Info Burung Kicauan

Last month I lost the camera.

Sometimes I can get pretty overwhelmed.

By what, you ask?

Oh, well, everything.

As you get older interesting things happen, and I don't mean those lines around your mouth. What might have once overwhelmed you, things like making sure you have on just the right outfit or turning yourself inside out to get a mean person's approval, well those things oftentimes fade away. You're comfortable in your own skin, satisfied with who you are. Victory, right? In a sense, yes. It is a victory.

But other equally annoying things crop up in their place. Thoughts like, 'Damn I'm old, I need to buy a house!' and 'Did my friend just say her kid's in junior high? Do I even have any eggs left in the basket?!' Yeah, those annoying things. Thankfully the only eggs I'm thinking about right now are the ones I missed out on at Easter. But the house thing? I'll admit: I wouldn't mind my own personal space.  Free from neighbors who help themselves to my barbecue just as I'm about to barbecue. True story.

One of Southern California's saving graces is its apartments. A lot of them are chock full of character, and you can't help wanting to move every couple years when one of the good ones comes up for grabs. Remember this place? I've kept an eye on it since I first spotted it about 5 years ago. It has now been for rent for 2 months, so the other day I caved and stopped by to check it out when I saw the sign: No Pets. What do you mean NO PETS? Don't these people know cats are family? Fa-mi-lee.

Spring.

That glorious time when you pull out the floral prints and wear them with glee.  That time when strolling around in denim shorts is no longer met with the looks of bewilderment you encountered during your weather denial phase in December. That time when maybe you shouldn't have been so eager to jump around in sandals and bare legs over the Easter weekend because the allergy attack you thought you were having despite never having had one of that nature before has actually turned out to be the flu.

Fail.

It was fun while it lasted.
That's all I've got. Back to bed.

Moments ago I almost pulled the trigger on a pair of coral skinnies. It was a close call.

This morning I spent some time reading blogs to see what's going on. Truth be told I don't get to do that as often as I used to, but when tax prep is the alternative it's amazing how suddenly there's a lot more time than I thought. Hmmmm. Anyway, after perusing several blogs I found myself thinking I needed this pair of denim.

I don't.

In fact, and this may strike as blasphemy here in blogland given the current trend, I don't really care for colored denim. It looks cute on other people, but the one red pair in my closet is enough for me.

Where am I going with this?

A few days ago I was talking to a friend about the pitfalls of blogging. I explained how last year I found myself really struggling to find more than a few things in my closet that I loved to wear. We all have those I have nothing to wear days, but it was more than that. I found myself disconnected from my wardrobe, having purchased things that no longer represented me. It was a wake up call.

Reading blogs can turn into mini shopping sprees. Real live women showcasing outfits in real time. If I see enough of them in the same trend I sometimes catch myself thinking maybe I should try it, even though it's not my style at all. Don't get me wrong: it's good to be encouraged to take a risk now and then, but it should still represent your aesthetic.

I wasn't going to post these pictures, but after nearly slipping from the precipice this morning I decided to pull them out. Yes, I wear loungewear in public. Rather frequently, in fact. It stems back to kindergarten when I insisted on wearing my cherry red sleeved baseball pj shirt with the kid drawn house and stick figure family, complete with floofy apple tree, on front to school. Regularly. Until I broke both wrists after slipping from some hay bales, getting casts and then having to have the sleeves cut off my beloved shirt in order to get out of it. Would've hated to be in my mom's shoes that day. Think flood of tears.

Seriously though.  I'm not saying I'll never catch a trend and I'm certainly not saying all I ever wear is pajamas (uh maybe?), but I am saying it's important to remember who you are.  I'm happy to report I've rediscovered my footing and am allowing the wardrobe pendulum to swing again in a way that is true to me. Stand by for more jeans and pjs? Maybe even with a flat and a blazer. But most importantly mixed with pieces I love to wear just as much now as when they were purchased.

On Saturday I rolled into the kitchen decked out in one of my usual outfits of choice: faded, ripped up slim jeans, a white t and a pair of ankle boots. It was an exciting day: this pair of ankle boots is new. And it has buckles. What can I say? It's the little things, people.

As I glanced sideways in the mirror while strolling down the hall, something seemed off. I stopped, turned, walked back and stood there a moment assessing the situation. Hmmmm. Back in the kitchen (really I'm still on the first entrance but gave you a little context) I say to the Chef, who is so kindly assisting with litterbox duty, 'Dude. Does something about this say Peter Pan?' To which he responds by looking up and proceeding to double over in laughter, 'No, no! I actually never would have thought that. But now that you say it...' Well now.

Taking it back down the hallway I trade out the jeans for a slightly slimmer and much darker pair. Victory. Balance. No Neverland for me today, after all. Turning to the Chef I say, 'Better, right?' Not so much a question, but rather an eyerolling whew.

To which he turns to me straightfaced and says, 'Yeah, but you might want to give your skallywags another roll.'

Everyone's a comedian.