ach lieb

My brain is not made for boys.

It’s been pouring, pounding, coming down like fists and I’m loving every minute of it.

Autumn was blindsided by the heat and the few moments enjoyed with chilled weather and an array of gorgeous leaves, soon came to a halt as winter made it’s presence known.

I’m not going to complain. It’s here now. Perfect poncho precipitation. The collection of textured tights is making it’s appearance and giving even more excuse to purchase more. Scarves are being wrapped, umbrellas opened, and once “lovingly used” boots are now sweetly water stained.

Thank you December and a wink to January and February.. Keep up the good work.

If only winter wardrobe could last year ‘round.

Back to bed cozy and Bon Iver.

xo

Today is December 6th. It is the first Sunday of the month. The first Sunday of each month is dedicated to the Alameda Flea Market.. or it should be.

Today I rolled out of bed far earlier than I would considering Sundays are the start of my weekend. I threw on the incredible oatmeal colored poncho cardigan I got from Anthropologie last night and skipped out the door. I then skipped back in realizing what miserable weather had been unveiled, to slip into my trusty black hoodie and thrifted Geiger wool coat.

Thank goodness.

I cannot express the wind chill. Which I suppose to most others besides Californians would consider bearable. It was nippy to say the least. No need for rouge when roaming around aimlessly in this god forsaken weather. I loved every minute of it.

Almost as much as the giant mounted antlers my mother treated me to after haggling for them. They’re gorgeous and old and musty and fur tufted and aged and absolutely adored by moi.

With endless amounts of antique finds, squeal inducing jewels and racks upon racks of mink coats only Eartha Kitt would approve of, I left my heart with that lovely victorian inspired stool. The one selling by that one guy in that one row down at the corner. It’s perfectly weathered mint green enamel, and most amazing brass claw clasped glass ball feel had me at hello. Not in the Jerry McGuire way, but in the you and me were meant to be not scripted way.

I left that stool because that one guy in that one row down at the corner wouldn’t drop price ten bones. Bollocks! I say. And so I carry on, each row, each step, each comme ci, comme ca moment of goods still thinking about that stool.

And then it was gone. After much a scouring. And endless desperation that it would still be around when I returned, alas it was not. I suppose this is where I say it wasn’t meant to be?

But I kind of think it was, and maybe we’ll meet again in the land of perfect furnishings.

On another note I’ll say I pepped back up after a scrumptious bowl of pho and a trip to the asian market where I stocked up on such wonderful nonsense as Yan-Yan and individual milk tea packets. Yum.

Not a bad way to end the heartbreak.

Being as though I’m surrounded by women in a salon environment daily, I hear the constant chit chat of “should I? would I?” when it comes to hair color.

I’d say about 80% of the female population play it safe with their hair color, which though safe may sometimes constitute itself as boring, it is just that.. safe. You don’t walk the fine of line, of.. it works! it doesn’t work? or, is something off with that shade?

Then there is the 10% of the female population (percentages may vary on geographic location) that look amazing in daring shades. Because the gods were in your favor, because your skin tone is suitable for most of the color spectrum, because all in all the cards have fallen in your favor to allow you to pull of such chameleon hairstyle appeal. I applaud you ladies, I like to consider myself a proud member of this bunch.

Lastly, there is that lingering 10%.. again, note that percentages may vary and this is of course my personal opinion and I’m probably being exceptionally generous, but that final percentage of women, that just SHOULD NOT BY ANY MEANS NECESSARY COLOR YOUR HAIR THAT SHADE. Seriously, don’t.

I believe that the celebrity folk assume that they never fall into the latter. Bollocks. Just because you have a personal trainer for your toned body, and a wardrobe stylist for your hopefully well plucked but more often than not disastrous ensembles, and a glam squad on call to polish off any unsightly blemish and prep you for the red carpet. DOESN’T MEAN THE MAN AND/OR WOMAN YOU’RE SPENDING AN UNGODLY AMOUNT OF MONEY ON TO ROYALLY JACK UP YOUR HAIR, HAS GOOD TASTE. I’ve seen it time and time again. That fringe is too blunt for your face, stop lightening your hair when you hardly have any left, please get a better more shapely cut to disguise your horrendous extensions.

And most of all. Do. Not. Color. Your. Hair. That. Shade.

Prime Example:

Rihanna.

I know since you hired a wardrobe stylist and hacked off all your locks you’ve instantly become a “style icon”. Wah wah. However, The once acceptable tightly stacked bob, or perfectly asymmetrical undercut you sported may have made girls around the globe take notice at one point. You have utterly murdered the cool points provided for edgy coif due to this monstrosity of dingy caramel colored two-toned hair. It’s awful. Am I really the only person that is completely repelled by this young ladies current color selection? It does absolutely NOTHING for her. Any inkling of complementary shades has been utterly kicked to the curb because hair color should never match your skin color.

I loathe it. The outlandish getups and generally shitty styling to said hair is not aiding you by any means.

Embrace your roots. Literally. And texturize that bulbous mop.

All you need is a handful of gloriously goofy gals to get you through the day.