It's almost officially summer. So why am I wearing the exact same clothes I wore in the winter?
I don't have the money to spend on a wardrobe right now. (Conscience: But Kimi, what about all those happy hours and lunches and dinners you went to last week and the week before that? Why don't you use that money towards new clothes?) (Me: Shut up, conscience, you're nothing to me!)
Shopping at the mall right now is equivalent to shopping for a training bra. You see things you need but it doesn't exactly excite you or make you feel genuinely good about yourself. It's a purely economical purchase, void of any intoxicating shopping high which is, of course, part of the magic of shopping in the first place.
Maybe you feel the same way I do. Maybe you don't. And for those who don't, I hate you. Go be bffs with my conscience and do each other's hair and run away to Mars together. Haha, guess what, you can't go to Mars, it would cost a million dollars so joke's on you. Oh, you have a million dollars? Son of a!
Anyway, back to me. If you're feeling like your wallet's on a budget and you're feeling plain, poor, and pathetically un-hip, here are my three morsels of fashion wisdom. Remember, people, they're morsels. No profound tips here. I'm no fashion expert. I'm just offering some cheap alternative ways to spice up a wardrobe on its last breath.
1. Hey, shorty!
Right now it's all about cut off and cuffed denim shorts. I do not have the latter. What I do have is a nice pair of cut-off denim shorts, which I know sounds like I'm from 1985, but they've become a staple for me when I'm lounging at the beach or even when I'm going out and need that one piece to give a nice outfit an indie edge. So where did I get this staple item? Nordstrom? F21? Macys? No. My forgotten pants drawer. I resurrected them with some magic fairy dust and then chopped those suckas up. Now, here's how to make your shorts a fringe* different than the others. I cut them so they were a few inches longer than a normal pair of shorts.
Then, I rolled them up once as high as they could go...
...and folded the top down just an inch so the fringe hung down.
It's kind of a marriage of the cuff/cut-off denim shorts.
2. On the Fringes
I bought this shirt at Pacific Sunwear back in the beginning of spring for $7.
I liked the color and the applique but realized the shirt never came out of my drawer. Why? There was something missing that I couldn't put my finger on. And then one day, it came to me. What it needed, was fringe. So, the scissors made a return and valiantly sliced up the bottom of the t-shirt, and voila....
I wear this shirt all the time now with my cut-off denims.
Survey your plain tees for some fringe potential!
3. Ms. Mix-a-Lot
I bought this simple pretty summer dress from H&M last week, $12.
It's a little long than I'm used to (slut!) but figured it would be useful for work and play. I didn't have a good cardigan/clothing complement to the dress which made me instantly regret tearing off the price tag for fear I had made a poor wardrobe purchase. But without much thought, I decided to try on a light striped V-neck cardigan over top that I bought from Forever 21, which is unconventional of me as I don't usually mix patterns.
But, it proved to be a good move, in my humble opinion, no?
The coral color in both ties it together nicely.
Right now, I only have a pair of gold sandals and accessories to dress it up (see what I did there, I used "dress" as a verb to talk about the noun "dress") but I imagine this outfit would be adorable with some chunky wooden heels or wedges. Add a fun belt or a string of gold necklaces, and ay mami! Like buttah. But, I won't be purchasing any new shoes in the near future so my modest $3 Old Navy sandals will have to do.
So, there you go. My first and probably last stab at dishing fashion tips (from the girl who wears the exact same thing every week). My friend Mandy would probably tear this blog apart (she's the true fashionista) but then again, I don't go around thinking t-shirts that are $150 are "practically free".
About two weeks ago, my dear friend Amanda triumphantly graduated from Suffolk Law School in Boston and was graciously rewarded with a 12-hour day at the immeasurable Ocean Shitty Maryland with yours truly, an hour-long lunch at Hooters, and a sunset dinner at Seacrets overlooking an embarrassing number of over-fed, tribal-tattooed, spiky-haired 30-somethings whom we assumed accidentally wandered into the eating area after some serious audience participation at a neighboring bikini contest.
I imagine it went something like this:
"WOOOOOO! YEAHHHHH! OWWWWWWW! SHAKE IT GIRL!!!" Tribal-tattoo dude throws back a sloppy gulp of his beer just as a passer-by abruptly runs into him, causing him to throw his head forward letting out a string of emphysema-laced coughs and stumble a few paces from his front row spot. He suddenly becomes entranced with a pool of beer that landed perfectly in the middle of his big furry toe and wonders how it's maintained such a flawless circle whilst jerking his body around. He decides to test the liquid's density and carefully points his foot out in front of him. The pool of beer jostled slightly but remained in tact. He laughed a terrible laugh that nearly brought tears to his eyes and downed the rest of his beer while keeping his eyes on his toe. He started walking, eyes down, arms out, weaving in and out of unnecessarily loud conversations and pounding reggae music. He had gone nearly 20 paces without breaking the beer pool when he nearly ran into a very pretty girl with chestnut-blonde hair and a very displeased look on her face. "Watch it, beefer," the girl jabbed with disdain. He snorted. "Beefer..." He smiled and then pointed at his foot. "Look!" He hiccuped. "Look at that." "Look. At. What." The girl's face was frozen with repulsion. "The beer, the toe," he said louder, still smiling. "It's a survivor..." He knew the words sounded familiar, like a song. "It's gonna make it...he's a survivor...she's on survival..." He wondered if this girl knew the same song or if he was just making it up on the spot. He looked at her now disgusted face. "What." He smiled. She was really cute. "First of all, the words are: 'I'M a survivor, not 'it' or 'he'; second of all, that's not beer, it's sand you mother-doucher; the stuff you've been putting your crusty feet in for hours now. I'm surprised the earth hasn't disintegrated under those Flinstones you call toes. Blech." She shivered. "Get lost, Beef." She flicked his forehead rather fiercely and walked away. "Yow," he stumbled back and rubbed his hand over his face vigorously. "Pbbttt, pbbtttt," he shook his head back and forth. "Sand?!" He repeated the word slowly and looked down at his toe, squinting for clarity. The beer he once saw was gone and instead, his feet were just as she had said, covered in sand. "Whattt..." he burped and hiccuped at the same time. His chest hurt. He looked up to see a sea of dining tables and people moving past him with trays of food. He was suddenly hungry. He heard cheering and a voice over a microphone in the distance. It sounded like something he had heard before. He quickly dismissed the thought as he now had an instant craving for a delicious juicy burger, but he had no idea why.
Back to law school and graduation and pseudo-vacations. So, after this very brief celebratory vacay, Amanda is now holed up at her house for a rigorous two months of studying before she takes the notorious beast that is the bar. She studies from 6 in the morning until 9 or later at night all while living with her family (parents and 19-year-old brother) plus a dementia-ed grandmother who Mandy describes as "rebooting every 30 seconds" who thinks she's on vacation by Mandy's mother.
Needless to say, this girl needs some support and love and encouragement. And I'd like her to not kill herself anytime soon. So a care package is in order and ideas are welcome. The more creative the better. You're probably thinking a huge bottle of vodka or equally potent liquor but I don't want to kill her brain cells too much pre-bar or else I'll be on the chopping block. To be continued....
June. June. June. Well, it's officially less than one year until I walk down a graveyard aisle to marry the man of my future half-Korean children (if they come out looking predominantly white, I'm gonna die). For some reason the year mark was like a siren going off in my head where I immediately felt panicked about everything that needs to be done. Basically, I felt exactly like this. In all honesty, there are quite a few decisions-in-waiting and I wish I could place a leave order for a two-week-wedding-planning-session to fully immerse myself in finalizing the bigger priority items, but I don't think that's covered in my work's leave policy.
A theme I've been experiencing as of late, which I feel I've always known in theory, is friends telling me what to expect as a married lady. And the theme has consistently been: it's incredibly difficult; it's a lot of work; with kids, it's added stress, tension, and sacrifices. Again, I have always known this in theory as I've been witness to many marriages/relationships that have faced the best and worst of times, but I think as I'm approaching this reality, its weight as applicable truth is sinking in fast. I worry about us driving each other absolutely crazy (we already do sometimes), I worry about us becoming disenchanted with the other, I worry about us being 30+ and living in my parent's basement, I worry that my "charming" antics will become stale and predictable, I worry that my parents won't ever be able to pronounce his last name right.
I guess there is only so much worrying I can do. When I look out into the landscape that is "Robbey and Kimi" I honestly have no ideawhat to expect. What's visible is what's right in front of me (which is a super size margarita); everything beyond that is a blank canvas. I wish I could say I was prepared but I'm not, and I think that's okay. Not because I have a more than fair amount of time to plan but because I don't think we're supposed to have these things figured out, boxed into a predictable package. The unexpected is a necessary thing to illuminate the joys and pains of such an amazing and wonderful covenant, a promise between two people to be selfless and loyal, champions of the other and for love, exchanging and fusing each one's gifts to serve God and those around them. I'm excited about exploring what this means for me and Robbey. I'm excited for the people we'll become together. I'm excited to understand love more deeply everyday and discover the here-and-there-places God will take us in our short time here on earth.
The moral of this story is that for the next year (and beyond), I'd like you to share your marriage wisdom with me whether from personal or second-hand experience. Also, don't be surprised at my continuous wedding posts or if there is a Jessie Spano-reincarnation freak out by yours truly. Because the truth is, Jessie was right. I amso excited, but I'm also equally scared. No truer words were ever spoken.