Lately/Currently.

We've been busy lately. Really busy. So busy. Now that our house is on the market, though, there's not much else to do until there's a sold sign on it. Sure, there's always housework, but when you stay on top of it like you do with a house on the market there isn't actually much to do. Did you know it's actually easier to keep your house immaculate when you're on it every single day than it is to keep it regular level of tidy? I know, it's blowing my mind, too. Except if you let it slide even one night, then you're screwed.

Anyway, no one cares about super obvious house cleaning tips. Or if they do they're looking on Pinterest.

reading: Nothing good. I'm reading a book I got from the library's sale table and it's weird. I'm halfway into it and I think I'm starting to understand the plot. I thought about giving up on it, but it's less than 300 pages, and I don't know how to enter abandoned books into Goodreads. So I'm persisting. I might read a parenting book next since I'm trying to go through my bookshelves, but that's not terribly exciting either.

I'm also really enjoying the daily devotional New Morning Mercies. I started reading it in September, but have been more diligent since January. 

listening to: I just listened to Serial, am almost done S-Town, and listen regularly to Strangerville and Young House Love Has a Podcast. All of which I'm enjoying, except less so the second season of Serial. 

I listened to the audiobooks for Just Show Up and Hidden Figures. Hidden Figures made me feel like an underachiever, but I did a puzzle while listening so at least I was flexing my brain muscles. I watched the movie after and I highly recommend both. I think non-fiction is my new favourite audiobook genre.

Just Show Up  was good, and recommended to me by a friend, but I wish I'd read the book instead. I'd heard of Kara Tippetts before and was kind of familiar with her story, but it would have been helpful to be more invested in her personal story. I struggled with the person reading the book, too. She was painfully sincere about everything she said, and I couldn't wait for her to stop talking. No one talks like that in real life.

I just bought the latest Matt Maher album off iTunes. Its a fair bet that's going to be playing a lot.

watching: I'm finally getting into season two of Stranger Things. Season one was okay, but I'm loving season two. I've been watching it at naptime so I can't usually get through more than one episode at a time before Molly wakes up and I turn on something else. She doesn't watch shows with me, but she's around and sees what's on and I just feel like Stranger Things needs my undivided attention, and it's kind of creepy for a one year old. I mean 13 month old. Hold me.

I've also been watching Don't Trust the B in Apartment 23. It's so dumb that I understand why it only lasted two seasons, and it's pretty salty, bu t it's a great background show for when I'm hanging out with Molly while Parker's having his down time.

eating: Currently a breakfast cookie and finishing my morning coffee. I'm not sure where the morning went, but I'm not even done my fist cup of decaf of the day and it's practically noon. I'm usually a two cup by noon kind of person. (Well, when I started writing this it was almost noon. Now it's almost supper time and my second cup of coffee is stone cold and barely started.)

I'm giving up desserts for lent. I don't typically do lent but it starts tomorrow and I need another break from desserts. I enjoyed December and January way too much. I'm not going for 100% success on this, but I'm hoping for 90-95%. 

missing: Fresh air that isn't going to try and kill me. It's February so I'm right on track for that warmer weather craving. I don't even want super warm, I just warm enough to go for a walk without worrying about coming home with popsicle children. It's been -45 with the windchill lately, but today it's a balmy -5. Except with the wind it's -20. I'm really, really hoping that next week we can get around the lake.

loving: Brunch. We had an open house Saturday afternoon so we had brunch at a friend's house. It was awesome. I'm not sure why we never thought to do it earlier. We're going to do it again next weekend at our place and I'm so excited for mimosas and banana bread cinnamon buns and bacon. And friends, of course.

I really need to go for that walk.

wearing: Joggers. If I exercised every time I wore joggers I would be in North Korea right now winning Gold in every single event, men's and women's. I also live in sweaters, leggings, cardigans, and socks. And, on the rare occasion when I actually leave the house, I wear boots. I love boots, I really do, but after six months of winter I miss shoes. I am so excited to put on shoes, TOMS perhaps, without socks. This is my dream. I also dream of not wearing my maternity parka every time I leave the house.

Don't get me wrong, I'm going to miss wearing lounge athletic wear all the time if and when that day ever comes, but I just think my leggings would look absolutely darling with something other than my snow boots.

anticipating: All. the. pizza. Our small group is making pizza tomorrow night and Friday is date night, where we make pizza and watch a movie without our phones. It feels like a lot of (goat) cheese, but that's a cross I'm willing to bear. Life is crazy right now, but I think pizza is going to be the soothing balm to my life eczema. How's that for an appetizing metaphor?

Breaking cheese covered bread with dear friends is kind of the perfect way to spend Valentine's Day. Karl and I also desperately need an evening together, not talking about finances, housing, or the darkly impending future. And speaking of darkly impending, I'm really anticipating enjoying a dark beer with my pizza, in my joggers. 

These are a few of my favourite things.

When I find something I love, I want to shout it from the rooftops. No, I'm not talking about men, although I guess I found one of those, too, but rather things. I want to tell people about all the things I like and how useful they are and want them to discover how marvelous they are, too.

Now, I do this out of the goodness of my heart as my gift to you. If you think there's any kind of compensation attached to this post that's very sweet of you and you have an excellent sense of humour.

TOMS

Who doesn't love brown herringbone?

I love my TOMS. I bought them in the fall of 2011 and have never once regretted their purchase, even though they were pushing $50 with a coupon. I'm not sure if they're popular everywhere else, but they're kind of an essential part of west coast living. As in everyone has them and they're amazing. We're blessed with warm enough weather that they can pretty much be worn year round. Ironically, they don't do well in water (being canvas), but one of my friends sent me instructions on how to waterproof them. I'm not entirely sure why I haven't done this yet.

Even though they don't look like much, they are my favourite shoes to walk in and all I know is that when my TOMS eventually die I'll be investing in a new pair. 

If my stunning review isn't enough motivation for you to get a pair, they're also pretty "ethical." For every pair bought a pair gets donated to a child in need. At least it's something.

Joe Fresh

Joe Fresh has long been a staple at Superstore here in the good old Canada but, like Tim Hortons once did, it's now branching out into the states. Where exactly I have no flipping idea, but according to the Twitter it sounds like JC Penny is involved.

Last week my good old home town even opened up its first Joe store and had 20% off opening day. I went after work and it wasn't crazy busy like H&M was three days after it's opening when it arrived a couple weeks ago. In other words, Joe is the best kept secret of the clothing world. 

I guess because it originated in a box store, Joe Fresh is a little underrated and mostly popular with the middle aged crowd. For the record, the designer Joe Mimran was the original designer for Club Monaco. It's ironic because Club Monaco sale items are still hundreds of dollars whereas Joe items are not even close. Sure, there's some "higher fashion" clothes that are in the $40-$100 range, but I'm thrifty and half my wardrobe is Joe so that's got to be telling you something.

I was curious how much Joe I actually owned. This photo is missing some pj pants, a sweater dress, a couple sweaters, a shirt, and a pair of pants. And some snow boots. I might have a problem.

For example, Joe tights are the most mind-blowingly amazing things ever. They are also $6. They will not run on you and I finally had to throw away a pair after almost a year and a half when they had a snag that I cut off, leaving a hole. I am anything but gentle with my tights. My mom loaned me a pair of expensive Jockey tights that I killed in one wear. My equivalent Joe tights are not only more comfortable but way, way more durable. Their nylons, however, are like nylons everywhere and not exactly what I would call "comfortable" but I have yet to snag a pair. 

When I went to the grand opening, I picked up a shirt and a dress for $19 each. Before the 20% off. I have sweaters ranging from $5 off the sale rack and dresses up to $50 from there, but I don't regret any of it. I have a least ten dresses (one was a clothing swap item, okay?) and the average price I've paid is probably $15. I have the same shirt in two different colours I bought there sometime before I got married (at least three years ago, in other words) for $16 each that are still in great shape after regular wear.

There is also Joe makeup but I've never tried it. The nail polish isn't the best, although the colours are pretty, but I've heard that the makeup is even good for people with ridiculously sensitive skin (aka me).

Avon Eyeliner

Avon has the best non-liquid eyeliner I have ever used. Now, I'm not much of an eyeliner guru but I have tried a few pencils and I always feel like I'm stabbing myself just to get it on thinly enough/properly/attractively. I feel like if the pencil isn't sharp enough to kill someone it's just going to make a  big mess (I speak from inexperience experience), but when it is that sharp it only stays that way for ten seconds and my eyeball starts to hurt from the sharp pointy object on the other side of my eyelid.

Enter the glimmerstick. It's one of those twisty types of eyeliners where it stays thin because it's not a pencil. Like lipstick. Or something. It's also softer than a pencil so no eye stabbing feelings need occur.

Glimmer-tastic.

My favourite colour is the glimmersticks diamonds brown glow. If it sounds a little rave-glam it's really not. I don't even noticed this colour's sparkle. I like it because it's light enough that I don't give myself hooker eyes even if I overdo it when I'm in a rush. Like pencil liners it's pointiest when new and loses that tip pretty quickly so you do need to be aware of what you're doing. I have other colours, and I do love them, but the brown glow is my signature colour. If I had a signature colour.

Did I mention it's cheap?

Batiste

Now that I have reverted to shorter hair, dry shampoo is even more important than it was with my long, flowing locks. Since I have bangs, it's kind of essential, but the short hair looks nasty pretty quickly if I'm not careful. Enter Batiste. I've tried baby powder/non baby smelling talcum powder to get my roots less oily on days I don't shower, but failed miserably. I could never find anything that was unscented so I always ended up smelling like an old woman. I also looked kind of like one, too, because that stuff is hard to rub in all the way.

Tresemme also has a dry shampoo that I've tried and, while I really like other Tresemme hair products (including their hairspray that doesn't stink!) their dry shampoo was just disappointing. It made my hair feel gross and like it had product in it. Not with Batiste!

With that lighting it even looks like God endorses this stuff. How angelic!

Batiste is nice because it blends in really well, even though I have dark hair, and I don't even really notice I've used it unless I put way too much in. Actually, thanks to Batiste, I sometimes feel like I can go days without showering or washing my hair. Common decency dictates that I don't do that but at least I know I can without looking weird. Well, weirder than normal.

It's about $10 a can, but worth every penny. There are also differently scented ones, as well as ones for dark hair. Personally, I feel like the regular one fits my needs just fine.

Diva Cup

Dad, if you're reading this, please skip this section and move on to the next item. Men in general, actually. Do us all a favour.

The Diva Cup is like the best kept secret of being a woman. They market it as a "menstrual cup" but I like to think of it as a silicone shot glass for your lady bits. Basically, it's safe, it's easy, it's environmentally friendly, and it's only about $40. You can even wear it if you think you're going to need and don't need to worry about dying from strange acronym diseases. It also saves any kind of awkward monthly trips to the store to stock up on supplies. Unless those supplies are chocolate and wine because the only thing that makes those trips awkward is the quantity.

The only downside to the Diva Cup is that Walmart and my drug both don't sell it but, oddly enough, my grocery store does. Karl was horrified when we bought it alongside his lunch meat.

(I did not include a photo for this section because 1) that's gross, and 2) I can't find my Diva pin that came with my cup. Yep, you get swag. What's not to love?)

Tupperware Can Opener

One of my best friends, Caity, sells Tupperware and, as a result, I've had some serious exposure to it in the last year. I never before would have dreamed of buying fancy Ziploc containers that cost more than a night out on the town until I had a connection telling me about the sales, and giving me perks for having parties. I mean, everyone gets perks for having Tupperware parties, but I didn't know about them until Caity started selling.

It's expensive, no question, but Tupperware definitely has its perks. And the best one? The can opener.

Look at that pose! I think it's trying to seduce you.

This sucker doesn't actually touch the contents of the cans so it will never need to be cleaned (unless you drop it or something) and, as a result, never rusts. Like our gorgeous Kitchenaid can opener started to do after less than two years of use. The can opener also makes a smooth edge on whatever its opening so you won't cut yourself. You can lick that sucker and be totally fine. No joke. When it's opening cans, the can opener also has a really good grip. You can spin that can upside down while you're opening it and it won't even drip. It's basically the king of can openers.

It's $40. I initially wasn't going to get one because $40 for a can opener is straight up insanity, but I hosted a party and Karl talked me into it as my 50% off item. $20 for a can opener still felt expensive, especially when our pretty red Kitchenaid one still did the trick, but since I had Karl's support I did it. It's not very often you get to buy a ridiculous kitchen tool for half price.

And you know what? I've never once regretted that can opener.

Every time I open up a can of beans I'm so grateful for a can opener that doesn't smell like beany death afterwards because, as yummy as beans taste, they smell like farting corpses.

Epicure Microwave Steamer

To add to the Tupperware train, another one of my friends sells Epicure. I'm basically a housewife with all the bells and whistles. Except for the whole, having a full time job and not actually love to cook thing. Epicure actually sells some things that are quite similar to Tupperware items, with prices that boggle my mind. In the best way possible.

Now, Epicure doesn't come with a lifetime warranty like Tupperware does, but it's certainly got some perks. Like price. Epicure is also mostly a spice company so it's got that big difference, too.

Epicure has a microwave steamer for $20. Tupperware has a microwave steamer for something like $160. Naturally, the Tupperware steamer has quite a few structural bells and whistles, whereas the Epicure version is just silicone, but I'm quite proficient at steaming veggies on the stove the old fashioned way (with a metal steamer in a pot). It may take a little while, but I never would have dreamed about buying a gadget to help me steam my broccoli. It's a waste of money.

I did, however, develop a taste for popcorn this past summer. Cheap air poppers are at least $20 and come with terrible reviews, but my Epicurean friend wooed me with the microwave steamer. No oil needed, just popcorn and a couple minutes in the microwave. I was sold.

By the time I brought home my microwave steamer I had already mastered he stove-top popcorn making in a pot. It involves oil, unlike the microwave steamer, but it makes so much more popcorn. I also found that my microwave is a little too efficient and can't perfect the art of popcorn making in a steamer. It either burns the popcorn or doesn't pop it all.

Well, one night I was in a rush to make some pasta and, feeling unmotivated, decided there wasn't enough time to make veggies for the sauce. Enter the microwave steamer. In a minute or two I had perfectly steamed peppers and onions for my sauce.

Basically, the microwave steamer has made my lazy meals less tragic and more healthy. I feel like a better wife and human being. At least during the ten minutes it takes to eat dinner, anyway.


So what do you think? Have I inspired you to become a Diva or possibly switch can openers? Or are you just too busy judging my Joe addiction? Let me know!

A smattering.

Today marks the province of BC's first ever Family Day. All I can is, YES PLEASE!

I haven't had a long weekend since Remembrance Day way back at the beginning of November, so this is terribly exciting. It also made being productive on Saturday much easier.

Now, full disclaimer, I love my friends and I love their children. Read on.

Saturday morning I got up at 8 in the am to make some two-ingredient cookies for breakfast with some lady friends. It was made justifiable by today's new-found stat holiday. Anyway, the friend that hosted has a two year old. She was actually the first friend of mine, in my general age group, to have a baby where I was there from before knocked-upedness to attending subsequent birthday parties. I reconsidered ever having children after Saturday's breakfast. The kid that once threw up on me at a wedding and I didn't care was running around like a fiend, turning the TV on, crawling on the table, shooting webs like Spider man (why not?), and being a generally whiny two year old. His mom naturally stopped the "naughty" things, and I know it's called the terrible twos for a reason, but man, it really made me reconsider any possibility of having my own. Why do people set themselves up for years of stress, exhaustion, and temper tantrums? Not to mention the boogers and poop. Children are a lot of work, and they don't seem very snuggly once they start walking and talking.

Just saying.

I went to the chiropractor later in the morning, and got some good news. Apparently I'm much more aligned (or something) than before. After the cracking and head wrenching, I even think my angry neck bone is starting to become less pronounced. And? Two days later and I'm still migraine free. Mmhmm...

After that I had a friend over for tea. It was lovely. I also cleaned our hovel before hand. Can I just say? I love me a clean living space. It makes my heart happy.

On that note, I'm going to stop recapping my life because I didn't do anything incredibly amazing. Other than today, as I watched last night's episode of Downton Abbey with Mom, I found out I'd won a pair of Hush Puppies boots. You might say I'm super lucky since this is the second time they've picked me to win something from them. Last year I got sandals and Karl got studly slip ons. I'm not really one to blog about my clothes, but I probably will when I get my boots. It's kind of the least I can do, eh?

In other news, this happened Monday and today respectively.

Haircuts for everyone!

In case you didn't know what Karl looked like yesterday:

Another favourite photo of Karl. They just keep coming!

He is also very Canadian. The beard was supposed to live longer, but accidents happen. I didn't cry, but I thought about it. I didn't think it was possible to love someone's beard so much. Doesn't that just fly in the face of all wifely logic? It was very red. Any potential future children that have survived the encounter with the terrible twos of Saturday will hopefully have hair like his beard. If not, they'll be growing cute little ginger children beards ASAP. Even the girls. You know, like dwarves.

Since I have kind of moved in the realm of movies (Lord of the Rings, fools), let's go there. Karl and I saw Jaws on Wednesday night. I'd seen it once before, but Karl never had. I didn't really remember it either. Karl actually hates old movies, but ended up really enjoying it. I did, too. The quality was really good, for something from 1975, and the storyline was good, too. I was totally surprised when (spoiler alert) the captain got eaten by the shark in the end. I mean, how mean is that? Surviving one epic shark attack only to gruesomely get eaten years later? That's low, Spielberg/whoever wrote Jaws, real low.

I feel like I've watched another movie recently, but can't remember. I might fail miserably at keeping track of the movies I see in 2013. I guess time will tell.

On that final note, I finally cracked my own password code and broke into my iTunes account. I bought the latest efforts from Leagues and, since I was there, The Gaslight Anthem. No regrets aside from budgetary ones. I'm just going to say that there has not been a single song on the The Gaslight Anthem's "Handwritten" that I haven't loved. Leagues is pretty rocking, too.

And, finally, speaking of music? My mom is in love with the first track off of the Of Monsters and Men CD. She's quoting it and everything like it's real life. She's basically a hipster.

It makes me happy/Fair dust.

Alright, before we get started I need you to go check out Angi's vlog. Go. Seriously, I'll wait. 

Have you gone yet? Go!

Okay good, I'm glad we could share that together. Brilliant, right?

That right there made my Thursday night. And then, with my awesome Thursday night made already, I went and won free movie passes. So Karl and I are now going to see Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom Saturday night. In theatres. For free. And then the radio station retweeted me. Am I slightly incoherent with joy and excitement? Heck to the yes.

Also, listening to Angi say "Watching Douglas Street" makes me think I might need to rename my blog. And it's tagline. Because at my current grown up job I don't have any time to fill. I forget to go pee I'm so busy. True store.

Okay, I was going to get some ideas down and blog later, but I feel like I'm on a bit of a roll here. I'm also watching New Girl so my mind is in a crazy space. By crazy I mean chaotic. Man, when this show's good it's good. Tonight, it's hilarious. 

Apparently blogging in front of the TV is not the most productive thing ever. Apologies.

So, last week, before work got stinking insane, I had some time to think. Now I don't really think. Remember? I forget to go to the bathroom. Apparently if you also forget to drink water, your need to use the lavatory will eventually disappear. I'm sure that's not healthy.

Anyway, I've been thinking about my hair a lot lately. Because I'm vain. I got it cut in early December, and then I reminisced about some of my other shorter hairstyles over the years. 

I started seeing a new hairstylist this year and she curled my hair for me. Anyway, that's boring, but what's exciting is that I finally figured out how to curl my own hair with my flat iron. All it took was getting my hair lobbed off an extra few inches more than anticipated. 

All me, folks.

I was ecstatic the day I finally curled my hair. I'd bought all the products she used on my hair to get it to curl and looks purty. Except that my hair never stayed curly. 20 minutes of curling translated into zero compliments (except for one from Karl who watched me do my hair) and ended up with a tender scalp  and barely wavy hair at the end of the day. Explain that to me! When the pro did my hair the same way I did it lasted for three days. I finally figured out why it's happening. You ready for this? It's ground breaking.

The reason hair dressers always do a better job on your hair than you can with the same products is because they lie. Straight up. They use the products, but they also use fairy dust. It's the only logical explanation, if you can even consider fairy dust logical. Fairy dust. My curls lasted for three days when the pro did them, but not even 3 hours when I did. Definitely not worth being late to work for.

So? What do you think of my theory? But more importantly, what do you think of Angi's mad cup skills? And does my blog need a name makeover? Have you noticed my updated "About Me" page?

Just in case you thought my hair product theory wasn't as hilarious as I did when I first came up with it last week (Karl's watching bad TV in the background now and it's distracting me), later this week I have a treat for you. I'm going to share the story of the time I got into a bar fight. Yeah, you read that right.

Also, I never thought I would vlog because I'm kind of boring. If you think I'm wordy in the bloggy blog, I'm way worse when I talk. The only difference is that I don't have visual reminders of what I've already said, so I tend to repeat myself. Since checking out Angi's vlog I feel inspired to find my musical cup calling that needs to be shared with the world. So far all that's coming to mind is my shameful ability to out belch anyone. No, it's not something will be shared with the world. I'm still working on finding something else. 

Okay, I'm going.

Chapter II: A New Beginning

Today was the first day of my new job. I have my own desk, a cubicle, a spider plant, phone, and the people across the way from me have a huge window view. It's almost like I have a window. I also have one of those stylish card things for around my neck that I have to wave to get into every room in the building. It's a whole new office experience for me.

Like most of my first days before this one, I spent a significant portion of it sitting on the floor, filing stuff. I need to stop wearing dresses on my first day. Am I the only person that assume a sitting on the floor position to do filing? It just seems logical. It's also a great way to get to know new co-workers as they crawl around me to get to where they're going.

I'm pretty sure there's an unwritten office law that all filing is to be put off for several years until Anna's first day. Fact.

Not only did today bring about a significant change in my employment situation (aka bye bye, Douglas) but I also got my hair cut this weekend.

I was getting tired of my long, gorgeous locks turning into gigantor tangles when I wore scarves so I bit the bullet and decided to go about 4" shorter to just below my shoulders. I wanted layers and I wanted them layery.

Terrible, terrible self bathroom before shot.

Totally below my shoulders.

So my haircut ended up being a little bit more dramatic than intended. The lady who did my hair is really nice and I really like her, but I'm not sure I'll go back. For obvious reasons. The thing is, she was really excited for me to go shorter and I think that by telling her I trusted her judgement I may have unintentionally given her a little too much leeway. I also have no intention of rocking the straight across bangs this time. It makes me feel like a spy. I also identify with my "swoosh."

Oh well. Even though I wasn't emotionally ready to go this short, and lament often and loudly, it's not like I haven't been here before. This is the fourth time in my life I've gone this drastically short. I am indeed counting the time I was six. When we got married two and a half years ago I had decently short hair.

Have a picture.

I'm just staring into your soul, don't stress.

Also, smack dab in the middle of "the awkward years" I cut my hair all sorts of short. Sadly I don't have a lot of pictures to share with you. They're probably buried in a stack of CDs somewhere. I also don't have any photos of super cute six year old me. Karl says that I was a cute little kid, until grade two. Then what was once two eyebrows became one. It wasn't a very happy union.

This, however, was a very happy mid-air union for 17 year old Anna.

When I was 16 I took short hair one step too far. I was inspired by Jon Foreman, okay?

Nope, that's not a cute boy, folks. It's ME on the tail end of the awkward years. Yep, tail end.

So in an effort to find photos of myself with short hair from way back when I realized two things: 1. When in grade 12, as I  tried to grow out my terribly short hair I had just below the shoulder hair and it looked dang good; 2. I really did enjoy having short hair. It was cute, it was fun, it was so, so high maintenance. So I guess I'll survive. But I'm still going to mourn the loss of my length.

Okay, that's been enough reminiscing for me for one day. I feel like I've come a long, long way.

AMIRIGHT?

I'm not wearing any pants.

Today I wanted to talk about leggings. I got halfway through a post and realized it was terrible. If you think that most of my posts are scattered and all over the place, then you could imagine this one as being way worse. Except I talked about Lululemon's impact on the world and how it is now socially acceptable to wear leggings as pants out in public when clearly they are just glorified tights/long underwear. No one wants to wear their long underwear in public.

Actually, one girl in my Religion and Politics class way back in third year did wear her matching long underwear top and bottoms to class one day. I was embarrassed for her. She was also rather, um, "curvy" and being "curvy" her long underwear was tight in some place and loose in others. It was also somewhat transparent in the the tight places. It was awful for everyone involved. She was also a rather fashion forward individual (for a poor university student) and I was kind of appalled that she'd worn her Christmas morning underwear to class. It was February or something. Get with, people.

Anyway, leggings. I think we can all agree that they aren't pants. If leggings were pants they would be called pants. I think we can also agree that they're kind of an interesting trend. I have about a million pairs of leggings, but most of them were purchased from the figurative bargain bin with the express purpose of going under things like dresses and skirts. Leggings are great for short dresses because they add a whole new level of modesty to an otherwise scandalous outfit. True story. The only thing you have to remember is that they're not pants but are actually a tights/long underwear hybrid that, if pulled too tightly in, for example, a forward bending motion, will show off your underwear through the material.

I'm glad we've covered that. Because that's what I want to talk about.

I too am "curvy." I am not, however, as curvy as the girl that forgot to get dressed in my Religion and Politics class. Not that you ever got a visual of that. Either way, I am also not a fan of showing off my underwear or my less favourite curves or, as sometimes the case may be, my lack of. Because I'm largely missing that lovely lady lump in the back. Running is helping. Minutely.

Anyway, it took me a really long time to stop making fun of people wearing leggings as pants and admit to myself that I really wanted to get on that train, too. Sometimes you don't want to wear jeans. Leggings, when done tastefully, are like the office equivalent of yoga pants. I mean they feel like them, they don't look like them. At least I hope they don't because I wear them all the time.

The trick for me with attempting to pull of the leggings in lieu of pants look was to make sure that my least curvaceous asset wasn't out there for the world to see. My leggings are from Costco, after all. They are not going to rescue me from the shame of stretched fabric as I bend to pick something up off the floor. Not that I bend to pick things up off the floor with my bum in the air, but you know what I'm getting at here. So I wear longer shirts with long tank tops under them. Surprisingly enough, I get them from Old Navy (the tall section on their website, and thanks to free shipping on orders over $50 and free returns I can buy three $5 tank tops and a couple pairs of shoes and return the shoes for totally free to the store).

I also really enjoy wearing leggings because they fit so nicely under my boots. No bunching, no nothing. Fun times.

The thing is, I'm a total hypocrite. I mock people who wear leggings with shirts that don't cover their bums. I'm talking leggings that aren't built to handle that much bum showing; I know there are tons of leggings out their know whose sole purpose is to masquerade as pants and look terrible on me. At least with me, my shirt baaaarely covers my bum. Okay, feel free to heap scorn on me.

The reason I wear leggings is mostly because they're comfortable. I can't play Twister in them without showing everyone my undies (I've tried) but for the office I like them. I also never delude my self into think I'm wearing pants when I've got leggings on. I know I made human decency take a hit when I opted for the office equivalent of yoga pants without the pants.

I guess the big question and reason I ranted about leggings is this: What do you think? Are leggings an abomination to the very idea of getting dressed in the morning, or do you think they're a legitimate excuse to wear long shirts that barely cover your backside and never spend too much time bending over?

Yep, this is as good as it gets on the blog today.

But tonight? There's a 50% chance I'll have time for a run (25 minutes after a week off... Oh dear.), a 100% chance I'll be eating nachos for dinner, followed by cookie making, and an 80% chance of watching White Christmas. In leggings.

Because tomorrow is my last. Day. Here. 

Of clubs, running, and zombies.

Operation "Clean that Freaking House" (the working title for every single weekend of my life) is going really well. Actually, after the three day weekend it's been going splendidly indeed. If you ignore the fact that I have five loads (yes, there are only two of us...) of laundry to fold and have been completely neglecting in order to knit for myself while watching zombie shows and Glee, our house is basically clean. Clean! That means that the only goal I have for myself this weekend is to fold laundry. Once I'm done knitting my scarf, that is. That, my friends, is the secret to happiness.

I won tickets last week to seem Diamond Rings tonight at a local club. I can count the number of songs I know by him on one finger. I can also count the number of times of been to clubs on less than three fingers. Because I've been 2 1/2 times. (One wasn't really a club, it was more of a pub turned into a club for the evening. And I was wearing full out winter gear. We're talking fuzzy boots and everything. How club-tastic!)

I'm taking my lovely friend Stephanie who has, incidentally, been with me for every other club experience of my life. Go figure. She might be my awkward clubbing security blanket.

The thing is, clubs are out of my comfort zone. I have no clue what to wear. Since it's November, I am fully into the cardigan, scarf, boot, wooly sock, and occasional toque kind of clothing. Because I'm West coast like that. Last time I tried to wear a cardigan to a club I was told to coat check it. Bye bye protective shell...

I think I've got it figured out that I'm going to just wear jeans (woo! pockets!) and a tank top and deal. And by deal I mean feel like an old person. Because 24 is clearly really old. Seriously, when I found out it was an early show (doors at 7, curfew at 10) I might have wanted to click my heels together. Steph may be one of my favourite people, but I might be having a love affair with myself, my knitting, and my television. I guess Karl's around somewhere, too.

Going to bed at a reasonable time tonight is actually imperative to my weekend plans. Even though cleaning is not anywhere on the priority list (neither is making dinner, for the record. Thanks to Twitter, I now feel no guilt in eating bean dip and salsa for dinner. I am freaking addicted to my bean dip. Because I'm awesome and it is too.), tomorrow I have a massage at 11. My second, real RMT massage. Bring it. It's also 80% covered by my benefits. Before my massage, though, because I hate myself, I'm going for a run.

I didn't run on Wednesday like I planned, and haven't since Monday. I figure if I'm not feeling well, running is not going to help or go well. I need to be realistic. I'm really worried, though. I know I'll survive tomorrow's run (once I drag myself out of bed at 9), but it's my first run 5, walk 3 and repeat three times run. Three 5 minute runs. I've done two 3s and two 5s together, but I'm worried that five full days off is going to really kill me tomorrow. I'm also worried because this is the first week my running program steps it up. I stop doing repeats of the same run 3 times in a week. The next run  involves two 8 minute runs (the longest I ever made it to running before. Ever. In my whole entire life) along with one 5. Then, and I cringe to think of it even though I know it's been coming for weeks, is a full 20 minute run.

So that's what's happening with me soon. Pretty much death. It's okay, though, because if I do survive my 20 minute run I will basically be ready for anything that life throws at me. You know, like a zombie apocalypse. Assuming my immune system holds out (which it should because I take a lot of Echinacea and Vitamin C) I'll be able to outrun any zombies that come my way. Even with my slow run those suckers aren't going to get anywhere fast. We also have an impressive stock of toothpaste and toilet paper in our laundry room to barter for protection.

I think I'm digressing...

To recap: I'm going out tonight and am unsure what appropriate wear is (I even thought of raiding my mom's closet for a brief moment until I realized she's even older than I am); I am going to run longer than I want to, earlier than I want to, and do it all in the name of showering before a stranger touches my naked back; I am also going to survive a zombie apocalypse because I know the rules, have laser vision, and can outrun the rotting walking dead.

That is all.

Enjoy your weekend!

It's my blog and I'll self-portrait if I want to.

Bear with me here today. There may be spelling errors and misuse of words. I promise you I know my their/there/they're differences even if I do make a mistake today. I think I'm going into weekend mode a couple hours early.

I'm not going to tell you how tired I am today or how sick I am of walking my broken mother's dog. This is not one of those posts. I promise. We're all probably tired and don't want to get out of our warm beds in the morning to a freezing cold bedroom in order to pick up dog poop. Am I right? Feel free to use "dog poop" as a metaphor for going to work, showering, working out, or whatever it is your morning routine consists of. Let me tell you, I have a great deal of respect for anyone that can roll out of bed to shower or work out before heading to work/school at 8:30 in the morning. That is far beyond my happy scope.

Gosh, Anna, move on, why don't you?

I've started getting back into knitting. It is making my life so happy. I never really stopped knitting, I just slowed down and got bogged down in Eighties Sweater. Once that beast was put to bed (read: onto my mother's torso) I got back to the fun knitting. Yep, I started knitting for myself again.

It's funny, I can't think of anything I knit in 2012 before October that was for myself. Seriously, it was all for other people. Baby blankets, toques for Bolivian prisoners, baby toques, baby booties, and, of course, Eighties Sweater were all for other people. Maybe January saw some me knitting, but I can't honestly remember the last thing I made with myself in mind. Until last month.

Last month I made myself a super chunky cowl. I wanted something grey or black I could wear at work with an orange sweater. This didn't end up fitting the bill, being more casual that business, but whatever. I like it and it fits well under sweaters. 

How west coast do I look in this picture? And what do you think of my bathroom art? Van Gogh who, am I right?

I bought that sweater I'm wearing from Costco last year around this time for $20-$25. I liked it so much (even though I didn't really wear it) I got my mother in law one for Christmas. Her sweater's actually nicer because it's a gorgeous grey but they didn't have my size. I also don't think she wears it. Her loss! I have gotten SO many compliments on it since I resurrected it a couple weeks ago. 

That hat I'm wearing was the second toque I ever knit and the first thing I did with different colours. No big thing.

I should really start taking more photos of my finished products. Must catalog my awesomeness. And also ask Karl to take more photos of me.

For the record, I am an excellent model. Good lighting, good hair, and an only partly obstructed view of what I'm showing off. Where's my modelling contract?

After the cowl, which was actually a miniature break from Eighties Sweater, I moved onto what I had been dying to make since the beginning of the year: mittens, fools. (I don't actually think you're a fool, I just like to talk like a mean gangster sometimes. What's more gangster than mittens?) I have a couple pairs of mittens I've gotten from the major clearance rack at Reitmans the past couple years but they all have really big thumbs. Massive thumbs. Twice the size of my thumbs. I think my index finger would fit, for that matter. My thumbs feel very inadequate and look impotent. You know, if thumbs were... Nevermind. 

I decided that I would make myself mittens when I had the time. As it turned out, the time was now and the time was right. So I made myself some mittens. Standby for gleeful photos of myself in mittens hitting up the twitter in the next few days, but until then check out mitten number one in progress.

Knit during a zombie movie. Officially going to be zombie mittens.

Last night I put the finishing touches on my mittens. I followed the pattern exactly and my mittens fit perfectly. If perfectly were super snug with no wiggle room. Right now I'll take it but I can see myself making another pair of slightly roomier mittens in the future. They're a little short in the finger length, which is fine, but it makes the thumbs start a little bit above where my thumb actually sits. This is also okay because it means that my thumbs fit just fine. I'm not sure what kind of women this pattern was written for, but they must have lived in the 1920s because if my midget thumbs fit without adjusting the pattern (good thing I didn't, even though I was tempted) other people are going to be busting out of the mitten seems. At least their thumbs are.

Tonight I plan on catching up on this week's TV and knitting my latest me project. It's a scarf that I think should be done by the time I come back to work on Tuesday. I might be over estimating my knitting prowess and devotion, but we'll see. This, for sure, is something I can wear to work. Because it's awesome. It's also a pattern by Jane Richmond (who is local!) and the first (aka only) time I've ever bought a pattern. She had me at buy two get on free. 

I'm also excited to finish it so I can wear it to impress one of my friend who also made it. It was like a nerdy knitting moment when I saw her wearing the same scarf I had a pattern for. Then, well, I found some purdy green wool (for reals, it's not acrylic at all) at Michaels on sale and it was like, dang, make some knitting magic happen, yo! (still a gangster)

If it turns out this pattern is as quick as I think it will be I'll probably make some as Christmas gifts this year. And mittens. Because who wouldn't want cute mittens? I like to make things for myself to make sure they turn out well before doing them for other people.

The beginning of November is probably a little late to start thinking of all the lovely things I'd like to make people for Christmas, particularly if I want to get fancy (which I won't this year, that's for sure), but it's doable. I like to make my sister in law things and hope to actually make her something nice this year. Same with my mom.

You know, I should probably just start my Christmas knitting in January and stop giving people things throughout the year (aka my mom) just because. I could have a whole pile of mittens, scarves, toques, baby whatnots, and even socks (that's thus far uncharted territory) ready for whatever happens. Okay now I'm excited. Then I would be able to technically make everything for myself and give away what I didn't want/need.  BAM.

I win at life.

I am not a drag queen.

So all last week I was looking forward to our party on Friday night. Mostly I was just looking forward to a chance to show off my awesome costume, something I'd been sitting on for a while. As I've mentioned before, I'm not an artistic or creative superstar. Far from it. In fact, dressing up has always been a really big challenge for me. Last year, though, I started thinking about the perfect costume for myself. Something funny, not too hard, and relevant.

I didn't have to think very long before I was struck with an idea. Barbie.

When I was three I was a huge Barbie fan. Huge. I was an only child so I spent a lot of time alone with my Barbies. I also used to go by the name of Anna Lee. Lee is my middle name, for the record, not a continuation of my first name. I think around the time I started going to school the Lee fell off, but it stuck around for years with the church crowd. Now I can't even remember the last time someone called me Anna Lee, except for the guy at the bank last month when he got my name off my Drivers' License. It was embarrassing for both of.

I was in Cubbies (you remember AWANA, don't you?)as an adorable three year old and requested that I no longer be called Anna Lee; I wanted to be known as Anna Barbie instead.

Fast-forward to four or five years ago. My Cubbies leader let slip to her daughter and some friends the little name nugget from my past, fondly remembering the time that Anna Lee wanted to be called Anna Barbie. All of a sudden there was an easy way to differentiate between myself and any other Anna's that were hanging about. Anna Barbie was back.

Naturally, a play on my nickname seemed like the best costume idea yet. It also seemed like the most entertaining, particularly since my eyebrows are quite dark and I've always said that if I was blonde I'd look like trailer trash.

Well, apparently I actually look a little like a drag queen as a blonde. Unfortunately, it took a little longer than I was hoping to get all Barbie'd up so I didn't get any good shots of me aside from this poor quality phone picture. Who knows, maybe some better ones will surface.

And in case you're wondering, here's the Barbie that most closely matched my ensemble:

Source

So. What do you think? Did I pull off the Barbie look or do you think I look a bit more like a drag queen? It's okay to be honest, this isn't my regular workday attire.

Woes of a chubby calf posseser.

I'm going to be totally honest with you, today I am mourning something utterly ridiculous.

I have chubby calves. This is a fact of life that I deal with the best I can. Really what it means is that I can't wear super skinny pants because my calves don't fit in them. It also means that I can't tuck my pants into my rain boots and that I can't, as a rule, wear tall boots. Looking at my calves you probably wouldn't peg them as particularly large, but they just come in size large. Not extra large, just large. This is my lot in life and I'm okay with it.

Because tall boots are very in vogue, and have been for the past couple years, I had a heck of time finding myself a nice pair of leather boots that not only fit me well and without a heel, but didn't have to compete for air space with my calves. Last fall I did. They were gorgeous, leather, black, a little slouchy, and within my under $100 price range. Factor in the tax and they were hovering just a little over. It was a match made in boot heaven.

I was so excited about my new, gorgeous boots that I may have gushed about them to everyone I knew. I did it! I found nice boots that fit my chubster legs! And they're nice enough to wear to work and with dresses. Ah, booted bliss.

Or so I thought.

The sole of my boots is underneath the boot part. Meaning it doesn't creep up the heel or back of the boot at all. This resulted in some wear on my right heel from driving. No big thing. It's a little inconvenient, but that just means I don't drive wearing my right boot. Easy peasy.

Well, yesterday I began to notice things falling apart. Literally. The wearing on the back of the right heel is getting more and more intense and there's a tiny hole. The left boot has a much smaller version of this wearing. I stuck my hand inside to feel what was going on and I was disappointed when I realized that the lining by my heel is pretty much worn right through. I used the left boot, which seems to be faring much better, for comparison. Yep, righty is starting to die.

I'm so disappointed! I'm even a little upset. I figure I probably need to take my boots down to the cobbler to see if anything can be done (I'm doubtful) to prolong their livelihood. It took my two years to find a nice pair of boots that I thought were going to last me at least two years themselves (at least!), but it turns out they only lasted one.

Sure I packed on the kilometers in them and made sure they got good use, but the wear is in the heel, not the sole. I don't baby my soles (I don't even know if that's possible) but I sure as heck baby my heels. Apparently for no reason whatsoever. Soft leather, apparently, does not do well over time.

The ironic thing is that my mom has a pair of boots from the same store that are roughly the same age as I am. They need insoles because the bottom is doing something weird, but I wear them all the time. Because they're so old they aren't the nicest looking, as in I'm not sure I would wear them to work, but they work great. The toes are a little worn so my feet get a bit damp when walking through wet grass and they could use a good polish (no thanks...), but aside from that they're great. They even have a half inch heel that makes me feel like a giant. When you don't wear heels, anything makes you feel like you're towering.

So woe is me. I need to start the epic boot hunt of 2010/2011 all over again. Luckily this time Karl agrees with me that it's probably worth it to put out a bit more money and get something that will actually last a few years. The irony being, of course, that I have a pair of sandals I spent $25 on three years ago that are still doing great. And yes, they are poor quality. Or that my $25 flats I bought from Aldo around the same time as my boots last year are still in perfect condition. Or, even, that my checkered wanna be Vans that I bought at the ripe old age of 15 are still, more or less, in functioning condition. And they cost me $5. Sure, I wouldn't wear them on a rainy day, but they got me where I needed to be countless times. I probably had six years of hole-free wearing on those bad boys.

Oh price, why don't you dictate quality?

Oh, the Terror.

I have a story to tell you and it's about Forever 21.

We don't have a Forever 21 here but I've heard a lot about it. When I went to Vancouver for work in June, I met up with a friend for dinner at IHOP (another thing we don't have) and we hit up a big city mall. Since I'd heard good things about Forever 21 we decided to brave it and see what we could find.

The answer was simple: terror. We found terror.

Walking into Forever 21 was like walking into the mind of a fourteen year old girl. It was crowded, fluorescent, and shiny. Lots of leopard print, lots of shiny, lots of preteens and their moms. "Forever 21" felt like a dyslexic typo. Forever 12, maybe.

We lasted maybe a minute before we decided that it wasn't a store for us, her nine months pregnant and me in the market for business casual clothes. We left and didn't look back. You don't try to revisit traumatic things like that.

This past weekend when Mom and I visited Bellingham we came across another Forever 21. I still had a bitter taste in my mouth but the store looked so pretty, so white, so bright, and had a bunch of colourful shoes in the window with $17 price tags on them. So we took the plunge.

Forever 21 round two was a success! It turns out you don't have to be 21 (or significantly younger) to appreciate what they have to offer. In the case of Mom and I, you can be 24 or 54 and still find things you like. Not only that, you can appreciate both the clothing, accessories, and prices.

I spent just over $50 (normally my entire clothing budget but I was given a US shopping trip bonus) and got a pair of flats and two sweaters. Normally I try to do better, but at $17 for the shoes, $23 for one sweater, and less than $15 for another I felt pretty good about the results.

Mom also picked up a necklace and cardigan for less than $30. Score.

After that the only other store we ended up having buying success was at a Gao outlet. It was weird. I never buy anything at the Gap because it's generally over priced and the quality just isn't what you'd hope for with a $50 t-shirt. Not that I ever buy $50 anythings, but there you have it.

I ended up getting Karl a much needed belt, a Mustang t-shirt, and myself a top, coming in around $75. In retrospect that number seems pretty high for three things so I'll break it down for you.  Both Karl's belt and shirt were about $17 each (not too shabby for Gap wear if I do say so myself...), and my top came in at a whopping $35. I know. In a store where everything is on crazy sales I had to go for the one thing that wasn't.

Normally I would never spend $35 on a shirt but I was in shirt love. I decided that, since I was wayyy under my $200 clothing allowance and we were wrapping up the shopping I could do it. Why not? I put a sweater back that was the same price (on sale) as the shirt because I didn't love it nearly as much. Sometimes, you know, you've just got to buy the $35 dollar shirt and roll with it.

Mom had some success at the Gap, too, and bought herself some capris a storm trooper shirt from the men's section. It was the same price as Karl's Mustang shirt and looks great. She got two compliments on it before lunch time. From men. Go mom!

Here is everything we got, laid out on the king size bed in the hotel. And the grand total was? Less than $180. Because we're bargain hunters and awesome.

Clockwise: Mom's capris and storm trooper shirt, my Forever 21 sweaters and shoes, Karls belt, Mom's Forever 21 sweater and necklace, Karl's Mustang shirt, and my Gap top. 

Since most other bloggers would include a photo of themselves modelling their swag, and I'm not sure how I would feel about that, plus I'm at work and not about to ask one of the programmers to get some model shots, I give you this completely natural and not at all posed photo of Mom and I preparing Thanksgiving dinner in our new duds.

Why, yes, that is a dead bird Mom is caressing in the sink.

Until next time.

Tuesday and I'm scattered like a bag of marbles dumped on the floor. Or my laundry.

I do a lot of laundry. No, seriously, I feel like it's all I do. When I'm not physically putting clothes in the washer or dryer I'm folding them. Or at least thinking of folding them. Generally the latter.

I really, really wish I had a house elf to do things for me, especially now that I have a legitimate excuse for being lazy. Hey, the doctor said I should be really tired all the time so why not use that as an excuse to put in my house elf application form? We may not be rich and our family may not be old but our house is from the 1930s. That has to count for something.

In other news, I can't stop looking at dog-shaming.com. I really can't. It's where I get the majority of my work day enjoyment. I just sit at my desk and giggle at all the dogs being shamed. You think I'm joking, don't you?

I don't know where my head's been at lately but I think I blame Twitter for all my thoughts and wordiness just drying up. That or I'm just feeling short and abrupt. In case you're wondering, I'm still really enjoying the Twitter. My following is huge (13 at present time) and includes Meg Cabot and Jars of Clay. Seriously, I could die Twitter happy. You think I tweet for other people? Nah, I do it for myself. That's the same reason I blog and put more photos than strictly necessary on Instagram. I just... enjoy it.

You know what I don't enjoy? Earl grey tea with coconut cream in it. I'm not generally a cream in tea drinker (not since I gave up the delicious steeped tea) but I figured I'd give it a go. It didn't ruin my tea but it certainly didn't do it any favours. And, just like when I tried coconut cream in my decaf coffee last week, it kind of curdled a bit. Some vigorous stirring solved that problem, but it still had a weird texture in my mug. I'll probably just stick to real cream for the time being.

And, finally, I have to tell you how I'm doing on the challenges I've set for myself. You might not remember, but I'm trying to avoid eating dessert (I freaking LOVE desert) and working on wearing things to work that I feel better in. Well, the dessert thing is going better than it would be if I hadn't made a conscious decision to avoid it. Other than that, people need to stop making their famous carrot cakes (the MIL), delicious almost sugar free fruit crumbles (my mom), and homemade berry pies with ice cream (Larissa, who is moving away with her pie recipe so I had to try it before then).

You can say it, I know I'm weak. The thing is, it was all delicious. Oh well, if I'm going to let myself down by eating dessert I might as well really enjoy it. There's nothing worse than a mediocre dessert. Especially if it's shameful.

Unlike my less than successful dessert avoidance techniques (which are still in action, FYI, and haven't been a total flop), my attempt to feel more comfortable and attractive in my clothes is going rather well. I haven't actually bought anything new (except for a Costco hoodie which really doesn't count) so I think it's even more impressive. Today I'm even rocking a belt over a cardigan. Dang, I'm blazing new trails left right and center here. For myself. Everyone else has been doing this for years. Typical.

Anyway, I feel pretty good. One thing I've been working on is not really worrying about it. I'll just wear my clothes intentionally and, by realizing that no one else thinks I look as weird as I do, cultivate an even better self image.

Now, if only I could kick the dessert habit. And the habit of spelling it desert.

Keeping it trendy.

I just want to say that I am so far so good. Today is day three of trying to feel better in what I'm wearing to work and I think I've been doing pretty well. Actually, I feel like I've been doing well so therefore I have. That was the whole goal, wasn't it?

Yesterday I bought into one of the older but still going strong and possibly picking up speed trends. Coloured denim. Say what! They were a bit of a splurge, but I decided on Tuesday that I needed another pair of pants to get me through the upcoming fall/winter/spring months. You know, until such a time as I hopefully fit my old jeans again.

Can I just say I love the internet? Instead of going into the mall and trying to find jeans on my lunch break I looked at Reitmans online and found that they were having a buy get one 50% off sale on their jeans, new stock included. They also had really nice coloured denim, too. It was a big moment for me but I thought, hey, I could do that. I convinced my mom to buy a pair of jeans, too, which meant we both got 25% off our jeans. Suddenly $46 pants were affordable. Even ones in dried fig.

I pretty much exclusively buy my jeans from Reitmans these days. It's kind of an old lady store but they have the best jeans ever. And by the best jeans ever I mean actually the most flattering jeans you will ever try on in your entire life. Unless you wear crop tops or need to tuck your shirt in. Yes, I'm talking about comfort fit jeans. The epitome of grandma jeans at the waist but so flattering because there's no button or zipper to stick out through your shirt.Yeah, up to my belly button is warm and I don't care. I never get plumber's crack with these bad boys. Ever. Because I'm wearing pants as high as my mom used to in the 80s and 90s. The only difference now is that I have shirts that cover them up.

I am in love with my new jeans. Coloured denim. Dang, I'm trendy. The thing is, I got an easy colour to wear. I don't wear a lot of reds so I didn't need to worry about having too many things clash with it. Blues and whites and greens and blacks and greys and maybe even yellows (which, admittedly I don't have a lot of, but someday I might) will all go with them. Now I have better pants to wear blue shirts with. Hurray!

I wonder if they have Reitmans in the states. If they don't, I wonder if they have comfort fit style jeans. If they don't, I wonder how women in the states survive. Seriously, I don't know if I will ever buy normal jeans again.

My dried fig jeans are making their public debut and today right away I felt good about my style decision. Why? Well, the only other female in the office so far today is also wearing coloured denim. We are just so beautiful, all of us. All the time. Always.

Since it was my birthday last week, my mother in law bought me a couple tank tops. Too small. Always too small. They were from Old Navy, though, so I just went in last night right before they closed and asked if they'd let me swap them for a bigger size even though I didn't have a receipt. Not only did they let me exchange them, they let me pick different colours and patterns. They're just really simple, cheap tank tops with a bit of ribbing and lace at the top. Not normally something I would get much use of. Well, the MIL (mother in law, for future reference) bought me kelly green and white. Nice enough colours, but they didn't have my size in the green and I have an identical white one from a year or two ago, also from the MIL. I walked out of there with a cream coloured top with black polka dots and a nice red one with cream (or maybe grey?) polka dots as well. And they fit me wonderfully.

Today I'm wearing my new pants, my new Old Navy tank top, and my new blazer. Yeah, I'm rocking it. Well... except for one thing.

Nail polish is becoming my foe. I though I had it all off last night, but apparently not. Note to self, Urban Planet nail polish is not the good stuff. If it smells like paste, it'll have the consistency of paste.

Case in point, my toenails when I got off work yesterday. I wish I could blame someone else for layering three coats of polish on my toes but that would be wrong. I tried to take the lazy way out and apparently my foot melted in my boots yesterday. Or something. The picture doesn't do it justice, I just forgot to take a better one before I cleaned them up. They're silver now.

Let's talk about fashion. Part 3.

If you've made it this far, congratulations and I applaud you. We're almost there. From here on out it's less about what I wear/want to wear so it might get a bit easier. The title might be a bit misleading, too, but just roll with it.

I've always been unsure as to how much I'd like to share of myself on this blog because it is very out there and available. Then I though, screw it. This next bit is too good not to share.

Once upon a time, I looked like this:

Now I look more like this:

See the difference? Notice the change? Pretty impressive, eh?

That first photo is my grade eight school picture. That second photo is me after I got my stellar hair cut. I love that comparison. People always get such a kick out of it. I'm not sure what exactly I was weighing in at during that point in my life, but I do know that in grade seven I was somewhere above the 190lb weight range. For a 12 year old girl that's pretty impressive. I don't mind sharing that number with you because that isn't me anymore. That was the most I've ever weighed in my life and I hope that I will never weigh that much again. Unless it's pure muscle or something.

Feel free to think whatever you want about 13 year old me because you're probably right. I was an unhappy kid with a giant eyebrow, bad teeth, and the ugliest shirt in the world. I did not know a thing about personal style and wore Costco track pants every day. You could hear me coming halfway across the school with those bad boys.

It was a low point in my adolescence. I was huge. I was weird looking. I was about as awkward an only child as you could imagine. It was very cliched.

Grade eight was a really rough year for me emotionally because I lost all the extra weight. I never got skinny but made it to a more or less age appropriate weight range where I hovered for several years. Why was it so difficult emotionally? Well, when you don't eat for several months your moods tend to have some serious ups and downs, but mostly downs. Now if I don't eat for three hours I have that problem.

Being a new teenager was so fun!

The thing is, I've always carried an awkward self image because of that time. How do you mentally get past those awkward, uncomfortable years? I knew I wasn't attractive, I knew I was different, and I didn't know what to do about it. Even when I was fifteen and was becoming more comfortable in my own skin I knew people didn't find me attractive. My sense of style was all over the place and I wasn't sure if I wanted to fit in or stand out? With green hair you can probably imagine what was going through my head. Well, if I wasn't super skinny and beautiful I could be something else. Something purposefully different.

Grade twelve was when I began to cultivate the look that would carry me through my adult years. I started becoming less of an insecure teenager and more of an adult. I was still an insecure teenager but that was okay because it's impossible not to be an insecure teenager. I didn't feel the hostility towards my body and its shape the way I used to. Sure, there was still the insecurities that come with being a fat 12 year old, but I was getting over it.

Well, now I'm 24. Wow. Half my life ago and seven inches shorter than I am now I weighed forty pounds more than I am today. It's amazing how some of those insecurities will still never leave me.

I actually don't care how much I weigh now. I don't, really. I know that weight is just a number and that it doesn't have a ton to do with your health. Sure I get disappointed when I gain ten pounds for no reason, but it's not what the scale tells me that matters most. It's what my jeans tell me.

So here's the plan. Two years ago I fit smaller jeans than I do now. One size smaller. My goal is to fit those jeans again. I'm not going to stop eating like I did 12 years ago because I would die and my husband might leave me for being a crazy person, but I am going to do it better. I can do better. I can eat better. I can eat less dessert and I can promise to exercise regularly. Heck yes I can.

What does this have to do with fashion? I have so many pairs of skinny jeans that are just begging to be resurrected and brought out of the drawer. I can put so much more of my clothing budget towards other things if I don't need to buy a new pair of pants this fall because my current jeans are wearing out.

To channel Bob the Builder the question is, can we do it? Heck yes, we can!

So why blog about this? What makes you more accountable than putting it in writing for the potential world to see? Nothing, I tell you, nothing at all.

Okay, it's less about fashion than you might have expected but I think it's still relevant. If you've made it this far, you deserve a treat. I recommend coffee. Because I can't have it.

Thanks for reading.

Let's talk about fashion. Part 2.

I find a lot of my self worth in how I perceive I look. I know that sounds petty but it's true and I know I'm not the only person out there who feels that way. Without getting into the whys and the morality of it all, a lot of women, I think, have been taught that being pretty is of the utmost importance. Because I'm a decently well rounded person I don't find all my self worth in how I look, but it plays a big part in my self esteem. I like to feel attractive and I like to be told I look nice. As a woman I know that we make a lot of snap judgments based on someone's appearance whether we mean to or not and as much as there is so much more to a person than what they wear or how they look, I still want to start with my best foot forward. Make sense?

A lot of what I wear depends on how I'm feeling. One day something will make me feel attractive and the next it won't do it for me. It's a complicated clothing relationship that my husband will never understand. Good thing I'm usually still in my pajamas when he leaves for work.

I have a really strong desire, right now, to make more of my wardrobe. If you've ever seen my closet you're probably wondering how that's even possible since it's kind of exploding all over our itty bitty bedroom. Well, that might have a little to do with my clothes hoarding tendencies (books and clothes are the only ones; I swear I have no more hoarding tendencies) and my desire to hold onto a good deal once I have it. How many times have I gotten rid of something only to lament its loss a year later?

When I was in school it was easy to re-wear something during the week because I didn't have the same classes with the same people everyday. Now I have the same work day with the same people five days a week. Sure they're all guys but I still don't want them to think my hygiene is as bad as theirs. Just kidding, I don't pay any attention to what they wear most of the time and I'm sure they're clean people.

I've struggled in the past a little bit with figuring out how fashion can apply to someone like me. I don't have the big money and I certainly don't have the size 0 frame that looks good in every new style out there. So what do I do? How do I make a wardrobe that makes me feel attractive, trendy enough to get by, and comfortable? What is it, exactly, that I'm looking for?

Well, like I said before, I want to feel good in my own skin. I want to feel like I'm bringing my game face (or game wardrobe) daily to the workplace and the rest of my life. That doesn't mean that I'll be dressed up to the max, it just means that I'll be in my comfort zone, happy with what I'm in. If it's jeans, Toms, and a boring shirt, then so be it. I just want to have a wardrobe that says I know what I'm doing and not feel confused and uncomfortable with what I'm wearing. Shoulder pads and all.

One of the ways I'm going to accomplish that, I've decided, is to go to Value Village and try to amp up my cardigan and jean selection. It may or may not work. I'm also going to try to rock the sales racks as back to school shopping is in full force and score some good deals. I am nothing if not a deal finding fiend.

It's funny, last week I decided that I was no longer going to fear fashion blogs. Extreme workplace boredom was the main reason, but finding more realistic places to look on the internet was another. Blogging is not limited to the itty bitty and rich. Clearly. The internet is a big place and there are lots of people in the world willing to talk about their style. 

I was using StumbleUpon a lot last week and somehow ended up on a bunch of different fashion websites. The internet is a grand, weird place. I found The State Street Edit and Still Being Molly. I haven't spent a lot of time looking at them yet, but I was impressed by the fact that they were both normal people showing off their own personal style and that was what made fashion. When I say normal I mean normal in the non-rich person sense.

Hold. The. Phone. It's that easy? Dang. That's what really inspired me to amp it up a bit. That and I also emailed The State Street Edit writer Jessica because I was so curious as to how the fashionable people afford to be so designer brand and fashionable. Her answer was pretty much what I was expecting; she spends a bit more on the big items but is a fiend for a sale just like me. Clearly us attractive girls think alike.

Okay, does all this sound silly? It doesn't matter, because Watching Douglas Street is about whatever pops into my head and however I manage to quasi-coherently get it out there onto the magical internet. I feel no shame.

I don't want to lose your interest, though, if it's starting to wane so I'm going to make this post a three parter. In rapid succession. It kind of makes sense. Visually you might feel like you're more in charge because you can read part 1, stop, take a nap, and then read part 2, stop, have some lunch, and then maybe read part 3. You'll probably need to take another nap after that.

Read on for more exciting goals...