Ciblek Mania

A couple of weeks ago the garbage truck rumbled through the alley behind my house making all sorts of mad noise and beeps. When I woke up I could have sworn was at home, in my parents' house, with the school bus waiting in the driveway. As in 20 years ago. 

I'm homesick. And I can't help thinking it's compounded by the 80's and 90's stuff floating around everywhere. Neon, moto, studs, cropped boots, lace--it's out in full force and I wore a piece of all of it back in the day. Jeggings? Can't remember what we called them, but I had more pairs of ribbed jeans than I knew what to do with. Floral denim? Let's just say I swore NEVER AGAIN to anything bright when it was all over and the fog lifted.

Cut to scene and somehow a pair of neon pink pants has found its way into my closet. Perhaps I can blame it on angst over aging and missing my family? Something's gotta give because I'm actually starting to like neon and it's scaring the hell out of me.  In an effort to test for a cure, this weekend I'm taking a quick zip home to Canada. My sanity is on the line and, quite frankly, I'm not sure how much more Home Depot and the local thrift store can take of my wardrobe.

Ever notice how January, February and March totally drag on while June, July and August are gone in what seems like the blink of an eye? When I was a kid it felt like summer lasted forever, now not so much.  Totally bums me out.

Seeing as this blog has turned into somewhat of a gongshow it seems only right to post pictures from when I was mid-Whole30 about, oh, 2 months ago.  WHAT IN THE WORLD? And what's Whole30 you may be asking yourself? A sugarless story that left me 12lbs lighter for another time.

Well I did tell you I lost the camera, right?

With that in mind I bring you sequins in early spring with a side of tossed salad hairdo.  It all started when I spotted a new neighbor. Okay so I haven't actually seen the neighbor, just the neighbor's ride.  And if you're following me on Pinterest or the other various social networking sites then you know this is DREAM RIDE TERRITORY UP IN HERE.

Spring.

That glorious time when you pull out the floral prints and wear them with glee.  That time when strolling around in denim shorts is no longer met with the looks of bewilderment you encountered during your weather denial phase in December. That time when maybe you shouldn't have been so eager to jump around in sandals and bare legs over the Easter weekend because the allergy attack you thought you were having despite never having had one of that nature before has actually turned out to be the flu.

Fail.

It was fun while it lasted.
That's all I've got. Back to bed.

On Saturday I rolled into the kitchen decked out in one of my usual outfits of choice: faded, ripped up slim jeans, a white t and a pair of ankle boots. It was an exciting day: this pair of ankle boots is new. And it has buckles. What can I say? It's the little things, people.

As I glanced sideways in the mirror while strolling down the hall, something seemed off. I stopped, turned, walked back and stood there a moment assessing the situation. Hmmmm. Back in the kitchen (really I'm still on the first entrance but gave you a little context) I say to the Chef, who is so kindly assisting with litterbox duty, 'Dude. Does something about this say Peter Pan?' To which he responds by looking up and proceeding to double over in laughter, 'No, no! I actually never would have thought that. But now that you say it...' Well now.

Taking it back down the hallway I trade out the jeans for a slightly slimmer and much darker pair. Victory. Balance. No Neverland for me today, after all. Turning to the Chef I say, 'Better, right?' Not so much a question, but rather an eyerolling whew.

To which he turns to me straightfaced and says, 'Yeah, but you might want to give your skallywags another roll.'

Everyone's a comedian.

I never considered myself much of a daredevil.

Nope.  Growing up I listened to the teacher, always completed my homework without being asked to do so, was home by curfew (except once or twice), and stayed in the crosswalk.  To this day I am still too nervous to jaywalk for fear of a police officer catching me and administering a verbal rip in front of a bunch of nosy onlookers.

Confessions of a self-professed hallway monitor turned free bird (in the latter years).

So a couple weeks ago when we were on our way home from the blessed flea market aka home of the Tori Spelling sighting and the Chef pulled into a parking lot with a sign that basically said if you're not the owner and don't have permission you'd best frig off, I contemplated having a breakdown.

Him:  Just get out. We'll get a few pictures and leave.
Me:  What if someone calls the police?
Him: By the time the police got here we'd be gone and the police do not care about us. *eye roll*
Me: What if the owner's here and yells at us? (as he walks across the parking lot and I holler out the window)
Him: Dude. It's Sunday. The owner is not here.
Me: That guy over there is waving to us. Maybe he's the owner.
Him: That guy over there is saying get out of the car and don't be a wuss. So don't be a wuss.

Fine. Rule breaker in the house. Nerd version 2012.

Happy to report no one called the po-po on us and I was back in the car within 5 minutes.  Word.

I had something to say, but can't remember what it was seeing as I just made the grave mistake of watching 'Virgin Diaries' on TLC and fear my mind has been wiped clean.  If there is a possibility of being scarred for life simply from watching a tv show I've got third degree scars.  Did any of you happen to catch the two who got married and had never kissed before? (see here)  Uh, can you say maul?  I was mid-air with a fork of pan seared green beans and can't even recall eating them.  There were some other awkward scenarios to behold, but suddenly they've escaped my mind.

Did I do anything this weekend?  Laundry, couch, worked on testing gluten-free donut recipes and laughed my head off on Friday night over dinner with friends.  At some point I made a pitstop at Whole Foods where I had a stranger tsk tsk me for purchasing green beans that weren't organic.  Excuse me lady, but do I know you?  I'm paying $4.99/lb for green beans and counting out exactly 14 so as not to break the bank.  Do ya mind?  It was on this very excursion that I seized the moment to try out my new Current/Elliott Rollers for the first time.  The love story continues.  No big shocker there.  I've been raving about the brand since the very beginning.  I guess this makes me a one denim brand loving woman (you know like a one woman man)--except nothing like the peeps who got married on Virgin Diaries.  *washes eyes out with bleach*

It's Tuesday night and I'm sitting here wrapped in a blanket listening to the new downstairs neighbors hammer and drill away at the walls at, oh, 10pm.  I just can't win.  Irony struck once again today when I hauled out the vacuum to get my clean on thinking I'd be all productive when, apparently, it blew out the pilot light on the heater.  California:  home of the annoying wall heater.  This is the price you pay if you want to live in a place that has character and doesn't resemble a human filing cabinet.

Note to self:  stock up on sweaters and blankets. Or just stay away from the vacuum?

Why am I not lighting the pilot myself, you ask?  Let's just say I could write a series of short stories on negative experiences with gas (and not the kind that comes from eating beans).  Suffice it to say I once witnessed a man from the gas company come flying out of the floor unit with his pant legs in flames after hearing a very loud bang.  Imagine me beating a stranger with a tea towel.  True story.  Shortly thereafter I discovered 18 months of lethargy was due to a lit-tle carbon monoxide drip that had slowly been killing me.  One of many I've got in my pocket, friends.

How did I get off on this rabbit trail? Can't remember and now have zero segue into an outfit.  Well I do have a coat on, so let's go with that.

On Sunday I hauled out a Mike & Chris (now defunct) leather hoodie I picked up a few years ago on HauteLook.  Prepare for screams from fashion diehards as I confess it's worn primarily with sweats and a t-shirt.  Another true story.  It's a uniform I can't live without:  James Perse sweats pulled up to the knee + one of his t's + the hoodie + flip flops = grocery store, post office, Home Goods, bank errands.  We keep it real over here at the bird.  This means we tell the truth about what we're really wearing daily. And by we I mean me.  *loses it*

For Sunday dinner I managed to amp it up (insert sarcasm) with Current/Elliott denim leggings, one of the Chef's t-shirts and my faithful Joie military boots.  You will note that Sunday's lid resembled a rat's nest.  All I could think about was getting to the Mexican place for margaritas.  My bad.
The whole purpose behind this thing was to say I've basically swiped this t-shirt from the Chef.  After pouring over the closet looking for a shirt I looked down and decided to just wear what I had on which, coincidentally, may or may not have been what I wore to bed the night before?  Can't quite recall, but it would help in carrying on with my whole pajama theme.  HAHAHA!!

ps--if you like the hoodie here's one the former CEO of Mike & Chris has out now. They're really great jackets.

Gotta jet! Chelsea Settles is on! New addiction.

Fringe, mane, cats.  All of these things belong here.  (as opposed to one of these things just doesn't belong here)

About a month ago, the Chef's mom opened her garage and two Abyssinian kittens strolled in.  Well actually one darted straight into the house and the other followed soon after.  She hollered to the Chef as she pulled away, 'A cat's in the house.  Keep an eye out for it.'

You know the best part of the story?  This is totally normal dialogue in their world because these are cat people.  They don't question or freak out when cats find them, they just accept them into the fold.  The past few cats their family has had all either rolled up to their house or his dad's office and never left.  It's in the DNA of cat people.  We're cat seeking devices.  I was secretly ecstatic when I met his parents for the first time and saw cat paraphernalia littered throughout the house:  cat rug, cat thermometer, cat doorstop, cat figures in the planter outside, iron cat statues on the bookshelf, pillow stating 'The Cat's the Boss in this house'.  I made mental notes with glee.  All my cats have found me too.  Same with my parents.  I come from a long line of cat lovers...goes back generations.  No jokes.  We have the photos.

*Cue 'We are Family'*

His parents are out of town and he's catsitting.  This basically means all I did this weekend was play with kittens.  Well, one kitten and one cat.  The other kitten just stares at me and runs by...but I'll win him over.  He sniffed my hand on the way out the door yesterday and just 48 hours ago I won over his brother.  Victory is on the horizon, friends.  Stay tuned.

Sticking with her usual patterns, Mother Nature tossed out something just shy of a scorcher this weekend in Southern California.  Yes I realize waxing on about the weather is so blah-de-blah, but guess what?  It's bloody fall, bloggers are donning fur and sweaters as we speak, and there is simply no way in the name of perspiring underarms that I'm about to get in on that game.  Instead I spent Saturday morning staring blindly into my closet trying to come up with something other than shorts to wear.  Refusing to get into an outfit frenzy--you know the ones where half the closet goes flying around the room don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about--I spotted my favorite shoes, quickly tossed on a pair of jeans and a blouse that's never made it onto the blog.  Goal:  Don't over think it or it'll be 5pm before you know it.

Upon emerging from the house I was hit with a wave of heat that almost had me spin on my heel and head back inside, but margaritas were calling and there was no time to delay.  I managed to grab my camera on the way out the door, but as fate aka Instagram would have it the battery was left in the charger.  Niiiiice.  This evening I contemplated renaming the blog:   My Life On Instagram.  Has a little ring to it, don't you think?  

If you've fallen ill in summer then I don't have to tell you how uncomfortable it is.  The sun is shining, the breeze is blowing, the ice cream truck is singing its tune in the wind...and you're laid out flat in bed.  Possibly whimpering. Yesterday I woke up feeling super dizzy and just plain under the weather.  Instead of listening to my body I thought I'd give vacuuming a try--not the best idea when you can't stand up straight. Moments later I was back in bed moderately worse for the wear.

If I told you how long I have been staring at this blazer you may or may not think I had been hypnotized.  In the past week alone it was gazed upon no less than 10 times per day *cue 'Too Much Time on My Hands*, yet for one reason or another I just couldn't pull the trigger.  In all honesty lace has not crossed my mind much since Madonna was, ahem, much younger--and even then I was more enthralled with the piles of bracelets climbing her arms.  Lately however I'm kinda transfixed.

Cut to scene and there I was on Friday night indulging in the weekly ritual of margaritas and chicken tacos with my friend Kelly who proceeded to use dirty words like, oh, Forever 21 right at the table.  I'm just going to out myself:  I haven't been in Forever 21 in 9 years.  Yes you read that right.  Everyone goes on and on about Forever 21 and all I'm thinking is, 'I turned *cough* 25 last year so that one is out of the question."  Well friends, I would like to formally announce that as of Saturday at approximately 12:30pm PST I am now 21 again and it is feeling pretty good.

Kelly coerced me to a monstrosity of a Forever 21 that resembled a mini department store.  She's very sneaky too--after 15 minutes she had to depart, abandoning me in a sea of what appeared to be 7 million females between the ages of 10 and 52.  Is this post littered with numbers or what? Anyway, 2.5 HOURS later I emerged with stars in my eyes, hair still in my head AND a jackpot of finds in my bag, not the least of which was an amazing version of that lace blazer I had been stalking.  Examine the evidence:

I don't know about you, but Sunday is one of my favorite days.  It's a day of no set agenda, fly by the seat of your pants, lounge in the sun (or on the couch) and relish the moments as they pass.  Yesterday we were about to go our separate ways for the day when the Chef decided to take a late lunch outside his own restaurant just after opening.  Impromptu lunch date? Um, okay! Mid-day margarita? Count me in.

While weeding out the closet on Saturday for late summer/early fall planning, I came across my pink blazer (last seen here) immediately deciding it has not had enough play on the blog.  This is one of those purchases I keep at the forefront of my mind--saw it, left it behind and later had to track it down 15 ways from Thursday to eventually find one in my size.  *Note to self: get it when you see it and take it back if you change your mind thereby avoiding my size is no longer available-itis.*    I tossed it on with a pair of my go-to Current/Elliott shorts (thanks Gilt Groupe), a simple white t-shirt and a pair of Converse sneakers.  It's true what they say:  simple is best.  It was a great lunch outfit, but carried me throughout the day as well.  Recipe for success!


Spill it--how was your weekend? I spent Saturday with a butterfly while overhearing the guys next door talk about dating in a scene straight out of Swingers.  Delightful!