I heart Alexa Chung

I heart Alexa Chung. I've never seen her on television, although I know she's the host of some MTV show. I've developed my girl crush on Ms. Chung from perusing the pages of magazines: she's graced countless glossy pages due to her charming personality and her effortless style. Every time I see a picture of her, I cut it out of the magazine or steal bandwidth: I cannot stress enough that this Brit has a.m.a.z.i.n.g. style.

If it were so easy to replicate, I would be a happy camper. Yet, one has to have dinero to buy the little pieces that give her outfits such panache. Someday. Her new collection, Alexa Chung for Madewell, gives me a little bit more to drool over. Peter Pan collars, high waisted shorts, and cute little dresses that show off the legs are prevalent in the collection. I love that she stresses her best feature: her legs. I read in an article somewhere that women either can stress the boobs or the gams. She doesn't have the option to show off her boobs because she doesn't have any. Another reason to like her: I'm the same way. Yay.

Here are excerpts from her fall collection. I especially like the little dresses.







All images courtesy of Elle.com

I want, but I won't get.

www.oaknyc.com

I need these. Too bad they're $573. Even at 40% off, I still could never afford them. Who ARE these people that can buy $573 shoes. Why can't I be one of them?





I also need this. It's beautiful, and it will be mine. In my dreams...

My daily bike commute

This is me. I stole this picture from a local bicycle blog, whose author/photographer takes snapshots of Washingtonian bicyclists. I know, I know, I'm not wearing a helmet. Don't worry: times have changed. After seeing one too many bicyclists hit by a car and laid out on the pavement, I've decided that I'd rather look like an absolute dork (or in my case, a World War II army fighter-a picture for another time) than lose my teeth, my brain, and/or my life. I digress.

My bike is my form of transportation. Well, occasionally I'll rent a zipcar when I need to pick up something big and cumbersome (unless it can fit on my bike basket-thingy in the back), but usually, one will find me zipping around this elysian city on my two-wheel vehicle-of-sorts. As a normal Washingtonian female, I like my skirts and dresses, but this often poses a problem while riding my chariot. I used to not care, really, if people looked up my skirt. I figured that these idiots were perverts and that was that. However, a girl can only tolerate so many male heads leaning out of car windows to see the...ahem, goods. One time, in fact, a dude ran out in the street and pointed at my skirt while simultaneously (and oh-so-chivalrously) yelling at me to show him what I got! (Rather, he said, show ME what YOU got. (....thoroughly.... appalled.....) Now, I'm not tooting my own horn. I'm just a normal looking broad. Nothing special really. Besides, even if I WERE all that, which I'VE already admitted that I'M NOT!!!!, I've resigned myself to wearing a silly-looking helmet. I look absolutely ridiculous in it and figure that I elicit more laughter than desire (there's nothing sexy about a World War II army helmet on top of an already HUGE six-finger forehead! I'm surprised that the weight of my head-plus-helmet doesn't cause me to tip over.) Why these guys are so adamant about seeing underwear on a female stranger while she's pedaling a million miles an hour is beyond me. Now that I think about it, no one could even see anything because of the speed of which bicycle legs move. In fact, I know for a fact that you can't because I've tested this hypothesis on other skirt-wearing-women bicyclists, and I can tell you, you can't see one little ribbon on her cute little undies! NADA! Why bother? Again, I'm making a semi-short story quite long. Sorry.

Because of my insecurity about the underwear-flashing-to-Washington DC-pervert phenomenon, I've started to wear shorts under all of my dresses and skirts. Rather than allaying my insecurities, however, I find myself repeating to myself over and over again while pedaling, "I'm wearing bike shorts, you jerk, I'm wearing bike shorts, you jerk...." to the hypothetical man who might be trying to sneak a peak. I often find myself looking to the sidewalk to try to catch someone in the act. It would give me the greatest pleasure to lift up my skirt and reveal the ugly pair of H&M shorts lurking beneath. Ha ha! You perverted moron! I dream of saying! I even get a bit of a rush when I look down periodically and see a bit of black or grey shorts peaking out from under the girly-skirt fabric. I suppose that I have created another issue with which I must contend on my long list of insecurities. However, I'd like to think that I'm laughing in the hypothetical face of all the perverts that have ever wronged me. I'd like to think that I've empowered myself by taking action, even if it is sliding on a pair of shorts.
Anyway, a long story comes to an anti-climactic end.

Verbal cellulite

Preface: BULLSHIT!!! This does NOT constitute cellulite!

Journals provide an outlet for verbal diarrhea. One would assume that blog posts would be very similar: an outlet for one's thoughts, a place to type-scrawl one's incessant ramblings. I don't necessarily think this to be the case. A blog is a public forum (although some, such as this one, are still quite private, as I don't believe anyone's eyes have ever scrolled down this page---this blog HAS been existence for quite some time, but I've merely never had the courage to put fingers to keyboard...) There is the ultimate expectation that someone will read it, and thus language is altered and one is more apprehensive about exposing his verbal (or written rather) diarrhea. I will hence proclaim this blog to be an outlet for verbal cellulite, as my ramblings will exit my brain in clumps and masses rather than in gushes (although now that I think about it, cellulite doesn't actually exit the body. Rather, it hangs around in clumps. Oh, how lucky we women are...).