Have you ever wished you could get DRUNK but still be a productive as you would be SOBER????
I spotted a little person and it got me thinking…how do little people find pants to wear? Where do they shop? Is there a little people store? Do they buy regular pants and get all their pants hemmed…? Because that would get expensive to have to get every single pair of pants you own hemmed!
In my next life I really hope I come back as a Victoria’s Secret Model. I want to wear big angel wings and walk down a runway in 6” heels with an amazing bod while Rihanna sings in really bitchin pearl shades.
I mean, can I say I’m just a little envious sitting here in my PJs and glasses eating a brownie while I watch these gorgeous women – some of them even mothers! – strut down the runway in pieces of art for clothing. I imagine myself blowing a kiss to the audience as I head backstage to drink champagne and get a picture with the Biebs.
Omg, where did I go wrong in my life?
I’m just kidding. I mean, sort of. Though I do sometimes wonder what my life would be like if I were prettier. Or if I had a better personality. But instead I was a born a hairy bad-tempered Italian with major anxiety. #awesome
I’ve watched the VS Fashion Show every year since 2005, the year Tyra retired, except last year. Last year I was just coming out of the PPD, and I didn’t have it in me to sit and watch these perfect specimens…the freaky hot chicks with big boobs, concave stomachs and seemingly good personalities.
This year I was up to it though. And as always, the 2012 show did not disappoint. Victoria’s Secret always adopts the “go big or go home” mentality and this year was no exception. I found the show to be entertaining as always, but it’s not like it left me wanting to race out to Victoria’s Secret to buy some lingerie because let’s face it, that would be depressing.
Some quick thoughts on the 2012 Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show:
- My favorite angel is Miranda Kerr.
- RiRi’s “Diamonds” performance was amazeballs. It gave me chills.
- Bruno Mars and the Biebs also performed. According to CBSnews.com the Biebs was cozying up with Hungarian model Barbara Palvin after the show!
- Alessandra Ambrosio has the honor of wearing the $2.5 million “Fantasy Bra” created by London Jewelers.
- Erin Heatherton is a fellow Chi-Town girl and was actually born and raised in Skokie, IL.
I don’t really have anything else to report….I mean, it’s hot chicks walking around with music playing….I’m pretty sure you know what it’s all about. Did you watch? What did you think? Who is your fave Angel?
A friend recently shared a blog with me. She thought as a writer I would appreciate the writing style and humor. Or wait. Maybe she thinks I wear Mom Jeans.
No, it can’t be number two because I don’t buy my jeans at Old Navy.
Thank the Lord.
Go read this article so that you can be sure you’re not wearing Mom Jeans. It’s a cardinal sin. I mean, do you want to end up single because your husband thinks you have two asses? I don’t either. So read on.
I like to sell and shop at this resale shop by my work – Clothes Attic’d for you locals – and I spied a pair of True Religion jeans last week.
The jeans were my size but cost $55.
need want a pair of new jeans, and I’d been thinking about heading to Express to make my purchase. No, not because of the article I shared with you, so no, I do not wear Mom Jeans because I’ve been buying Express jeans all along!
That said, while they aren’t the most expensive jeans out there I’m still buying diapers (damn kid does NOT want to go on the potty) so jeans for Mom aren’t really something on the list….
I thought: I don’t feel like trying these on…I don’t feel like paying $55 for used jeans…nah.
Then I had a dream about them.
Side note: If I see something while I’m shopping and I think I like it but I’m not sure if I do I hold out. Then I see if I have a dream about said item. If I DO dream about it then it means I must go back and get it. If I don’t dream about it then I don’t really want it. True story. It works!
I’ve obviously heard of the brand True Religion but I had no clue what the jeans retailed for. I did a quick Google search. Holy cow! $250. Well, $55 is quite a steal then.
On my lunch break I head over to Clothes Attic’d and figure if the jeans are still on the rack it’s a sign from God.
Jeans are there. Yippee!
I go to the fitting room to try them on.
They look good in the front…flared…I love the flare trend by the way and am so glad its back in style.
I turn around to check out my derierre in the mirror.
2 minutes inside Jlee’s head: How do the pockets look? Are they the right size? I think my butt looks good? Does my butt look good? Can I make returns here? I like these now, but what if I get home and decide my butt doesn’t look good? What if they’re [insert the horror music] Mom Jeans! Oh my gosh, what do I do? What did the article say again? Oh my gosh, I can’t remember. Should I look it up on my phone?
I decide to take a picture. Of my ass. In the mirror.
I take out my phone. OK, I’ll send this to my friends and say “How’s my ass?”
I mean, this is important! They’ll understand. They’ll drop everything and respond.
I discover it’s really hard to take a picture of your backside in the mirror. After this awful attempt I decided this wasn’t going to work.
I could walk out of the fitting room…yeah…I could walk up to the checkout and ask the ladies.
“Um…hi…can you tell me how my ass looks? See, I’m really concerned that these may be Mom Jeans. I’m actually having a panic attack in the fitting room. I popped a Xanax and decided to come out here and ask you. So, here, I’ll turn around. Um…so how does my ass look?”
But, I did actually do this, only I didn’t pop a Xanax. I didn’t come out wearing the jeans. And I didn’t ask them how my ass looked. So I guess I really didn’t actually do as mentioned above, but when I went to the checkout I did start babbling incessantly about Mom Jeans and can I return these jeans if they are in fact Mom Jeans and how I read this article about Mom Jeans … I was going on and on. I needed a Xanax.
I came back to work and tweeted the article to the Owner, who did say I have seven days to return said jeans, but also told me that True Religion is a great brand and basically cannot be Mom Jeans. Like it’s an oxymoron. Still feeling a bit unsure I made the purchase and said I would go home and check out my ass in the comfort of my own home.
And you know I would also ask all my friends, my husband, my mom….Mom Jeans are not something to mess around with.
Well asking my husband is useless because he likes my ass in anything, or preferably in nothing, and he was more than excited to be my photographer. I told my girlfriends I feel like the True Religion jeans pockets are too long. What do you think?
These are the exact texts:
My friends received four pictures of my ass. They lucked out because my husband insisted on taking about 20, then asked to take some with the jeans off which I scoffed at saying, “We’re not doing a photo shoot, we’re doing research. Blog research. This is important!”
He just doesn’t get it.
I then proceeded to check out chicks asses all weekend long. In line at Dunkin Donuts, at the grocery store, at the gas station…my husband was even checking out asses and giving feedback. He even asked a chick where she got her jeans from. Yeah, it was embarrassing.
I still haven’t made a final decision and time is running out.
Awesome friend’s response: “I like the True Religion a lot!!!! Ur ass looks great girl, i swear!!”
What do you think?
I’ve always thought of myself as a very fashionable person.
It started in high school when I brought back bell bottom jeans for a short time in 10th grade.
Then during my college years my sorority sisters got me into the “sorority girl” uniform of Express’s black pants and sexy tanks to go clubbing in.
Then I entered the work force, and hit some missteps along the way.
Once, at 22 I tried to go to work in a shiny gold Express spaghetti tank (from my sorority days) and my supervisor asked me if I came to work straight from the bar. Umm…sorry you’re like 50 and have no fashion sense at all, I thought. [Eye roll]
Then I bought this fab plaid skirt at the Guess store. I couldn’t afford the matching plaid jacket so I opted for a cute white button down. I remember going into the office feeling like a hot preppy. My boss asked me if I was going to an afternoon tennis match. I think it was the flip-flops.
I went to an interview once in open-toe shoes when I was 23. Do people really judge you based on the shoes you’re wearing? Especially when they totes matched my lucky business suit (I still own it and wear it, and it is still lucky!) perfectly and it was a 95 degree day? I didn’t get that job. In fact, the interviewer gave me a tip. “Don’t ever wear open toe shoes to a job interview.”
All lessons learned along the way….
Once I hit 30 I thought I had it all figured out. But, I’ve still hit some stumbling blocks here and there. I remember when I wrote the post Fashion Conscious. Wow, that sparked some negativity during a time when I thought I was OK, but I wasn’t. It was a very dark time in my life when I was trying to pretend like I had it all pulled together, but for realz I was about to lose it at any given moment. And then I actually did lose it.
I remember reading a gal’s comment on Fashion Conscious and thinking: ‘Wow, I’ve really been so off base about myself for soo long.’ Like I thought I looked good, and I thought I dressed well, and I thought that was me, that was like a part of my identity, but like Cher Horowitz finally said: “I was just totally clueless!”
As was I.
As I got better though a few things changed:
1. I decided it’s OK to be me. I like fashion and celebrities and that doesn’t make me a bad person.
2. To each their own. Some people find their fashions at Kmart (umm…Sofia Vergara has a line there!) and others opt for Von Maur (my FAVE) and others opt for Bergdorf Goodman. Fashion is your own art form, and if you put it together well and wear it with confidence you’ll be fashionable.
3. It’s OK to laugh at yourself. We’ve all worn that outfit that we thought we looked sooo good in. And then we look back on it and think what was I thinking? We burn all the pictures and ask our friends how they ever EVER let us go out dressed like that.
4. I don’t have all the fashion answers, and I need to stop pretending like I do. Does anyone? Isn’t it all relative? I wonder about trends and brands like anyone else. Case in point, I just had a debate with friends today about Victoria’s Secret’s ‘Pink’ collection. When are we just too old to sport ‘Pink’?
After my Cher Horowitz “totally clueless” moment I stumbled on a great website that I love: Thirty-Something Fashion. I was religiously reading this website, and now I sadly only check back from time to time since I work full time and am writing more.
But, the gal who writes this website, Carly, is so beautiful on the inside and on the outside. I remember reading her blog and thinking, ohmigosh, this girl totes has money because she’s wearing all these fab designers … and I think I’m cool wearing Juicy Couture. Omg, I’m sooo lame.
But now, I revert back to #1. IT’S OK TO BE ME! And it’s OK for you to be YOU.
In saying that I do love Carly’s fashion and would love her entire wardrobe. Maybe when my book sells I can hire Carly as my stylist and walk the red carpet to the premiere of my made-for-TV movie. ”Dare to dream, Ms. Woods, dare to dream.”
Side note: I had a conversation with a friend recently. He asked me who would play the main characters in my TV movie. I said Rob Lowe would play the antagonist (King Douche Bag), and Jennifer Love Hewett would play me.
Now Jennifer Love is super annoyinggggg, but,,,I started to think about it, and I can be a bit annoying myself and I’m a bit of a spaz so it does make sense! He thought Rachel Bilson. Hmm…
So, anyways, I don’t know if I dress well or not…and I don’t care. Because I’ll just be me. I love Juicy Couture. I love leopard print (my bitchy sorority sister once said “Animals belong in the forest not your wardrobe.” Whatevs…). I love good deals at Old Navy. I love thrift shop finds at my fave neighborhood shop. I still love Express work pants – they’re the best out there! I love splurging when I can, and I hit up Forever 21 [omg, am I too old for that place?] for cheap trendy pieces.
But the great thing is I’m finally in a place where fashion to ME is about being yourself. It’s about loving yourself and it’s about being comfortable in your own skin.
Now what is fashion to you?
As I start this blog I’m not sure where to begin. I’m not sure what I want to say, I just feel compelled to get this off my chest…out into cyber space and officially out of my heart and soul.
Maybe my posts don’t do me justice? Maybe I come off as a money hungry bitch? I’ve built this wall around me. The wall is so tall and so thick that even I don’t know who I am anymore. So how do I expect you guys to know who I am?
I tell you I’m crazy…I tell you about my Juicy Couture purses and jammies….I tell you about my Mercedes. Do I tell you I’m someone’s daughter? Someone’s granddaughter? Do I tell you I’m surrounded by people who love me – friends and family – but I’m utterly alone?? I feel alone all the time.
I don’t know what my purpose is on God’s green Earth, but I’m determined to find it. I’m determined to show you that I do have a purpose. I’m not some dumb ex-sorority girl!
My purpose is more than US Weekly and Teen Mom…it’s more than my BFF Giuliana and Bill and my love for Britney Spears….it’s more than a fucking Mercedes Benz and some $20 DKNY panties. It’s more than Juicy Couture purses and Von Maur shopping sprees….
My closet full of Steve Madden heels and Express clothes? You can have it!
My Clinique make-up and OPI nail polish? Take it!
The truth is I hide. I hide behind the make-up and the big fake eye lashes. I hide behind the fashion and accessories.
I’m a phony. I name my blog “If You Think I’m a B*tch So Be It” but the truth of the matter is that I’m so desperate for your approval, for anyone’s approval, that I’m terrified to show ME to anyone out there.
I seized the day this weekend….I drove 5.5 hours to Kentucky. By myself. To attend a writer’s conference. Turns out that writer’s aren’t like me. Or I’m not like most writer’s. Smart and bookish and interested in the goings-on of the world. What do I have to contribute to this conversation? It’s not that I don’t know what’s going on in the world, I do, it’s just that I tend to know more about what is going on in Lindsey Lohan’s life than Egypt. Maybe that’s sad. Maybe I am stupid.
But, I don’t think it’s that I am stupid. I have opinions about the world. I know what’s going on out there, I just choose to distant myself because I don’t like the way the world is becoming. I don’t like the stupid and greedy people…I don’t like how government stays the same time and time again…I don’t like how people have no tolerance for one another and can’t see the gray in situations. People see black or white, right or wrong….I don’t. I see all shades of color. I see all sides.
I actually think that makes me a very bright and empathetic person. And maybe I’m happy to have my own views on the world in my own head? I don’t feel confident enough in myself to get into political battles with people about something that I can’t change.
I’d much rather just discuss what Angelina Jolie wore to the Oscars. Or my Dunkin Donuts stalker.
So I’m at this writer’s conference, and I’m in a room full of people who are supposed to be like me. People who are artistic and open minded and have a way with words….and I stick out like a sore thumb.
I don’t fit. I don’t match. And I don’t mean my clothes because you know my outfit looked damn good. I mean ME. Feeling like I was back in junior high I felt awkward and unsure. I felt scared and vulnerable. I felt completely out of place.
Given the exercise to describe people….description is obviously very important in writing…and I get described as “fashionable.”
What. The. Fuck.
Am I so shallow that after spending hours with me the only word you can think of to describe me is “fashionable?”
Of allllllllllllll the words in the English language and hours of talking to me you come up with “fashionable.”
Wow. What does that say about me? How do people view me? I wanted to cry. I wanted to say, “That’s not me!”
“Don’t you see!”
I wanted to yell, “Don’t you see I have a big heart? And I’m honest and loyal and loving and determined and energetic and kind?”
But no. No, you see the fashion. You see that I carry a purple Juicy Couture bag. You see that I’m wearing torn Express jeans – though you don’t know they’re Express nor do you know they are in fashion – and big gold and black earrings and gold and silver bangles up and down my arms. You see the gray v-neck tee and the lacy black top snug on my breasts. You see the faux fur lined purple plaid vest and my perfectly manicured purple nails. You see my long black hair shiny and straight, perfectly coifed to one side.
But you can’t be bothered to see underneath. My clothes don’t define me. My big brown eyes don’t define me. My straight white teeth don’t define me.
Don’t you see? Don’t you see I’d give it all away? I’d be fat and ugly and poor and mismatched….for 5 minutes of pure happiness.
5 minutes of feeling loved and peaceful and pure and happy.
Maybe the problem isn’t me, but you. Maybe you can’t open your eyes and see anything other than someone’s appearance. Sorry I’m attractive and “fashion conscious.” Sorry I’m not like you. Sorry I thought you were maybe someone more like me, someone who gave a damn about what is underneath.
When I strip off the Ugg Boots and the Calvin Klein bra and the Juicy Couture jammies I’m just a girl.
I’m just me.
They say “everyone loves a pregnant chick.” They say pregnant chicks are cute, adorable, even sexy. Some days I feel cute in my maternity duds with my ‘lil baby bump. But as my bump gets bigger I notice everything is getting bigger. Bigger butt, bigger chipmunk cheeks, bigger boobs – even bigger nipples (gross)!
My doctor told me to watch my weight – and I have been trying – but as I’m nearing the end of my 2nd trimester I’m absolutely ravenous all the time. Be careful if you have a Dairy Queen Blizzard. I may just kill you for it. Each butt cheek is a different Blizzard flavor and my chipmunk cheeks are stuffed full of Sour Patch Kids (the bambino’s fave).
So with the belly – and everything else – getting bigger I’m starting to feel a little less cute and a little more fugly.
Yeah, not just ugly – fucking ugly – fugly.
I wake up this morning exhausted. With a red, fat lip (WTH?) and a zit. I never get zits. I look in the mirror and my eyes pop open wide. The inside of my head screams “WTF is this?!?”
Finally I dress. I can no longer fit into any regular clothes at all anymore. It’s all maternity…all the time. I put on elastic belly maternity black pants (so hot).
I get to my Dunkin Donuts – yes, in case you’re wondering, my stalker is there, driving a green SUV today – and I head inside. As the sun glares down on me I lift my shades and peek at my pants. OK, when did my pants get covered with hair and lint? I try to brush it off with no luck. Embarrassed, I suck it up and head inside; my big black shades back on my face and covering my eyes. I don’t want to make eye contact with anyone today.
I get to work and de-lint my pants. At least now I look presentable minus the zit and my red fat lip (again, WTH?), but thank goodness for makeup and sparkly powder.
An hour later it’s time to empty the prego bladder. And how fun that I now pee 24 times in a 24 hour day. Well, maybe that’s excessive…maybe 12-15 times…I’ve always been a bit of an exaggerator.
So I’m in the bathroom, and I put my head down in my hands. Is it 4:30 p.m. yet? I look at my watch. It’s 9:05 a.m. I notice a gleam of light streaming through my black pants. WTF is this? There are not one – but THREE holes in the crotch of my pants. You’ve got to be kidding me. Three holes? Was I even awake this morning when I got dressed? You remember what happened last time I was half asleep and dressing….I lost my DKNYs! In the Dunkin Donuts parking lot! After I pooped my pants!
It’s like I’m in the Twilight Zone. I’ve always been cute and trendy. When did I become frumpy and fugly? I look like someone I would make fun of – flat slip-on shoes, hair tied up in a bun. I look like the girl down the hall who works for one of the many attorneys in my building. Let me tell you, attorneys can’t dress. They only dress like Ally McBeal on TV. Every day she walks by and I think she looks like a librarian. And not a sexy librarian. A frumpy librarian. Like I’m one to talk now. Not that I look like a librarian…I still have my big hoop earrings and my Juicy Couture watch and my Coach handbag. And my slip-ons are sparkly…and Bebe. Maybe I’m starting to look like a MOM?
Or maybe God is trying to humble me. Oh God, please don’t do this to me. Haven’t you messed with me enough lately? I don’t have that great of a personality so you’ve got to give me something! And I refuse to be a Kate Gosselin 5-years-ago mom. I insist on being more the Demi Moore today mom – you know, hot, sophisticated and can still bring those young guys home! Owwwww!!!!!!!!!!
Or maybe it’s my prego brain. I’m just too tired and discombobulated in the morning to “get it together.” Gee, I wonder how I’ll be after I have to get myself – and a bambino – ready and out the door. I fear this is only the beginning of frumpy and fugly mom. Where does it go from here? Sweat pants and scrunchies????
As I wash my hands I stare at myself in the mirror. I want to cry. Where is cute, fun, happy Jen? Who is this biotch staring back at me? Well…I guess cute, fun and happy is kind of stretch there really. I’m more cute, stylish and intense? Or cute, snotty and down right awesome, i.e., self-absorbed but still has a sweet side. Let’s go with that. My blog is titled “If You Think I’m a B*tch So Be It” after all.
I look in the mirror and stare at my zit…and my dull pale skin (L.A. Tan, how I miss you)…and my ginormous breasts…and my fat ass and I think, “Toughen up chick!” Who is this wimp staring back at me in the mirror? Good lord, I could kick that whiney bitch’s ass!
It’s time to give myself a pep talk. I am in SERIOUS need of a pep talk.
I need a time-out. It’s time to toughen up, soldier! I have so much confusion and anxiety about becoming a mother that I don’t even remember who I really am anymore?
The real Jen is no bullshit…the real Jen doesn’t take anyone’s crap….the real Jen is a loud-mouth, drunken Italian bitch who means well yet always manages to get in trouble. The real Jen is quite charming – I have to be to get out of these messes one way or another! – and the real Jen is strong-willed, stubborn and independent. The real Jen doesn’t need anyone on God’s green Earth to survive. The real Jen could say hello or good-bye…
So I ask you…Who is this wimp staring me in the face? Who is this weak and insecure girl? Well this whiney bitch got her ass beat today! And I’m back!
Now…if only I can combat this fugly problem. Then I will be officially back in business. Bear with me Readers…we’ve got 14 weeks to go!
P.S. I did put in pennies for my “F” word slip-ups.