Tag Archives: beauty

Virtual shopping trip!

Remember how I mentioned that, after an afternoon of feeling my pants cut into my miserably bloated stomach, I decided to take the leap and buy some maternity jeans?

And remember how I said that I imagined I was taking you all with me? Well, I’ve finally put together the pictures I took of myself in the dressing room at Target.

Wow, that sounds really . . . narcissistic.

But it was really more like Let’s Play Pretend–instead of shopping alone, I just pretended to be shopping with all of you! You lady-types, that is. I even had a couple imaginary conversations with you. In one of them, you kept me safely away from an XXL top that I really loved but . . . well, as you may have guessed, was just a leetle too baggy on me (thanks by the way for saving me the $15!).

So let’s set the scene: there I was at work after eating a lot of fries, and my stomach was not feeling very happy. “These jeans are really giving me an edge!” it whined. “Isn’t there a way you could make me happier by just . . . you know. Spending a little money? For a good cause? Make that a great cause?”

It all seemed to make sense (stomachs have a lot of persuasive power over the pocket book–what can I say). And at that moment, all plans of waiting until Rummage to buy maternity clothes on the cheap just seemed ridiculous, like a completely foolhardy fantasy. The time to shop was clearly now.

So as soon as late afternoon hit and things had calmed down at work, I locked up the office and hit the road. Hopped on the bus, hopped on the train . . . (fast forward 25 minutes) . . . and walked into Target! Once inside, I sped like a madwoman towards the maternity section–but not too fast to grab a few flowy tops off the clearance rack on my way over, mind you. I never go too fast for the clearance rack. Securely hidden away in the dressing room, I whipped off my clothes, put on a striped maternity tank, and pulled on the first pair of maternity jeans.

(by the way, I wish I could say that little belly is the little baby . . . but no. Just fries.)

Why have I heard so many negative things about maternity jeans?

They are sooooo fine. And by that I mean . . . sooooo comfy. Why doesn’t everyone wear them, pregnant and non-pregnant alike?

Well, it might be because of this:

AaaaaAAACK!

It’s frightening. I know. In fact, some of you ladies in the dressing room let us small yelps of shock.

But just pull down your top and the frightening part goes away. And the comfy part comes back. And all is well again.

Let’s see how they adjust when I really pooch out my belly big time.

Yes, I make a duck face every time I pooch out my belly. Why . . . don’t you?

At this point, I was pretty much sold on the pantalones. I have to say, I do prefer pairs with the shorter maternity band (that doesn’t cover the whole stomach), which is what I went for with pair #2. But later on, I discovered you can also just fold down the extra long stretchy part, and if the bottom of it peaks out, it just looks kind of like a navy blue tank.

Pair #2 unfortunately didn’t get photographed very much. But I really love them. In this picture they look a little baggy around the top–and they do scrunch a little–but for some reason that doesn’t bother me. Maybe because they’re a very tapered dark wash, which makes them look skinnier overall. And if you’re doubting, don’t–because at the time, you totally approved.

Trust me–I was there.

Then it was time to move on to the flowy tops.

I know this an XXL . . .

 . . . but it’s supposed to be flowy and oversized, so it might work, right???

Wrong.

Not even with the belt tied on? I wondered, trying to hang on to one last vestige of hope.

Not even with the belt, you said firmly.

Thank you for being the voice of reason in my head. Sometimes reason flees in the dressing room–but this time it prevailed. I should always shop with you guys.

Moving on!

This little number–not a success.

Not even picture worthy.

Next item! A flowery thingamaging, part dress, part shirt.

I love it (and I’m still sporting the 2nd pair of maternity jeans here–love those too).

Love it, love it, love it. The print feels a little retro, and the fit is spot on.

It made me grin my dorkiest of grins. And it might even be able to accomodate the growing Little Wa-Wa. Put ‘er in the cart!

Next: a cheap black miniskirt with a very stretchy waistband, perfect for my needy belly.

Not bad! Especially when I add my favorite find of the day, this jacket.

One of my favorite parts about the jacket? The lining in the sleeves.

See? No, I’m not just awkwardly hugging my torso–I’m trying to show you the sleeves. They’re polka dot on the inside.

Last item up! A flowy printed blouse with butterflies all over it.

It’s so drapey and lovely.

And the little braided belt is the perfect touch.

I love how everything is going together: the shirt, the skirt, even the jacket . . .

Walking out with a complete outfit is always much more fun than leaving with rampantly individual pieces that refuse to be combined.

Finally, as I left the dressing room, I asked the attendant with a longing voice “You wouldn’t happen to have this one flowy dress/shirt thing in a small? I only saw it in an XXL on the rack . . .” I let my voice trail off and radiated my most hopeful expression in her direction.

She reassured me she would check in the back.

A couple minutes later, I had the small in my hand.

Yeeessssss! It fit great. Being a nincompoop, I didn’t take a picture–but I promise it worked.

By the way, is that how you spell “nincompoop”? It looks kind of . . . odd. Too many n’s and o’s and p’s, or something.

Anyway.

Thanks, friends, for shopping along with me! On the upside, it was fun to record the shopping experience on purpose so that I could ‘take you along’–but on the downside, there did end up being a lot of images of my mug plastered all over this webpage. And I mean a lot. Possibly more than in any other post ever written. So based on the pros and cons, is this experience something you’d like to repeat some day? Or will you run the other way as fast as possible when I utter the word “dressing-room”?

Hugs to you all!

BYOB Pedicure

For my birthday a couple weeks ago, my friend Carrie took me to Arbre Nail Spa to get my first pedicure ever.

I know . . . 28 years old and not a single pedicure. I’ve also never had a manicure–not even for my wedding–I know some of you are shivering in horror. Don’t try to hide it.

It was BYOB–Bring Your Own Birthdaygirl. So Carrie brought me! Thanks Carrie.

Oh, and you can also bring some of this stuff:

White, girly, delicious wine.

In the spirit of documenting the experience, I started with a picture of my feet pre-pedicure.

I know that some people out there have a thing about feet. They don’t like ’em. They don’t like to look at ’em. They get uneasy when people start taking off their footwear. If that’s you: you certainly do not want to keep scrolling down. Because it’s all about the feet today.

My callouses were a little out of control, as you can see in this unflattering close up.

That’s one uuuugly sole right there.

We carefully chose our colors. Here’s the old red color on Carrie’s toes:

Yes, I think this new shade will look fab, girlfriend.

After waiting for two seats to free up next to each other, Carrie and I adjourned to the little foot-soaking station. The chairs vibrated and massaged you with little rollers. There’s even a personal remote control for your chair! Man, the things I’ve been missing.

Soaking, scrubbing, buffing, lotioning–it all felt great. I even got a calf massage–it was fierce, painful, and wonderful all at once.

Carrie looked like she was in severe pain for about half of her pedicure. Then it turned out that she’s just severely ticklish.

Conclusion: I loved it. However, I can’t get addicted to it because it costs something known as ‘money,’ ‘green ones,’ or ‘hard cash.’

The results were lovely, though. My feet have never been more beautiful. Of course, you can’t tell because this picture turned out dark and weird-looking.

No, I didn’t paint my toenails black. It’s a deep, gorgeous red. But the lighting at the back of the spa was all wrong.

Callouses = no longer terrifying.

I’m thinking once per year should be enough to keep me feeling appropriately decadent.