is also the sort of polite fiction that those of us who hope to have kidlets someday like to tell ourselves. I hear from sources who know better than me - i.e., everyone - that the parents amongst us will be too busy brushing Cheerios from our infrequently washed hair, pondering when it was we last showered, to contemplate frivolities like standing around a midnight campire. 

However - that I, here in a strange land***, happy but still trying to find my place and friends, might have a group of people here with which to have fictitious future hopes - that is admittedly a nice thought. 

***I just like saying things like "strange land"; fear not, Texans.