Spring Cleaning.

Spring is a fresh start; it’s time for a new leaf. It’s also the ideal time to start working on that bowl of Easter candy that you’ve been eying for the last week. But for me, spring means cleaning. And no, I’m not talking about breaking out the toothbrush and Comet and going to town. Nor would I volunteer to do that. Cleaning products like Windex are only used as ammo against disillusioned insects that think they are going to with a battle…

My cleaning translates into exploring every nook and cranny of my closet. I found my array of bedazzled dogs t-shirts from Old Navy among other elementary treasures. As precious as a hologram of a Golden Retriever plastered to a hot pink crewneck might be, I need to refresh my hangers with something substantial.

 My recipe for the season is one part texture, one part whimsical print, and three parts spontaneity. Add a pinch of pastels, retro silhouettes, and a little shine and we’re halfway there. My spring muses:

ModCloth Shades of Spring Dress

Chloé pleated silk-crepe dress

French Connection Garden Beads Dress



Marc Jacobs scalloped organza dress



French Connection Siera Shell Top



Diane von Furstenberg Eva Scarf Platforms in Sea Dust



Swash Curiosity printed silk-chiffon scarf



DANNIJO Tayanna Earrings



Uncommon Objects.

After witnessing my favorite cameo vintage necklace slither into the abyss of my bathroom sink, I now appreciate my jewelry. It only took two hours of panicking, numerous face palms, ad one frustrated father to retrieve my prized possession. I couldn’t decide if I was in utter disgust or elation when I saw the dainty gold chain tangled in snake of black sludge. Delicious.

I guess I could sum up my melodramatic anecdote with this: find a signature piece of jewelry that exhibits your style. More importantly, don’t let it become a victim of a hungry street sewer or bathroom plumbing.

Above: The survivor, rhinestone studded art deco earrings, and antique gold clip on earrings from Austin’s Uncommon Objects.

Cruise Control.

Yes, yes may I state the obvious: I need a vacation. I feel like I’m barely slipping by the tedium with a weekly dose of Millionaire Match Maker reruns. At least I can relish in my nonexistent romantic life with the security of knowing that there are still a handful of Ed Hardy loving-tanning-obsessed-my-hair-dresser-serves-dually-as-my-psychologist/psychiatrist single women out there and, I still have time. It’s not completely hopeless.

All I have been telling my friends about is my imaginary cruise trip to the Bahamas and the plot of the last four seasons of Ugly Betty. In the episode “Bahamas Triangle,” Betty flies to the Bahamas to work for Wilhelmina and rekindles her love for her boss, and ex, Matt.* In retrospect, I have been nothing but a human IMDB. I love that show with my whole heart. I’m not going to lie to you; I did shamelessly blubber under my blanket when the last episode ended. This was my daily addiction for the last three months (more about this later).

The stream of questions running through my mind: When can I lounge around sipping a pina colada (complete with dollar-store umbrella) during “Island Time?” Where will I get the funds for this personal mandate of relaxation?  Why haven’t I been graced with a free vacation from a 4:00 am infomercial? Why did Ugly Betty have to end?

None of these inquiries have had an answer and have been met with a tinge of irritation from my perpetual paradise talk.

While I was pseudo-planning my vacation through RoyalCarribean.com, I stumbled upon Christian Dior’s Cruise 2011 Collection. Brilliance. FINALLY someone understands the appeal of a getaway (thank you, John Galliano).

A light wash of pastels, delicate ruffles and bows, and matching handbags give the collection a whimsical and windswept charm. The coordinating purses and 1960s-esque bouffant emit a vintage Parisian undertone. The soft palette of sage, coral, lilac, and bubble gum pink add a flirty touch to the chiffons and tulle.

My visions of lush aqua waters might not be in the near future, but at least Betty and Dior have my back!

*Watch the show. You’ll be addicted, too.

Think Pink.

I’m in Middle of Nowhere, Texas, waiting for my dad to pick out a sack of Rio Star Grapefruits from a makeshift farmer’s market on our way back from a 14 hour drive from Atlanta. You know that road trip feeling. You find French fries wedged in the seats. Wendy’s was it? Or was it the Sonic stop? The symptoms of restless leg syndrome are becoming unbearable. If I hear one more country music lyric, I will gut the stereo.

I wanted to be one of those grapefruits: exquisitely fresh, juicy, and invigorating. So when I finally received the chance to treat myself to a well deserved shower to remove the notorious traveler’s sludge, I indulged in The Body Shop’s Pink Grapefruit Scrub from my Christmas stocking.

My friends and I joke about having an overabundance of “bath trash,” the wide variety of lotion, bubble bath, and body glitter accumulated throughout birthdays and Christmases that consumes every corner of your cabinets.

This scrub is not bath trash, folks. It is the best thing I have ever smelled (appropriately sold out on the Body Shop site).

I had a hard time believing that the scrub wasn’t edible. Curiosity killed my common sense. I dipped my fingers in the offering of glowing pink putty for a taste.  I wouldn’t recommend it.

Despite its disagreeable flavor, the scrub gave my skin a dewy shimmer and the scent of a luscious ruby grapefruit. My sister thought I cut a grapefruit and rubbed it all over myself; I took offense. Then again, I would do something like that.

The scrub was too tempting. Watching Ugly Betty and enjoying a grapefruit half dusted with sugar was the best way to spend my last evening of winter break. Time to make way for my new favorite “bath treasure.”

A Modern Marie.

What could be the perfect finish to a wonderful weekend?

 Why, Marie Antoinette of course!

I had brought a suitcase full of Marie Antoinette-inspired clothing and accessories for a morning photo shoot with my fellow blogger, Emily and Maggie. We scoured our closets as well as Emily’s sewing room  for some interesting pieces to layer: vintage prom dresses, flouncy skirts, gold ribbon, antique brooches, massive feathers, and even my mom’s 90s bridesmaid heels. After three hours of coordinating outfits, powdering our hair excessively in the shower, and applying a week’s worth of blush onto our pancaked  faces, we were ready to frolic and fan 18^th century style.

Emily was “Pastry Marie”, and I was “Garden Marie." Maggie’s haute red dress was ideal for Madame du Barry, Louis XVI’s notorious mistress.  We popped bottles of sparkling cider in the sun, feasted on grapes, and sprawled across our fantasy French countryside. It was truly liberating –a lavishly lackadaisical reverie of a queen’s life. All we needed was Sofia Coppola’s nod of approval, and we were there.

  

On a humorous note, a senior citizen on his afternoon jog whipped out his

 Iphone and started snapping pictures of our shoot. A modern Marie would declare that every queen needs her paparazzi peasants!

Photos courtesy of Debbie and Emily Sewell

Empire State of Mind.

For living in suburbia, visiting downtown Houston is a special treat that I only encounter a few times a year. If it were up to me, I would go everyday during the summer to entertain myself with some sort of mini adventure that would break the monotony of the movie theatre or Sonic. Sadly, my mom is "not too crazy about" the prospect of me driving downtown. Me behind the wheel? Totally not scary at all.

I made you think about it, didn't I? You can trust me, though. I can decipher the amateur driver sightings of  fresh green from a point of no return. I have been didactically ordered to shout the slurred chaos of "SNIPER-CHARGER LEFTRIGHTCENTERPEEK-BACK" [insert pseudo Texan accent] by my driving school. You would think they would just let you drive without the verbal baggage of acknowledging every corner you turn and every hue of the stoplight you see. It's a longstanding joke between my friends that will never lose value.

Let me not veer off the road. 

Empire Cafe is my destination. My friend Sarah and  I had been craving the ultimate refreshment, the "Mojito Limonada" for months. We basically drove 45 minutes for a sip of this seriously amazing concoction of sugar, limes, and fresh mint. To my dismay, the cashier tersely told me they had ran out of mint. It's not like you can make this at home either. Imagine sugar strewn across the floor, a bloodied finger thinking you could chop mint like you are the great Martha, and worst of of all, lost faith in the I-can-totally-whisk-crap-together-and-make-it-edible department. I guess lemonade would have to suffice.

We all shared the "Dips of the World," a plate of warm pita slices with a Tuscan marinara, black bean dip, and Mediterranean spinach dip. I was slightly disappointed that the dips were the size of shampoo caps despite the $6 price tag. The spinach dip was the favorite. I could have snacked on it all day. I'm obsessed with sauces and dips of kinds.

My other friend Lydia (my twin from another life) ordered the Margherita pizza. Sarah and I made it obvious that we would devour her leftovers if she graced us with a slice for the hungry. She did. SO GOOD.  

                                      

 I ordered the eggplant panini and the cream of potato soup. Both were wonderful; the panini came on this delish focaccia bread with basil pecan pesto, slices of grilled eggplant, and caramelized onions. Really hearty with a hint of sweetness.  I would nix the greens, but that's just me. The soup was equally tasty.

Posing my food for a photoshoot despite the quizzical/disapproving stares from customers

I was at a slight disadvantage because I received my meal  last (I am the slowest eater EVER). Sarah's prompt and wonderfully blunt statement of "the stores are closing soon so we might want to pick up the pace" accompanied with her classic hand gestures meant it was time to start savoring the last bites. She keeps me in check. We got a slice of the massive tollhouse cake to go for dessert on our way to the Galleria; I can say it rekindled my love of homemade icing and natural desserts (sorry boxed cakes...you have had your fair share of glory moments!)

The aftermath.

If you have not tried the Empire Cafe in Houston on Westheimer (in between Shepherd and Montrose), now is your chance. It's in a wonderful location with a fresh spin on casual cuisine that should not be overlooked.     

   
  
    

No garlic needed.

This is more of a glog (gush blog) than a true post today.
Yes, I’m veering off into my personal life. But, I should. This topic deserves its own praise.

IN 18 DAYS I WILL BE SEEING VAMPIRE WEEKEND IN CONCERT.

This was the fruit of many efforts, including memorizing all the lyrics to California English from habitual listening and telling my mom to take the ticket money out of my savings account. I can’t deny that I got a rush of teenage hormonal excitement when I zapped the CONFIRM button on the online ticket. Because I totally did.

I never like all the songs an album puts out. But since the first day of last summer, I can easily say that Vampire Weekend has been my counterexample! Their album is my sleep playlist; I’ve even had dreams of being their back-up dancers. You could imagine my sheer disappointment when I realize that I’m not jamming to Mansard Roof but stuck in a cocoon of blankets with a I-have-sweaters-on-my-teeth feeling. Sigh.

There is a long list of exactly why I am so excited. Maybe it’s the sick instrumentals, their understated prep vibe, or their degrees from Columbia. Not to mention their deliciously infectious lyrics and array of sunglasses. It’s a combination of all it. Plus, lead singer Ezra Koenig doesn’t hurt (and that’s a definite understatement!)

You can’t call something like that hot. It’s just not appropriate. Haute is suitable. Beautiful. Gorgeous. ______ (any adjective your heart desires!)

But I can’t just mention Ezra. Rostam Batmanglij (keyboardist), Chris Baio (bassist), and Chris Thomson (drummer) are all super-talented. I also love Discovery, Rostam’s experimental electronic group (check out So Insane and Swing Tree). Baio is also a DJ. Lawd knows how many late nights I have spent tweet-stalking them. It’s a hardcore obsession, folks.
  

In a nutshell, these guys are brilliant. If you haven’t heard their latest album, Contra, I highly suggest you purchase it or snag a copy from a friend. You won't be disappointed.