Tag Archives: fashion

Killer style

Time to brag: I have my own personal stylist.

I know what you are thinking…I disapear for two weeks, reapear with some random butt injury and now a stylist? Who do I think I am?

Queenie, of course. At least that’s what my stylist likes to call me. I like to call her “my friend Jenny.”

See, Jenny runs this awesome Charm Chicks blog and she’s really good at finding adorable outfits and posting about all the hip style trends. 

So I asked her to do a little personal shopping for me. And now my biggest fashion problem is picking between all the cute selections she posted.

But here’s the good news. I can share her with you.

Simply leave a comment here of what you would like My Friend Jenny to find for you, and I’ll let you know when it’s found!

If killer style isn’t your thing but killing style is, stick around for the lobster murders tonight…

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I think I just bought mom jeans and I might be okay with that

What just happened here?

Let’s retrace my steps: Went to Marshalls to look for cheap jeans that cover my rear when I sit and don’t highlight my mini-gut when worn with tight shirts. Drug seven pairs into dressing room. Tried on five (couldn’t get my thighs into two.) Left store with dark-washed jeans complete with  gut-hiding front panel, plenty of hip room, elongated zipper and ample backside coverage in a size 1 up from normal.

Yup, case confirmed. I bought Mom Jeans. How did it come to this?

Look, there is nothing wrong with Mom Jeans, if you have squeezed at least one spawn out of your hoo haw. But I have squeezed nothing out. Have never eaten for two. Have not experienced the hormonal landslide of pregnancy to enhance my butt, widen my hips or unshape my thighs. I assume these things will happen someday and look forward to a Quirky Jr. and a closet full of Mom Jeans as a result, but these things have not happened thanks to the little pill in the purple case that I swallow with a swig of cabernet each evening.

So I have no excuse for the size 6 Calvin Kleins with a “traditional waist” that sit in the passenger seat of my car like some sort of 30-something -with-no-kids-about-to-get-married-it’s-the-time-of-my-life kryptonite.

To be clear: I’m pretty sure I’m being hard on myself. I’m quite sure that these jeans in no way, shape, or form mean that I’m a candidate for the fat lady gig at the circus. But come ON. “Traditional waist?” Really?

And they fit really well.

Oy.

Not only can I bend over and pick something up without a show of my underwear (probably time for a little shopping spree on those fellas too), I can sit down. And everything is covered.

Also. They cover my belly. Most of the fat parts of it? Inside the jeans. Not over the edges muffin top.

To make matters worse, there is plenty of room for my thighs and they are stretchy.

OhmygodImightbuystretchydarkhighwaistedbuttcoveringmomjeans.

After I stopped rocking back in forth in the dressing room, banging my head into the door, I decided to come out for a second look.

Yup, still mom jeans.

But, what can I say? They fit. They feel good. And they are cheap.

I bought them.

And will be wearing them often.

And going to the gym more often. And eating better.

Because, I’d really rather wear my old jeans, please and thank you. But these will work for the time being.

And if, by chance, at age 32, I can’t get back into my size 27 skinny jeans by IT, then so be it.

Maybe Quirky Jr. will just have to make an appearance in a few years to help me justify the jeans.

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How I accidentally dressed like a tramp at work

You may be asking yourself, how does one let this happen?

Well let me tell you, it’s not as hard as you would think.

I bought this cute new gray sweater dress at H&M in Chicago.  When I tried it on, I was either wearing dark tights or pants — can’t remember. All I know is I bought it thinking it was a work dress. Anyhow, on the same shopping trip, I also picked up these cute gray lace tights at Urban Outfitters. The color is an exact match. On the hanger/in packaging this outfit looked like a winner.

Last night, I picked out this outfit and ironed the dress. I was running late this morning and the last thing I do before I walk out the door is throw my clothes on. I took a peak in the mirror and low and behold the dress was significantly shorter than I recalled. In fact, paired with the lacey (read: borderline fishnet) tights, it was looking mildly trampy.

Too late now, I thought. It seemed like a good idea to put on my black boots as opposed to the black t-strap pumps I had planned to wear to cut back on the amount of leg that was showing.

One more look in the mirror and I thought, Ok, that’s better.

On the way into work, I caught a reflection of myself in the glass door.

Oh dear.

Mildly?

Try majorly. And the boots weren’t helping. AT ALL.

Ugh…so I spent the remainder of the day holed up in my office trying to avoid any and all contact with the powers above me.

The work girls were super nice and encouraging.

My favorite comment was, “it doesn’t look too much different from how you normally dress.”

(Love you guys!)

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