Domestic Goddesshood: Day Two.

As I was unceremoniously booted from what I used to describe as a great job, I have been forced to stop dead in my tracks and look around and realize:

Hey, lady.  There’s a life here that you ain’t living!

And, so, I find great joy in the prospect of being an amazing mother and wife, as opposed to another pair of hands to bring home the bread.  I delight in the majority of my outfits being comprised of sweats and t-shirts (uh, cute ones, thanks).  I swoon at the daydream of my house being as clean, as well organized, as comfortable as it has always had the potential to be.  I get to have a nest!

That front porch had better be getting some mileage, as the party-funds are shorter, the nights are balmier, the time off is no longer wrought with stress and deadlines.  Today, I sat the baby in his chair while I pruned the garden and swept the floor.  I played peek-a-boo with him through the window and bumped my chin by accident.

There are a few words that characterize my euphoric state:  freedom, relief, perspective, sanity, purpose.

Whenever I am depressed, I know it because I do not notice things, like the way that the bugs light up when they swarm the lightbulbs outside, or the lyrics to a song that I already love, or the little white hairs on Jack’s cheeks.

Some days I would think about what they did in the Nazi camps in WWII, how they would make the group haul a bunch of stuff and pile it on one side, and then make them pick up the same stuff and put it back where they had found it in the first place.  Over and over.

Some days I thought about that.

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When the Going Gets Tough…

…the tough get indulgent.

Which is why I’ve spent my day napping with Jackson, transforming my bathroom into a makeshift hammam, refining my back room/closet/imaginary boutique/sanctuary, sipping soy mochas, and ebaying to my heart’s content.

Some of my finds, a few of which may/may not end up an actual purchase (I’ll keep you posted):

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I think these would be heaven with past-the-knee hemlines, or a pair of black skinnies.

Now, I know that the Chloe Spring 08 line was certainly less than commercially successful, and it still boggles my mind as to WHY.

We received a few items from that season and they were sooo-ooo impeccable, and actually ran generously.

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I mean.  Who wouldn’t want to stand blank-faced next to a grafittied wall in this number?  With a pair of classic Ray Bans?  Oh me.

I digress.  Let’s keep ebaying:

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This canvas Stella Mc. will come in quite handy for holding seashells, keepsakes, dried rainforest leaves, and a luxe towel and caftan combo (this will be discussed in detail later) come this July.

Yeah, I already bought it.  Weak, weak, weak.  Half of the fun of a vacation is vizualizing and actualizing the ideal vacation wardrobe.

You can count on my next post being:  “In Anticipation of Puerto Rico”, because my mind has already wandered to that place.  And now I’m thinking sunglasses.  I’m scared these may be fakes:

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But at 59.00, I’m not sure whether I care.  What a fantastic alternative for a round-faced girl wanting Ray Bans!

Now, after much thought, I have decided that I am dying for a vintage rhinestone collar necklace, a la Lanvin, to wear with my torn-edged Nation v-necks.  The concept behind this is dichotomy, and what better dichotomy

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than a gaudily-rhinestoned ball-chain collar??

Speaking of sartorial:

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It’s what every home needs.

Found by entering “multi-color” into a “Collectible Barware” search.  Isn’t that sweet?

No, seriously:

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I neeeeeeed these for a Mardi Gras costume.  They’re so . . . Margiela/Hussy.

I see that this post is going downhill, it might be time to stop.  I think it’s time for a poopy diaper to be changed, anyway.

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Oh, girl.

Just got one of us at Christmas.  I’m the pasty one in the purple plaid shirt (clearly).  At my parents’ house:

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My mom is in the background.  You shoulda seen her back in the day, m’friends.  All jumpsuits and stilettos.  Chick is amazing.

Speaking of, that hot guy in the middle?  He’s got his own practice.  Just a friendly reminder.  😉

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Exuberant!

A day off in what seems like months!  Jackson and Jon are napping together in the bedroom, an activity that is becoming more and more frequent recently.  It completely melts my heart.

The store got completely torn apart by an uncharacteristically blowout ridiculous sale and inventory, and I finally got some time to rescusitate, merchandising-wise.  I was beginning to get that “I’m out of control” feeling when I walked in every day, and it calms me to at least have a LITTLE bit of cohesion.  Kayla did one wall in eye-popping neon (I want pot-head eighties surfer neoprene EVERYTHING for spring, bytheway) and I did a little self-pleasuring by way of an entire wall decked out in nothing except for ACCESSORIES, with two mannequins done up like Elizabeth Taylor to boot.  One with a purple YSL dress, tonsss of chains, and a vintage fur shrug.  Another in a saffron Mayle top (RIP), a black pencil skirt, and some ridiculously hooker-y Courtney Crawford colorblocked patent leather stilettos.  Pics to come.

Speaking of duds, Jack got some great ones from his auntie sissie, from reformschoolrules.com.  I love this one:

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Because he reminds me of a little gorilla sometimes, ‘sept for when he screams like a banshee.

Speaking of, a pic of him in his elf hat, anyone??

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Tee hee.  I know.

So, Christmas steals and deals, everyone:

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Ash pump, 69.00, at shopbop.com.

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Doo.Ri dress, 50% off of 110.99, at UAL FQ

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Jil Sander pump (also in croc pump, ankle-strap, and ankle-boot versions), 30% off of 220.99.  These were Taylor’s favorites on the Rachel Zoe Project, and would be my favorites if my legs weren’t so chunky!

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Elizabeth and James faux-fur shrug at shopbop.com, now 175.  (I think it’s a steal.)

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Pour La Victoire bootie for 75.oo!  Shopbop.com.

I’ve also ebayed a few pieces at the suggestion of my friend B., which I strongly suggest for you recessionistas.

My family is at the beach this weekend, and I wish I were there.  Floating around in Destin would be absolute perfection after a hectic holiday season, management blowups, inventory delerium, and a BABY for chrissake.

Today, we got our own little escape in the Gumbo Shop, which is my favorite spot for homemade-tasting spinach dishes and the most scrumptious fresh fruit daiquiris in the French Quarter.  I’m in love with New Orleans as I traipse around the street, hearing the gutterpunk’s music fade in and fade out again, watching psychics tell khaki-clad tourists their fourtunes while gesturing wildly with a cigarette. I remember about two years ago, my husband (then boyfriend) and I were wandering around the Quarter at 2 AM following a metal show at House of Blues.  I remember enjoying attending those shows because it was such a release from my super-starchy (and toxic) job at Perlis.  I at least felt like a human being while going with Jon to those shows, someone who had at least an iota of a choice to make.  I was creating lots of pieces at the time that had to do with the madness associated with the modern social construct…basically, I was angry at work and having to work.  I digress:  we were in the Quarter and went up to a random old man, and he explained to me that I wouldn’t be doing what I was doing now, but what I would end up doing – and what I SHOULD end up doing – would be a decision based in creativity and love for the profession, not money, and the money would come.

I love revisiting memories like that and seeing how little things, in hindsight, sometimes tie in to a bigger story.

In the meantime, it would be nice to have some good front-porch conversation.  I’m hoping that can be more frequent!

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Bring on the Angst.

I start every holiday season the same, with dreams of perfect giftwrapping jobs enshrouding perfect gifts, cute hats on everyone, the house draped in fresh pine and bright silver objects, and then it all comes at me so, so fast and I’m FINALLY getting my Christmas tree December 17th, and annoying children-people won’t stop arguing with me about return policies, prices, tasks, scheduling, gahhh.

I have a deep and burning need to kick some ass right now.  A very specific ass.  And asses.

And there are bonkers markdowns and inventory and expectations on top of it all.  I mean, I want to hide, and I want to punch someone simultaneously.  Possible?

And I sit down and remind myself, “you wanted to have this job before you had it, so please calm down, quit whining, and deal with the 48 hours of pure hell that you have to endure so that you can have it”.

It will all be over very, very soon.

What consoles me despite the messy store, obnoxious behaviors both from those inside and outside, and despite my own exhaustion (you will read this and say to yourself, “wow, this is why she puts up with such misery” and either understand it or feel deep sorrow for my altered mental state):

Proenza Schouler blazer, 74.99.

Gaultier dress, 110.99.

Sinha-Stanic dress, 72.99.

I have wanted this one forever.

YES, 72.99!  There’s a small size 4 left if anybody wants.

Christian LaCroix blouse, 33.99.

Olivia Morris shoes, 175.99.

That’s right.  I fucking love my job.  Happy, happy endings my friends.

Oh, and tomorrow is the first day of 2009, and this means a resolution, and I won’t be antiestablishment this go-round, because I truly need to have one.

I will not allow unhealthiness into my life, because I have complete control of what happens to me and my family.  There are no resources that are not available to me.  My environments will be healthy, happy, and efficient because I will MAKE them that way, in work, at home, with friends, and with family.  I will not tolerate toxicity or idleness or unhappiness.  I have everything I could possibly ever need to make it this way.  I mean, I have a solid family, a solid job, and my shoe collection is pretty fierce.  We all know what heels can do for a girl’s state of being.

Bring on the betterment.

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A Bright, New Day.

Say girl, how you doin?

Say girl, how you doin?

One knows that one’s country is on the right track when our new first lady rocks Narcisco Spring 2009 for her hubby’s acceptance speech.

What a hottie you are, Michele.  Sigh.

I have quite the hangover this morning as the night progressed from CNN and Freixenete to The Velvet Underground and Jack Daniels.  It’s how we roll in the Bethune household.  Jackson unmercifully woke up at 5 AM this morning, so my giddiness and sleepiness are oddly side-by-side…strange combination, hangovers and hopefulness.

I went apeshit on the Nation LTD t-shirts at work yesterday…

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I know, I know, I know that it’s simple but it is still perhaps the most genius thing in my closet right now.  It’s like an old man’s undershirt minus the stains.  I now have about ten of them, I’m ashamed to say.

Also at the store, we received a handful of vintage furs, all of which I can’t bring myself to purchase due to several reasons.  One, I could end up sporting a little red satin enamel since the neighborhoods we tend to hang out in – when not our own neighborhood – are not quite upper-crust.  Two, the postpartum weight gain remains mostly in my lower half, and sporting a chubby makes me appear, well, chubby. 

I have decided that I’m so sick of dresses after my pregnancy (and, uh, my 2+ years beforehand of a mostly-daydress wardrobe) that it’s all about well-made, simple pieces for me this year:  black skinny jeans, black leather-like leggings, oversized white and black t-shirts (the limited edition sexuali-tee and sexuali-tank from American Apparel have fit the bill quite well for me thus far), super-messy hair, white distressed v-necks, leather!, black fitted jackets, oversized cardigans, graphic heels, lots of chains.  Emerging from a graphic-print kind of phase, I find myself yearning for beautiful, yet hardcore simplicity.

Givenchy Fall 08, but you knew that already.

Givenchy Fall 08, but you knew that already.

The fashion challenge for this wannabe rockstar-mama this year, however, is dressing my fabulous little boy.  Doesn’t anyone make hip clothes for baby boys??  It seems as though childrens’ clothing designers neglected the fact that this and other haute mamas have an equal shot at having a boy.  Understanding this, everyone knows that – as in the words of my dear friend, Shira – babies make for wonderful accessories until the age of five.

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Everything is Burning Up.

My crud-encrusted brain attempts to resolve the billowing mushroom cloud that was my weekend with the resurrection of the day-to-day.  Spent my weekend taking the elevator between floor 2 and floor 6:  napping and drinking with the presidential suite full of mourners, respectively.  In the small room on each floor containing the elevator, a cruelly LUMINOUS orange sign:

“AREA OF REFUGE”

poking fun at my powder-blue cup of whiskey.

Yes, yes, yes it was sad.  A reminder of what has been given.  A reminder of how quickly-easily those gifts can be revoked. 

Playlist on the plane:

Lust-The Raveonettes

Burning Up-Ladytron

And some Postal Service.

Just purchased a brown snakeskin 80’s-esque messenger bag and stompy Frye boots.  Helped to maintain the illusion of impermeablitiy throughout airport visits.  Grief and sorrow go along well with comically massive sunglasses.

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