The Urban Juror (Part 2)

(Read Part 1 here)

The court room was not at all how I’d imagined it. I wanted marble floors and vaulted ceilings, so the acoustics would be dramatic and reverberating. 

(This is really what I was imagining.)

I expected to see some guy in an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs being led into the room by a handsome policeman. I thought the judge would be angry, slamming his gavel down at the hint of anarchy.

(Yes that's the Ghostbusters judge -- it was a very influential movie on me, okay?)

And the lawyers would be stern and in expensive power suits, intimidating us into being on their side.

Instead, the court room was more like “Judge Judy” but without the grand entrances. Everything was covered in red and gray or tan carpet – I mean, even the walls. The defendants were in button downs and slacks, no shackles. The judge was like a dear old grandfather, and the lawyers looked like characters from "The Office." (One woman's suit was three pieces -- jacket, top, and wide leg pants --, and all three were the same taupe pinstripe material. Definitely not what you would see on "Law & Order.")  Offensive outfit aside, everyone was so pleasant! Even so, I planned out where I would hide and my escape route in the event of someone running into the court room with a gun, as I’d read about someone doing in Denver that morning, or -- let's be honest -- if Slimer suddenly appeared and caused a ruckus.

Everyone introduced themselves, and then each lawyer read us a list of witnesses, including their nicknames.  Oh how I wish I could remember them all. These witnesses had the most generic names, like Bob Smith and John Thomas, and their nicknames were things like T-Dog, Peanut, and Lil' White Boy. How they kept straight faces amazed me. Next, the judge told us about the case and let us know it would take four weeks.

My heart dropped. How in the world can they ask people to give four weeks of their life?! Any thoughts I’d had about some unfulfilled desire for civic duty escaped me after he told us the length of the trial. Even my imagination of what court room antics may lie ahead couldn’t convince me that I wanted to sit on this jury.

The judge began reading a list of questions and asked us to note which ones we might need to talk through with him. This would begin the voire dire process. I had three notes:

1. I’m a certified paralegal. Yes, when the Internet freaked out the print media industry back in 2006, just around the time I was entering the workforce, I had to figure out a different career all the sudden, so I got a paralegal certificate. I figured they didn’t want people who knew too much about the law, so I was glad to finally be putting that certificate to use.

2.  I have a friend who works for the FBI. Obviously, I can't name this person, but the judge asked if we knew anyone in law enforcement, and FBI totally counts. Things were looking up for me!

3. I have a conflict. Jamie is getting married in March in San Diego, and The Boyfriend is going with me and we’re going to rent a car and drive down the Pacific Coast Highway from San Francisco to San Diego and visit several friends along the way. Doesn’t that sound amazing?!

When he finished, the judge told us we are all important and he wants to talk through any issues we might have.

What a caring man! I thought.

Then he told us how important our duty is, and although four weeks may seem like a long time, we must all serve at some time. Our bosses would understand, and the law demanded them to. Personal conflicts may be important, but this may be more so. He also emphasized that if we were mentally incapacitated or couldn’t, for some medical reason, handle the trial, we should let him know. 

My emotions became very complicated as the feeling sorry for myself shifted between not fulfilling my civic duty and missing Jamie’s wedding, not to mention all the evenings I’d have to give up to catch up on work, then swinging over to pretentious pride that I would be the best, most un-biased person they could put on the jury.

Hours passed as the judge called each person to the front to talk with him and the lawyers. He played white noise while they talked so no one but those up front could hear. Some people he let go, but most he asked to stay. There are only 12 seats on a jury, but the judge was obviously keeping his options open. I made my way through Marie Claire, half of Cosmo, and the foreward to “The Princess Bride.” (I always read the foreward, you never know what little tidbit you’ll find out before you dive into the book. This one was particularly interesting.) Finally, around 3 p.m., it was my turn.

I handed my notes to the judge and smiled sweetly.

“You’re a paralegal?” he asked, eyebrows raised. I couldn’t read the lawyers’ faces, so I wasn’t sure if this was good or bad. “Good for you!” he continued. I shrugged my shoulders and nodded. “Where do you practice?”

“Oh, I don’t. I’m in PR.”

“NPR, you say? Impressive!”

“No no, I’m in PR. Public Relations.”

The judge’s smile disappeared. “Oh.”

What is that supposed to mean?!

“Okay,” he moved on. “You know someone in the FBI?”

“Yes,” I said, standing up straighter. If the paralegal thing wouldn’t get me out of it, this surely would.

“And what does this person do for the FBI?” he asked.

I slumped. “Counter-terrorism.” That wasn’t going to affect this case at all.

“And your conflict, what is that about?” he asked. It was my last shot. For a moment I thought about embellishing the story to ensure my swift exit, but I’m a terrible liar and I knew I’d start laughing if I strayed too far from the truth. I took a deep breath…

“I have a wedding to go to in March,” I said, short and sweet.

“Oh how nice. Whose?”

“My friend’s.”

“Are you in it?”

CURSES. The one time I’m not a bridesmaid. “No…”

“Okay, well, I don’t see why that would be a problem, but we will consider it,” he said. I realized this judge wasn’t as dear as I’d originally thought.

And then, a glimmer of hope – one of the lawyers, her face looking very concerned, said to the judge, “Sir, she will miss the wedding.”

The judge looked at me thoughtfully, and this went through my head (up to the 25 second mark):

Alas, the white noise was on, so no one could hear and therefore cry out for my sake, which I'm sure they would have otherwise.

“Where is the wedding?” the Judge Dread asked.

“San Diego?” I didn’t know what he was looking for at that point.

“Well, we’ll take it into consideration. You may have a seat.”

Blerg! Why can't I be more like Liz Lemon?!

(I did briefly consider doing something like this, but it would have taken a level of skillz that I just don't have. And anyway, it only worked for her in Chicago. I'm pretty sure DC would be closer akin to Liz's New York experience.)

I sat down and waited another hour or so as the people next to me were questioned. Finally, the Judge Dread turned off the white noise.

“This is taking much longer than we’d hoped. Please report back tomorrow so we can continue.”

As I walked to the Metro, I turned my phone back on and notices started coming through, including a Facebook one. One of my lawyer friends had posted on my wall: “Don’t try to get out of jury duty, we need smart people like you!”

UuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuughUH. I was so torn.

To be continued...

The Urban Juror (Part 1)

Editor's Note: As you're about to find out, I got called for jury duty. I spent most of my time on jury duty writing about said jury duty because I was bored out of my mind. Subsequently, it turned into more of a novella than a blog post, and I'm too lazy to cut it down. So as not to completely overwhelm you, I decided to break up my harrowing tale in a few parts. (I say "a few" because I haven't yet decided how many parts it should be. I'm still working on breaking it up. Jury duty was very, very long.) Enjoy! Or go watch "Argo," because it's out on DVD now and it's the best movie of the year, and I can say that confidently because I saw "Lincoln," "Les Miserables" and "This is 40." (You might want to skip the last one, it was terrible.) Either way, get a snack -- you're going to be here a while.

***

When I was a kid, I can remember waiting to hear my dad's car pull into the driveway in the evenings. He would greet me with a big hug and kiss on the cheek (and his breath never smelled because I told him once that it did, resulting in him forming the best oral hygiene habits known to mankind), and then we would walk hand-in-hand to the end of the driveway to get the mail. In my sweet little mind, this was the best part of the day. 

Looking back, I now realize how much he was humoring me, for now I see that -- as an adult -- mail can be tiresome, a clutter trap, and surprising -- not in a good way. The occasional hand-written letter, wedding or baby shower invite, and magazine provide the only real motivation I have for checking it each day. So when, last month, I shuffled through the pile of bills, requests for my charity, and coupons I will never use, and I came across a sealed envelope with perforated edges from the District of Columbia Government, my heart sank. Sometimes the perforated edges indicate a check, but I was doubtful this was the case since I hadn't yet filed my taxes.

Please don’t let it be another camera speeding ticket! Please please please!

It wasn’t. I’d been summoned for jury duty. 

First, I thought, I'm going to be a rurr jurr.

Then reality struck -- I don't have time for this! Immediately my mind swarmed with ideas -- I'd been summoned two other times in my life and gotten out of both of them. Surely I could do that now! But each idea vanished as soon as it appeared. The two times I was a student then living in another state. I am now a bona fide, responsible, adult citizen. I was going to have to show up.

***

The day before I was to fulfill my civic duty, I researched it a little. The DC Courts' website was okay (better than most government websites, I’d say), but Living Social did a much better job. The top things I took away from the article:

1. Bring food. (PB&J and Cool Ranch Doritos in my Tory Burch lunch box-- just because I'm an adult doesn't mean I have to eat like one.) (Yes I just saw myself write that. Diet starts tomorrow! Or the day after!)

2. Bring laptop. Free wireless in the court house? Good job DC Government!

3. Bring water. Two bottles should do it, right? (I took one more to be on the safe side, because apparently I think being in a court house means going to a third-world country for a day.)

4. Bring stuff to read. I haven't read my subscriptions to Glamour, Cosmo or Marie Claire since September when I realized being in a PR agency means saying good-bye to a cushy lifestyle. I only brought February issues, but at the last minute I panicked and brought "The Princess Bride," because I was concerned that three magazines and Internet access wouldn’t be enough to fill eight hours. 

5. Look for Adrian Fenty. The article alleged that Adrian Fenty, since losing the race for mayor to Vincent Gray, shows up to the court house every morning to report for jury duty, and he often wears a long, black cape and a woolen cap. I was looking forward to the celebrity sighting, but alas, he never showed. Living Social tweeted me that he was probably on his road bike today.

By the time I arrived at the court house, my shoulders were KILLING ME. Yes, shoulders. I needed two bags for all my stuff. (This over-preparation quality of mine is going to come in handy someday, I just know it.) From 8-10 I sat in the Jurors Lounge and was excited about catching up on personal emails. I was feeling quite productive when a woman came in and told us we were to stay here but take as many breaks as we wanted until we were called into a court room, and if we were never called by 5 p.m. we could go home and that would be that. 

There's a chance I won't get called at all?! I thought gleefully. A few people got up to go on a break, but I stayed in my seat. I needed to use the bathroom, but it wasn’t terrible, and since I had all the time in the world I might as well wait a little.

I reached for a magazine, and then it occurred to me, if I didn’t get chosen, will I ever have the chance to serve my city in this way? I felt sorry for myself as I realized I may never get to experience being on a jury, that I would have fulfilled my civic duty, but only halfway. Then I started reading Marie Claire and forgot about all that.

Three fashion spreads and two articles in, another lady came in and started calling names, including mine. 

Oh. No. 

We were ushered into the hallway and told to line up in three lines. As people filed in, I observed the other people walking around the court house. A few walked around, looking doomed. Their day in court has come, I thought, wondering why they were there and hoping for justice either way. A couple was holding hands and had flowers. Justice of the Peace, I thought, feeling happy for them. Men with clean haircuts, suits, and briefcases swarmed. Blood-sucking lawyers, I mumbled for no good reason except that line from “Jurassic Park” always amused me. 

“You will no longer be referred to by your name. You are now the last three digits of the number on your badge,” she told us. “If I call your name, you’ll report to the court room for trial selection.”

Mine was 144. There were at least 100 of us, so I expected to not be called. How many people could they possibly need? I enjoyed the ignorantly assumed fact by singing “Three Is A Magic Number” from School House Rock.

(Something about my number being 144 reminded me of 3^rd grade times tables – 12x12=144 – and that led to the song. I can’t explain how my brain works. Just go with it.)

By the time I got to “man and a woman had a little baby” she’d called my number. What?! I walked to the front of the line, and she looked at me and said, “Oh, you are 144-B. You can go back.”

That’s what I thought! I thought.

About a minute later she called 144-B. And then all I could think about was how bad I needed to use the bathroom. I walked toward the court room and passed two men that were neither getting married nor lawyers. I no longer felt any sympathy for them. Vagrants!!!

To be continued...

Inauguration 2013

In case you're wondering, no, I am not at the Presidential Inauguration today. (I felt the need to address this since my phone has been blowing up this morning with this inquiry from my friends in other parts of the country.)

Listen, if you want to go down there and stand for hours in the cold with 500,000+ other people, by all means do it! But me...listen, I'm not un-American -- I love celebrities just as much as the next person! -- but let me just state my case here. 

(Please keep in mind that I got a Showtime freeview last weekend and watched almost the entire first season of "Homeland," and I've been borrowing the Boyfriend's Xfinity log-in to watch the rest of them this weekend, so I'm a little paranoid.)

1. I hate crowds. As I typed that I remembered that I did brave the crowds to go see Stephen Colbert prance around onstage in a patriotic jumpsuit. So, okay, I can be persuaded to stand in a crowd. What really freaks me out about this particular crowd is all the foreigners. I'm not talking about non-Americans -- I'm talking about people in khaki cargo pants who drove hours to get here, are paying up the wazoo for a hotel room, and have been standing out there since 5:30 a.m. to watch the 44th President be "sworn in" (not really) on a giant screen. Those people? I don't understand, and their zeal scares me.

2. I hate traffic. My dear, sweet former coworker (you know who you are, and it was worth it!) had a farewell party in Alexandria yesterday, and, while roads were not supposed to close until either midnight last night or 5:30 this morning, they closed yesterday. Leaving the city was bad. Coming back in was ludicrous. I drove on streets I didn't know existed. At one point, we were detoured down an alley. AN ALLEY. It's not even a road! And don't get me started on the absence of detour signs. Oh no. All the drivers were just left for dead. When my tank "empty" light came on, I just laughed. And then I was detoured again and I looked at the police officer and shook my fist at him, like an old man. Like a crotchety, paperboy-hat-wearing, ornery, old man. 

3. I'm pretty sure everyone's in the CIA, Al Qaeda, or both. I need to finish the second season of "Homeland" asap so I can return to reality. Or am I already in reality? Last night, when I was detoured up and down Independence Ave., I had a moment of sheer terror when I noticed all the women in birkas walking around close to midnight. It took me a moment to realize they were just girls in long, black coats (and a few stupidly without one) leaving inaugural balls and searching for cabs. HA! (I have a feeling there's a lot of tired feet this morning -- no cabbies were dumb enough to get in the detour mess.) The only thing that keeps me grounded is seeing the Farragut Square scenes that are shot in some lush, large, new park that is hundreds of miles away from Farragut Square. However, I'm not taking any chances when I have a perfectly good TV.

4. I have a perfectly good TV. One thing living in DC will do to you is desensitize you to the idea that it's really cool to say "I was there!" We're "there" for something all the time. One day I well tell my kids about my years in DC, and they will think it's sorta cool. Their friends may find me slightly cooler, but more so because I plan to always have some yummy baked goods on hand. So I'm content pausing from my "Homeland" marathon to watch the President's speech and check out Michelle's new haircut. (Do we like it?)

5. Okay, it would be cool to see Kelly Clarkson, accompanied by the Marine Corps Band, sing live. Which kind of is the main point. If that's more exciting to me than seeing the President speak, it's not worth it for me to go out there. I thought DC would make me politically-minded, and it has, but more so it's been getting older and more mature, and learning and understanding what's really important to me and what my values are. During the presidential campaign, I was torn, as most of our nation was. But what is done is done, and I'm aware that the state of things isn't just about the President -- it's about Congress, it's about the economy, the world situation, the Millennials, our obsession with celebrities, our disinterest in the decade-long war, and so many other things. 

So today, I don't find myself unpatriotic by enjoying my day off and watching the inauguration at home, and I think it's great that so many people are spending their day off to stand on the National Mall. To each his own. But I do believe the most patriotic thing we can all do is pray for our President and all our leaders, as Timothy exhorted us to do (1 Tim. 2:1-3). 

Oh heeeeeeey Beyonce. 

Holiday Playlist

Christmastime has never been that big of a deal in my family. Thanksgiving? Yes. Birthdays? Loads of fun. Christmas? We were always at my grandparents or traveling somewhere. Even as an adult, I've never gone out of my way to do anything spectacular during this time of year. Case in point: Last year at this time I was headed to California.

This is what Christmas in Cali looks like. Pretty sweet if you ask me!

I even spent New Year's Eve on a plane. (I learned my lesson about NYE years ago.)

It never occurred to me that this might be odd until The Boyfriend came along (henceforth he shall be called "The Boyfriend" -- no more "unicorn" talk out of respect to his masculinity). The Boyfriend views Christmas the way I view cheese (which is funny because he hates cheese; I don't consider it a flaw because it leaves more for me): The Best. Thing. Ever.

While I spend the next week learning about what I've missed out on for the past three decades (read: I'm going home with him for Christmas -- EEK!), I'd like to point out two things I don't need help with: 

Food. I love me some holiday fare, especially when we're talking about Trader Joe's seasonal treats. (I'm currently munching on Mini Peppermint Waffle Cookies, and I have chocolate cheese -- YES, CHOCOLATE CHEESE -- in the work fridge for a snack later, plus plenty of Peppermint Joe Joe's at home.) I'm stuffing as much of it in my belly as I can before January 2nd when I will quite literally turn into a pumpkin. Mmm...pumpkin... (As far as I'm concerned, pumpkin season is still going strong!)

Music. The point of this post. Some of my favorites below. Happy Holidays!

On Unicorns

Why haven't I posted on here in almost three months? I met a unicorn!

And you can thank him for this post, because he read my blog -- ironically and unfortunately he only read the post that drove the idea of the unicorn, which, for those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, is the mythical creature known as "The Eligible Man" -- and he thinks I stopped writing because of him.

The truth is, it's been really busy lately. I stopped writing for Borderstan as well because my job has been hectic (cannot emphasize enough that it's hectic in a good way), up until last month I was planning a big event with Washington Women in PR, and, well, I was busy with boyfriendy things. So in a way, he had something to do with the lapse in blog posts, but really, as I explained to him, I just didn't feel like writing. Not that this is a job, but it was nice to give myself a break and just be in the moment for a while. When I start getting paid to write this thing, we'll talk about more consistently posting.

But I'm back on track now, mostly because I have so many holiday posts I want to write! So without further ado, here's the 411 on The Boyfriend.

During the last days of summer, my friend Grace asked me if I was hosting a rooftop party before the weather turned cold. Although I lurv rooftop parties in the summer, I had grown weary of them as I seem to always be hosting. But I can't resist a request, especially coming from someone as chic as Grace. It makes me feel like I'm the hostess with the mostest, and that is priceless.

I sent out the invites, made a "Rooftop Party" Pinterest board, and bought tons of food and decorations, complete with a 'smores bar. When the day arrived, Grace emailed me to let me know she was pregnant and wasn't feeling up to coming. How do you get upset with a pregnant lady? So I revised the invite quickly and encouraged guests to bring single, straight men. It was supposed to be a joke (but not really).

Actual invite. Blacked out my address to deter the droves of other single, straight men who will want to jump on the missed opportunity after I publish this.

All night guests came and went, devoured the 'smores and complimented me on my rooftop party skillz. I thought, This is great and all, but seriously, I'm not doing these alone anymore. I had so much cleaning up to do, it was expensive and I was exhausted from cooking all day. Around 11 p.m. my neighbors came up, and with them they brought -- you guessed it -- a single, straight man. Too tired to care that much at that point, I was cordial but really just wanted to wrap up the party so I could go to bed.

About 30 minutes later I got my wish. Everyone left, and I began to clean up the roof. Then I noticed the single, straight man had stayed to help me. He brought everything down, and then, in the chaos of my wrecked kitchen, he offered to help me clean that as well.

"Oh no, I'm way too tired," I told him, more embarrassed than tired at that point. But he insisted, and in 20 minutes my apartment was cleaner than it had been in weeks. We sat down on my couch to relax afterwards, and before I knew it, four hours had passed. We talked all night. It was like one of those magical things you see in the movies and you always hope will happen to you, instead of meeting someone off of an online dating site and having a really awkward first date but a slightly better second one and deciding that if things work out you'll just tell everyone about the second date as if it were your first with a lie an embellished story about how you met.

Anyway, once the sun had risen and we were both feeling an appropriate amount of awkwardness, he asked for my number and if he could take me to dinner that week. I said yes, and he's been taking me to dinners ever since. Except that one time I took him home to Georgia to meet my family for Thanksgiving.

AHHHH! THIS IS SERIOUS!!!

So, to recap, my definition of a unicorn is:

1. Single (not anymore!)
2. Straight (yes, total dude)
3. Christian (check)
4. Employed (check)
5. Taller than Me (6'2"...my ideal height!)

And the peripheral requirements are:

1. Dark, curlyish hair (yep)
2. Blue or green eyes (bluish/greenish -- pretty close to mine actually)
3. Fair skin (palest one in his family, woo!)
4. Swimmer’s build (yep, although he'd probably prefer me to say basketball player's build, so I'll just say "baller.")
5. Muscly arms (yessssssssssssss)
6. Enjoy theatre (umm...he enjoys theater, as in the movies, but what-evs, I can get over this one)
7. Know how to cook (sort of, but even better, he is learning how to cook and I am teaching him, which is fun and romantic)
8. Understand the importance of nice jewelry (the guy owns a watch collection, and I'm not talking Swatches)
9. Never ever let me pay for dinner (nope)
10. Prefer to live in the city (ehh...he lives in Alexandria, but he usually comes to me, so it's okay)
11. Want kids (yep, but that's as far into particulars as I'll go, including why we even had that conversation) (okay it's because we got in a big argument about Santa Claus, and I'll just leave it at that)
12. Not be too hairy (no back hair creeping out of his collar, check!)

(I kind of love that in the post where I first detail all this, I declare my love for Justin Bieber. He can't stand The Biebs. Probably a good sign.)

Also, a guy at a bar once told him he looks like James Bond. That's less impressive to me as someone saying he looks like Prince Eric or Superman, but it's all about the same. (For the record, I think he looks like Prince Eric or Superman.) 

So ANYWAYS...apparently unicorns do exist, and you better believe I'm not letting this one go. Great way to wrap up the year. Woo!

Emmys 2012: Someone Is Getting Paid Too Much

I guess I have to start watching "Homeland" now. It beat "Mad Men," "Game of Thrones," "Downton Abbey," and "Breaking Bad" for Best Drama. BREAKING BAD?!?!?!?!

My solace in this is that Maggie Smith won Best Supporting Actress in a Drama Series, because the Dowager Countess of Grantham might be the best character on TV.

"What is a week end?"

Also, "The Amazing Race" is apparently better than "Project Runway." I'm just not understanding.

Therefore, let's talk fashion to get our minds off of this craziness.

Looks I Loved:

1) Julia Louis Dreyfus in Vera Wang

 

The cut and draping are understated, elegant, age appropriate (that's key).

 

 



 2) Julianne Hough in Georges Hobeika Couture

 

One of my favorite colors, and what a nice homage to summer, don't you think? Love the petal detailing on the bottom of the dress.

 

3) Michelle Dockery in Louis Vuitton

 

If anyone knows how difficult it is to make pale skin work, it's me. Michelle is wearing the perfect colors to make her skin look creamy instead of washed out. The slate gray sheer top is genius.

 

 

4) Nicole Kidman in Antonio Berardi

 

 

I want this dresss! I love a little sparkle (we'll get to that in a minute), and this is such an unexpected way to do that.

5) Sarah Hyland in Marchesa

 

 

While I think she's a little young for this look (at 22 I would have gone with something more fun), it is really dreamy and romantic.

 

6) Jane Krakowski in Franco Kaufman

 

 

I love how these sequins make the dress look like it's made of a fine metal. The head-to-toe glitz is not overpowering, which is challenging to pull off.  

7) Sofia Vergara in Zuhair Murad

 

My favorite look of the evening. Sofia looks amazing, and this dress is a show-stopper.

 

Looks I Am Not Understanding:

 

1) Ariel Winter in Katharine Kidd dress and Brian Atwood shoes

 

 

I know prints are in, but what is going on here? The train is atrocious, the cut is unflattering, her hair is all wrong, and those shoes...ugh, they make her feet look ginormous!

 

2) Elisabeth Moss in Dolce & Gabbana

 

First of all, I find it interesting that "Mad Men" co-stars Elisabeth and January (below) traded hair colors. Bad move, ladies. Second of all, another hideous print. And the ruffles. And those shoes that I'm pretty sure I wore in 1995 when I represented my middle school in a public speaking contest (can't remember the subject of my speech, but I did say "hellish" and was really pleased that I got away with saying a bad word in front of adults). Elisabeth, your body is tiny and you're single now. Get with the program.

 

3) January Jones in Zac Posen

Not that anyone is suprised that January looks deranged at a classy event, but the hair makes me so sad. That mousy blonde is not working, and the slicked back/hairsprayed 'do is so disappointing. Some stylist is getting paid way too much.

4) Julianne Moore in Christian Dior

 

Julianne, you are not old enough to wear whatever you want and laugh about it on the red carpet! Lose the long sleeves, get a necklace if you're going to wear something that tight on top, and please do not ever wear this much yellow again.

 

5) Kerry Washington in Vivienne Westwood

 

Is it just me or does this look like something someone on my high school drill team would have worn to homecoming? This is what we call Glitter Gone Wrong. Granted, it's not terrible, but I feel like Kerry threw this on 10 minutes before the show. This is exacerbated with her sad, frizzy hairdo. Seriously, who are these people paying to do their hair?!

 

6) Lucy Liu in Versace

 

 

Not as bad as the previous glitter bomb, but only because Lucy is at least trying. The neckline is so weird, not to mention she basically looks like a disco queen going to war. I'm not feeling it.

 

7) Lena Dunham in something horrendous

Lena, we get it -- you're fat, tortured, and brilliant. Can we please move on? You're making a lot of money now, which means you don't have to be the ugly girl anymore. Stop hating yourself more than most people hate themselves (that's a direct quote), and please grow out your hair ASAP. I can't believe you chopped it off. UGH.

 

*Editor's Note: I am all about the unexpected heroine being a "normal" looking woman, but it's like Lena Dunham wants us to call her ugly. It's really starting to make me angry.

 

Things that Made Me Forget about How Much Lena Dunham is Annoying Me:

 

1) Edie Falco is 49.

 

2) Heid Klum's shoes.

 

 

3) Kevin Costner.

 

 

 

4) This tweet: @ jimmykimmel : Just opened a beer using Jon Hamm’s chin! #emmys

Style Me September: Week 1

As promised, I'm giving this fashion blogging thing another shot. I'm having trouble being creative with my wardrobe like I was in July. It's weird...I have way more fashion options in my new job, but somehow I feel less inclined to make a statement. I guess this is the difference between working in a giant federal building and a giant privately-owned one with a fountain and exotic artwork.

I have failed to do the Style Me challenge most days this month. August was extremely busy, and September has been worse. However, three times I succeeded:

Day 4: Made for Braids

 

Chambray Top: Forever 21

Necklace: Target

Shoes: Gap

Pants: LOFT

Hair: Braid Bun -- so easy. Twist on either side, braid what's leftover from the twists. Braid the rest of your hair (middle piece). Fashion each braid into little buns and pin. That's my spin on the tutorial I found. Here's the original (even prettier -- going to try to do the rope braid next time): 

Day 5: Gray or Grey

 

Top: LOFT

Jeans: LOFT

Correct spelling: Gray. "Grey" is for the British. I kind of hated this day because, despite gray being one of my favorite colors, I realized I had very few gray summer pieces in my wardrobe. I hope we get this challenge again in a couple of months when I can represent better.

 

Day 11: Pearls Please

 

 

Dress: NY&Co.

Blazer: Banana Republic

Pearls (faux): Forever 21

(I accidentally participated in the challenge today because I had to get dressed up for a visit to the Pentagon -- my first since I left. It was so weird being a visitor!)

 

As referenced a couple of posts ago, I had a huge fashion disaster my first week into my new job. A friend had taken me to dinner at Rosa Mexicano to celebrate the new gig, and unfortunately three days in I was already feeling ready to bid farewell to my blazer with dress/pencil skirt uniform, so I colorblocked and Ikatted all at once. The first thing my friend said was, "Isn't it a little soon to be dressing like that?" The second thing she said was, "Isn't that Mondo from 'Project Runway'?"

 

AND IT WAS.

 

Obviously I marched right over to him and asked for a photo. He was busy figuring out his drinkie situation. I helped him, he thanked me, posed for a photo, and then engaged me in conversation for 20 more minutes. It ended with him GIVING ME HIS PHONE NUMBER. I did not ask for it, I swear. He voluntarily offered it up to me and told me to text him. I did. Three times. He did not text back. I'm honestly quite amazed that I didn't text him more or break down and call him.

 

 Proof.

 

You'll notice he's wearing toothpaste green and a belt with a steer and a heart on it -- plus cheetah print platform shoes, which you can't see -- and yet his outfit is totally awesome. Mine was not. And standing next to him I look like I weigh at least 100 pounds more than he does. (That might actually be true.)

 

The last time I was this disgusted with my clothes I happened to be in New York hanging out with Carol Hannah, also a "Project Runway" finalist. Why?!?!

 

So I'm back to my blazer and dress/pencil skirt routine...for the most part. Fall is coming soon, which means a style shift. Not sure I'm in love with the oxblood trend, but I can't wait to make the make the most of these... 

Hello lover.