The "Dressing Up" Experiment

It's a fairly well known fact that getting a new 'do can make you feel like a million bucks. Fresh hair easily corrolates to fresh attitude. Last night, I did not put myself down at all while having an intimate discuss with The Husband. I even went as far as pointing it out. It went like this--paraphrased to keep the identity of the innocent secret and because I can:

MPA: Beautiful Amazon friend's butt would be much better to bongo on than mine.
TH: ZOMG, you have a good butt. Blah, blah, blah (*please read that the way Ke$ha sings it).
MPA: Silencio. I didn't say anything negative about my tush. I am merely pointing out that the shape of hers--
TH: YOUR'S HAS A GOOD SHAPE!
MPA: I am not saying anything bad about my butt. I am just pointing out that the shape of hers is better for bongoing and would be, in terms of tone, much better than mine. I am in no way saying mine is bad.

Boom.
It happened. I didn't put myself down. I could have. It would have been so easy to slip a quick dig in, but I didn't. It was weird. And surprising. But strangely nice.

So, I decided to take that and run with it. Knowing I am capable of not being terrible to myself coupled with the notion that altering something about yourself can equal a new 'tude, I decided to create an experiment. If I dress up, will it impact the way I view myself/help me further this being nice to myself thing I have going on?

Step back, y'all! I am doing (social)science.

 

 

Here is the formula:

 

(SpH*2) + (GgS/Mu*SkCardie)/HSg= New MPA

 

For those of you not up on my COMPLETELY made up fashion math:

SpH=Spikey Heel

GgS= Gold glitter Skirt

Mu= Make-up

SkCardie= Skull Cardigan

HSg= Hot Sunglasses

 

I've discussed make-up before. Black eye liner, gold and neon eyeshadow, and oxblood lipstick go a LONG way in my book.

 

The shoes are TEH SEX.

The outfit is cute. and easy. I told The Husband I felt like a fat hooker and that I was totally ok with it.

Here are the results:

I feel like people are looking at me differently. Like they feel like I am a put together person.

I feel like I look good. I even complimented my legs with hte heels on.

I have not turned any compliment into a negative.

I don't feel better about myself/more confident/anything like that.


Verdict?
I clean up well, but looking #swankyasfuck does not make me feel better about myself.

The Concept of Home

There are two things in my family that seem to be temporary situations: marriage and where you live. Something I continually struggle with, in my lighter and darker times, is the concept of home.What is it? Where is it? Where is mine? Why don't I feel like it applies to me?

Please understand that I 100% mean the abstract, conceptual meaning here. The place where you feel home instead of your physical habitat. Nor am I talking about the idea that home is where your heart is, because to quote Dr. Horrible's Sing-A-Long Blog: "...Home is where your heart is/So your real  home's in your chest." I've never been one to share feelings. And while co-habitating with The Husband is great, I don't feel like I am "home" because he is there.

We moved around. A lot. Or at least a lot for the average family. Places I can remember living? 13. 14 if you count my semester of dorm living and 15 if you count my Aunt's house in San Diego where I spent most of my summers. There were 3 (I think) other places where we lived but I was too young to remember. Other than a trailer in New Hampshire, we didn't own any of the places where we lived. When you move around that much you learn not to become attached to the house/apartment/cottage/whatever where you lay your head. I have learned a lot moving around this much: Moving is terrible. Never fully unpack--you don't know when you'll have to pack it all up again. Always know where your empty boxes are or where to get some (working retail really helped here!). Use those 3M sticky hooks instead of nails so you don't have to fill holes later. Resepct the integrity of the place and clean the hell out of it when you leave to make sure your get that security deposit back. Learn to make do with the tiniest of kitchens.

That lack of attachment has always made me feel like I don't have a "home" to call my own. The nomadic instincts are still in me. I cruise craigslist all the time for apartments and condos and houses. Not that we are in a position where we could afford to move/rent/buy anything else right now, but there is a weird bit of hope that comes through when I comb through these ads. An idea of what could be. A buried need to feel the security of having both a home and a "home." To not fear the security deposit. To decorate and paint and create living spaces unabashedly. To throw a dinner party or any party really and not worry about the space. The freedom to do anything I chose in the privacy of something that is truly mine (well, ours). And to not worry about if there is lead paint in this old ass apartment if I become pregnant.

But "home" isn't just a home. It's where you are truly rooted. For some, their home country or the town they grew up in, etc. provides that feeling. I suppose, the closest I have is Gloucester. It's about as homey as I can muster. not a terrible place but there is much to be desired. Sometimes I wonder if going back to San Diego would be a better fit and make me feel more at "home". Unfortunately, I can't shake the feeling that, much like my father, "home" is Hawai'i. Beautiful, magical, mysterious, something that I feel a part of and is a part of me.

Maybe I am not destined to know. Perhaps I am meant to be nomadic, never truly rooted. I just often wonder what I am missing by having a home but never a "home."

Birthday! And What I Learned While Being 28

The Husband knew exactly what I needed for my birthday. Just us, on an adventure, shopping, and dinner. Whattaguy!

We went to Kittery, Maine to the outlets for some much needed bra shopping. Then we went to Newington, New Hampshire to the Fox Run Mall. There are two things here that I love more than anything: Torrid and a candy store that has the BEST CARAMEL APPLES on Earth.

The candy store stopped selling these delicious, godsent apples during the summer. I literally cried the fattest tears of my life when we found this out. Y U NO HAVE MY APPLES???? Its the ONE THING I was truly looking forward too, ya know, other than hanging with The Husband. I was ready to take a picture of its majesty and posting it all over the internet. Instead, I was devastated by not having a sugary apple. What has my life become?!?!

I’ll tell you. It has become skull print and I couldn’t be happier. I got a skull print cardi, a skull print sweater, and shorts with skulls, knives, 13s, and generally spooky shit on them. Not a bad haul. Thank the lawwwwd that Torrid caters to spooky loving fatties!

But before the skull bonanza, The Husband recovered the day by purchasing me my very own dinglehopper! I immediately became sad that I chopped all my hair off and am far less mermaid/manatee like now. But I have a dinglehopper! Of my very own!

DINGLEHOPPER!

Dinner was at the British Beer Company which was quite delicious. I suggest the steak and ale pie with bubble and squeak potatoes. And duck confit egg rolls!!! Nom! But seriously, bubble and squeak potatoes are the best mashed potato dish I have ever had. What is this weirdly named dish I praise so high? Take some mashed potates, add cabbage and chopped meat (they use bacon), and fry. Boom! Life changed. Don’t worry, I am sure I will make this soon and post the tasty results.

 

Almost Birthday

Tomorrow marks a whole 29 years of me crawling/walking/stumbling around the Earth.

I HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATE celebrating my birthday. I have actually had consistently terrible birthdays since my teens with a few decent ones peppered in to get my hopes up. This is something I have made peace with and I generally try to spend my day holed up, avoiding contact with the outside world.

 

Facebook is the beign of my existence that day. I appreciate that the FB lets everyone know when your birthday is in case they didn't know/forgot/whatev. Given the fact that most of us store everything electronically instead of taking the time to commit things to memory (phone numbers, birthdays, events, etc), it makes sense to gently nudge ourselves with information we may not recall easily. Good on ya, FB. A fair ammount of people I am friends with on the site are not people I see often but still enjoy being in contact with. A smaller margin is family and friends or coworkers I see on teh regular. A slightly higher percent are people I added in the area when I was working for a local business and trying to expand our customer base. I never unfriended them. I thought it was rude. Some of these people I knew from highschool and don't even like (I was commited to getting more foot traffic. What can I say? I am a loyal employee.).

 

For some reason, people that have never liked you (and vice versa) or don't actually know you feel compelled to wish you a happy birthday because it is popped up on the side bar. As well as people who legitimately only speak to you once a year, when they wish you a happy birthday on facebook. My phone blows up with alerts. Its overwhelming, slightly touching, and weird all at the same time. I suppose it is similar to when you are talking to someone you just met and realize a life event just happened and you congratulate them/wish them well or what have you. You have no connection but it is the social norm to do so. No one wants to look like that asshole who avoids this construct in our culture.

 

It's nice that in our busy world, we stop to wish these people in our lives-however peripherally-a happy day. It's some faith in humanity restored. Unless they are someone you have known issues with. Then I think it looks like a bit of one-uppsmanship.

 

I plan on laying a little low. Getting some lunch and then going shopping with The Husband. Nothing overwhelming, aside from the influx of wall posts.

 

There is a wee tradition at work where the day closest to or day of your birthday (at least on my side of the office) where your desk gets decorated. Since I am not in tomorrow, I got decorated today. Last year was filled with epic hand made signs and drawings of Hello Kitty and Pinke Pie (adorbs!). This year is just as nice. Thanks, co-workers! Its just enough celebration for me :)

 

 

So many drinks at my desk 

 

 

Here's to cute clothes, tasty food, and most people I know being at Boston Comic Con-hopefully too busy to drain my phone of all of it's battery. :)

"The Establishment"

I do not live in the best part of Gloucester. It is certainly not the worst, but there is a half-heartedly scrubbed area on the front of the building where you can still read the green spraypaint that says the only word you need to understand some of my neighbors-Meth.

Some of my neighbors are perfectly respectable! Others border on suspicious to say the least. A few doors down is what will hear by be know as "The Establishment." Upon first moving in, I noticed one of the many bumper stickers on their front door was a warning that a crazy bitch lived there. I appreciate the headsup. Truly. Over our few years on the block, the stickers changed and the odd cast of characters have not... At least not that much. Due to the constant stream of people in and out, The Husband and I decided that The Establishment was an illegal boarding house. After discussing it with a friend who knows the seedy underbelly of the area pretty well, and their seeing some of the individuals milling about, confirmed there was a known dealer of the drugs in there. None of this bothers me. To each their own. Until your friends come up to my car window, clearly jonesing and looking for you, I won't car. Even then... I will care some but once they are ambling in a different direction all is well.

The jonesing guy did happen. He was totally cool when we explained that even though we were parked infront of The Establishment that we didn't know any one inside. He milled around their door then shambled down the street.

Since then, the street pharmacist has appeared to leave and the foot traffic has calmed down. Sadly, with him went the very large, derpy husky that jung out of the window.

For a while a sign of cardboard let you know "PUT IT OUT OR STAY OUT!" Perhaps to ward off the previous mix of people coming by? Maybe they quit smoking? Although, one of the ladies there did ask someone walking by if they had a ciggarette. So maybe trying to quit? IDK.

We had been Establishment-incident free for a while, but then Saturday happened. Our car was parked out front and as we were getting in I noticed an adorable child, approximately 3 years of age standing outside. Alone. Well, alone in the sense that there was no adult with him. There was an infant with him in a carriage. Being naturally curious, like a 3 year old do, he was playing with the part of the carriage that sheilds the infant from the elements. It was a pretty cool day for the summer, no blazing sun but some nice breeze. The proprietor of The Establishment came out and told the kid not to play with it because its too cold for the baby.

Yeah. You read right. She left the house to tell him its too cold outside for the baby. While these children are waiting outside for whoever brought them there. She did stay out there with them, at least until we left on our bougie trip to Whole Foods. I was so concerned... Like what are you doing in this place that makes you feel it is ok to leave an infant and a 3 year old outside in not the greatest part of town?

We returned from our trip to Whole Foods and parked in pretty much the same spot. The children were now inside, The Husband pointed out as the carseat part of the carriage was missing. Then I saw the screen door. A shirtless 3 year old stood staring at me. This child proceeded to grill me on why I was parking there. Why don't you park in front of your own house? Why do you live here? The longer the questioning went on, the less I could understand him. He divided his time between grilling me and letting everyone in The Establishment know he was grilling me. We made a break for it when he got tied up talking to those inside. We grabbed our haul and walked away. The Husband reminded me you can't reason with a 3 year old.

He has a point. You really can't reason with a child that young. However there is no understanding your neightbors sometimes.

Hopefully, they will get up to their old hijinks and I can start filling you in on the regular of the weird shit going on at The Establishment.