Here's to 2009!

Yet another year dissipates into the ether! PVT and I had a good 2008: a healthy new baby girl, three healthy boys, no major financial, terrorist, or health crises to report...good stuff, all that.

Incidentally, PVT and I met New Year's Eve nine years ago tonight under "unusual romantic circumstances," as I believe his Best Man put it. One divorce, five moves, three states, three dogs, four kids, and 6,792 cocktails later, we somehow remain quite fond of each other. (Yes, I know what you're thinking, but I remained fond of him even during my many many months of pregnancy when I was STONE. COLD. SOOOOOOOOOOOOHBER.)

I hope this New Year's Eve finds you ushering out the old (only the old that needs out-ushering!), welcoming in the new, and optimistic that 2009 will be a happy, healthy and peaceful year.

And, if you live in a Nordstromless vacuum as I do, a year filled with some superior online shopping.

Illicit Activities

My GOSH this dressing up of baby girls is so much fun it is probably ILLEGAL in the Bible Belt and on Sundays. Don't report me.

Here is the girl in a "Baby Nay" (a Nordstrom brand) ensemble she received for Christmas - thanks, Mom!

I suspect that as I continue to torture her with these bows and fussy outfits at such a young age that as soon as she can speak and dress herself she will refuse to wear anything pink and ruffly, and decide in fact that she is a butch lesbian. Or at the very least a soccer-playing, non-dress wearing tomboy. Ah, well. I'll still be terribly fond of her.

Feeling Slighted by Santa?

I know, I know: you and your husband agreed to be practical and not get anything for each other for Christmas. Then you spend an amount not unlike what a slightly intoxicated Paris Hilton spent last Tuesday morning at Fred Segal. After the rubble settles and your kids are already composing their lists for the EASTER BUNNY FOR CRIPES' SAKE, you start to look at the regifted George Foreman Grill you got, and you start to feel a teensy weensy bit sorry for yourself. I know. This will make you feel better. And these might cheer you up as you think of the cold rotten grayness that is January.

My husband is so upset about his SOLE gift - reindeer socks - that he might go out and buy a Suburban. Now that is something even an online Nordstrom sale can't help.

This Post Brought to you from Barf Central

I'm late for Christmas, so HAPPY BOXING DAY from our youngest Clone Trooper!






Cripes. Yesterday during all the Christmas havoc my husband wasn't feeling well. I have to admit I wasn't terribly impressed; I thought he had a hangover from our cocktails with Santa while we (he) assembled various Star Wars atrocities and a play house. But today my poor 6 year old has been puking his little guts out since 5am! Poor monster. So apparently my dear husband WAS sick - sorry honey! And to top it off the dog sh*t all over the rug during the night, apparently from my mother-in-law's beef brisket, so we awoke to eau de dog crap wafting through the house. That's a lot of bodily emissions in one morning even for our brood.

So Christmas blessings to you all; despite the fact that there remains no Nordstrom in the ENTIRE STATE OF OKLAHOMA, I am feeling very blessed because at least CHRISTMAS here was barf-and-dog crap free.


A bright spot, though: my dear neighbor Ravishing Red Ann brought over a SHOE A DAY calendar for me for 2009. Daily affirmations for me - and my new daughter!

Fuzzy Math

It's Christmas Break! WOO HOO! Thus begins the daily balancing act of being home by 12:30ish for Cherub to nap, but getting out in the morning to keep Mama sane and prevent the older boys from developing bodily ticks and jerks from Wii overuse.


So, I was quite thrilled to hear some neighborhood girls had organized a "Cupcake Decorating" class at a nearby "Culinary School for Kids." (Precious, yes? This is in Midtown Tulsa, which is as hip as things get around here.) Unfortunately the class was only open to children 3 and older, which left Cherub and Baby out. So I called the school, and YAY! They said if I helped the two year old, he could come too (and I was "allowed" to have the baby strapped to my boob, as usual). So I happily gave my credit card information. Here is where my faculties failed me: I knew it was $20 per kid. For some reason, though, it didn't dawn on me until after I hung up that this would mean I was spending $60 ON CUPCAKES. $60! That's a family dinner with margaritas at a Mexican restaurant! (Another important concept in my economic arsenal besides cost per wear is MARGARITAS FOREGONE.)


So we loaded up for our trip to Midtown this morning, and the kids had a good time decorating with the luscious frosting and beautiful decorative doo-dads that you can't get at Walmart. I think next time, though, I'll try to be a real woman and let them frost cupcakes at home (although at least when we're in public, they won't get into a frosting fistfight as they would here, and we avoid Mama's subsequent swearing and crying as she scrapes frosting bougars from the light fixtures).


Do stop by in the next few days; we'll be subsisting on our EIGHTEEN $3.33 cupcakes. I hope they are fortified with B vitamins and some Echinacea.

That's MADAME Jackson to you, Sweet Cakes

Yesterday PVT and I dropped 75% of the offspring at the in laws and went to Utica Square for a little last minute Christmas "shopping" (read: he obligingly trails me, packing our hefty five month old, until Peppers' Grill opens at 11am). We passed by Miss Jackson's, a fantabulous department store akin to Saks, but with more original (and yes, pricier) merchandise. There is only this one store, here in Tulsa! This summer, after my in laws kindly gave me $500 as a push present (well, a slice-n-dice present in my case), I marched it straight here and bought a lovely Kate Spade purse and a box of $50 ! gulp! chocolates. (Note to Tulsa shoppers: NOTHING is cheap at Miss Jackson's. You can't just say, "Oh...and throw in the chocolates!" thinking they can't be much more than $20...hah!)

But...back to yesterday...PVT didn't want to go in to Miss Jackson's. And PVT, while not a high-end shopper type (he is, after all, a heterosexual male), is not easily intimidated. And Miss Jackson's is - intimidating! You walk in and are immediately scrutinized by the beautiful wax-museum sales dolls, who size you up with their XRAY vision and know within 5 milliseconds that you are NOT related to old oil money in town, that you do NOT have a 7 figure brokerage account, and that you DO have two jelly donuts in your pooch you're currently digesting. It's just not FUN shopping when all of your dirty secrets are on such tawdry display like that.

Which got me thinking: as "high-falutin'" as Nordstrom is, I have never felt NOT worthy there (yes, double negative). It must be part of the Nordstrom graduate program in sales: everyone is very warm and welcoming, even though they, too, know you lack a dizzying brokerage account. They at least do a good job of ACTING like they're just happy to see you. Which is a nice feeling.

Retailers would do well to remember that this holiday season, methinks!

Oh, this Mamahood Thing

There is a party tonight in our 'hood, given by the most charming DINK*. She is the consummate hostess and loves throwing all-out bashes with open bars, casino tables, naked people in hot tubs, what have you. Tonight is a Mexican margarita/holiday/excuse for getting together and drinking inappropriate amounts party. AAHHH. My kind of event. And she has a spectacularly decorated house; I love sipping/sitting in her kitchen, oogling all the coordinating florals and knockables-over and sampling all the grown-up non-nugget edibles.

BUT...while we rarely go out, we have been out twice in the past two weeks, once for another neighborhood party, the other for PVT's office dinner. And since we don't go out often, we don't have a regular babysitter. So we have had two different babysitters in the past two weeks. And tonight would be a THIRD different babysitter. This is not troubling to my older Wii-heads, but to our two year old Cherub Boy, our going out at night is such a cause for alarm that I'm sure if he could he would call the child abuse hotline.

So to avoid the stress to both mama and said Cherub, we shall stay here. But if I keep foregoing all ADULT social events, will my mind and conversation continue to deteriorate into the realm of diaper and developmental talk? Will my posts start to become a new-and-freaky-Emily-Dickinson-with-kids genre - "I heard a kid cry/when I died/the stillness in the room/was like the stillness in the air/between the heaves of shrieks/"

Zoinks.

* You remember - DOUBLE INCOME NO KIDS. I think for us that was two days.

Not So Ice Bound

The problem with this ice is that we are not REALLY ice bound. Yes, the driveway and subdivision roads are icy, but hah! You think a little slip and slide with my Armada is going to keep me cooped up for days with these kids? NOOOOOOOOO.

So we ventured out this morning to QuikTrip for Mama's coffee, and then to Kathleen's Kids - a very lovely kids' store akin to a Nordstrom children's department. I bought my eldest some nice PJ's (which will be handed down to his TWO YOUNGER BROTHERS! So FRUGAL AM I!) and then shed tears over the exquisite holiday dresses for girls. I knew Kathleen's was dangerous when I had boys, but girls? You want to hand over your car keys, bank accounts and title to your house just to buy all the gorgeous tutus and ruffles and you're THANKFUL for the privilege.

So I fingered all these lovely Juicy suits and red glittery gowns, but despite my flawed sense of disposable income, even I couldn't justify dropping $80 on a dress that my 6 month old will wear twice. I couldn't even use the hand me down excuse since she is probably my LAST child (sob, sniffle, wince).

But I had to leave with SOMETHING...

Speaking of pore size...

Not that we were, but I must chat about one of my other favorite skin potions: pre-makeup primers. I don't think I'll want to succumb to those "medical spa" treatments when I can just slap some of this stuff on. I discovered Smashbox when I fell for the Nordstrom "Buy $100 of cosmetics online and we'll send you some delectable samples in a pretty tote" ruse. They have these "gifts" a few times a year, and they are rather wonderful if you forget you're spending $100. I shall be sure to alert you when the next "gift" is. But these primers really are miraculous: they fill in wrinkles, smooth or even eradicate pores...and instantly! None of this waiting for a dubious $250 miracle cream to do its job.

So phew. I won't go to a medical spa anytime soon...unless people stop telling me "You look so good for having four kids." What does this mean? Is this a COMPLIMENT? If I had no kids and a miniature schnauzer, would they say, "My GAWD she has let herself GO..."?

One can only speculate.

All Christmas Cheer Herewith Suspended

Awlright, it's day three of being ice bound with my four lovely offspring, and while I still love them more than grande soy extra hot no whip mochas, I would not mind at all if someone whisked them away for an hour or two while I cleaned the house and then composed a weighty post about pore size. Very important stuff.

I am not sure if my two older sons will be able to function in the real world without a Lightsaber in their hand after this hiatus.

Merry Christmas to You!

It's a cliche, yes, but so often the Christmas season devolves into a shove-match with three overweight housewives in the WalMart toy aisle for the last Millenium Falcon, all while you try to stave off nausea from too much Pinot Noir at last night's office Christmas dinner. (And this particular office dinner: we had to PAY for our non-virgin drinks! A hangover I had to PAY for!)

But today we have a surprise reprieve from the grind: all the kids are home from school. They are upstairs dancing to a Chipmunks Christmas album, NOT FIGHTING, and my new little pink blob is drooling on my lap, and I'm breathless for a moment: what a good year it has been. How blessed I am to have these four healthy monsters, and this brand new little girl. I can only hope my future Christmases will be so merry. This one certainly is. Even SANS Nordstrom.

And now back to our regularly scheduled programming.

WalMart Nightmare

After slowly drifting off after the 5:30 am feeding, I started dreaming that I had just returned from my weekly WalMart shopping run, and somehow the brand new dish detergent and laundry detergent bottles were EMPTY. So I was trying to figure out how I was going to exchange them, get my money back, tossing, turning.....aargh.

Now this might not sound too scary to you - but it is to me! I go once a week to WalMart and spend about an hour there, and fritter away about $250 on weekly groceries, diapers, toiletries, etc. And it's such a MISERABLE experience. Yes, the prices are good, which is much appreciated and necessary on our budget. But everywhere else I've lived had a non-WalMart option, and just to oogle the sumptuous cakes in the bakery, graze at the olive bar, lick the pre-made sushi platters, and browse the wines really buoyed my mood. Alcohol is the crux of the problem here: antiquated liquor laws prevent LUXE grocery stores from entering the market, since they make such a hefty margin on liquor sales.

Here, my abridged WalMart litany:

The Produce: usually awful, wilting, rotting compost! Just last week the most putrid smell was emanating from my pantry. A dead mouse? Petrified kid poop? I had no idea...until I went to open the bag of red potatoes I had bought a few days before...fetid, slimy, brown MUSH. To the trash! And last Thursday, when the food from the weekend's shopping run had just about run out and my kids were gnawing at the floorboards, I went to get some asparagus for dinner - ROTTEN, gelatinous, algae-smelling stalks. A meal without green, alas!

The Infrequent Restocking: so often, I'll need a specific ingredient for a recipe, and they are out, or simply haven't restocked. So if they're out of, say, tomatoes, I'll have to reconfigure an entire meal off the top of my head. Yes, of course, I could go later in the week, but with four kids to tote about, additional errands add too much drudgery to the already-long drudge-list.

The Staff: yes, some employees are quite friendly. But all too often, after I've unloaded my HUGE cart (the baby in the Snugly, dangling from my breast), and ask the checker oh so sweetly and hopefully if I can have help out today, she looks at me as if I have just asked for my groceries for free. "I don't think we have enough staff right now..." is a frequent response. Upon which both the baby and I dissolve into a puddle of tears.

Lack of Sexy Ingredients: if I want something even vaguely food snobbish, like arugula, capers, fresh cilantro, coconut milk - out of luck. It ain't there. Consigned to Cream of Chicken Soup.

Out of Diet Mountain Dew: are you freaking kidding?!

There is a Whole Foods in Tulsa, but it's too far to be a real shopping option. Now, I couldn't do my weekly shopping for staples there; too pricey. But to go there on occasion, and caress the rainbow of produce, smooch the beautiful bakery items, and do some pilates while the clerk unloads my groceries, and pushes them to the car...AAAAAAAAAAAAH. Like a weekend at the spa.

UGGGGGGGGGh

Today my email from the Nordstrom people told me to buy Uggs for Christmas. UGGh! Does anyone look good in Uggs, besides Charlize Theron? Now, my legs are stump-like, and only about 6 inches long, so if I wear them I will look like Frodo the Hobbit digging for toadstools. They are just so CLUNKY and thickening down at the ankles and calves that only 6 footers like Charlene (and maybe a few members of the Jenks PTA) can get away with wearing them and actually look ridiculously cute. Alas, I am not a member of this elite.

Sometimes I wonder if my daughter will get my husband's height. My gosh, that would be wonderful. My most fervent desire is that she will somehow defy genetics and be tall, thin, and gorgeous. Smart? Eh.

Like High School, Just Blonder and Richer

Today I went to a Holiday PTA Brunch down the road from us (so exciting, these events one can go to when one has a kindergartner!). Wowza! It is lucky that my self-esteem is on fairly solid ground of late, because otherwise I would want to hide my slatternly short, brunette self in a closet for a while. The brunch was held in a stunning McMansion (I mean that quite literally: the husband owns McDonald's here in town) by its even stunning-er owner, a petite and charming blonde. It's good to know what the jillion and seven Happy Meals my monsters have consumed have financed: the scrumptious 40 foot Christmas tree in their foyer (yes, foyer); the glittering green garlands strewn over anything stationary.

And these women! My gosh. Do you miss feeling like you're the only band geek among the lithe and luscious cheerleaders? Well, you should have been there! (Of course if you WERE a lithe and luscious cheerleader, come to a PTA meeting here in South Tulsa; you'll be back with your homies!) In Seattle, not everyone was quite so blazingly blonde and lovely. The girl in high school whose life I most wanted to inhabit was actually a brilliant little Asian gymnast (and yes, a cheerleader! Vivienne Hsy, are you out there?).

I have many years of these events ahead of me...and luckily I'm just fine with observing all this gorgeousness from behind my brown bangs. But maybe I'll start saving for a big sexy black Escalade...just so I don't stick out TOO much. Heh.

Tarzhay Miss

Now a bit about my dear sister: Melissa, who detests Melissa and is Missy, and when we're so despicably lazy we can't even belt out the 2nd syllable...Miss. Tarzhay Miss.

Tarzhay Miss is just as strict about what she buys as Neiman Molly, but in a wholly different way. She wins the Miss Frugality contest among the three of us: she would rather have a pap smear than buy a $100 top at Nordstrom. Now, when I say frugal, I mean the money she spends on herself. She is crazy generous with gift-giving, and plies me with Starbucks cards throughout the year for NO REASON. She also buys toys galore for my four, which - oh. Cripes - THAT'S why she's so frugal! SHE HAS TO BE, with all these freakin' nieces and nephews.

At any rate, she shops at Eddie Bauer for herself. I think if she allowed herself to be decadent, she would shop at J. Crew or Polo Ralph Lauren, or even Brooks Brothers. That is her style: crisp, tailored, classic, All American. And she does quite well with Eddie Bauer: she always looks fresh faced and ready to have a cocktail on the lawn of the family compound while the boys have a game of rugby.

Although I have to say that Tarzhay Miss has been blessed with a rare and extremely useful talent: she does the BEST laundry I have ever seen anyone do. She washes stuff and somehow it comes out looking BETTER than it did before it went in. She recently had a garage sale and people became disoriented because they thought they were at a retail outlet. So it could be that she is the only person in the world who can buy cheap stuff and still look like she shops at Barney's.

She also LOVES Tarzhay for her kids and other "stuff." And really, who doesn't? I have come to appreciate Tarzhay so much more since living in Oklahoma, where there is no Costco - only the purgatory that is WALMART. And Tarzhay is so much more fun. The Choxie chocolates are quite good; the Archer Farms brand of snacks is decent; I lather myself up daily with the Method cleaning supplies line; and those stupid $1 baskets by the doors are just addictive when you want to buy your children's affection.

Tarzhay Miss has two ridiculously edible children, Zach, 5, and Vanessa, 1. I'm not allowed to buy clothes for them since Tarzhay Miss already knows she won't like what I buy. Tarzhay Miss is the most honest person in the Western Hemisphere, and you know what? That is very refreshing, and HANDY, especially in a sister.

Now if only I could get her to move to Tulsa and do my laundry...

Lipstick Breakfast

I was quite flattered recently when I was asked for beauty advice! Haha! Mousy recovering CPAs don't get asked for beauty advice very often...and from someone - well, beautiful! My neighbor, Ravishing Red Ann, asked me what I use for lipstick. Apparently it looks like I always have on lipstick. Well, it starts out that way, but I always have my mouth on something: coffee, chocolate, a kid's forehead, chocolate, Pinot Noir...etc. So NO lipstick stays on for long, ever. The secret? LIPLINER. And I don't just line the lips; I scribble and fill in the whole LIP AREA. And mine are rather large, so this means I eat about 7 lipliner cartridges each month.

Cartridge, you say? Yes, here it is. You stick one of these in their lip pencils, and voila. Angelina lips for mere mortals.

Mama Needs Speed

I am a walking zombie today: we had a surprise December thunder storm, and at one point all FOUR of the monsters were in bed with me. This was before PVT came to bed. (PVT stays up late late: he is either a) working late to feed, clothe, diaper and moisturize the remaining five of us; or b) watching "How It's Made" on the Discovery Channel. You think he's watching porn, right? NO! He's really not! It's not a smokescreen! I am a lucky woman.)

Then PVT took our 4 year old upstairs to bed, and left me with 6, 2, and baby. 2 was up for a couple of hours just chatting about his diaper, school, Dad, Miss Debbie, etc., etc....so I am listening to this monologue while nursing the baby intermittently...

Caffeine just doesn't cut it on days like today.

Neiman Molly goes to Ecuador

Cripes! My dear sister Neiman Molly went to Ecuador today (she works for a very small non-profit intellectual property think tank in DC), and I didn't talk to her before she left! I wanted some vicarious thrills: packing just for yourself for a trip, flying on a plane outside of the US ALL BY YOURSELF, needing a passport...WOW. Crazy stuff, that.

Neiman Molly is a quiet, Pre-Raphaelite beauty with a long tangle of chestnut hair and a voice so soft people usually fall over straining to hear her. Her delicate aura belies her steely-arse lawyer mind; she loves nothing more than to write a 40 page paper about intellectual property law as it applies to indigenous Aleut art. I think.

Neiman Molly is such a strident style purist that she buys the only the best of everything. Even Nordstrom is sort of Macy-ish in her realm. How she does this on her budget (note: small, non-profit employer) is rather magical; luckily she dates International Men of Mystery who feed her Goat Cheese Frisee and ply her with Pinot Gris. At least she doesn't have to buy food.

Neiman Molly's WORST FEAR is tacky, awful white trashiness. This encompasses almost everything in the whole world, most of all anything with COLOR. So don't say I didn't warn you if you buy her a turquoise sweater with crystal bling and she goes a grey shade of white, quietly thanks you, and then leaves the room to find the nearest garbage receptacle and four tons of hand sanitizer.

So, citizens of Quito, if you see a beautiful pale girl dressed in grey, beige, or greige, give her a shot of tequila, dress her in some native Ecuadorean garb, and send her home soon! We love her very much.

Stay tuned for a bit about my other sister, a bad-arse mum of two in San Diego, Tarzhay Miss.

Scorched-Earth Beauty

I am using this ROC eye cream (the fairly cheap stuff you get at the drugstore) since my husband read that retinol, which ROC products contain, is one of the few effective wrinkle fighters (I am not versed in the scientific jargon). (Yes, my husband read this! He was trying to prove to me that all the money I was spending on pricey eye cream was folly! Well, probably - but what is life without folly...?) Well, I think it is working on the wrinkles, but maybe too well - the creases of my eys where the crows stomp their feet are red and irritated! So I may be less wrinkled, but I look a bit like I'm allergic to air - perenially sad and teary about something...!

Any suggestions? Anyone tried this?

Recession, Schmeecession

Misters Blake and Erik Nordstrom, you should have seen this great demographic out today for a charity holiday home tour! Gorgeous blondes out in droves to look at other gorgeous blondes' gorgeous homes. A smorgasbord of gorgeousness. Driving gorgeous Lex-eyes (plural of Lexus?) on a gorgeous December Sunday.

But seriously! All of this gorgeousness shops! They have children to be outfitted! Purses to buy! In-laws to scrounge for! And gorgeousness here is appreciated, celebrated; not viewed as suspect as it is in Seattle. Gorgeousness here is not swathed in beige, Birkenstocked, and fed falafel balls. Gorgeousness does not shock here, like it does against the gray Seattle skies.

Hey, that's something I LIKE about Tulsa!

Worst-est Mum in the World

That's the title I'm awarding myself for the evening: we tried out a new young darling babysitter, and WE WERE LATE coming home! Not by five minutes - but by an hour or so! Sheesh, you give me a glass (OK, TWO - BIG uns!) of full strength wine, many friends within arms' length, and I am WORTHLESS in the responsibility department.

The New Boobs

Apparently the latest cosmetic enhancement procedure is not breast augmentation, but EYELASH augmentation! Ever since Allergan, the eye stuff company, discovered its glaucoma treatment Lumigan can also make your eyelashes grow two millimeters in six weeks, glaucoma-less women everywhere have been faking eye exams. Luckily, though, the stuff is in trials and could be available for mere vanity purposes as early as next year. Au revoir, mascara!

But in the meantime - I do recommend this delightful mascara from Estee Lauder. It lifts and separates (the lashes, you dirty minded reader!), thickens - and it's MOTORIZED. It's a lot of fun having a bit of whirring going on while you apply your makeup - why should guys have all the power tools?

Jolie is as Jolie does

Indulge me for a minute and let me talk about my favorite tabloid subject: yes, Angelina. Now, I usually pretend to be too high-falutin' to look at US Weekly...but if Angelina is on the cover, I buy the freaking thing.

What is it about her that is so magnetic? To me, most of those who populate the tabloids (Britney, the Simpsons, Olson twins, la la la...) are simply milquetoast pretty commoners with a bit of talent who simply got lucky. But Angelina really does seem to be visiting from a higher echelon in the firmament of femininity. It isn't just the preternatural beauty, or the bod. She is, methinks, as close to goddess as we chicks under Mary can get: beautiful, passionate about kids (how can that family be a publicity stunt? She breastfed TWINS FOR THREE MONTHS!), and unapologetic to the tongue-waggers for taking what she needed. She sweeps in and saves Brad from the self-absorbed and whiny Jennifer, and suddenly Brad has a busy, chaotic, fecund LIFE!

So there you have my brief Angelina vent. I LOVE her. Although, dear Ang, why Brad? Cute, rich, but...may I suggest some of my favorites? Robert Downey Jr.? Benjamin Netanyahu? Tiki Barbur? The delicious Peter Krause of Dirty Sexy Money? Any Manning brother? Ahh...I could go on...

You can't have PVT, though. I need him here to help bathe and diaper MY large brood. And fund my moisturizers.

Before I hurl myself into a tub of Vaseline...

...dear and loyal readership of 2.7, please send me your ideas for keeping skin and hair moisturized in this dry cold winter air! Seattle is not humid, but the perennial mist must keep my skin and hair fairly damp. Here in the plains, by gosh - my knuckles are cracking, my hair crackles like static - eeck! Every molecule of moisture is sucked out of my skin as soon as I leave the shower...

I recently bought this moisturizer, which was wonderful a month ago - I did see a difference in my pore size - but now it is simply not thick and greasy enough:

Send me your ideas! Otherwise I shall appear 68 by Sunday -

The Jeans Conundrum

For many years I didn't wear jeans...I have no legs, and thus it is difficult ! to find stuff that fits. I just gave up. Until a dear friend turned me on to the wonderful world of premium denim.

My first pair of Lucky Jeans was $100 and some odd - ridiculous for jeans, oui? But oh! How amazing that they somehow enhanced le rear, made the thighs look longer and slimmer, flare just so at the ankle - and accomodated beautifully my lack of legs! So, pricey for jeans, but I wore them EVERY DAY for two years, until they shredded at the knees completely and utterly, beyond the point of "cool" shredding into "homeless vagrant" shredding.

Since then, I've bought Citizens of Humanity, Seven, Rich and Skinny, and worn them to smithereens. Hence the price per wear concept (which my husband laughs at, but I AM RIGHT ABOUT THIS ONE!)...yes, these jeans are pricey, but much less pricey than the $65 Gap jeans I bought recently that I wore for about two weeks until they somehow morphed into saggy Mom jeans. Shiver.

In that vein, lookie at these:

On sale, no less! And I admit I'm a sucker for the brand name - who doesn't want to be Rich and Skinny?

For your Christmas or Hannukah feast...

...may I suggest a little filet de Colette?

My Nordstrom Saga

Now, I must back up a bit and tell you about my campaign to bring Nordstrom to Tulsa. Last year it became official that an "upscale retail development" would be brought to our vicinity here on the Arkansas river in Jenks/South Tulsa. I found out that T. Lynn Mitchell heads up this development. Well, aha! Surely Mr. Mitchell needs to put a Nordstrom here. Now, I'm no marketing expert, but South Tulsa seems to be a good demographic for Nordstrom: this is the land of endless Escalades, housekeepers and expensive dye jobs (and other jobs, but that's another post).

So (and keep in mind, I am nobody if not a no one, a stay at home mom), I called up Mr. Mitchell - and we had a chat about Nordstrom! He said he would LOVE to see Nordstrom in his development. I told him I'm a Seattle native, and a devotee. He asked me if I know anyone there? Well, sure! Blake, Erik, Bruce...good friends. I'm sure they remember me fondly as well, from all the serving I did in the cafe and temping in Petites. Har har.

But heck, one of my few virtues is that I am not afraid of making a fool out of myself. So I called Erik Nordstrom - and hark! He leaves me a message! He wasn't sure where Tulsa was on their list, but he would pursue it with the head of real estate development, and get him talking to Lynn! Woo hoo.

A few months later, I asked Lynn how it was going...he had spoken to Erik's "people," and it seemed like Nordstrom was also looking at Oklahoma City - a larger (if cheesier, tackier) city. So things were stalled....

So I started a PETITION! I got several hundred signatures...and kept it up until I got thrown out of the local mall for campaigning. Cripes.

Now, with the macroeconomy purportedly in shambles, I am not sure if my beloved store will be here any time soon. The website doesn't list Oklahoma at all in its future store listings...alas!