hot hot heat

It is a gloriously sunny eighty-six degrees out right now, I have steak marinating in the fridge for afternoon grilling, and I have stocked my freezer with a fresh batch of Otter Pops. Memorial Weekend is in full swing.

Waterfall tank, Development by Erica Davies; tube bra, American Apparel;
pencil skirt, American Apparel; heels, Urban Outfitters.

"What to wear under this tank?" has vexed me for some time, so today I'm testing out the tube bra option at a friend's barbecue. Also, I realize, as I am biking to that barbecue across town, I will be testing out this bra's ability to not slide down my torso while I am on my bike. I apologize to Belmont Avenue in advance for the awkward shifting-around I may have to do.



This is the City of Chicago's "Go Blackhawks!" tribute: the fountain at Daley Plaza runs red.

For theatre geeks, however, this is an Antonin Artaud shout-out. "Jet of Blood", awww yeah!


worth a thousand words

Bratwurst, garnished with mustard and a big slick of red lipstick that I forgot I was wearing.

This photo sums up so much about my life, really.


balanced meal

I made the most delicious riff on peanut butter & jelly tonight, y'all. A peanut butter whoopie pie with homemade strawberry-balsamic jam: the ultimate in bourgeois re-appropriation. (Keller and Achatz aside, obvs.)


I used the King Arthur Flour recipe for the peanut butter cake components, using a full cup of peanut butter rather than the 3/4 cup called for in the recipe. (Note: it made me sad to buy creamy peanut butter for this recipe. I know that extra-chunky would have been a trainwreck for making these cakes, but it still makes me sigh, as extra-chunky peanut butter is so clearly superior to creamy.)
For the jam, I will have to be a bit more vague. I had a huge box of overripe strawberries from the grocery that I cleaned, sliced, and mixed with about 2 tablespoons of brown sugar and about 1/4 cup of balsamic vinegar. I stewed that together over low heat for a long while, and then added about a teaspoon of gelatin to help it set up into a somewhat jammy consistency.

After I polish off another whoopie pie or five for dinner tonight, I should take the leftover jam and stretch it out with a vanilla mousse of some sort to fill the rest of the pies.

(Stuff like this happens in my apartment on Sunday nights. You all should come over.)


a little off

I'm putting together a playlist called Creepy/Sexy. Recommendations? (Truculent, SBJ, Lipstick Librarian- I know you all have opinions on this. Dish.)

Thus far, the creepy/sexy tracklist is:

Johnny Cash, "Personal Jesus"

Haley Bonar, "Devilish Man"

Tom Waits, "Sea of Love"

Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds, "Do You Love Me?"

Chris Isaak, "Baby Did A Bad Bad Thing"

Requirements for consideration: songs must be both highly sexy (dude, have you heard Nick Cave sing "Do You Love Me?" rrrrowr!) and also unrepentantly creepy (dude, have you heard Nick Cave sing "Do You Love Me?" frightening!). Augment my playlist with recommendations, please.



Chandelier, round two!
This one is shorter than the first version, but it's denser with the glass balls. If I had more glass balls (say, seventy-five more) I'd create a center waterfall effect to help diffuse the light a bit better. The diffusion of light (or lack thereof) is my main beef with the lighting, still: I want a soft glow filtered through the curtain of glass balls, and it's still a little too intense, despite my low-wattage bulb replacements. I'll just have to stand in the corner and mutter to myself about the horrors of overhead lighting.


perfectly wonderful

(following the completely un-glam marital arts post: and now for something completely different!)

I went to The Hypocrites' production of Cabaret on tonight (and you, Chicagoans, should go too- it was fucking killergood): this was a Date With Myself, and yet I dressed up for it more than for any of my other dates this week. For sometimes, a girl just wants to put on red lipstick and go out by herself.

Trench, H&M; dress, Stop Staring; belt, vintage; bag, vintage; shoes, Kate Spade.

How wrongful is it that I had to wear a coat tonight (it's May, goddamnit!), eh?



In a departure from the usual "wearing today":

Uniform: tae kwon do studio.
Not visible in photo: the fact that my quads are screaming and several of my toes are bandaged up.

(yes, that is a manicure & pedicure. I realize that is is slightly ridiculous to go to martial
arts class with your toes and nails did up, but I have certain things I won't let go of.)

It's hard. It's good for me. And it's especially good, as I learn to tamp down my ego a healthy amount, to continually get my ass handed to me by middle schoolers.



Every time I think smugly to myself "ha! I've outgrown you, Urban Outfitters! I am no longer in the thrall of your overpriced offerings, which none of your sales staff can be bothered to locate in my size!", I get utterly taken in by something new, and whoops, I'm in the middle of a bunch of college sophomores, pawing through an Urban Outfitters bin and ignoring the too-loud store soundtrack.

Damn it.

But: so pretty! And so effective at causing me to question whether or not it is absurd that I am still checking out the Urban Outfitters catalogue!

bad. ass.

I am ridiculously devoted to cone heels.

If this strap is long enough to go cross-body, my need for a pretty, black, bike-worthy bag has just been met.


stop making sense

Logical inconsistencies in Top 40 hip-hop:

Drake claims that he "know(s) way too many people here right now that (he) didn't know last year; who the fuck are y'all?"

Now, if Drake really knew all those people, would he really have to ask who they are? Presumably, he has made a lot of new friends over the past year, and is generally amazed by this expansion of his social circle. Unless his group of new friends has also invited their own independent entourages to Drake's house and have not made introductions, it is unlikely that he is actually at a loss as to who all these people are.

Proposed lyrics change: "I know way too many people here right now that I didn't know last year. New friends who return my calls!"


stakes are high

This is the face I make when finding out that neither of my two horses placed this afternoon at the Derby. Sigh. Awesome Act didn't live up to his name.

Derby parties require a Serious Hat, obviously. This one includes a costume-jewelry pearl pin, two yards of lace, several packages of feathers, a plastic pony, and more staples and hot glue than you want to really consider.

Hostess Kaye is wearing shoes that match her Serious Hat perfectly.
On me: Derby hat, homemade; dress, H&M; pearls, vintage; shoes, DSW.