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Archive for the ‘The Style Section’ Category

Inked

Last week, I took the plunge and finally got my first tattoo!

Maybe I should have gotten a tattoo of my BlackBerry?

Right after that picture was taken, he said, “Ooops, I think I squirted in your pants.”  And then we laughed a whole lot.

Ta-da!

Fluctuat nec Mergitur – Latin, meaning “Tossed by the waves, she does not sink”.

Questions I’ve been asked so far:

Why now?  A few reasons, but I chose to do it at the close of 2010 because it was an extremely painful year, and I wanted to end it with pain that was on my own terms, of my own choosing.  In short, I wanted to make 2010 my bitch, if only in my own mind.

So, did it hurt?  No, but I have an extremely high tolerance for pain (of the physical sort) and anyway, it’s the thought that counts.

Why on your belly?  Originally I wanted to get my first tattoo around my left wrist.  I’m planning a career change, though, so I thought it would be wise to choose a spot that wouldn’t be an issue if tattoos are frowned upon in a clinical setting.  The lower belly just seemed like a good fit.  And, yeah, I know it’s a popular spot for gang tattoos.  At least I didn’t get a tramp stamp.

Are you sure Fluctuat nec Mergitur means what you think it means?  What if it really means, “I like to party?”  The meaning of this particular phrase is actually quite well known, since it’s the motto of the City of Paris.  “I like to party” is more of a Paris Hilton kind of motto.

Are you happy with it?  Yes, absolutely and completely.  It’s larger and higher up than I was planning, but once I saw the design, I knew it was perfect and just went for it.  I could not be happier.  I fondle it often.  I’m very fond of the fondling.

Will you get another one?  I’m already thinking about what I’ll get next… but I have some other business to attend to, first.

Where did you get it done?  Here by him.  If you’re in the Sac.ramento area and are looking to get inked, now you know where to go!

Also, special thanks to Kelly for going with me, being my photographer (as always) and for the party-in-my-mouth sushi we enjoyed afterward!

Loyaulte me lie

I’ve designed a handful of tattoos for myself over the years, only one of which I haven’t rejected at some point. 

‘Loyaulte me lie’ in script around my left wrist.

It’s the motto England’s King Richard III claimed to live by, and it means “Loyalty Binds Me”.  Whether he actually lived by that code is something historians have debated for years, but I’m not really that interested in Richard III.  Sorry, dead dude.

I promised myself that if a tattoo design stayed on my list for 5 years, I’d take the leap and get inked. 

It’s been four and a half years.  Loyaulte me lie.  To do it or not to do it?  Eeep.

Tell me:  What binds you?

OR, if you’d rather not go there,

Do you have a tattoo designed for yourself, or if you’re already inked, do you have a favorite?  Share.

The Happy Scowl

This weekend I spent a few hours in the pool with the kids while my husband, apparently, observed from the dining room.

After awhile he came outside to tell me he noticed I scowled a lot, even when laughing.  “Maybe it’s why you have a hard time getting to know people,” he offered, in all his wise wisdom.

“Or maybe it’s just really, really sunny out here and I’m squinting,” I lovingly replied.

But it got me thinking.  Do I scowl?  It’s not so much the putting people off I care about.  It’s the frown lines I’m sure to get between my eyes.

I’d hate to end up with a chasm like Kate Gosselin’s.  I’ve never watched their show, but as a reader of People magazine, I’ve been forced, in recent months, to become an expert on her appearance. 

My expert opinion: the woman scowls, even when it’s NOT sunny.

  *
        Dun-                              Dun-                            DUNNN!

To combat the impending chasm, I spent some time in front of the mirror perfecting a perma-grin where I smooth my forehead.  It’s kind of like when you used to wiggle your ears as a kid, only don’t wiggle.  Just hold.

The problem is, it makes me look kind of surprised and more than a little crazy.

I’ll probably repel people more than ever, but at least I’ll have a nice forehead.

*I have no idea where I got these photos.  I googled, and got out of there as fast as I could.

TOO SHORT

Wouldn’t it be great if this was a post about how Blythe and I ran into TOO $HORT, the old school gangsta rapper at Target this morning?  Maybe I would write about how he posed for a photo with Blythe (great stuff for the baby book) and gave us an autographed copy of one of his CDs.

Then I would have told you how I was planning to give the CD to Jeremy while out on our date tonight, and we were going to laugh, laugh, laugh, because Jeremy always busts out the TOO $HORT lyrics when he’s had a bit too much to drink.  Ahh, inside jokes are the best.

But, NO.  This is not a post about any old school gangsta rappers.

It’s about a much more important topic, my hair.  It is TOO freaking SHORT.

 

Don’t get me wrong – it’s a cute cut.  My girl knows hair, and that’s why I’m so loyal.  But oh my gah.  It’s so short, especially in the back:



My hair is literally less than half an inch long in some places.  OK, in lots of places.

This is what I get for pointing at a few pictures and then reading a magazine instead of being specific and paying attention. 

Holy hell, when will I stop freaking out when I look in the mirror? 

Redneck Fashion

It’s hard to be chic while living on a ranch.  Sure, I’ve got my Citizens of Humanity jeans and my open toed black heels, but can I really wear that stuff out in a pasture full of poo? 

I recently realized that M’ Boots and a nylon jacket aren’t quite protection enough for my clothes.  It turns out, poop stains.  And that 18 inch section of my legs that isn’t covered by my “uniform”?  Always ends up with shit on it.

Enter Redneck Fashion.  That’s right, I’m talking about Coveralls for the Ladies.

Tell me you don’t want a pair of these:


Matching green clogs and back hoe not included.

I think the neckerchief and camisole really set this one off nicely.


And also, apparently women who wear coveralls like to stand around with their legs up on the equipment.  Sexy.

And for the home gardener, there’s a floral pattern.  The equivalent of Camo for ladies, apparently.


Funky fresh red tennies $20 extra.

For a minute I thought I might just settle for wearing men’s coveralls, but dammit.


I’m not a gay mechanic in the 1970’s.

Finally, just as I was about to give in to forever having poop stains on all of my clothes, I found these.


Maybe it’s the absence of a model, but these are looking pretty dang nice.  Redneck ladies, we finally have an option.  Just not from the local Wal-Mart.

Project Runway take note: this is an area that needs some serious attention in season six.  I smell a challenge coming on, complete with real live rednecks as models.