'ello, loves.

Right. Just popping in to share the fabulously-cheekboned, famous British versions of Shirley & me.

More cuteness at the ever fab Project Rungay.

p.s.: If you make us cross, then we look like this:

Confidential to Shirley:

Do you think this should happen to my hair? ChiRi and I both have giant faces. Love the color, too.

http://www.haironthebrain.com/2010/08/christinas-bob/

(she's all, like, whatevs)

me thinks this would be most adorable on you... but are you also talking about growing out le bangs? i think it's best without them quite frankly... cause with the bangs straight across and the short bob-ness you (meaning most folks) run the risk of looking pie-faced if you add too much volume to the cut and then shorten your face by having bangs take up your forehead.

see how even reese sweeps them to the side. (is it just me or doesn't she look like she's listening to the schizo voice inside her head here and plotting to kill us all with a smile?!)

also note that ChiRi has her's curled at the bottom so it's not actually as short as it appears in this photo - so make sure your stylist knows which length you are actually asking for (pre-curl or post-curl).
and yes, the color of ChiRi's hair is lovely - lighter than yours but not washed out. keep in mind this would maybe require more than just highlights to achieve the overall look so it might get expensive.
i say go with the cut first and then color later.
hope i've helped, L!

Shark week

Let's cut the shit, ladies. I'm not going to sugar coat it. This is how I am feeling today:

But it's not your fault, y'all. Just wallowing in my grumpy PMSness, which has been really weird this month. I didn't actually get into the game until yesterday, but last week was spent with severe headaches and sadness--a whole week early. This week (up until today, obvs) has been puppies and rainbows and smugly healthful eating. Today there needs to be pizzas, purple couches, and Real Housewives. Instead there may be coworker facemurder.

See, there's this big project that I've been working on for 9 months. It's my work baby. My work baby with fetal alcohol system and an extra 10 lbs brought on my stress eating/research. Work baby is in the final stages of labor right now, but it's not a peaceful home birth with tubs and yoga balls. It's a mother-effing, worn-off-epidural having, cuss word screaming, annoyance fest. And the end results look like it took someone 5 minutes to throw together. But it's almost done, which means I'll have to find something else to complain about. -- L

why am i crazy all the time?!

i have guests coming to stay with me from out of town and i'm excited and stressed. we moved into our house a year ago and there is still so much i want and need to do to it. i know that just like our bodies, we ladies can also be hyper-critical of our homes - we see all of the little imperfections that no one else notices....except if you are like me, you have the annoying habit of pointing them out and apologizing for them which only makes them more apparent.

ME: look at my giant zit! omg! don't look in the fridge, i need to clean it out! ugh! my cuticles are so gross! i was going to paint this bathroom before you got here but i didn't have time so forgive me! (and on, and on, and on.....)

so even though my guests are my childhood friend and her girlfriend who are moving cross country and will probably just be excited to have a bed to sleep in and take a load off, i have been freaking the eff out and painting and rearranging and scurrying around like a squirrel on meth. today i attempted to paint the tiny little half bath that no one even goes in and while my friends are here they probably will only glance in when i give the initial house tour - this makes sense right?! a totally appropriate use of my time and energy?!

no.

and here's the kicker. i did it (for the most part - it still needs a second coat) and i don't like it.

so will i leave it? let it be until next week when i have more time to reassess and repaint?

no.

tomorrow i will freak out and go to home depot and in my limited time between appointments i will attempt to paint a bathroom no one ever uses.

god help me.

How do I love Shirley? Let me count the ways

It's not been the best week for our girl Shirley, so let's lift her up in praise (as the crazies say down here). When I saw these, I wanted to immediately rush out and get us matching ones...how cute are they?

[nouveau friendship bracelets from J Crew]

...until I saw that they start at $130 and realized we could A) make them ourselves for like, $0.43, and B) I've spent $400 at the vet on the World's Best Cat in the past month (and $200 on the world's best phone) [Jesus. Need to stop spending money.] So maybe what we really need is this:

or this:

Here are today's three reasons why I admire Shirley, the jelly to my (crunchy) peanut butter:

1) she nursed me through a really bad breakup with my now husband. It was 2000, I was 21, and the world was ending. Thanks to Shirley, matte burgundy lipstick, Bjork, the shores of Lake Michigan, and enough wine that would kill my now 31 3/4-year old body.

2) she has not let a sometimes-not-happy start in life get in her way. She is a joyous, grateful, silly, fun, loving person. Same goes for her man-partner in crime. It can happen.

3) she has the best sense of style of anyone--even stupid Pomeranian Anna Wintour. Example: You could see S wearing a space helmet and be all like, "WTF, space helmets??" And then you'll see shitty knock off space helmets at Target in 9 months. S knows what's going to happen before it happens. And she looks good while it happens. She is the Miss Cleo of fashion trends. Respect.

THANK YOU! I LOVE YOU TOO LAVERNE!

Big boobies, ho.

Let's take a baby break, shall we, and talk about another "b" word dear to our hearts: boobies. Yes, a 31-year-old woman just called her breasts "boobies." Not "breasts" (calling to mind overly horomone-laden chickens) or "titties" (NEVER "titties." BARF). (On rare occassion, I like "boosom"...) Anyway, I've got big'uns. And not in a bragging, check out my hot shit way. No, in a "they must be dealt with" on a daily basis way. In moments of higher self-esteem, I like to think I'm pulling this type of shit off:

(yes ma'am!)

But most days it feels more like this:

(no, ma'am!)

Now, before Shirley starts in, you should know she has the teeniest, cutest little figure and can wear whatever she wants. She always. looks. good (hush, girl). (fine, i will do what my good southern mama told me and just say thank you!) My fellow mega-mammarians must always consider the boobage factor: How often will I be yanking up my top in front of my in-laws? Will a stressed out button pop free and blind a small child? Why do larger bras only come in grandma styles? This (re: saggage) isn't going to end well, is it? Well, here's what I've learned that helps:

1) v-neck/scoop-neck tops/dresses: This doesn't mean you need to slut it up (though, hey, Anthropologie, way to make all of your tops necessitate bulky camisoles underneath). See our girl Joan up there? Though she looks amazing overall, that crew neck isn't doing her chestal largess any favors. Gotta go with a scoop, J-Ho.

2) 3/4-length sleeves: dunno quite why, but this helps mitigate the boobage. Maybe it's because shorter sleeves stop right at boob-level like an unwelcome beacon in the night? Yeah, that's probably it. And skip the spaghetti-strapped tank tops, unless you're A) able to magically hold them up sans bra (which means I hate you) and B) going for a Hooters waitressy vibe. (More power to you)

3) wrap dresses are your friend (Diane von F, I wish you were my actual friend), as long as you can get the V part to close enough (as I learned the hard way, carefully concealed safety pins are not the answer). And have faith that it won't come unwrapped at inopportune moments (opportune moments are a whole other reason to go with the wrap dress).

4) minimizer bras: they somehow shove that shit underneath your armpits, but not in a noticeable way, hopefully. I like the Olga Christina line, which is slightly less MeeMaw than other options.

I guess none of these are huge revelations, but you'd be surprised at all the boob infractions I witness on a daily basis. Someone should give me a badge. And a taser gun. A badge and a taser gun, yes.

(again: yes ma'am!)

xo,

L