Selfie-centered post.

For this post, I’m blaming the Facebook “post a pic of you and your spouse every day for seven days and tag two of your friends to do the same” meme. I was tagged for it and thought it would be fun, so I ransacked my flash drives in search of pics of Callaghan and me over the last six years.

(On June 14, we celebrated six years together and five years married, but we didn’t mention it on FB this year… so if we’re FB friends and you’re wondering whether you missed it, no, you did not.)

Among the plethora of pics I found was my first attempt at a selfie taken in the mirror, the most common type of selfie I see and the type I still can’t manage to take.

I remember this first attempt. We were living in this apartment building in Nice where Callaghan was undertaking renovation work for an extended period of time (the pic was taken in one of the apartments); I had this camera that was an actual camera, and I was frustrated to the point of sweating in my effort to get this ridiculous selfie:


August 29, 2012, Nice (France)

August 29, 2012, Nice (France)


My mirror selfie game hasn’t improved one bit since then. Here’s the latest one, taken in March this year:


March 21, 2016, Tempe (Arizona, U.S.)

March 21, 2016, Tempe (Arizona, U.S.)


Other people take awesome, effortless mirror selfies. You can see exactly what they want you to see without the camera being in the way. I have no idea how they do it.

I fished out the remaining four of the six mirror selfies I’ve taken in my life:



July 20, 2014, Tempe (Arizona, U.S.)



May 24, 2015, Tempe (Arizona, U.S.)


June 4, 2015, Tempe (Arizona, U.S.)

June 4, 2015, Tempe (Arizona, U.S.)


October 15, 2015, Tempe (Arizona, U.S.)

October 15, 2015, Tempe (Arizona, U.S.)


See? I looked pissed off in every single one. Or frustrated, at least. The tank top one was sad and frustrated because I was trying to show the Ronnie James in memoriam paw print tattoo I’d just had done on my wrist. It was 10 days after he died.

Honestly, I don’t know how these kinds of selfies work. It’s an art form notably perfected by gym selfie people and Outfit Of The Day people. It’s a genre of contemporary photography that I’m content to admire as an onlooker, because I have no aptitude for capturing my image in the mirror without looking like I’m having a miserable time ranging from “I’m coming for you mo-f*cker” to “WTF am I even doing right now.”


Speaking of Outfit Of The Day, I have a story for you about how I found Callaghan on the back patio in his underwear the other day, but I’ll save that for another time.

Will Work for Pants (+ OOTD)


May I just rant about pants for a second? I have two pairs of pants – one brown, one beige – that I wear to work, neither of which are particularly flattering or nice. I mean, they’re okay, I guess. In terms of the workplace, they’re only a step above jeans by virtue of the fact that they’re not jeans. I’m always relieved when Friday arrives, because I feel justified in wearing jeans to work on Fridays, though I’ll sometimes wear them to work during the week, too. In addition to the brown and beige pants, I also have two pairs of black pants that I consider to be “work” pants. They aren’t great-looking, either (one is a pair of cords, and the other is a weird pair of black jeans, which I consider to be nice enough to qualify as not-jeans). All four pairs of pants are uncomfortable in one way or another. I’m most comfortable wearing regular jeans or leggings; I’ll actually put on leggings once a week more often than I will the black jeans. During an average five-day work week, I’ll rotate through them… the brown, beige, black, leggings or weird black jeans, and regular jeans on Fridays.

My ridiculous angst over pants is due to the fact that I HATE SHOPPING FOR PANTS. I know that it wouldn’t hurt to invest a little in my work wardrobe, but it’s hard to muster the enthusiasm when I’d rather go to the dentist than go shopping for pants. If my work attire could be anything I wanted, I’d go in work-out/athletic clothing. I do, in fact, have one pair of flowy black athletic pants in some kind of stretchy spandex-blend that I can get away with wearing to work. Unfortunately, they’re old and worn-out to the point where they’ve developed a pill issue.

You can understand, then, that when my eyeballs wandered over an ad for “yoga-style pants for the office” the other day, I clicked on the link with high hopes:


I immediately honed in on the pair I would order. I know what I like. I would get the boot-flare cut in black:


And look at that! They’re beautiful, and they’re only $79.20, because they’re 10% off! WHAT A STEAL.


I partially went through the process of ordering them, just to see. Ground shipping, the least expensive shipping option, is $6.95, bringing the pre-tax subtotal to $86.15. Add an additional $5.60 for (California) sales tax, and these pants cost $91.75.

In my view, it’s a cruel joke to make comfy, work-appropriate yoga pants and advertise them for $80.00. I mean, I just can’t. And this is one of my issues with shopping for work clothing: I’m willing to throw eighty bucks down for some things, but pants aren’t one of them.

I don’t like to spend money on clothing. I’m guilty of spending more than I should on things like skin care products, perfumes, concert tickets and food (on high-quality groceries, and on eating out), and I’ll splurge on a pedicure every once in a while, mainly to get the lower leg and foot massage. I’m not a clothes-shopping person. I’m not a jewelry person or a shoe person, either. I do like bags, but not expensive ones. I like Target, the Goodwill, Ross, Marshall’s, and it’s just painful shopping for pants in those places. The very idea of flipping through a hundred pairs of pants that all look the same (except that they’re not) leaves me cold.

There are other, random places, sure. One store in the mall I venture into every once in a while is Charlotte Russe, because I usually find things there that I like, and often, those things that I find are on the clearance rack. And I like to get jeans at Old Navy (when they’re having a sale)… Old Navy and Target.

I still have many of the dresses and skirts I habitually wore to work a decade ago, but I’m not into wearing them anymore, for some reason. Not only that, but there’d be a strategic issue with wearing skirts to work now: I sit on a physio/balance ball instead of on a chair, and my desk doesn’t have a “modesty panel.” My desk is out in the open, facing people walking into that area. Are you getting a visual here? You know how I’m prone to embarrassing incidents at work? Yeah. That would totally happen to me. So, pants. No crotch shots. PANTS.

While I love the idea of these “Black Dress Pant Yoga Pants (Boot-Flare) $79.20 $88 (10% Off),” there’s just no way I’m spending a total of $91.75 on ONE pair of pants when I could get several from any of the cheaper places for that same price. I guess I know what I’m doing one weekend in the near future.

Here’s what I’m wearing to work today:





Happy Friday!



Pardon My French (OOTD)

We have a running joke about pictures of me in t-shirts, Callaghan and me, and it’s been a while.

So, here’s one from yesterday:


Oversize shirt speaks volumes.

Oversize shirt speaks volumes.


I remember the first time I wore this shirt. We went to Fry’s Electronics, and the guy stationed at the EXIT door asked, “Do you really speak French?” as we were leaving.

“Yes,” I answered. But barely, I finished in my head.

That’s meaning number 1: “Pardon my French” in the literal sense, because my French is full of holes.

Meaning number 2: “Pardon My French” is American slang for, “YES, I SWORE,” often with the snarky sub-text of, “SORRY I’M NOT SORRY.” It’s a handy way to acknowledge that you used profanity while expressing that you don’t care. I tend to swear freely in casual conversation… not angrily, just casually. (It’s a habit I should probably lose, but I can switch it off when appropriate, so why bother?)

All in all, “Pardon My French” is an easily understandable expression t-shirt for me. It’s also one of those shirts you want to live in because it’s so soft and thin and comfortable. It’s voluminous – long and loose with tight sleeves – and it’s gray, my favorite color.



Happy Friday, All!