lookingforlissa

Escape your life for a little while — come play in mine.

Posts Tagged ‘Fashion’

Wardrobe FAIL

Posted by Lissa on June 5, 2009

Meh.  I’m having one of those days.

In a futile attempt to combat the nasty murky cloudy weather outside, I chose a rather cheery outfit today – a bright turquoise sleeveless dress, topped with a black corduroy blazer to make it business appropriate, and of course finished with black leather stilettos.  In my usual morning rush, getting dressed is actually the last thing I do before leaving the apartment.  (Getting dressed and THEN doing hair/makeup is a surefire guarantee that you’ll drop something messy down your front.  You know it’s true.)

I made it all the way to the parking lot before I noticed/remembered that this dress shrank in the wash.

Bloody hell.

Instead of falling decorously to my knees, the hem is a good two inches above.  Instead of looking bright and cheery yet businesslike, I look like I’m dressing for a picnic.  Or maybe lunch on a cruise ship.

Relax, relax, I chanted to myself.  No one will notice.  You’re not as important as you think.  No one will make you kneel down to prove that your dress is knee-length like some obnoxious high school dress code enforcer.  Relax.

Then I remembered I have a meeting today with my boss’s boss, Big Boss Lawyer.  And a Vice President from our Communications department.

Oh, sh*t.

A few days ago I warned Mike I was going shopping this weekend.  When he asked if there was any special reason, I explained that I’d spent ten minutes wishing I could go to work naked because there was nothing in my wardrobe.

Today I almost wish I had.

If you need me, I’ll be hiding in my cube, studiously keeping my legs underneath the desk and wishing for a blanket.

Bloody hell.

 

P.S.  No doubt Mike would like to point out that my closet – twice as big as his – is stuffed with clothes and roughly 4,392 pairs of shoes.  Silly men and their counting games!

P.P.S. Rajah went to the vet last night and was judged to be “the perfect size, a good ten-pound cat.”  Of course, we gave him about fourteen treats when we got home last night so that might not be true anymore.  The vet also called him “thick,” which made me giggle.  I was just waiting for her to call him “festively plump.”

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A Day in the Suburban Jungle

Posted by Lissa on March 27, 2009

10:35 AM

“I’m off to the mall, sweetie. I should be back around two or three or so.”
I left for the mall just FULL of purpose. I clearly defined my goals. I mapped out my routes for each store. I planned for parking debacles. I promised myself I would mentally smack only HALF of the obnoxious teeny-boppers I encountered. I was confident, prepared and ready.

I was wrong.

***

First stop: parental wedding gifts. I knew exactly what I wanted. I took cell-snaps and sent them over to Mike to make sure he approved. And then I started the simple process of filling out the forms for the engraving.

Twenty minutes later, I had pulled out a scratch-pad, my own Sharpie and half my hair while I showed the nice sweet little old lady how to spell my name, AGAIN. Thank goodness I showed up an hour before my hair appointment.

“No ma’am, I do not want the gravity pen, thank you.”

“No ma’am, I do not need a fourth gift, thank you.”

“No ma’am, I have no idea how long you’ve been working at this store and how many crazy young people you’ve helped select the perfect wedding gift.”

“No ma’am, I had no idea that your sister’s neighbor’s daughter is getting married next month to the nice boy that she met while she was back in high school and that he is so good to her son and that you don’t approve of his hair but you do approve of his job and you think that he drives his car too fast and you never see him in church but you really don’t expect that of kids nowadays.”

“Thank you for all your help ma’am have a good day.”

***

“Welcome to Regis, how can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Lissa, I’m here for a twelve-o’clock color appointment.”

“Oh, wonderful! Well, Stacey’s running a bit late, she won’t be done for another twenty-five minutes or so, but you’re ten minutes early so really she’s only running fifteen minutes late!” (beaming smile)

“Ummmm, that’s great. Okay, I’m going to go grab lunch and I’ll come back in twenty-five minutes.”

Lunch took twenty-five minutes. After that, I only had another twenty-five to wait, hooray!

***

I’ve never had my hair professionally colored before. Back in my semi-wild days (only one tattoo and two piercings) I used to dye my hair with the over-the-counter stuff, but that was quite a while ago. Luckily for y’all, I made sure to capture the utter silliness to share with my sister:

foiled

foiled-again

The stuff they dye your hair with?  STINKS.  If I had to classify the scent, I’d say it most closely resembles a cocktail of three parts rubbing alcohol, two parts diseased rotted raccoon, and one part fresh-cat-dung.  With a dash of cayenne pepper.

***

“Welcome to Lord & Taylor’s Clinique makeup counter, are you looking for a makeover today?”

“Actually, yes, I am, thank you. I’m doing my own makeup for my wedding next month and I’d like some help in figuring out how to do my eyes.”

“Oh, congratulations!” the nice woman cried. “Well, let’s see . . . You say you want your eyes to stand out?”

“Yes,” I confirmed, “though I don’t want anything too gaudy. It should look sort-of-natural.”

“Fantastic,” the Nice Makeup Technician (NMT) replied, and proceeded to slap pancake onto my face. Or Play-dough. It felt like Play-dough.

“This is our new photo-friendly foundation! It’ll show up just great when the photography flash goes off! Oh, and don’t you have such pretty eyes! I love doing wedding makeup!”

I smiled painfully through watering eyes as she merrily stabbed my corneas with a mascara wand.

Five minutes later, I looked in the mirror and beheld this:

just-picture-it-with-brown-eyes

“Oh.  Um.  Well,” I stammered.

NMT’s colleague, Scary Makeup Lady, wandered over to coo over NMT’s job. I tried to decide if it made things better or worse to get compliments from a woman who had 1) bright blue eyeshadow raccoon-rings, 2) bubble-gum pink lipstick, 3) fuchsia blush in perfect circles on her cheeks. I’m serious, SML looked like a cross between Raggedy Ann and Fannie Mae Baker.

“Ummmmm,” I tried again. “It’s a lovely look, really, and I’m sure I’ll wear this to a club sometime, but can we maybe experiment with something lighter? More subtle?”

“Oh surely!” NMT chirped, reaching for the makeup remover. “Let’s try that same look using Dark Violet!”

***

“Hi, I need to make a nail appointment right before my wedding. Oh, while I’m here, could I get my eyebrows waxed please?”

“Sure-sure! You go to back room!”

On an academic note — when the woman doing your eyebrows accidentally drops a big blob of wax into your freshly-colored hair, the best removal method really is to painfully pick it out with your fingers. At least, I assume so; she didn’t offer any alternatives.

***

“Excuse me. Excuse me please, trying to get through,” I said politely.

“Dude! Look at ’em go! FIGHT! FIGHT!!” — “Naw man, the cops are already here’n’sh*t! They’re gonna take this to the parkin’ lot for sure!”

“ExCUSE me,” I said, a little less politely. “I don’t want to see the fight, I just want to get to the escalator.”

“Yo dude, he ripped his shirt off ‘n’ sh*t!” — “FIIIIIIIIIGGGGGHHHHHT!!”

*stomp*

“Oh, excuse me,” I said, VERY politely. “Was that your toe? I beg your pardon.” I flashed my sweetest smile and escaped through the gap.

***

Oh, surely not.
“Um, sir. That engraving has a word missing.”
“Huh? No, it’s right there!”
“No, sir. There is a word missing.  Right.  THERE.  Sir.”
“Oh. Oh, sorry about that. Okay, we’ll have this fixed right up in a jiffy! Come back in forty minutes.”

***

I crawled home at 6 PM. Mike kissed me, gave me a glass of wine and dinner, and put me to bed.

Now tell me again . . . WHO says that women love shopping???

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Today’s feel-good post

Posted by Lissa on February 9, 2009

Because every Monday should come with a post that makes you feel better about yourself:

56649431

Have you ever been faced with a buffet so sumptuous — or at least so full of breakfast pastries — that you were paralyzed from not knowing where to start? That is how I feel right now. Do I begin with the workout pants? The boots, which look like she shot Fozzy Bear after mugging a stripper? Or the understated, tasteful corset? It’s a marvel of symbolism: the ruby navel, the gold chain flap dangling slightly north of where her natural-born Google would be… But nothing is quite so achingly subtle as the mammoth bejewelled pseudo-nipples that cover her actual skin-made ones. It’s like her Faberge egg hatched and she’s getting ready to breast-feed its spawn.

I attended the Ronald Reagan Presidential Ball in 2000, and that’s where I learned the valuable lesson that MONEY DOES NOT EQUAL TASTE.  I would watch, horror-struck, as women wearing expensive fur coats would remove their wrappings to reveal a poofy plaid skirt and cowboy boots.  Or a mid-thigh sequin-studded gold wrap designed to show each dollop of cellulite to its best advantage.  Or a dress festooned with buttons dangling from loops of thread — I can’t even GUESS what the effect was supposed to be. 

So there you go, dear readers.  You may not be rich, you may not be famous, but at least you would know better than to parade around wearing something that makes you look prepared to breast-feed Faberge egg spawn. 

And if that’s NOT the case . . . if you WOULD walk around wearing this . . . please don’t tell me.  The truth is just too painful.

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I’m sure there was a good reason for this . . .

Posted by Lissa on February 6, 2009

… it’s just that I have NO idea what it could be.

Last night during dinner (reheated spaghetti with homemade sauce, an Italian sausage and a bison meatball, with a bit of veal parm* on the side) we watched the Iron Chef America Batali-vs-Laiskonis Chocolate/Coconut Battle.  I admit freely that, while I love Iron Chef, the show often baffles me — I cannot understand the appeal of, say, “carpaccio.”  Fleh.  And mousse made of anchovies??  ForGET it.

Last night, however, my puzzlement stemmed from a different source.  And this source is named Katrina Markoff.

The lady appears to be a reputable expert on chocolate.  She also appears to be quite attractive (as is pretty much a necessity for any female celebrity nowadays).

So explain this to me, please:

Why in the HELL was she wearing THIS??

img_15441

Did I miss a memo?  Is it now a requirement for judges on Iron Chef America to wear garishly-decorated pajamas from the mid-eighties, topped with a sleeveless white deep-thoughts-type T-shirt and plastic beads?  Did I miss that memo?

Oh, and don’t forget to avoid washing your hair for a week or so.  That helps, too.

And she got to eat all that delicious chocolate, not I.  Thus the real reason for my bitterness.

*I’ve mentioned before my aversion to veal — I don’t mind that others eat it, but I’ve avoided it because baby cows are cute and I don’t like the thought of them chained down unable to move — not nice.  Mike worked around my prohibition by ordering us Meadow-RaisedVeal – they claim that “Calves develop naturally on New York’s lush pastures. They drink mother’s milk, graze freely, and flourish in the sunshine. Our veal is rosy in color, rich in flavor and tender as can be.”  Happy frolicking baby cows are apparently acceptable in LissaLand 🙂

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Chilly with a chance of frostbite

Posted by Lissa on January 16, 2009

1-16

I walked to work this morning braced for the cold.  I had my hood-balaclava double-covering my ears, protecting my mouth and nose from the cold and trapping my warm breath to keep my skin thawed.  I wore two layers of sweaters under my coat and tights under my pants.  I swathed my hands in thick leather gloves lined with Thinsulate.  I was ready.

Holy Mother of God it’s cold!  It’s so freaking cold why the HELL did I leave North Carolina or even Texas for that manner it wouldn’t be so cold and I could buy myself a gun and it’s so cooooooooold . . . um, what the hell is that??

I watched in amazement as a young woman pranced by.  Her head was unprotected save by a pair of earmuffs; her jacket was waist-length; and she was wearing FORMAL SHORTS WITH TIGHTS UNDERNEATH AND ANKLE BOOTIES.

DUDE.  Did she lose a bet??  Although it was a really stupid bet if it makes her dress like that in zero-degree weather.  Ummm . . . was that a young woman of, er, ill-repute?  No, that can’t be the case, or surely she’d take better care of the goods in question . . .

Parents, teach your children about the dangers of drunk-dressing.  You might be saving their lives.  Or at least their delicate lady-bits.

UPDATE: Oy, and ouch:

HAMMOND, Ind.—In a scene straight out of the movie “A Christmas Story,” a 10-year-old boy got his tongue stuck to a metal light pole. Police said the unidentified fourth-grader was able to tell them that a friend dared him to lick the pole Wednesday night. Temperatures in Hammond were around 10 degrees at the time.

By the time an ambulance arrived, the boy was able to yank his tongue off the frozen pole.

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Official LookingForLissa Product Endorsement

Posted by Lissa on January 14, 2009

Remember this post, when I was trying to figure out how to protect my poor face? Well, here’s the attempt I made last month:
My Lissa, what big eyes you have!
My, Lissa, what big eyes you have!
Yeah. I look like a particularly inept scarlet Ninja. It was, however, an improvement over the last time I braved freezing-cold weather without a face covering — I arrived at work looking something like the Sphinx. I had to go digging for my nose, which had apparently crawled off my face and taken refuge in my armpit in a desperate attempt to maintain a temperature at which tissue can remain viable. (Good thing I was wearing powder-fresh deodorant, y’all!)

Anyway, we’ve got a rash of particularly cold weather going down in Boston this week. No, it’s not as bad as Alaska, or Minnesota, or even West Point, but it’s cold enough to be unpleasant.

Which allows me to give a (field-tested!) Official LookingForLissa Product Endorsement to these little darlings:

hoodie

Yes, of course, they make me look like Heidi. Or a dwarf. Or they make me skip about singing, “Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match!” (The singing-and-skipping has a strong positive correlation with wine intake. Therefore I suppose the hood is also useful when playing my role of an insane Chinese leprechaun.)

In all seriousness, the fleece is warm and fuzzy, it doesn’t chafe your face, you can remove it without COMPLETELY wrecking your hair, and it allows you to walk through the streets of Boston without your face turning black with frostbite. Excellent things all!

P.S. 54 degrees in Texas right now. Shoothouse Barbie, I hate you very much. 🙂

P.P.S.  Does anyone else ever mix up “balaclava” and “baklava”?  It would be an unfortunate mistake to make; either very, very messy, or — well — you wouldn’t have to worry about fiber in your diet for a few weeks . . .

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Official LookingForLissa product endorsement

Posted by Lissa on December 11, 2008

‘Tis a cold, wet, miserable day outside!  Getting out of bed was a serious challenge, and NOT just because the cat laid claim to my lap and — clinging with all four paws and, I swear, his tail — refused to surrender his real estate.  What cares he if I need to drink coffee and shower and get dressed and go earn a living?  He’s convinced that the auto-feeder is now his bottomless sustenance provider; all I’m good for is a warm place to sleep.  So, as usual, I whined from the bedroom until Mike (personius A.M.-us psychoticus) kindly scooped up the kitty and directed my blind, stumbling steps toward the fresh coffee. 

Speaking of stumbling, I sprained my dignity last night.  (‘If you have some liniment I’ll put it on my dignity,’ Mrs. Whatsit said, still supine. ‘I think it’s sprained.’)  I was dashing through the rain last night, nearly at the T station, when I remembered that I had an errand to run at CVS — I was supposed to go browsing for huge, oversized Christmas cards (my 94-year-old grandmother is having some trouble with her sight).  I made the sad, sad mistake of trying to collapse an umbrella AND walk at the same time . . . you all see where this is going.

Sure enough, the wheelchair ramp I THOUGHT I was walking down was, in fact, two feet to my left.  In its place was a drop, magically magnified to roughly six feet high (okay, maybe it was more like four inches) and I stumbled into space, staggering forward two steps as I frantically tried — and failed — to regain my balance, before measuring my length into the wet, dirty street.  Thank goodness it wasn’t a busy street; I’d be a smear on the bumper of some bus at this point.

Speaking of points — I did have one!  To continue our discussion of hose, I’d like to give an Official LookingForLissa Product Endorsement to L’eggs Sheer Energy.  That stuff is TOUGH, man.  I scratched up my shin and scored some serious road rash on my knee, and yet my hose did not spring a single run.  (Men — that’s the equivalent of getting a concussion-worthy knock on the head and having your baseball cap emerge in pristine condition.) 

By the way — is there any more superficial wound that causes such pain as road rash and rug burns?  Paper cuts and lemon juice are but kisses and marshmallows in comparison; they don’t make you wince in the shower the next day. 

Almost Friday, everyone!  Hang in there!

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Brrr! It’s COLD out there!

Posted by Lissa on November 19, 2008

There must be some Toros in the atmosphere!*

11-19

Gettin’ nasty cold out there, folks.  It’s bad enough in Lissaville in the morning, but in Boston the wind whips down the streets and around buildings and practically steals the breath from your lungs.  I wear calf-length wool coats and knee-high leather boots, but unfortunately the coat tends to flap open as I walk, allowing chilling gusts of freezing air to zoom directly up my skirt.  Plus, the high-velocity nippy air bites at my cheeks and makes my eyes run.  Wah!

Enough whining, though, I’ve got a question for y’all.  What do you use for head/face coverings in cold weather?  I’ve got scarves, and I’ve got hats — though hats are hard to wear over my hair, if it’s in a ponytail or bun or anything except loose — yet none of that helps my cheeks from freezing into place.  Bad enough to walk into work with wind-dishevelled hair, but to have a rictus-like grin on my face tends to frighten the security guards.  And yet, I somehow think one of these would frighten them even more:

face-mask

Just my color, right?  Um, not right?  Well, okay.  How about this one?

face-mask2

Yeah, that one’s not doing it for me either.  Last winter I was so desperate I took to draping a pashmina around my head and safety-pinning it to cover my nose and mouth, but I don’t deny it looked a little silly.  Also, it flapped in the wind.  (Also, it somewhat resembled a burka, despite my care in selecting bright red or patterned fabrics to minimize that effect.)

So, dear blog readers, any suggestions?  Where can I find a covering that will keep my face from freezing, but will not frighten the CEO if we meet outside the entrance?

Ah, that age-old dilemma between comfort and fashion . . . Of course, since I wear stilettos, you know which side I usually land on!

*It’s a cheer from the movie Bring It On.  A very silly entertaining chick flick.

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Three-picture Thursday: 11/13/08

Posted by Lissa on November 13, 2008

Good morning!  The first picture in our roundup I was going do as its own separate post, but I don’t really have much to say except DUDE.  WOW.

imao-obama

You may have seen that before, here.  It’s an IMAO photoshop that I find funny and Obama-fans probably find insulting, and it got used in an actual news piece in ABCLive.in.  I still think it’s funny but, really, aren’t serious news organizations supposed to use actual stock photos?  In fairness, I’d be peeved if it were my candidate; so, bad journalist!!  (Oh and also they ripped it off IMAO without credit and photoshopped the watermark out.  Super-bad journalist!!)

Next up in our collection, I would like to introduce this delectable vision of tulle and organza.  Truly, for a bride who wishes to give the appearance of having heartlessly massacred an entire flock of ostriches and then stapled their ravaged carcasses to her butt, you could do no better:

bride-of-emu

It looks about eighteen thousand times worse on an actual person rather than a photoshopped anorexic* model.  I know because there was a poor, misguided, deluded soul trying one on in the David’s Bridal this weekend.  Even better, it was an non-petite Asian woman wearing it in Ivory, a shade beautifully calculated to bring out all the yellow undertones in her skin.  I think she’d have been better off just full-on contracting Avian Flu.

And finally, since it’s a cold, rainy, miserable day in Boston, let’s have a random blast of the Caribbean:

That would be lovely Haiti.  For those who need a dose of sunshine and occasional towel-animals, try the Caribbean tags in the tag cloud.  Yes, I spelled it both ways.  Eventually I will reorganize this whole site and turn tags to categories and erase all misspellings, but first I need to drink a lot of coffee.  Happy Thursday!

*P.S.  I’m not trying to disparage women who are naturally thin.  It’s just that I’m pretty sure the union rules for models make it a firing offense to eat anything more nutritious or interesting than iceberg lettuce, and I can’t approve of that.

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Exactly right

Posted by Lissa on November 4, 2008

I am 100% with Barack Obama on this subject:

In an interview with MTV’s Sway Calloway, Obama fielded a question from Eric, a Huntington Beach, Calif., man who referenced a town ordinance that tried to outlaw a street fashion trend in which young men wear their baggy pants down well below their underwear.

Obama said such laws were “a waste of time,” but didn’t hold back on his own view on the fad.

“Having said that, brothers should pull up their pants,” he declared. “You are walking by your mother, your grandmother, your underwear is showing. What’s wrong with that? Come on.”

I absolutely agree.  It’s slovenly and unattractive to be walking around with your underwear sticking out, but it’s not indecent, and anyone wasting time making and then enforcing laws on boxers needs to get a life. 

(Of course, the part after that — “We should be focused on creating jobs, improving our schools, health care, dealing with the war in Iraq.” — makes me squeamish, ’cause I have a feeling I won’t like his solutions to most of those stated issues — but the point remains.)

(h/t JammieWearingFool)

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