Ciblek Mania

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?  

Falling in love with LA is something that's turned out to be a huge surprise to me.  The first couple years I lived in the city I seriously thought I was going to lose my sh*t.  Pushy people, everyone claiming to be an actor (as they help you try on your shoe or pass your tea over the counter), the snazziest car at the four way stop goes first--unwritten rules that I was unaccustomed to and, quite frankly, highly annoyed by.  Then around year three, once I started working for myself and had more free time (read: no longer chained to the desk for 12 hours/day), an interesting thing happened.  I would wake up in the morning and want to be in certain parts of town or at certain places.  And the things that once worked my nerve, well I didn't notice them as much anymore.

What can I tell you?  It's Sunday night as I type this and my wrist is feeling slightly better.  In fact it's already seizing up and I'm only on sentence number two.  So much for that idea.  Pardon me while I pull myself together for a quick weekend rundown:  slept for hours with windows open and a light breeze blowing, ate pint after pint of raspberries, threw a few more things in the closet purge pile, watched waaaaaaay too much Dateline and am contemplating joining the FBI, and on Friday night seated someone at a table at the Chef's restaurant when everyone else was busy with other customers (where's my tip? hehe). 

Things are going well for him--so far so good as the saying goes.  It's incredibly exciting to watch it all play out from the sidelines.  The crazy start-up hours have left me with a lot of time on my hands and even though there are plenty of things I could be doing *ahem cleaning* somehow I'm just taking a moment to do nothing much.  It feels nice to pause and regroup for the first time in over a year.  Last Sunday I woke up with hours of free time and instead of racing off on an errand rolled down to the flea market to take a gander.  More like a jackpot.  There were so many treasures to be found that day.  What was supposed to be a simple jaunt turned into a 3 hour marathon.  I left with bag filled with 70's vintage gems--amongst them these $8 pants.  Yes I said EIGHT DOLLAR PANTS.  My own little dream come true.

~Outfit details:  Hat-Hat Attack, Vest-H&M, Chambray Blouse-Gap, Belt-Anthropologie,

Pants-Vintage, Sunnies-Target, Bracelet-Brooklyn Thread~

Who ever let these go?  WHO?? I spotted them after pilfering through racks and racks of

crazy ol' 70's dresses and skirts.  Unable to believe my eyes I screamed out, 'HOW MUCH?!?'

while a young Hispanic guy laughed hysterically and said the word 'eight'.  

Unable to contain myself I screamed incredulously, 'EIGHT? EIGHT DOLLARS?,' 

as he nodded wildly.  He had a live one.

'SOLD!!!,' is the final thing I remember hollering while rooting for my wallet.

Somewhere in flea market land the word loco was used a lot that day.

They're the perfect pants for spotting shed snail shells in the dirt.  

Eye of the Tiger.  

For some reason I feel like saying, 'Ahoy Matey' every time I look at this picture.  

Land ahead?

Off to continue resting my wrist and staring at the eight dollar pants.  Let's see how long this can go on for.

Okey dokey I was about to start typing and we had an earthquake.  Let's hope we don't have another.

Where to begin, where to begin.  I realize I spend an incredible amount of time waxing on about Free People, but I honestly just can't help it.  There is rarely a time when I glance at their online shop or visit a store and don't find something that is truly unique and a blast from the past.  If you get their catalogues then you know firsthand how well they capture a moment, an item, and your wallet.  Which is exactly what happened when I saw their Extreme Vintage Flares.

By the time Friday hits I usually can't even think straight much less concern myself with what to wear throughout the weekend should any special outings occur.  This past weekend I had a bunch of errands to run on Saturday and was hoping to pull out something a little snazzier than sweats or boyfriend jeans and a t-shirt (take note because I live in bf jeans).  It was with much relief that I found Jamie at Work Your Closet in just the nick of time.  She had posted a picture of Drew Barrymore in a daytime look that I immediately connected with, and already possessed the elements of.  Love those outfits best...and so does le wallet.

I realized something when I went out yesterday evening.  I don't get enough time outside.  I haven't walked briskly in the open air along the trail by the beach in months (I used to do this almost every day).  When was the last time I read a book cover to cover?  I cannot recall.  And how about Pilates?  (something I used to love and look forward to just for the sheer joy of stretching and relaxing) Honestly?  I can't remember the last time I did a full work out or Pilates session more than a day or two in a row.  It's been months.

My heart sunk as I stood in the open, breezy air as people walked by with their dogs and each other or alone.  All the things I'm neglecting are healthy for my heart and soul in the most intrinsic ways.  They make me who I am.  When I was thinking back on all the fun tourists I've met out on walks...oh the conversations I've had and stories I could tell.  And books?  Books are some of my best friends!  I have been robbing them of my time.  Truthfully?  I've been robbing myself.  Of just slowing down and pointedly taking time every day to focus on living and thinking, not doing.

Do you ever feel like this?  Like you're just going, going, going and you know things are slipping, but then one day the weight of it all bears down on you in a passing glance, a visit from a friend, or the wind in your hair?  Things have got to change.

True to my word I spent this weekend taking several naps, folding laundry and OD'ing on Dateline, 48 Hours and 20/20.  On Saturday I had grand plans to get up early, do some light cleaning and later spend the day outdoors.  Instead I got caught up in a vacuuming frenzy during which time I thought I had burnt out the poor machine entirely when it made the most odd whirring noise.  In a panic I called on the Chef (who was in the other room watching baseball while I toiled away - where is the justice in this wicked, wicked world??) who carefully removed the vacuum from my white knuckled grasp only to disassemble it and find a sock stuck in the hose (a sock I've been looking for too btw - thereby debunking the whole dryer eats sock myth).  

Interestingly enough I don't even recall seeing a sock in my path.  

Anyway, having gotten myself all worked up I decided to open one of the closets (damn fool) and was inevitably sucked into a tornado-like swirl of shoes, boxes, more coats than I know what to do with and a few items I barely even recall purchasing (she admits sheepishly).  Thankfully I emerged safely a couple hours later with a pair of heels and 2 pairs of boots that are basically foreigners to me, and a dress I knew I had, but had been saving for warmer days. Forget that nonsense.