Summer '11 Trends: A (Rose) Gold for the Rest of Us

Once upon a Nordstrom, ladies with a penchant for jewelry had two choices of metal - silver or yellow gold, and never the twain should meet. Much like Coke / Pepsi or Aniston / Jolie, you had to pick a team and stick with it; none of this mixing metals business. Those of us with a, shall we say, more English (read: pasty) complexion tended to side with Team Silver.

*Mildly Important Sidebar*: Since you were wondering, I'm definitely not writing this frilly fashion post in an attempt to distract myself from a case of painful homesickness. Nope. Because going home to Southern California in perfectly weathered July, leaving behind the Death Hell Heat of Texas, only to return one short week later to the still Death Hell Heat'ed Texas, was a completely brilliant plan. I also certainly, 100% am not missing my dear friends back there or the cheeseburgers Animal style.

Ahem. *End Mildly Important Sidebar*

But back to the accessories . . . rose gold, an intriguing alternative & complement to the Silver/Yellow Gold divide, popped up in Spring '11 fashion, and it's an ongoing trend I'm signing up for as part of my ongoing Operation MILF wardrobe updating:

Sunnies by Michael Kors here, Earrings by Nadri (Nordstrom) here

To this yuppie's eye, rose gold is more vintage, less "Goodfellas". A bit less flashy, but still dramatic when the situation calls for it. It looks good with a summer tan (or tan-in-a-can, more accurately here), but doesn't demand it like yellow gold does.

As part of my intrepid blog journalism / distracting self from missing homeland desperately, etc., I unearthed some other rose gold favorites:

Left: Tom Ford "Rickie" metal sunglasses here  / Right: Majolie Rose Quartz Egg Drop earrings here

Left: Michael Kors "Runway" grey mother-of-pearl watch here; Right: Fossil (who makes MK watches, BTW) rose gold chronograph bracelet watch here

Left: Diana Warner "NYC Tree of Life" necklace here; Right: West Avenue Jewelry "Script Monogram" earrings (available in rose gold here)

What do you think, darlings - any plans to hop on the rose gold train? To buy me a plane ticket home to California or, failing that, those Tom Ford sunnies? 

Pretty Postcards from Paradise (Subtitle: Alliteration Gone Wild)

Baby's first day at the beach. Lady Lunch & swim at La Jolla Beach & Tennis. I won't say that I had to be physically removed from the (pretty perfect) premises, but it was close. Ahem.

Operation MILF: Update of Supreme Wonderfulness and Awesomenity

Not unlike a stroke victim, a new mom has to relearn certain life skills. Grocery shopping. Taking a shower. Using the, er, facilities.

Like we've discussed here before, one of my biggest re-learning challenges has been figuring out how to incorporate my former fitness routine into my New Normal life as stay-at-home mom.

While I was prepared to not sweat the baby weight, figuratively and literally, until I finished nursing, I was not ready for certain realities when I did reach that milestone - for example, a baby who gets loudly bored on long walks in the (extensively researched, expen$ively bought) running stroller or a gym day care that neither of us enjoy.

Not to bewail this First World sort of problem - I also want to avoid those perilous "I had a life before I had kids, and now I only have pinot grigio" waters so many of us mom bloggers find ourselves adrift on - but my inability to get exercise in, and the spare tire result, has surprised me in how much it has frustrated me.

So imagine my smug self-satisfaction this morning when, after threatening & failing to implement a regular workout routine for weeks, I arose at the darkest hour of the morn (also known as 5:15 am) and achieved a personal first . . . I worked out *and* showered before Master P woke up. 

(***Photo of my signature bitchface circa 5:15 am redacted; with apologies for posting sans picture, but I just couldn't do that to you - or my ego.***)

This translates into my native Californian as - "Dude. DUDE." Miss Type-A Minus Ex-Lawyer here has just enough need to accomplish left in her to see this voluntary less sleep / more work thing as an accomplishment.

I realized something else as I blearily threw on my yoga pants this morning - it's not just the exercise, but the personal free time I need to somehow incorporate back into my New Normal life. What I used to see as an obligation turns out to be a healthy mental break; I thrived on that half-hour on the elliptical, zoning out to the teevee for a spell, physically unable to answer the phone or emails. 

Most importantly, I'm vain, baby or not. My extra waistline was not Raptured, and therefore those extra two hours of weekday sleep must be.

Smug though I am about this morning's accomplishments, I don't pretend that I've discovered the perfect solution to this. Carving out "me" time in a wonderfully baby-filled day will evolve as Master P's ever-changing schedule does.  I may or may not fall asleep facefirst in a pile of Puffs this afternoon thanks to my early wake-up time. The Greek Chorus of Wife Guilt, reminding me that my hard-working, billable-ing husband hasn't the time to work out lately, may render me inactive once again.

But, just for today, no one can take away the small happiness that was a well-earned shower while the rest of my little world slept.

In the Middle Again . . .

Every so often I like to obsess over revisit this decision of the AH & mine to move me from Southern California to Texas*, lo these four years ago. And by obsess over "revisit", I mean quite literally returning to the scene of my childhood crime, fueled by nostalgia and as many Animal-style cheeseburgers as I can choke down.

*Have I told the tale here of how the AH & I came to be? Remind me if not - because nothing says "fascinating" like somebody else's schlocky love story.

My most recent revisiting was prompted by a baby shower this past weekend; ostensibly, I was there to co-host, but of course I also used this as yet another totally self-centeredopportunity to question The Move. As I took a moment to survey the shower, in a room full of old friends and that irritatingly perfect San Diego sunshine, I couldn't help but wonder - again - at what I am missing out on having moved here to the Great State.

And yet. Yet.

Incrementally, infinitesimally, with each visit I see that the conversations don't flow quite as easily with most of my old friends. A bit more time passes in between each email exchange. Without my having realized it, we just don't have as much in common anymore, not without that effortless bond of school, geographic proximity, and an ill-advised penchant for surfers uniting us. Not even the obnoxiously ideal weather - have I mentioned how perfect it is? - can blind me to it.

How does any of this glorified journal entry - slash - identity crisis have any possible relevance? It doesn't, not in the Grand Scheme of Things. Thing is - I've been surprised that with this whole "P Word" condition I'm in, the question of who I am, and what my, er, unborn child eventually takes from that, suddenly seems important, hugely so.

My son will be born a Texan. A Texan. While I'm delighted this will give him a de facto working knowledge of Good Manners* and football, how do I incorporate my background into the raising of this little guy, when I'd always envisioned my kids growing up amidst the palm trees and my old friends and all the other unnaturally good-looking people back home? We'll muddle through and figure it out, I suppose, existential "where is home?" questions featuring relatively low on the newborn scale of life needs.

*I love you, California, but I've had enough doors slammed in my face by our strapping young men to know that we're lacking in the Chivalry Department. Hop to it, Gubernator.

And in the meantime, I'll take some comfort in knowing that although I come from a place full of beautiful people and, uh, places, that Austin is slowly, incrementally, infinitesimally feeling more like home too. More and more often, I find myself wanting to spend weekends here, not only because I should but because I want to.

Maybe home can be in two places after all. *

*Especially when the AH eventually buys us a beachfront vacation villa back in La Jolla, that is - work hard, Handsome!

The Texifornia Dance

Darlings! Thank you for the kind travel wishes. I've missed you so.

Well, sort of. Actually, I've been busy missing home - wondering where home really is, rather. There's a bad Motley Crue song in there somewhere, but I promise not to sing it and just get on to the point without resorting to leather pants or other hair metal accoutrement.*

*Just imagine a Grace Kelly lookalike with feathered 80s hair, though - this idea has legs (Aqua Net?).

I've been gone for a total of four years, but flying back to California still reminds me of seeing a (non-cretinous) ex again - for the span of a weekend, it can be deceptively easy to only see the lovely, pretty bits. Even the biggest clod or city can show promise for 48 hours, making it less simple to recall why it was you left in the first place. You were fine until you saw one another again, but oh, the first time back . . . and it doesn't help if home is the Geor*ge Clo*oney of cities. Throw in my friends that make my hometown, well, home, and it generally equals a long flight back to Texas to reflect on why the Anonymous Husband & I decided to make Texas home.

Am I (are we) happy in Austin, where I live now? Absolutely. It's a terrific city. Could I (we) be happy back home? Absolutely. It's a terrific city.

Can you call two places home? Or is home something that, geographically and spiritually, can only be in one place?

The Grace Day, Part 12

Darlings, I've missed you!  Well, sort of.  As much as one can when back home in beachy (or, this weekend, of course, slightly rainy) paradise.

You know those friends who you not only, you know, want to be friends with, but the ones who you can't quite figure out why they let you hang around because they are that much funnier and more interesting and more brave and intelligent AND - it must be said - Prettier than you?  Where you hope and pray that by your terrible sense of humor biting wit and subterfuge alone, you might trick these fine people into speaking to you on a regular basis?

I spent the whole of Saturday with those people.  And on top of that, I got to spend it with them eating and drinking and spa-ing* in places like this:

*Yes, this is a verb when done properly.

(Credit:  Estancia La Jolla)

Whatever you do, by whatever means possible, book yourself a spa day here.  And try to trick these friends into being yours - or your attorneys**.  They are intimidatingly, awe-inspiringly good at both.  

**Just in case that "whatever means possible" doesn't work so well for your spa strategy.  Not that I would encourage that.  No, really.

Gone Home

(Credit:  Wikimedia Commons)

Remember this?  This is ______ Park, home to the world-famous __________ zoo.

The Grace Moment, Part 11

My attempt to start each week off on a grateful note, with the incidental and delightful side effect of irritating you.

(Credit:  Flickr user Ravisastry)

I'd try to add something wry and terribly hilarious here, but some things don't require embellishment.  T-Minus 5 days until I'm back home at my beach . . . 

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.  

The Ritz-Carlton, Laguna Niguel

I'll confess to attemping to give this post a clever title, but there's just something about "The Ritz-Carlton, Laguna Niguel" that needs no cute introduction. Indeed, words generally fail me when attempting to describe my stay last weekend at this hotel, made possible by an Hollywood-movie-perfect blend of the personal and professional. It is amongst my Top 5 Pretty Hotel Stays Anywhere, and therefore my digital camera and I share a bit of the fairy-dust sprinkled experience with you.

Lest you think me an entirely unforgivable snob - I like to think of myself as a partially forgivable snoot - the Ritz is hardly my usual hotel fare. The Pretty has enjoyed our share of staying at places most appropriately addressed as "motels" , or "Dumpy Suites" as Slynnro coined the term, growing up and even now occasionally. As long as I'm traveling and experiencing the globe, and the hotel is clean and the service decently polite, I'm generally happy.* *Due to people who know me in real life stumbling upon this blog, by "generally happy" I mean that I'll whine and moan and pull out all the stops to stay in a, well, resort with a capital "R". Where things like thread count and turndown service are a critical part of the discussion. Where it isn't about how much you pay per night, but the attention to every detail, details our luxury-loving heart would never have even thought of, that can justify the exorbitant price make price a secondary consideration.

Of course, I was predisposed to enjoy this hotel even more than the usual luxury joint, given how I grew up just down the Pacific Coast Highway from it. I fondly recall picture-postcard Sunday drives with my family, peeking out the backseat window, dreaming of the day when I could stay at a grown-up place like that pretty one by the sea. While some girls dreamed of Ken & Barbie's dream house, I had visions of Belgian chocolates dancing on my Frette-linen-clad pillow. Yes, really.

So without further fuss, I bring you the Pretty Hotel , the best of our homeland:

The view from my In-Depth Pool Chair Research. So spectacularly beautiful AND comfortable were these chairs, we took note of the brand - Denon.

I roused myself from my poolside perch just long enough to take a stroll by the Pacific and snap this cliffside view of the hotel. No Photoshopping was involved in the intense azure of the California sky here - that's as it usually appears in late summer afternoons, after the morning fog clears.

Go back to the picture above and look to the right part of the building with the domed windows - that's the gym. The gym that overlooks the ocean, that is. Call me crazy, but if that doesn't make a 1/2 hour on the elliptical machine almost bearable, I don't know what does. Actually, I do, but people might stare if I actually a tub of Ben & Jerry's "Phish Food" while step-step-stepping away to nowhere.

If you're a Type A Minus like me and use vacation as an excuse to skip Hateful Exercise, you might also enjoy the stroll along the beach like mine. From this prime vantage point, we observed both the surfers and the elliptical gliders above, and really FELT like we were getting a great workout. A minus for effort!

After completing the steep walk back up from the beach (exercise!) to the hotel, we came upon this Pretty View.

The inside was just as captivating as the outside. Having undergone a renovation just two years ago, the hotel's new design scheme was a striking blend of the traditional and the modern, of the "transitional" school of design (I think).

The color scheme was a delicious mix of taupe, chocolate brown, and, as my BF-J so perfectly described it, "Grace Kelly blue".

Bad photo notwithstanding, the bed was just as a luxe hotel should be - fluffy, all-white, and clad in Gazillion-count Frette sheets.

A room with a view. That morning fog I mentioned obscures it here, but that's the o-c-e-a-n there beyond the landscaping. Amen!

Although I'm delighted to be back home, and even happier to learn my friends are safe from Ike, I can't help but feel bittersweet about this weekend. Far be it from me to be a primadonna - stop laughing - but I fear that the Ritz Laguna may well have soured me on other hotels henceforth. This leads me to the even more fearsome conclusion that, alas, our very sweet and adorable and insanely handsome Anonymous Husband just might have to work very hard to accommodate the hotel lifestyle to which We are now officially accustomed . . .

PS - This isn't strictly related to Le Ritz, but it is related to our weekend, and deals with style and it is Our Blog and so there. In any event, we decided to try out that Polyvore site the kids like so much nowadays, in order to show you our semiformal wedding uniform du jour:

The bag and bracelet aren't identical, but this gives you get the picture. This Plenty Frock by Tracy Reese number in particular has gotten us through no small number of semiformal events this summer/ early fall. So many dress addictions, so little time.

On Second Thought . . .

So for quite some time, we've looked forward to bragging about sharing with you how fortunate we are to be doing in-depth lounge chair research this weekend at this glorious homeland resort, one that we've been aching to stay at for years:

(credit: Hotel Rates.com)

And how we quite possibly were planning to skulk around the Coto gates and stalk the original, the one, and the only Housewives:

(credit: Seen On)

And then we - rather, I - woke up this morning, looked at my calendar, and realized the date. And read many of your lovely posts around the Blogettesphere, and was touched and saddened even more. And considered my own family currently serving in the military, and my many relatives who have served in battle. And read the local papers, and realized that, just to add to the sum of today, a hurricane was headed towards dear friends near the Texas coast. And suddenly, staying in 5-star resorts didn't seem so important - or important at all - anymore.

So I thank you, readers, for keeping things in perspective for Miss Pretty here. Whether you realize it or not, your daily thoughts and inspirations are one of the many reasons I've dipped my toe (mouse? keyboard?) in the Blogettesphere. As much as we like to keep things lighthearted here at the Pretty - those nice boys and girls at CNN do such a good job with that other business - we, ahem, I recognize that there is an appropriate time and place for snark, and today is not one of those times. Know that I'm thinking of all of you in harm's way or with loved ones in danger, whether it be caused by war or gale-force weather.

Wishing you and yours a safe and happy weekend . . .