Bamboo shades... Amazing or lazy? Yes or no? Good or evil?
I don't usually like window treatments (read: I can't decide on ones I like, and I am too lazy to come up with a good game plan). But ever since the new neighbor (hi Chad) frosted his bathroom windows, I can take a fucking hint that he is no longer eager to see my un-yoga'd body naked as I get dressed in the morning. Got it. Loud and clear.
So, I need blinds. Shades. Whatever. These shades seem easy, casual, and inexpensive. Yes or no? Suggestions? Opinions on blinds/shades/curtains/drapes in general? Let's hear it.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Saturday, February 19, 2011
I had to put on sunglasses to take the dogs out this morning. That means it was not just a little sunny, but actually BRIGHT outside. Like, legit sunshine. The daphne are starting to bloom, and the hyacinths are coming up everywhere in pots. I totally forgot how many I planted last year. Surprise. My neighbor's red camelias are in bloom. (My white ones, right next to theirs, always come later, which is odd. If anyone knows why, I'd love to hear it.)
It's not quite spring, but I'll take it.
Hectored by the blogosphere, mocked by the press, UBS has recanted its 43-page employee primer on how to appear polished, proficient, and professional. As a result, a lot of up-and-comers badly in need of grooming guidance simply won't get it.
Read more HERE.
I haven't read this much-maligned handbook on dressing for success, but I would like to formally add (if not already included):
-Don't show up to work with wet hair. I actually see this. Drives me totally crazy.
-Tank tops are not ok. Even if you have a rockin' body.
-If you bend over and your shirt still can't cover your lower back, wear something over it.
-No cleavage, please.
-If you're a man and you have a meeting that involves suits, then you need to own leather-soled shoes. (Unless you're vegan, then wear whatever. Corporate hippies are too complicated for me to write a rule about.) And it can't be a churchy-looking loafer, either. And you can't have owned it since you went to your prom. Esquire and GQ magazines exist for a reason. If we have to read Allure and Vogue to develop body shame which compells us to remove chin hair and strap on Spanx, then you guys need to do your homework, too. It's part of The Deal.
I know it makes me sound 90, but seriously people. It's not hard.
Who gets it right? A lot of women at my company do, and I love their style. One rocks Rihanna-shorn hair, schleps her love-worn Bottega bag everywhere, rocks skinny jeans & rickety-high booties, and takes what seems like 21 smoke breaks a day, all of which only seem to make her cooler. Another does a Duffy-like modern blond bouffant with fashion-y takes on blouses and trousers but never looks a minute over 27 in any of these outfits. She nails it. Fashion without skin. It's perfect.
What other dress code violations do you see at work? And who are the worst offenders? Men or women?
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
"Female anger terrifies men. I know it seems unfair that you have to work around a man's fear and insecurity in order to get married -- but actually, it's perfect, since working around a man's fear and insecurity is big part of what you'll be doing as a wife."
Read it all HERE.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
"Why is it that your blog is always 40% decor, 60% misogyny? I was hoping it would be different after your return, but you're the same old woman-hating gal!"
About THIS post.
If my criticism seems like misogyny, oh well. I'm just not that into geriatric pantlessness and cupcake-party-throwing ladies. That's all. Sometimes I like to offer an opinion about ladies who irritate me. Chalking it up to misogyny? That's your call.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Which means ad sales must be up. Yay for the magazine-addicted (like me).
Read HERE about Margaret Russell's new Architectural Digest.
Favorite part so far:
Like the wardrobe of a successful movie mogul of a certain age, it telegraphed money, but not always taste.
As one decorator observed, “Everything looked like a hotel lobby.”
Not that it mattered. Ms. Noland once told a reporter, “People are much too concerned with having good taste. I mean, it’s not a character flaw if you don’t have good taste.”
I am digusted with myself that I get so hot and bothered over closets because all it means is that I am an asshole American with too much... stuff. Too many shoes, too much jewelry, too many black pencil skirts (why in God's name do I keep buying variations on a theme???).
Today my house is in fucking shambles because the "office" I use as part office, part dressing room (read: tiny closet and a dresser with mirror propped up, at which I get ready each morning) is torn up. Everything from the room has been exiled into my dining room and front room. How is it possible that the overflow from one room can take up pretty much the rest of my first floor?) There are piles and piles of stuff everywhere in my house while painter Bill and electrician Steve do some work for me.
What work, you ask?
Someone had the bright idea to apply a dopey layer of plaster over the existing plaster ceiling. The effect is that the ceiling looks like someone frosted a stupid country cake... all waves and wiggles of fucking smoke-stained frosting (thank you previous owners). I also have a disgusting light in there... one I have never bothered switching out because it seemed ridiculous to install something more glamorous just to call attention to the nasty smokey-frosting plaster ceiling.
So, my delightful painter Bill decided to cover it up with drywall. They installed it yesterday. What a dusty enterprise! I came home to filth everywhere. I was also late moving my clothes out of the closet and am now trying probably facing a $600 dry cleaning bill now that all my clothes look like they have been buried under the ash of some volcanic explosion.
Neverthless - I WILL NOT COMPLAIN. I am so excited that I will soon have a lovely new ceiling, a new light (haven't picked on out yet... any recommendations?), new paint, new trim, replastered walls, and some sort of new cabinets or storage for all my lady things (shoes, bags, accessories... not some extensive vibrator collection, you dirty pervs!)
Chaos will come to order in my life, goddamnit.
Labels: my house