Does He Have a Garden?

So I went to France and very nearly had a torrid foreign affair - unfortunately it only existed in the imagination of the 13 year old girls who I was traveling with... who were sure I was meant for one of the cute young German counselors at the institute where we were staying. I'll admit if I had been at least ten years younger, I would have swooned right along with them. But when I tried to explain the difference in maturity and life-style between a 20 year old guy and a 33 year old woman, saying I am more settled with a house and garden, they simply adjusted their strategy and stared asking guys if they had gardens.

Though I eventually got tired and embarrassed about the adolescent-sized fuss over my love life, their tenacity and amazingly good taste began to convince me that if put to the task of seriously finding an age-appropriate guy for me, these girls could quite possibly get results. (I was kinda hoping the gorgeous ice cream guy in Monaco "had a garden".) So perhaps now when someone asks me about the state of my dating life, I'll just refer them to my new generation search committee for a status.

Almost Famous on the Tangled Web

I have spent some quality time on other blogs lately, and I am in love, love, love with two blogs these days, one of which is What Would Emma Pillsbury Wear? (the other is Gertie's New Blog for Better Sewing). I can't wait to see what they will be posted next. It's like a present in my inbox when a new posting from one of them pops up in my RSS feeds.

So what happens when one of these amazing women comments on my fledgling style blog?! I run screaming through the hall to my friend, who luckily understands the magnitude of this event in my mind. The WWEPW lady didn't really even say much, but she's following it! It's like a legend came to visit ME!

I spent some quality time floating on air, explaining this momentous occurrence to anyone who will listen (and receiving mixed responses), when... up pops another comment on the blog, this time from the actually kind of famous Gemma Cartwright, from Big Girls Browse. Only she's not so happy because I called the name of her site "horrible". Oops. Mortification ensues.

Turns out, I don't know the British phrase "big girl's blouse" to refer to an effeminate man, so I did not understand the name of her site at all. It seemed like she was calling us "big girls" who are only able to browse in the world of fashion? It didn't make sense to me given her perspective of celebrating fashion for non-model sized women, but obviously I should have asked a question or two instead of publicly criticizing what I didn't understand!

And so I learned a great lesson in making sure you really want to stand by what you publish, even when you think no one is reading.

Given this roller coaster of events, I am experiencing a blog-dentity crisis. Does this attention mean I should keep up the style blog as well? I was thinking it was just temporary phase. Someone else was supposed to represent the curvy women. And I'm not sure what my real point is...

What are we all doin on here anyway? Narsisitic self-indulgence? Fishing for connection and community? Waiting for a book deal to find us? Hoping to finally feel heard? I'm not sure why, but I obviously feel compelled. Thanks for indulging me, blogosphere.  :)

Elements of Style

I was sick in bed (again. of course.) for nearly a week and spent some quality time surfing the internet. Somehow, one vintage clothing/sewing site lead to another, and I found a whole list of new favorite resources that I can't believe I didn't know about before... retail sites like ModCloth and Ruche for affordable vintage inspired clothing (a lot like Anthropologie, but without the price tag) and blogs like Gertie, What I Wore, and Sally Jane Vintage.

Thoroughly inspired, especially to use more of my vintage items and things I'm usually too scared to take a risk on, I started putting together outfits. And soon they were hanging all over my room...


As I surfed deeper online, I realized that as much as I loved what I saw, I was constantly having to mentally edit and adjust to accommodate what I saw for what I know about what looks good on my body. Even when they aren't super skinny, none of these people have anywhere near the curves I am blessed/dealing with. Where are the good style bloggers with real bodies? I'd think the democratic, unregulated world of blogging would be all over this. I'm still looking. And wondering if High Five needs to branch out into fashion... but I'm super hesitant to declare myself any kind of style maven or put my own curves up on the internet to be scrutinized any more than they already are in my mirror. But here goes:

One of my "it may appear like I'm dressed up and presentable, but it actually feels like I'm wearing sweats and tennies" looks...























Hoodie: Forever 21
Shirt: Horny Toad via Outdoor & More
Skirt: Lolë via TJ Maxx ($15!)
Scarf: Urban Outfitters sale corner
Leggings: cheap sparkly silver, left over from Tin Woman costume circa Halloween 2007
Shoes: Privo
Lanyard: school ID tag (sorry, shoulda taken that off...)

I'm posting more outfits at High Five Style... until we find someone else who is shapely and more well-qualified than me to style and model.

Fabric Wrapping "Paper"

Sometime around Christmas, a conversation with my mother about a friend of hers who sewed fabric gift bags for her family to use instead of wrapping paper gave me brilliant idea... why not make reusable fabric wrapping paper?! Sew some ribbon to the sides of a fabric rectangle and wrap it around you present. I was sure this was how I was going to simultaneously make my millions and save the planet, but unfortunately someone already beat me to it.

I figured I could make them for way cheaper and was looking for a fun project, so I went to Jo-Ann fabrics right after Christmas, bought fabric for 70% off, and tried my hand at it. They turned out pretty well, if I do say so myself...



I made a few bags as well for good measure, though I do I prefer the act of actually unwrapping when receiving a present.



Now I only have to wait 11 more months to actually use them!

Wing Women

I was out on the town last weekend with my boss and a coworker and his wife. We were sitting around having drinks after attending a student's performance, when a relatively attractive guy comes around offering us hors d'oeuvres of homemade sausage (yes, you can snicker) from the party he was at there. My boss and coworker's wife looked at me and motioned "he's kind of cute, no?" When I nodded, within seconds they had somehow invited him to sit down with us, made him sit by me, and moved around to the other side of the table so he had to talk to me alone. It was some amazing workwomanship.

So I started friendly conversation with the sausage guy. After going through the how/where/why of homemade sausage-making, we moved on to work and play. He was in software design of some sort and was involved in some film projects, which was intruguing. I'm not sure exactly how it came up, but I knew this wasn't going to be a match when he didn't know who Judd Apatow was. He not only did not recognize the name, but hadn't even heard of the 40 Year Old Virgin or Knocked Up, much less Freaks and Geeks. Not that I'm the hugest fan, but I think they are funny and kind of pivotal in popular culture humor at the moment. Especially for a guy interested in acting and film making, right?!

So I gently set him free with well wishes. But I could not have asked for better wing women. (Though it is kind of a shock to have a boss play this roll in my life.) I didn't even know such a high level of skill in this craft existed. I may be taking them everywhere I go from now on.

Inked

You may not believe it if you know me very well, but I actually put my money where my mouth is and got that tattoo I've been dreaming of!

Over Christmas break, when I was down in the dumps as usual because of the dark time of year, the change in routine that vacation and the holidays bring, my familial legacy of unfortunate brain chemistry, etc... I yet again withdrew from the world (hence the Twilight).

One day on a walk, the fog lifted slightly and I had a moment of clarity (or insanity; still waiting to decide). I needed to carry a reminder that "life comes back" like I have written about. I needed that tattoo. I needed to throw out worrying about whether other people approve of me and allow myself to risk.

I knew what I wanted. I pinned down a design in the the delicate vine and scroll style I've been playing with - that to me symbolizes life and growth and goodness. The most shocking part of the decision was to put it on the inside of my left arm below the wrist, so it can catch my eye when I need it to.

As soon as I got it, I felt cooler. Kind of in awe. Who is this person who gets tattoos?! Now and then, I do experience some "what the hell have I done getting a tattoo - especially in a place where everyone can see" panic. Luckily, it usually passes as I remember that the whole point of this tattoo was to remind me to let go of exactly that kind of fear that can so easily keep me paralyzed and hidden from life.

My goal is to live long enough and happy enough for it to outlive it's usefulness and to joyfully regret it. But ask me in 30 years.

Bitten by Twilight

My Christmas break involved the usual amount of retreating from the world, and I decided to use some of that time to finally pick up Twilight. I knew I had to try them in order to maintain my status as relatively knowledgeable about pop-culture (i.e., street-cred with my tween girls). And I knew enough reasonable people who loved them to be fairly sure it would be a fun frivolous way to escape for a while.

Of course, this time of year I am incredibly susceptible to being irrationally swept away by anything that helps me avoid my actual life, but I was immediately sucked in (like they warned). By the middle of day-two in bed with a cold and halfway through the second book, I realized that I desperately needed the next two books before I ran out. I NEEDED them. So three days, 2,548 pages, two movies, and one Google search for whether Kristin Stewart and Robert Pattinson are really dating later... I was done, but only mildly satiated.

I can't quite figure it out. I was literally laughing out loud at the ridiculousness in my hands and at my level of investment in this vapid teenage vampire soap opera. In addition to just bad writing, I had some major thematic concerns. I can forgive the ridiculously heavy abstinence message, whatever. I can just about forgive that Bella is always the one in the kitchen cooking for the men, probably because I'm jealous that she's obviously a better cook than I am. But I'm pretty sure this uber-popular model of undying true love is a actually a cleverly disguised sadomasochistic, codependent, generally dysfunctional relationship. As she is tossed around like a helpless rag-doll from one superhuman protector/ love interest to the next, all while worrying about keeping them happy, I wish more than anything that she would be allowed to unleash just one small dose of Buffy Summers. And does Bella even have any self-esteem?!

And yet I was compelled to read. I could barely put it down to go get something to eat. Heartbroken then sedated by each sliver of tenderness coming from her cold dark overprotective and isolating vampire love - right there in the alarming cycle of emotional control with her.

It must fill some kind of emotional need, right? I'm sure that in the sad state of my current (non)love life, a good dose of undeniable undying first love is attractive. Especially since my own relatively-magical first love is getting ready to marry someone else. And I know a little about Bella's constant need for validation from either Edward or Jacob and her happiness depending on how she perceives they feel about her (I very nearly was that girl once upon a time).

FYI, until book 4, I was pretty much Team Jacob. Not surprisingly, I prefer the warm best friend love-the-one-you're-with comfort of a werewolf to an all-consuming star-crossed infatuation with a stone cold vampire.

Thank god there are only four books. I really don't think that this is helping me maintain my ability to identify and participate in realistic and healthy romantic relationships...

UPDATE 1/10/10: But look, it's a teaching tool! That's why I was reading it... um, yeah. Rachel Simmons (my idol) developed activities to generate healthy discussion about Twilight with girls. Yes, I promise to put myself through the intervention first.

Cheez-It Based Management

Loving my job...
I am wondering how you're supposed to scold 5th grade boys for shouting "Ms. [my name here] is awesome" in the lunchroom. At least they're starting to use their powers for good instead of evil, right? They haven't been able to shut their mouths or follow directions to save their lives on Fridays in the lunchroom. And since when do we throw things or poke/punch people? But somehow at least we bonded - mostly over Cheez-Its. First someone shared a few with me when they found out my Cheez-It weakness, then someone gave me their whole bag, then some one dropped off a whole box... Pretty funny. Especially for 5th grade boys. Not that any of this helps them shut their traps in the lunchroom. But at least we enjoy one another more while they are misbehaving.

Not so much loving my job...
Super quirky Ramona Quimby-esque first grader looks up at me as if we hadn't met fifty bazillion times before and says, "You look like my teacher!" Which would be a lovely compliment... if her teacher didn't happen to be over six months pregnant with twins at the moment. Hmm. Maybe too many Cheez-Its?!

Waiting for Gilbert Blythe

I recently re-watched Anne of Green Gables the Sequel (my official excuse is girls weekend with my preteen niece, btw). Apparently, I swoon like a 12 years old girl all over again when Anne finally says yes to Gilbert on the bridge over the pond after having turned him down a year earlier when she foolishly thought she needed more glamor and romance than her small-town childhood sweetheart could give her...

I realized I might be holding out for Gilbert. The perfect handsome rival/best friend/boy next door/love of your life who is devoted to you despite knowing full well all of your faults, defenses, and silly romantic notions. The person you were supposed to be with all along, who was under your nose the whole time. Who fate handed to you. Complete fantasy?! Possibly.

Regardless, it's a far cry from online profiles, blind dates, messy break-ups, and running into a former flame for the first time since you parted ways only when you've gained ten pounds, have a cold, and haven't showered in two days.

My new approach to finding love: let other people do the dirty work for me. I'm recruiting a few select moms from school to find the love of my life for me. I'm picking good people who know good people... who might know a Gilbert-like adorable well-grounded guy, right? I am choosing these agents carefully, of course - the few down-to-earth parents who I'd hand my own children over to in a minute because they'd probably do a much better job than I could, who are socially connected but for all the right reasons.

We'll see how that goes or doesn't go for a while. Meanwhile I have a few other things to attend to...

Ghosts of Boyfriends Past

The season has changed. School is underway. Darkness is descending, inside and out. Squash soup. My birthday. Halloween. Rain.

Every time my windshield wipers stop mid-window when I turn off the car, I remember my big love at 20-22. He was generally an easy-going guy, but he was passionate that all windshield wipers should always return to their rightful fully-down resting position when you leave your car. I probably wouldn't be here today if that windshield wiper guy hadn't gotten it into his head to blindly love me an unreasonable amount when I happened to desperately need it the most, and I still carry his playful spirit with me everyday. I send a little cosmic apology out to him if I'm in too much of a hurry to turn the car back on to right the wiper situation. It's an odd but pleasant fleeting reminder of having really loved.

Quite a few gentlemen have come in and out of my life, each leaving a unique imprint - whether big and momentous, or small and odd, or both. They linger. Become a little part of who I am.

One of my best friends comes out of the radio with every song that makes me ask "who is that?", thanks to the year with my own personal DJ. The civic-minded environmental consultant who convinced me to use the library again comes out in overdue fines (and a smirk at old Kerry/Edwards bumper stickers which got him so worked up). I can't go through a produce section without a visit from the 7th grade boyfriend and a quick glance to see if they illegally placed organic produce on the same display as regular. Of course, I can't grab green tea mochi ice cream from the freezer case without thinking of the creativity I enjoyed with the Trader Joe's guy. I can't go around Greenlake without the Banker and his dog on my mind (and a quick stop to look for the turtles).

I owe this very blog to a combination of the Med Student and the Ironman triathlete - neither anywhere near qualify as boyfriends, but worth a mention.

The only spooky ghost is that of my high school sweetheart who is instantly conjered up by cheesy 80's love songs, Kidd Valley burgers, Lake Washington Blvd, any early 90's grey Toyota Camry that goes by... I know I am capable of loving with my whole heart in the first place because of him. Also because of him, I know how easily you can deeply wound yourself and the person you love. How you can scare off the people you need most when you withdraw in the face of Chaos instead of leaning and trusting. Still working on that one. Maybe a little haunting is good for me.