a mystery

The other day I was doing the usual: lazing about, looking for black market Chanel bags on craigslist. And, as I always do whilst looking for illegal goods online, I had a stash of treats next to me. So when I reached for my baggie of cereal and tossed a handful of Cap'n Crunch in my mouth . . .

GAG.


I ran to the trash can and spat it out because it was that disgusting. But what was it that made it so nasty? I had to be sure, so yes, I ate some more. STILL FOUL. It tasted like - perfume? How is that even possible?!? I wondered. It's not like I took a bottle of eu de toilette and spritzed it in my ziploc.

Was it in the vicinety when I sprayed a dab on myself earlier? Is this some nasty prank perpretrated by the twins? Nothing added up. So I took another whiff, and sure enough it smelled, and tasted, of CoCo Madmoiselle. The very same Chanel body lotion I had gotten for free earlier at the mall from the class action lawsuit (I hope you took advantage of that, because I know I did. Thank you Macy's AND Nordstrom)!

However, I am convinced that I never stuck my moisturized digits in the goodie bag. I would have thought twice about such a questionable act, because my love of cereal runs deep. So the only possible explanation is that while transporting said bag from room to room, the lotion on my hands SEEPED THROUGH THE PLASTIC and infected all my Crunch. It's the only logical deduction.

Mystery solved.

and the coat finally makes a debut

Dear Universe,

Per one of my serious resolutions, I am writing you a thank you note. It's true that you and I have something of a tenuous relationship. You build me up, you tear me down. I sing your praises, I shake my fist at you. But let's be honest - we like the roller coaster. One moment is ecstasy and the next is fire and brimstone while peals of Satanic laughter rumble through the stormy sky -- but hey, it's rarely boring. Except for right now, actually. I am SO BORED. But that's not what I want to talk about. I want to say thanks. Thanks for one, and hopefully more to follow, day of semi-coldness. Because 80 degree days are hard to dress for in the winter. I mean, I have really limited amounts of thermatically cool winter clothing, and I refuse to wear spring florals in January. Plus I have all these cute jackets I accumulated from living on a frozen tundra for a few winters that I've only pulled out twice since Halloween. So it's about time.

Best regards,
Tara


PS - In the concern I feel for giving you the wrong impression, I also want to add: Keep up the good work with global warming! or "climate change" or whatever they call it these days. Because I loved spending all Monday at the beach and almost getting tan.

"I have depths he'll never plumb, but I know every inch of his wafer thin soul."

I've been in something of an artistic slump as of late. I ran out of Diet Coke, the Golden Globes were boring, and my hair really needs to be cut. And by cut I mean TRIM -- not hacked off by Edward Scissorhands like poor Taylor Momsen:


To assuage the anxiety I feel over my lack of ambition and creativity, I have been focusing most of my energies on how other people look. And since, as stated above, the Golden Globes lacked any serious wackitude to lighten my spirits, I have run back into the loving embrace of fashion reliability: Gossip Girl. Am I alone in this? I have a hunch that there are others who also are craving some trusty fashion to put their troubled minds at ease, and I am here to tell you that it's okay. GIVE IN.

Which brings me to a pressing question:

What would it take to make myself look like: Serena van der Woodsen, with the wardrobe of:

Blair Waldorf?

Could I finagle it with exorbitant amounts of money and Dr. Ray? I am holding out hope. And please in the name of all that is holy, do NOT assume that now is the time to bring up how "media gives women false expectations" and "eating disorders" and that what "really matters" is "inner beauty." Because my eyes do not deceive me - they are HOT. And that is what counts in life. So added to my Things I Need to Pick Up List are Louboutin Peep-Toe heels and a Marc Jacobs blouse.

Maybe I should just start by calling my hair dresser for a cut after all. Baby steps people. Baby steps.

I hate New Years Warriors

Unlike some of my previous roommates, I have never been a real gym zealot. Call me lazy, but the thought of running was about as pleasant as the thought of having the stomach flu. Plus, Gold's Gym on 9th was the Meat Market of Provo. Whenever I went I was flanked by tools in pooka shells and far too much cologne on one side, and bimbos with full hair and makeup done on the other side. Not really my scene.

Now I have had something of a change of heart. A combination of growing obsessiveness in life combined with heavy amounts of boredom have come together to create this phenomena of maniacal health-club attendance. I should also come clean and confess that I sort of stalk this dude who goes at the same time. Not like it's pertinent. Whatever. ANYWAY - I go kind of late so I recognize the other 6 people there. That is, until now. Now that the New Years Warriors are on the loose. And I know that come March they'll be gone, but I'm really annoyed. Who do they think they are, swarming my sanctum of adrenaline and anger management? Unacceptable. And without a solution. Oh Israel/Palestine - I know how it feels to have no solutions!

And to compound grievances, I found a dress in my closet that I got a few months back on a clearance rack at a local boutique. It's a good casual party dress, but I must have had a temporary logic shut-down when I bought it because it is really short. Self, I said, you can just wear black leggings with it, since the dress is pink and black and the combination of fabric and style would work. But I realized the other day when I was looking at it that I don't like leggings. I only own a pair because I wore them to a party once, and the theme of the party called for something a little out of the ordinary. I know that LiLo and other celeb rehab connoisseurs really get into them. But I just have never warmed to them. And a girl who used to be from my home town wrote a much-needed post on What Not to Wear to Church, and I was reminded how deep my dislike of leggings runs.
Well do I remember Blair Waldorf's astute observation: TIGHTS ARE NOT PANTS.

So now I am in a conundrum. How do I wear my short dress without being a skank? Opaque tights - also out of the question. Any ideas for my plethora of problems would be appreciated.

Also, I apologize if I have rained on your Resolutions to work out more. I applaud you, if you can stay with it past Wednesday, so long as it's not at my gym.