Small-town thrift stores are the best thing ever. A portion of what I pillaged from the various antique malls and second-hand stores of central Nebraska last week (for a grand total of probably $100):

Rabbit-fur coat in perfect condition, handmade silk shantung skirt (with matching shell and jacket), fur peter pan collar, silver triple-strand necklace, brass quail (I don't know why I needed it, but I needed it), and 1933/34 Chicago World's Fair keychain.

This is especially wonderful, as my grandpa was at the 1933/34 Chicago World's Fair, and will tell you a story about sneaking away from his parents to go ride the Ferris Wheel, which at the time had a dubious safety record. Grandpa and me, we're thrill-seekers like that.



Why did I write it down? In order to remember, of course, but exactly what was it I wanted to remember? How much of it actually happened? Did any of it? Why do I keep a notebook at all? It is easy to deceive oneself on all these scores. The impulse to write things down is a peculiarly compulsive one, inexplicable to those who do not share it, useful only accidentally, only secondarily, in the way that any compulsion tries to justify itself.

...Remember what it was to be me: that is always the point.
It is a difficult point to admit. We are brought up in the ethic that others, any others, all others, are by definition more interesting than ourselves; taught to be diffident, just this side of self-effacing. ("You're the least important person in the room and don't forget it," Jessica Mitford's governess would hiss in her ear on the advent of any social occasion; I copied that into my notebook because it is only recently that I have been able to enter a room without hearing some such phrase in my inner ear.) Only the very young and the very old may recount their dreams at breakfast, dwell upon self, interrupt with memories of beach picnics and favorite Liberty lawn dresses and the rainbow trout in a creek near Colorado Springs. The rest of us are expected, rightly, to affect absorption in other people's favorite dresses, other people's trout.
And so we do. But our notebooks give us away, for however dutifully we record what we see around us, the common denominator of all we see is always, transparently, shamelessly, the implacable "I."

- Joan Didion, "On Keeping a Notebook", Slouching Towards Bethlehem

So then I got the chapter heading graphic from Slouching Towards Bethlehem tattooed on my sternum yesterday, as a touchstone of what words can do to my brain.

Many thanks to Steven for indulging my "this needs to be documented in photos!" insistence.

*Yes, that is a splint on my middle finger. No, I did not go to the emergency room.


bend don't break

There are some lessons in life that I keep being taught over and over, but I never actually learn said lessons.
For example: cross-body bag + button-up shirt = inadvertent unbuttoning of my shirt and not noticing and then wondering why the guy at Walgreens is staring at me. Or, yesterday, the lesson about wide-legged pants and very high heels and being careful while walking in such.

Tie-neck crepe blouse, Express; lace cardigan, Rodarte for Target;
flared trouser jeans, Ann Taylor; heels, Seychelles; watch, Nixon; bag, gift from A Lady.

Shortly after taking this photo, I went down my stairs. I would say "walked down my stairs", but I walked down only two flights, and then sort of tripped and skidded and fell down the last half flight. Wide-legged pants and heels tend to require a little extra awareness when walking on a staircase, but do I ever remember this lesson? Clearly, no.

In addition to the high neck on the blouse rubbing against my throat during the tumble and creating a very hickey-like mark (great. just fucking great.), I also managed to get my left middle finger entwined in the banister somehow. And now, my finger is swollen and not very mobile, and that's really screwing up my Saturday schedule. I have all these errands to run and galleries to go to, and a trip to the emergency room to get an x-ray will take at least 90 minutes, and I'm pretty sure the treatment for a "maybe it's broken, maybe it's not" finger is something like "splint it, ice it, and hope for the best."

Although it does amuse me greatly to see my to-do list for the day written out:
Chicago Ave gallery
bike shop
emergency room?
liquor store


eight days a week

I'm pretty good at scheduling. My color-coded calendar (red for arts, green for work, orange for volunteering, purple for the gym, blue for other) is a disgustingly large part of my brain, and mostly, things line up in ways that amuse and entertain me.

But then I looked at Friday, and realized that day was going to take me from 1) work to 2) physical therapy for my wonky shoulder to 3) a fancy-pants art party at the Museum of Contemporary Art to 4) a rock & roll show date at a decidedly, uh, non-fancy venue (scuzzy is not quite the word, but you get the idea) and that there was no opportunity for costume changes between calendar items, and oh balls what was I going to wear? ugh first-world problems are the worst problems.

Chambray shirt, Forever 21 (shut up. and yes, really.); velvet skinnies, Uniqlo;
chain necklace, vintage; bracelet, Until There's A Cure; fuckoff booties, Aldo.

Thankfully I enjoy a fair bit of leeway on "casual Fridays" as to what is work-appropriate, and also I found an orange scarf in my office so when the top button of this shirt kept undoing itself (damn you, crossbody bag), I could loop that around my neck and look vaguely decent when our board chairwoman popped into my office on several unannounced occasions.

Lesson #1 of the day: lipstick helps in all situations. Lesson #2: I really need to sew a hook-and-eye closure inside this shirt for decency's sake.


wintry mix

Yes, I am obsessive about soundtracking pretty much everything. Enjoy!

i wanna rock & roll all night

but in lieu of partying every day, I'll stick with catching up on "Mad Men" and "Dexter", thanks to Netflix Instant.

Yes, these photos are crap. Mea culpa. It's nigh-on impossible to get a decent shot in the evening darkness with a point-and-shoot indoors, but the likelihood that I am dressed for rock and roll times before 7 pm is quite low. (I mean, c'mon guys, it's a four-day weekend. The likelihood that I am dressed at all before it gets dark is pretty much zero.)

Friday night: My Gold Mask
Leather jacket, Moda; ratty grey t-shirt, long-ago vintage (think like high-school era. I'm going to wear this t-shirt until it falls apart, which might happen any day now, actually.); black velvet skinnies, Uniqlo; boots, Zappos house brand; watch, Nixon; turquoise necklaces, vintage.
I tried to bouffant my hair up for this show. It clearly did not work at all. Dammit.

Saturday night: Radar Eyes, Outer Minds, Nobunny, Bloodshot Bill, Tandoori Knights
Same leather jacket, because leather = rock & roll; silk/wool dress, LAMade; knockoff PS-1 bag,
Target; tall purple socks, American Apparel; same black boots and watch as Friday.

Mmm, High Life. (Nails are some cheap dark navy blue thing layered with Milani gold glitter, because: glitter.)


sweet tooth

I would commit crimes (maybe not federal crimes, but certainly something north of ticketable misdemeanors) for more counter space in my apartment.

The entirety of my prep space:

is a 17 x 24" rectangle. Does this stop me from deciding to take charge of the Friendsgiving dessert spread and make two tarts and a cake? Of course not. I mean, I can use the windowsill as stopgap storage too!

I would also commit crimes for a dishwasher.

Worth it? WORTH IT.

I have leftovers. Come over.


black mirror

I swear, when I started the week, I had plans to only go out on two or three nights. Somehow that spun into "every night! good stuff! I'll sleep when I'm dead!", oops.
But you know what? It's always worth it.

Thursday: launch party for Thought You Knew pin-up calendars. Do you bike? Do you like pretty ladies? Do you realize that I am totally applying to be one of the 2013 pin-up girls?

Sweaterdress, H&M; grey leather tote, handmade by A Lady; the comfiest fucking heels in the world, Seychelles.

Friday: First Fridays at the MCA, "The Language of Less". Greyscale is clearly the only way to go for a minimalism-based exhibition, of course.

Cowl-neck sweatshirty thing, Converse; charcoal velvet skinnies, Uniqlo; black watch, Nixon; black boots, Born.

It's worth noting that these might be the last clean clothes in my house. Really. The laundry has overflowed the hamper, spilled across my hallway, and I fear it will soon become sentient and plan its attack. I am a little terrified, but also a little intrigued by the idea of my dresses starting to line up like a body-less army.


rude boy

Basically, Bobby Darin's roommate are assholes.

Splish splish, I was takin' a bath
Long about a Saturday night
A rub-a-dub, just relaxin' in the tub
Thinkin' everything was alright
Well, I stepped out the tub, put my feet on the floor
I wrapped the towel around me and I
Opened the door, and then I
Splish, splash... I jumped back in the bath.
Well how was I to know there was a party going on?


That's just a basic part of roommate etiquette.
"Hey, Bobby, I'm gonna have like 20 people over on Saturday night about 9:00- we'll probably meet at the bar first and then come over here to dance because that bar is always hella crowded, so can you help me move the couch against the wall? Oh, and also, if you're in the bath, you might want to put pants on before you open the door and walk into the living room."



my red self

When I was in middle school, and when new clothes occurred once or twice per year ("school clothes" and the occasional "your winter sweaters shrunk in the dryer, oops" clothing purchase) instead of the current schedule of "it's a pretty thing and I will buy it!", I had my very first real lesson in when things are seasonally appropriate/inappropriate.

That fall (1994? 1995?), I'd gone on my first solo shopping trip. I was tasked with buying some new "church dresses", and given the budget for this endeavor in cash. Anything above that dollar amount was my responsibility to pay for. I went into Herberger's with a friend (because Herberger's was where you went if you had a little money. Or actually, even if you had all the money, because Herberger's was as fancy as it got in that town.) and had the thrill of picking out and purchasing my own clothes with no parental input.

It being 1994-ish, what I chose as my main purchase was a bright red corduroy dress. But it was not only bright red and corduroy. It was ankle-length and also featured an overall front, so it was sort of like a skirterall to be worn over a top of some kind. I loved it and could not wait to wear it.

This ensemble was probably purchased in about September or October, which I felt was completely seasonally appropriate. Let's wear that over my white fluffy angora sweater and let's wear it RIGHT NOW! My mother, who to her credit, did not insist that I return said dress immediately, struck a deal. Once it had snowed, I was allowed to wear the red dress to church, but not before then. All November, I waited for snow. And when it finally did snow, I could not be pried out of that dress on Sunday morning, even though the snow on the ground probably dissolved by 11:00 a.m. that day.

I think of that every time I wear a red dress.

Dress: Banana Republic; pin, vintage; cuff, Until There's A Cure; heels, Etienne Aigner.


lady stardust

Dark & Stormy, meet Dark & Starry.

I think it was a bounty of starfruit at the Indian grocery that prompted me to make a batch of starfruit-infused rum. Then S. comes along to say "well, clearly that needs to be mixed into a riff on a Dark & Stormy", and a month-ish later, when the rum is ready, behold: the super-duper-nontraditional Dark & Starry. (Except it's not dark at all. Well, I mean, "pale and starry" doesn't have the same ring to it.)

I took the liberty of using a (non-spiced, obviously) white rum for the infusion, because I didn't want the starfruit flavor to be overpowered by molasses or cinnamon or the other things one might find in dark rums. After soaking a bunch of cut-up starfruit in white rum (I think maybe it was Mount Gay? Or whatever was cheap at the bodega, I don't remember) for several weeks, I poured some Goose Island spicy ginger ale (which is nice, because it's not super-sweet and also has a little lime to it, as a nod to the traditional Dark & Stormy) over ice and topped it with the starfruit rum, then garnished it with a starfruit slice.

Verdict: indian summer in a glass. Refrescante!


cat signal

Having a pet is somewhat akin to becoming a superhero.

For example, you instantly develop a superpower! You are able, at any stage of wakefulness or deep sleep, to recognize the sound of pre-puking coming from your animal, as well as to race across the domicile in less than four seconds and remove the animal from the couch/ bed/ worrisome proximity to something made of alpaca or leather or suede before it is able to sully it with cat barf.

This is the only way in which having a pet is vaguely related to anything superhero-esque, unless you refer to the cat's fondness for following you around the house as "having a sidekick."



In the interest of public service, the following are songs you are not allowed to put on a mixtape for me unless you are actively in love with me:

"Maps", Yeah Yeah Yeahs
"You're My Only Home", The Magnetic Fields
"Lovesong", The Cure
"Hallelujah", k.d. lang
"Someone Great", LCD Soundsystem
"Porcelain", Better Than Ezra
"Bloodbuzz Ohio", The National
"Midnight Radio", Hedwig and the Angry Inch
"Personal Jesus", Johnny Cash


nice work if you can get it

Me, at concert: "Ooh, that guy's cute. The one in the green jacket. Heyyyyo."

Stacey: "Which one? The one that looks like a teacher?"

Me: "No, the one that looks unemployed. I have a type."


ballad of the easy life

Belated fanciness!
Dress, JFA Nidson (bought at a warehouse sale this spring and I can't find any record of this
brand existing in life. Was this someone's design-school project? Inform me, o those who
may know!); big-ass cocktail ring, Marc by Marc; doctor's bag, vintage; heels, Maxstudio.

The New Millennium Orchestra had a gala a few weeks back and I got to drink free wine and sit in a swanky box seat at Orchestra Hall. Pinch me, this is sometimes my life.


lady sings the blues

What did you do with your Sunday night? Oh, y'know, stopped by this little gallery space to hear some orchestra friends play Marriage of Figaro, the usual.

Dress, vintage (the tag on this said "take me to the opera!";
ok then, dress, I shall); shoes, Steve Madden.


drink up, buttercup

Shower Beer Saturday has been good for amusement and the revenues of the bodega on my corner; bad for my liver.

The standings, after ten rounds, are as follows:

winner: Shiner Ruby Red, 9 points
loser: Modelo, 0 points and a hangover

winner: Sofia Blanc de Blancs, 10 points
loser: Modelo, 0 points and life was really hard that morning

Does it smell weird with my shower products?
winner: Shiner Ruby Red, 10 points
loser: Modelo, "everything is bad"

Utterly arbitrary bonus round
winner: we have a tie!
+5 points for both Miller High Life ("it's cheap as fuck, but it tastes like grad school nostalgia to me") and Sofia Blanc de Blancs ("IT'S A TINY PINK CAN OF SPARKLING WINE WITH A TINY PINK BENDY STRAW, COME ON, IT'S GODDAMN ADORABLE").
loser: I didn't even try to think of something nice for the poor, maligned Modelo. The lowest bonus round score thus goes to Delirium Noël ("it's not the saddest high-alcohol-content thing I've drunk in the shower recently"), +2 points.

Overall Winner: Shiner Ruby Red, with 31 points. Perhaps I should pre-order a couple cases next May to stock up for all my forthcoming shower beer needs.



Hello, gorgeous.

(and thank you, insurance company. Seriously, thank you; the bike makes my brain happy.)


dollars and cents

Amongst the raindrops: brunch, vintage shopping*, farmer's market, writing, gallons and gallons of tea.

Cape: vintage; belt, Target; clutch, Matt & Nat; jeans, Uniqlo; flats, Steve Madden.

*Stop #1: The Vintage Bazaar, where I fondled all manner of smoked glassware and every metallic brocade shift dress within petting distance. Am I going to pay $40 for a set of silver-tipped cocktail glasses and matching martini pitcher? No, but I am going to make mental notes of such things and then purchase them for $8 in the lower midwest this fall/winter.
Stop #2: my favorite of the Mexican thrift stores. I cannot explain why, but this particular thrift store always, always has a glut of hollow-stem champagne coupes (aka josephines, entry #4, yes I am trying to make fetch happen) for sale. I don't know where they come from, why they always have them in stock, or why none of them ever match but are packaged as a set, but for $2.79, I will not question it.


the DTs

me: dude. you're going to be v amused by this week's shower beer.

S*: oh really?

me: it is hella boozy, completely unseasonal, and possibly expired.

S: hoshit. what is it?

me: (thanks, corner bodega.)

Uh huh.

I wanted to drink a Delirium Tremens in the shower this week, but the bodega had only this: the suspiciously out-of-season, covered in grime, "Happy Holidays 2010!" Delirium Noël. Also, this bodega is beginning to worry about me.
  • Refreshingness: (4) At this point, I'm drinking out of duty.
  • Lack of slipperyness when you are holding the beer with potentially soapy hands: (6) Bottle so heavy. Would this have done better in a pint glass? Perhaps.
  • Does it smell weird when I drink it right after using my bergamot body scrub?: (9) Bergamot goes well with christmassy beer? Apparently.
  • Bonus round: Well, uh, it's not the saddest high-alcohol-content thing I've drunk in the shower recently? (+2)
Delirium Noël shower beer score: 21 (out of 35)

*the whole Shower Beer Saturdays series was S's idea. Blame/thank him.



shower beer Saturday will be... postponed. I am currently drinking, don't worry- however, the drinks are in champagne glasses in a cabin at the Indiana Dunes.


black and blue

Two weeks ago today, I got hit by a truck while biking to work.

First things first: yes, I am fine. The bruises, while disturbingly impressive and numerous, have faded, and I am concussion-free. Wear your helmets! SAFETY FIRST!

This is not the first time I’ve been hit by a car (once prior while running AND IN A CROSSWALK, once prior while biking AND IN A CLEARLY MARKED BIKE LANE), but it was the most serious car vs. self collision I’ve been involved in.

Not much more will be said, due to the impending involvement of lawyers (yay! lawyers!), but the accident totaled my gorgeous, perfect, beautiful Surly Cross-Check. That bike, which took me to Hammond, IN (two-state ride complete!) and back this August, is completely un-ride-able.

When did I first cry about this accident? When the bike shop told me that my bike was totaled.

I crave riding again, both mentally and physically. The question here is: black or blue?


hello brooklyn

Holy whoa, it's Labor Day weekend already? Time to start drinking.

  • Refreshingness: (8) This, I think, is the first lager I've done for Shower Beer Saturday. Heavier than your PBR, of course, but still wonderfully refreshing. I was going to say "good for an early-fall brisk day's shower beer", but it's already nearly 90 degrees here, and it was still delicious.
  • Lack of slipperyness when you are holding the beer with potentially soapy hands: (8) It's actually a wonder that I've not yet dropped a can/bottle of beer in the shower yet this summer. Be proud.
  • Does it smell weird when I drink it right after using my bergamot body scrub?: (8) The bergamot shower scrub was re-purchased, and though the Brooklyn Lager doesn't gain anything from proximity to bergamot, it didn't detract. In the interest of science, I used the bergamot scrub on my left side, and then used vanilla body scrub on my right: the vanilla smell definitely enhanced this beer. Lesson: proceed to hold and drink this beer only with my right hand, because that smelled lovely.
  • Bonus round: Definitely had this song in my head during the entire shower. (+4)
Brooklyn Lager shower beer score: 28 (out of 35)


works every time

First of all, I'm sorry, but I could not find a 40 oz. of Colt 45 anywhere. Both the bodega and the liquor store gave me looks of disappointment and confusion when I asked them if they carried this in a 40. (Their confusion may have had something to do with the incongruity of a nicely-dressed lady asking for a 40 oz. malt liquor at 2:30 in the afternoon.)

  • Refreshingness: (6) I expected this to taste like sadness and desperation. It kind of didn't. That threw me off. It tastes like... well, like shitty beer. Surprisingly no aftertaste of alcoholism!
  • Lack of slipperyness when you are holding the beer with potentially soapy hands: (8) I just realized that if I wanted to be really, really shower-beer-efficient, I could put a couple rubber hair elastics around the top of the can for extra grip.
  • Does it smell weird when I drink it right after using my bergamot body scrub?: (7) Not really? Well, I'm out of bergamot scrub, so the combined smell of vanilla body scrub and Colt 45 was a little odd, but not any more off-putting than realizing I was drinking a large can of malt liquor in the shower at 9:00 am before having brunch with my parents.
  • Bonus round: I'm pretty certain that the liquor store clerk had a great story to tell to his friends on Friday night about the not-visibly-homeless and well-dressed woman who came in, asked for Colt 45 in a 40 oz., and then charged $4.47 worth of malt liquor to her Discover card. (+3)

    Colt 45 shower beer score: 24 (out of 35)
    What the fuck am I going to do with the other cans of Colt 45 in my fridge now? Can I pretend they're a more ironic PBR?



Life lesson: when you are hung over (properly, deservedly hung over), a beer is not fucking refreshing, no matter how cold it is.

I couldn't manage more than three sips of today's shower beer, which is quite saying something.

  • Refreshingness: (0) UGH.
  • Lack of slipperyness when you are holding the beer with potentially soapy hands: (0) Lifting a car of beer is hard right now.
  • Does it smell weird when I drink it right after using my bergamot body scrub?: (0) Everything is bad.
Modelo shower beer score: 0 (out of 35) and oh my god why did I order that last whiskey.


yacht rock

Stripes make me wish I had a friend with a boat. Get on it, friends: someone needs to acquire a yacht.
Striped tee, Rodarte for Target; cutoffs, Mexican thrift store + scissors;
bike tote, Target; fuckoff wedges, Steve Madden (what up, Helen!)

I put on these cutoffs today, and although I washed them this weekend, there's still somehow sand in the pockets. When was the last time I was at the beach? Not recently enough, it seems. Hint taken, pants.


couldn't be bothered to wikipedia "krausening"

First let us note that Old Style seems to be stalking me. "In your neighborhood since 1902", the can boasts. Um, that's a little weird, Old Style. "In your shower since 10:54 this morning!" would be more appropriate.

  • Refreshingness: (8) It basically tastes like water. Which, with my slight hangover this morning, was utterly perfect. You can fool yourself into thinking you're rehydrating!
  • Lack of slipperyness when you are holding the beer with potentially soapy hands: (8) Until they make a can that has little nubs along the top third, there have been no new developments in unslippery beer can technology.
  • Does it smell weird when I drink it right after using my bergamot body scrub?: (8) Not at all. See above re: tastes like water.
  • Bonus round: a 6-pack of 16 oz. cans was $5.19. I'm pretty sure that's actually cheaper than water. (+4)
Old Style shower beer score: 28 (out of 35)

There are three official Saturdays of summer left, and I take requests! What do you want me to drink in the shower? Someone has to keep the bodega in business, after all.


der blaue engel

"If you put a blazer over it, it's totally work-appropriate!"

(Thank god for the blazers acquired at a springtime clothing swap. They've kept me vaguely professional in so many questionable situations of late.)

Dress, Target; linen blazer, Banana Republic via clothing swap; mary janes, vintage.


she walks on the city

I've paid bills for the night, so now I can open that folder on my desktop entitled Shoes I Want, right? Right.

We're sensing a theme, non?
(I wear a size 8 1/2 or 9, by the by.)


flying v

Classing this shit up, yo.
I had an early-morning work event (brunches should always involve bloody marys, yes? Yes. Except when the work brunches involve a bunch of high-school students and a jug of vodka would be inappropriate, and goddammit that was my morning), which means that by 1 pm I was very, very ready to come home to a delicious shower beer.

Note to the rest of the world: if you are in Chicago, get a Goose Island beer. You will not regret it.

  • Refreshingness: (7) Moderately refreshing, but it's a bit too complex to be perfectly shower-appropriate. I feel bad for saying that.
  • Lack of slipperyness when you are holding the beer with potentially soapy hands: (7) The paper label gets shredded easily, which means that the slippery glue backing becomes quickly exposed. Oh no!
  • Does it smell weird when I drink it right after using my bergamot body scrub?: (7) Too much floral! Damn it!
  • Bonus round: C'mon, it's a Chicago beer, I have to go all Local Boy Does Good here. (+4)
Goose Island Fleur shower beer score: 25 (out of 35)
(I'm sorry, Goose Island. I do enjoy this beer mightily, but it has just proven that it's too fancy a beer for the shower. I mean that in all the best ways.)


red rover

It's gorgeous out, I've got the White Kids Love Soul Music mix on the stereo, and I had a delicious shower beer. What more could Saturday ask for?

  • Refreshingness: (9) Oh my god, so refreshing. I think it's the red grapefruit component.
  • Lack of slipperyness when you are holding the beer with potentially soapy hands: (8) Until I actually drop a beer in the shower, let's assume everything's going to score highly in this category. Hmm, now that I think about that (and about my somewhat storied clumsiness), it's amazing that I haven't dropped any of the shower beers yet.
  • Does it smell weird when I drink it right after using my bergamot body scrub?: (10) BERGAMOT + GRAPEFRUIT BEER = LOVE. This beer tasted super-good in the first place, and but when I drank it in a bergamot fog, it got even better. Well done, Shiner.
  • Bonus round: I think the label on this is really elegant and pleasantly designed. The only reason Shiner doesn't get the full 5 points is that it's a limited-edition summer beer, and thus won't be around in the spring and fall to extend the shower beer season. (+4)
Shiner Ruby Redbird shower beer score: 31 (out of 35)


blame canada

Due to a bunch of fancylike work commitments today, I could not quite rock Casual Friday with my usual "this is absolutely not work-appropriate by any standards, even my highly suspect ones" aplomb.
Thus, I went full Canadian Tuxedo for the Milwaukee Avenue Arts Festival tonight. (Not particularly Canadian: the lack of shoes. I didn't leave the house barefoot, mind you; I'd just not gotten motivated to do more than stand up and take a photo at this point in the evening. Shoes were a step too far after the long workday.)

Chambray shirt, Forever 21; cutoffs, Russian thrift store jeans + scissors;
jewelry, Marc Jacobs, Until There's A Cure, and vintage.


white flag

It's humid enough in Chicago at the moment that I really felt I would not have to steam the folded lines out of this silk tank. "I'll just wear it outside for 5 minutes, and the humidity will take care of that for me," I thought.

Silk cut-out tank, BB Dakota; skirt & bra, American Apparel;
cheap and plasticky sandals from some MN discount store.

I was wrong: the creases were still highly visible twelve hours later. But on the upside, I once again avoided doing anything resembling housework.


think pink

By request from the lovely Otter, Shower Booze Saturday with sparkling wine! Yes, I've gone from PBR and High Life to sparkling wine in a can. Movin' on up.

  • Refreshingness: (5) This somehow felt less like a beverage and more like a breakfast. I was thrown. It is also a fair bit sweeter than I normally enjoy my sparkling wines, which made me think of drinking André but paying for Francis Ford Coppola's vanity vineyard.
  • Lack of slipperyness when you are holding the beer with potentially soapy hands: (10) It's a tiny can- you'd have to actually TRY to drop it.
  • Does it smell weird when I drink it right after using my bergamot body scrub?: (5) Ugh, yes. Something about the bergamot plus the sweetness of the wine made it smack me in the face with floral and sugar.
  • Bonus round: I was clearly in a bit of a mood when I got up this morning to drink in the shower (oh my god, first-world problems are the best problems), but IT'S A TINY PINK CAN OF SPARKLING WINE WITH A TINY PINK BENDY STRAW, COME ON, IT'S GODDAMN ADORABLE. (+5)
Sofia blanc de blancs shower booze score: 25 (out of 35)


living the high life

Shower Beer Saturdays! Even though perhaps I over-imbibed slightly on Friday night and starting Saturday morning with a cold beer was not exactly first on my priority list.

Then again, High Life is pretty much always a good idea.

  • Refreshingness: (8)
  • Lack of slipperyness when you are holding the beer with potentially soapy hands: (8) The nubby bits on the bottle are good for this.
  • Does it smell weird when I drink it right after using my bergamot body scrub?: (7) Nope! The bergamot smell actually goes really well with the corn-and-lemony smell of the beer. Like an apertivo of exfoliations.
  • Bonus round: yes, it's cheap as fuck, but it tastes like grad school nostalgia to me. (+5)

High Life shower beer score: 30 (out of 35)