Archive | May, 2014

Mumus (again)

5 May

BEFORE:

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AFTER:

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I have this bad habit of buying clothing that needs obvious professional sewing help and thinking, “No big deal!  I will fix this up right quick with my nonexistent sewing skills and soon this article of clothing will revolutionize my closet and southern California!”

Rob says it’s because I have a big imagination.

I think it’s because I’m impulsive and have unrealistic expectations about everything including shapeless clothing, but let’s go with imagination and let’s talk about this mumu.

I found this gem in a teeny tiny vintage store in Fairfax.  How I got to Fairfax on a day when I was supposed to be exploring San Francisco and deciding if I could see myself in the city is a whole story that probably can be summed up with three words: “impulsive” and “Gilmore Girls.”

Fairfax is all charm, all the time.  It’s the only place in America with a Green Peace majority in the town council (!) and it feels like a tourist haven simply because it’s so amazingly cute.  At one point I was 85% certain Anne Lamott was next to me at the coffee shop and I nearly choked on my moon pie.

It wasn’t her.

But dangggggg where can I find a local place that makes homemade moon pies?

Side tangent: is the coffee shop now the interview place of choice?  In my two days in San Francisco I observed AT LEAST seven coffee shop interviews and they were all exceedingly awkward and I kind of wondered why I’ve never been interviewed in a coffee shop before and what needs to happen to make my awkward interview dreams come true.

Side tangent 2: I realized, when I thought I was looking at Anne Lamott, just how few authors are recognizable by sight.  Like I saw Daniel Handler at the Festival of Books, and he is crazy, uber unbelievably successful  and talented and yet I bet he gets stopped at the grocery store almost never.

Heidi Montag probably gets approached in the produce section all the time.

(Was Heidi Montag the best comparison choice there?  Open to suggestions.)

The point is, even uber famous authors can live normal lives and that’s pretty cool.  Also, this is what Anne Lamott looks like.

I spent my afternoon in Fairfax counting all of the “organic” references, taking dressing room selfies of me in various tie-dye clothing, and eating a beef and chicken burrito BOTH MEATS PLEASE.  It was a beautiful little reminder of the fun I have on my solo adventures, wandering and eating and leisuring.  Solo adventures are the greatest when they are by choice and not by loneliness, this I learned from London.

Somewhere along the Fairfax adventure way I happened upon this glorious mumu of sunshine and giggles.

It was quickly decided it had to be mine, despite the obvious length problems and the fact that it was wide open between buttons.  (Does this mean it was once a cover-up?  There were no tags to be seen either, so I’m feeling like I could have purchased a homemade sexy cover-up.)

I proudly brought my mumu home and showed all of my friends my latest project.  Most of them responded with some variation of, “That’s very Jill” which I called them out on.  “That’s very Jill means that’s very weird.”  “No, that’s very Jill means that’s very Jill.”

It’s an endless circle, that conversation.

I proved all of my friends all right/wrong, though, because just a few days after coming home I altered that mumu with my nonexistent sewing skills, and despite my inexpert hands, and despite a lot of things, it turned out!

It’s so Jill!

I’m crediting my mumu success to the overall crazy nature of the dress that makes it seem like it’s supposed to be a bit haphazard and also to the person who first created this homemade sexy cover-up of mine.

I very much love it.

I also very much love Fairfax.

There are urban people, suburban people, and “live in a cottage and wear mumus in Fairfax” people.

I think we know which sort of person I am.

Endings and Beginnings and Ice Cream

3 May

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Today is the sort of hot that makes me strip down to the absolute essentials, scoop an extra large bowl of strawberry + mint ice cream, and curl up in a dark corner to practice my bad attitude skills.

I just checked my phone. It’s 84 degrees outside.

Oh my spoiled.

Last night I went to a midnight showing of The Princess Bride, and as I sat in the theater with the eccentrics and the other people who spend their Friday nights cheering for Inigo Montoya I just thought, “LA, you are an effing rock star tonight. Also, what ever happened to the actor who played Westley, this man who makes mustaches appear almost slightly acceptable?”

LA is an effing rock star a lot lately.

Also the man who played Westley did not age nearly as well as Robin Wright, who is an effing Greek goddess.

Also I take back what I said about mustachios.

Also I’m done with the term “effing” for this post.

Sorry, Mother.

I’ve found the more I contemplate leaving LA the more LA is fighting back. She’s saying, “Really? You want to miss out on sunsets at Dodger stadium?” “You’re OK not finishing off LA Magazine’s top 75 restaurants?” “What about that yoga class you’ve committed to? You’re really just going to bail on that?”

The yoga class isn’t really the thing I’m most concerned about here, let’s be honest. But I do have yoga commitments, people, and I needed that in writing.

I would also like in writing that my phone now autocorrects “live” to “love” so all the time I’m sending texts like “I guess I just have to learn to love with it” which is actually rather cute when you think about it. Almost every time “love” works just as well as “live” in a sentence, most of the times it works better.

There’s some sort of a hippy parallel to make there about how love always works better in every circumstance.

I’ll let you make it.

Last week before my last class of my last semester of my last year of school, Hilary and Katie and I found ourselves at Duke’s eating burgers and trying to act normal. It was one of those situations that felt like it should have more importance than it did. This was the end! This was the beginning! We should make grand speeches about how far we’ve come and then sing Vitamin C and really mean it!

We decided maybe we just needed to cry it out, combine the tear ducts of three highly emotional girls, and then we could get on with our lunch and change the world and such.

Katie instantly teared up because she was hungry and she’s a human being. Hilary looked across the ocean forlornly, her green eyes wide open. I went to my crying go-to—dwelling on a past, terrible relationship.

This didn’t go on too long before we started to laugh.

I was dwelling on past, terrible relationships to force myself to cry! Hilary was keeping her eyes open, despite their need to blink!  Katie was hungry!

It was all funny.  It was funny because we were trying to force a moment when we were already having one.  It was funny because our emotions were on edge.  It was funny because of everything and nothing and soon our burgers came and we had a normal lunch and a normal class and it had a normal amount of importance.

I don’t like this ending one bit.  I love my life as a writing student.  I love the friendships I’ve made in LA, the two years I’ve put in to make these real, adult friendships when real, adult friendships can be so hard to come by.  I love Malibu and Duke’s burgers and writing groups, and while I know school finishing is not the end of everything, I do feel this time slipping away from me.

Already, in just a few days, there have been subtle transitions.  My life is shifting, whether I want it to or not.

Also today is so hot.

Today is so, so hot that all I’m eating is ice cream.