I'm Enthusiastic About: My Ombré (a.k.a "Took You Long Enough, Nami")

So, I gotta tell you, after some serious mishaps throughout my life (trying out Sun-In in middle school and showing off a head of brassy grossness, platinum blonde that was so damaged, it was practically melting off in high school, letting various friends in hair school use me as a color guinea pig - "awesome, let's totally destroy my hair!" - a foray into self-dyeing 2.5 years ago that was the hair equivalent to suicide, and much, MUUUUCH more), I had called it quits with coloring my hair for a loooong time.

But ever since my vow to finally grow my hair longer (it had been short for 80% of my life), I started getting the itch. You know the one. The "if I don't do something with my hair soon, I'm gonna F.R.E.A.K.O.U.T." itch. It had gotten to the point where experimenting with bangs and different layers was not cutting it (was that a pun? That was totally a pun.) So, I made my move.


Sunday Styles no. 51 (a.k.a OMG. Harem Pants?!)

Oh, this one's a doozy. So, here I am on a beautiful Sunday. It's warm and sunny and I'm really ready to go out and relax...or stay in and relax...maybe kinda do some stuff. Above all...I want to relax. (I'm hoping I got that point across to you.)

So, what better way to do that than to wear something that kind of feels like you're not wearing pants, but isn't so free flowing (skirts) that you have to be careful about sitting, standing, crossing your legs...all that stuff.

Well, I've gone and accomplished that thing I've been wanting to accomplish for a long time...(yes, another one of my silly quests.)

Ladies and gentlemen, I found harem pants that don't make me want to crawl under a figurative fashion rock. Enter these babies. Drop-crotched enough to be a harem pant, but not so much that you look like you may have had an accident in your pants or that you're trying to hide a 2 day old diaper. (Wow, gross visual, Nami.)

Extra points: For those of us less endowed in the posterior & hip area, - in short, me - these help make you look curvier. Hurrah!

After searching around for a pair that works (oh, I had so many failures, I can't even tell you...and so many appalled looks from Charles), I happened upon these yesterday after stuffing a burger in my face. I find shopping after you eat a big meal is a good way to gauge how things fit comfortably. I've learned my lesson after buying high-waisted pants while hungry and almost busting a zipper post-meal. (Uncomfortable stomach pressure? Sign me up!...on opposite day!)

There are a few points to be made about finding a flattering harem pant for someone of my height & stature. Here are some facts based on extensive, self-reflective research:


What NOT to Wear: Las Vegas

So, clearly, I've been shirking my blogging duties...but, but, but...I have a good excuse! Ya see, I was all set to write a Sunday Styles post on, well, Sunday.

BUT here's the thing.
Vegas happened.

Yep, I was all ready to write a post about what I wore in Vegas for Charles' birthday celebration weekend (which included TWO wardrobe changes in less than 12 hours), but things like romance, the sweet room upgrade our super-helpful concierge (GWEN at the Tropicana!!! We love you!) gave us (THERE WAS A HOT TUB IN THE BEDROOM AND I TOTALLY JUMPED RIGHT IN THE MINUTE WE GOT SETTLED), eating too much (OMG, Sage was delicious), getting tired too early, and putting all my energies into going to see Nervo that evening at Hakkasan (who were tremendous, by the way, and incredibly accommodating by letting us stay in the DJ booth area with them - thank you, Charles & our friend Justin, for that very much needed perk) kinda put the kibosh on that. (Holy parentheses.) I didn't even pull my laptop out once. Also, complete sidenote, I have the biggest girl crushes on those Nervo girls! Like, HUGE, people.

Ok, anyway, yes...the post didn't happen as you can see from a very clear lack, posting.

But I did learn a very important lesson while I was in Vegas and that is what one shouldn't wear to the club.

Let me explain...


The Unthinkable: Washing My Face Once a Day

Ok, so I'm a clean-freak. Aside from a string of late, late, laaaate nights in college and a handful of nights in my twenties, I've never skipped washing my face before bed. Same with washing my face in the morning. After, more or less, recovering from many years of bad skin in high school and college (thanks, hormones...and by "thanks" I mean "I hate you"), I vowed to always wash, day and night to rid my face of any lurking bacteria that may cause another pimple. Scrubs, masks, lather...all of it.

Of course, in recent years, I've evolved into things like welcoming oil as a cleanser (to combat my "it's oily...and yet, it's dry" skin), moved from harsh scrubs to rice powder, and turned to gentle, barely-lathering cleansers.

But something has happened and I'm going next-level on the less-is-more ladder, people. (I have to calm down with all these hyphens. I think I use hyphens when I'm excited.)

So, get this. I've stopped washing my face in the mornings.

I KNOW. Crazy, right?


I'm Enthusiastic About: Tatcha's Camelia Nourishing Lip Balm

Ok, so if you read this blog, you know that I'm constantly questing after things. Recently, I thought I had found the lip balm of my dreams...and I did...for night time. Alas, the lip balm was a bit too thick for daytime and with even the slightest breeze, I was left with half my hair stuck to my mouth. (My husband loves driving with the windows down...and I love it too. I'm like the human equivalent to an over-excited dog when he rolls them down and I get that shot of Cali sun...except for the whole hair-lip issue.) The sun in my face. The wind in my hair. My hair on my lips...not cool.


Sunday Styles no. 50

So, I make it a point not to rub the frostbitten noses of my east coast friends and family in the lush, sunny, dry, warm beautifulness that is Los Angeles in January...despite the occasional jabs at Angelenos that I get from my Brooklynite comrades and Lower East Side buddies.

Hey, people, I lived 29 of my (almost) 33 years on the east coast, the latter years split between Brooklyn and Manhattan proper. I've battled snowstorms, April showers, humid summers...all of it. I didn't leave NYC because I hated it. I left because my now-husband threw a ring on it, I had the job that could be done remotely, and I felt like I needed a change.


Quote of the Week: Resolutions

While everyone else is writing up their epic novels about what they're going to accomplish in 2014, I'm busy trying to unpack delivered boxes (of my own things from my parents' place - sorry, not anything glamorous), make it to a dentist appointment (across town in LA - a.k.a potential for massive traffic), and cook dinner (in hopes of not ordering delivery every day). I'm lucky if I have enough time to peruse my favorite website or read the book of short stories I've been slowly chipping away at for more than 10 minutes.


I'm Enthusiastic About: My A.P.C. High-Heel Boots

So, I've been on, what seems like, an unending quest to find the perfect heeled ankle boot...

True, there are many, many, maaaaany pairs out there. Practically every store has at least one pair lurking in the shoe section and it took months of trial and error to find a pair that fit both my "I'm only buying quality investment pieces from here on out" philosophy (which I'm still trying to adhere to, despite the torturously fast turnaround of beautiful trends flitting about) and my "I don't wanna go broke" mantra.


Sunday Styles no. 49

Well, hello there and happy new year to you!

Sorry for the long break, everyone, but I realized I wanted to take some time to refocus (literally & figuratively) and not stare at a laptop screen for more than I had to during my holiday break. That and spend some time with family and friends back in New York and New Jersey and have some quality time with Charles that didn't entail us sitting on a couch, both working. (Turns out simultaneous working doesn't count as "quality time," though we did a lot of it in 2013.)

Meanwhile, here we are. 2014.