Vintage Prada Pumps

Because I was extremely nauseated by the image of that gigantic rat who stole an apple from my sweet little bunnies, the only cure that works for me is some retail therapy.

I combined a visit to my fave consignment shop with a stop to buy rat traps which my kind neighbor offered to set for me because I don’t know how. (And yes, I comprehend the hypocrisy that me, an animal defender and protector–is going to kill them. We simply cannot coexist.)

I needed the soothing activity of strolling up and down every aisle to look at and touch different fabrics and textures and styles; attempts to lay down fresh neurons so I didn’t replay the horror of our local rat infestation due in large part to more land rape here in Carlsbad. This is something lots of the community is suffering from–more rats than we’ve ever experienced. In fact, I will probably address this issue at a future city council meeting. It’s that bad.

Back to the calm of a mindful redirect…

As I chatted with the owner, my eyes spotted a bit of gold in a box on the counter. (I’m such a magpie.) Further examination revealed a pair of PRADA heels and I asked what size they were. She said they had just come in and she wasn’t sure, but I could try them on and tell her.

So I did and it was a Cinderella moment. They fit perfectly.

Even with a healing broken bone in my foot, I knew I had to have them. I just knew.

If they had ever been worn at all, it was only once or twice and never outdoors. They looked brand new.

Here are my vintage (2008 season) Prada black suede pumps with bands of gold. Research revealed they were originally sold with an elaborate ankle accessory which I never would have worn anyway. I’ll have to wait to wear them until I’m no longer limping, but that doesn’t matter to me, not at all.

Not bad for forty dollars, right? And I can look at them and it helps to erase the rat visions in my brain. It’s not easy to photograph shoes; I did the best I could.

What does Chanel and a moral dilemma have in common?

Here’s the story…

I found an adorable pair of Chanel CC logo earrings on Amazon, not real, but “replica” and so sparkly that I purchased them. I don’t normally go for fake anything but these looked a lot like my real Chanel logo necklace, and I thought what the heck, I’ll just return them if they’re not great, plus I lose earrings so often that I’d be totally freaked out if I lost one that cost hundreds of dollars.

The delivery tracking number wasn’t working so I messaged the seller. She immediately responded, said things were unfortunately delayed and she was very sorry, issued a refund, and told me if they did arrive, keep them as a gift from her.

Well…two days late — today — they DID arrive and they are even more sweet than I had imagined.

What would you do?

Here’s what I did: I emailed the seller, told her I received them, and asked her to either give me an address so I could send a check OR re-charge my card.

Again, she responded promptly:

I am very sorry for the delay of the package,
So you don’t have to pay, you can keep it,
thanks.
GOOD DAY,

Here they are. I never expected to receive such an awesome gift, but I feel much better about keeping the earrings knowing that I offered to pay and she still wants me to keep them!

The earrings look perfect with my (real) Chanel necklace.

Would you have tried to pay or would you have not bothered to make the effort based on the first email?

Of course this wasn’t a life altering moral dilemma, just one of those medium-sized quandaries that pop up in our lives on a daily basis to test our character.

A Tale of Two Dresses

Do you ever take a moment or two out of your busy day or before you close your eyes at night and wonder who in the hell Princess Rosebud really is?

So do I, my friend, so do I.

Toward that goal, ponder upon this for a while. The following might give you (and me) some valuable insights into my intimate gray matter. (Not Fifty Shades of Gray, maybe only about three or four.) Or not. You decide.

I bought two dresses. I love them equally. I hung them side by side to admire them and I’m looking at them right now and I’m loving so much about each of them for their individual intrinsic qualities.

One is a Lilly Pulitzer. a tried and true real designer brand that I could wear anywhere and be appropriately attired. I love the sleeves and the sassy outrageous bright colors and the dynamic print. It speaks of shiny happiness to me. I also love that it’s XXS, which soothes my poor body image issues. In my convoluted and distorted mind, I feel that IF I fit into an extra extra small size and it’s loose on me, then no matter what or how I feel on the inside, I can’t be ginormous, right? (Not that I’m body shaming anyone as this is my own personal issue.) With a spiky highhigh heel or summer-y espadrille, this is a sexysexy dress cos it’s super short, too.

The other dress is a treasure I picked up at the Buffalo Exchange in Ballard when I visited Angel Boy 2.0. It’s Forever 21 (which is EXACTLY how I feel on the inside. Arrested development and all that…) I love everything about this dress too: the muted burgundy and black/tan colors, the print, the little buttons, the tassels, and the vaguely Elizabethan/hippie empire cut with the billowy long sleeves. With leggings and adorable boots, I can’t WAIT for autumn.

One dress cost ten dollars; the other was on sale and cost less than one hundred dollars. Equal love. Money didn’t factor into the love.

Two shades of Princess Rosebud. There are a few more shades to my personality, but none of them are too extreme unless you start counting the number of seashells adorning the walls and shelves of each and every surface. Hence the title of my blog…

On another totally unrelated subject, many thanks to whomever sent me the package of thongs! I don’t normally wear Calvin Klein underwear cos I love silky things next to my skin, but they are super cute. A mystery gift giver, how awesome! Or…stalky. Hmm…

Learning to walk

If I took a poll, I surmise that most females will agree that there’s trial and error in learning how to walk in high heels. A learning curve. I realize that not everyone likes to wear stilettos; some may even feel that it’s another indication of how we women are oppressed and repressed, and I can certainly understand that point of view.

But not for me.

I swear, and my mom would agree if she were still alive, that I begged and begged for my first set of heels when I was three years old.

Santa Claus brought them for me (we celebrate Christmas AND Hannukah lol) The little high heels arrived as a set with a faux mink stole and tiara, but it was the shoes(OK, I admit it, and the tiara) that became as natural to my persona as my curly hair and snarky repartee.

Yes, I was an extreme girly girl. I mean, did you ever stop to think of why I refer to myself as Princess Rosebud? My dad first started calling me Rosebud cos it’s similar to my IRL name, and after the tiara became part of my daily fashion accessories, it was only a matter of time before I became royalty. I’d always felt that I was born into the wrong family and this was all the proof I needed.

I really wish I hadn’t lost the tiara…I could still rock a sparkly rhinestone tiara, I know I could.

But here’s my dilemma.

I can walk for hours in heels and I don’t care if they hurt my feet, either.

But I can’t for the life of me, walk in flats. I’ve tried, I really have, but I don’t know what to do! It’s such a quandry.

I’ve practiced…but HOW? Do you shuffle? Kind of like shuffling bare feet through sand at the beach to avoid a jellyfish sting? Is it a heel/toe movement? Do you bend your knees? When? I just don’t get it at all. I feel very awkward in flats.

Even cute ones like the vegan Tory Burch’s. The Jimmy Choos are the worst. I mean, they’re super cute, but it’s impossible to figure out how to walk gracefully. It’s not a pretty sight, trust me. Even the less expensive ones don’t work right. They’re comfortable, that’s for sure, but I am definitely challenged. I keep buying more and more shoes in case I find the magic formula, but I haven’t found them yet.

There are many YouTube instructional videos–“How to Watch in Heels and Stilettos” –but nothing for flats. I guess I’ll have to only wear heels or suffer the embarrassment of lumbering and shambling down the street.

Ladies, what’s the trick? Help me!

Stop All The Scrunchie Shaming!

MESELFIE2STOP SCRUNCHIE SHAMING!

I’ve had just about enough of this abuse.

I confess.

I’m here to out myself. but I’m still hiding behind dark shades (Chanel, of course).

I’m an addict.

I’ve tried to change.

I really have.

Not a day goes by that I don’t wish and hope and pray that I could be strong enough to resist temptation, but I’m weak.

I NEED it to tame my mane.
I mean, LOOK at me, would ya? My hair has a mind of its own.

When I was growing up in pink toe shoes and tutus and my hair was properly braided and beribboned every morning, how could I possibly foresee what the future would bring?

There was no crystal ball to warn me of the impending appearance of those colorful fabric-wrapped elastic bands that would be my crack.

I lack strength; I’m powerless.

(This is tougher than I thought it would be.)

I won’t — I can’t– hide my addiction one more minute.

The truth is that I wear a SCRUNCHIE every. single. day.

I can’t get through the day without one. Or two.

AND YES, I WEAR IT ON MY WRIST LIKE A BRACELET.

Just to keep it close and handy.

scrunchie1In fact, I have one on my wrist right now, AS I’M TYPING THIS POST.

Don’t even THINK about trying to wrestle it away from me.

Red or blue or purple; I carry extras in my handbags JUST IN CASE I LOSE ONE.

Us girls with SUPER curly and thick hair need a big fattie scrunchie to tame our wild beasty locks.

scrunchie3

You know what?

I’ve had friends who’ve staged spontaneous interventions to help me confront my love for the scrunchie.

I’ve had friends pull them out of my hand and toss them in the trash.

Friends have gifted me all sorts of other hair bands and a variety of products to secure my crazy hair.

I’ve been bribed with lunch and unlimited wine if I don’t show up wearing a scrunchie.

“It ruins your outfit” they say.

“You look like a reject from the nineties”, they say.

Apparently, it’s embarrassing to be seen with a scrunchie-wearer.

I. DON’T. CARE. WHAT. ANYONE. THINKS.

I LOVE my scrunchies.

HAHAHA…the dreaded SIDE SCRUNCHIE!

scrunchieside

No other form of securing my tresses will satisfy me:

  • A scrunchie doesn’t pull my hair
  • A scrunchie doesn’t create unsightly lines
  • A scrunchie doesn’t hurt at night when I have to pull my hair back or braid it so I won’t look like Medusa in the morning
  • And Cosmo says it’s a “must have” for oral sex, so it must be true

I feel so much better having confessed my secret addiction.

It’s a huge load off my chest. I feel light and free.

So deal with it, world.

From this day forward, I’m out, I’m loud, and I’m a PROUD scrunchie-wearer!

My stash.

My stash.

Just be glad it’s not a banana clip. Hee hee.

Guide to Camping Preparations: Princess Rosebud-Style

PART ONE…

Princess Rosebud Hiking Guide

Me at Slough Creek Campground in Yellowstone. Pose it, girl!
Chanel sunglasses, of course.

Me on rocks near river

A Fashionista Rejuvenation

Try this simple embellishment for any new or old sweater.

This is the easiest-in-the-world DIY project. Trust me.

I bought a plain white sweater at Target but I needed to jazz it up a bit Princess Rosebud-style ‘cos it was just a tad too dull and ordinary for a Princess, ya know?

I stripped off (and saved) the plain buttons
AND just noticed the uneven ribbing on the bottom.
Ya get what ya pay for, right?

sewing button

…and replaced them with inexpensive sparkly rhinestone ones.
I added a special bead button at the bottom for a little extra texture and shine.

sewing button1

Some of the button holes were a bit larger than the new buttons;
all it took was a few stitches to make it fit nice and snug.
sewing button2

The finished product, although not a very good pic.
Do you have any idea how hard it is to photograph white?
Quite the challenge for a non-pro to capture the sparkle, too…

sweaterbuttons

 

sweaterbuttons2Now I have a sweater worthy of fashionista royalty.
I hope you can find a tired old sweater in your closet and bring it back to life, too!