Prom-toberfest

***DISCLAIMER: once again, this was written like 3 weeks ago and just never posted - I'm really awful at this, I know...nonetheless, here you are...



I'm back....in Munich....and blogging again!  I have no excuse for the prolonged absence.  Das ist alles.

The other day I did a brave thing.  Not the medal-worthy sort of heroic endeavor, but an audacious action at that.  Ready for it?

Last September...my one and only dirndl!

I went Dirndl shopping.  A feat I'm going to assume most people in my social circle haven't had the pleasure of experiencing.  Trust in my words when I tell you that you are missing the equivalent of being stung by a mosquito 34 times.  Sure, that's dramatic, but so am I.  And after a portly German woman, breasts half exposed, rounds second base in a dressing room, I guarantee you'd agree.

See, I fell victim to the same trap as most....the fantastically decorated window displays boasting Oktoberfest's finest garb in the most elegant, slimming, and colorful way.  Nearly every store profits from Oktoberfest sales from Munich's Neiman's equivalent: Loden Frey, to the "questionable" shops in the not so good parts, to the Apotheke (drug store) 'round the corner.  Everyone cashes in, y'all!  (No idea where the y'all just came from???).  The thing that really gets you, too, is that construction on said shop windows begins in, like, July.  And while Oktoberfest actually occurs in September (further confusion by German design, I'm sure), that's still almost 3 months early.

I digress...thing is, one of the events we go to at the Oktoberfest is a bit like prom in that you simply cannot wear the same thing 2 years in a row, gasp!  So, with an afternoon free, I strolled though the Marienplatz and into one of the big department stores.  Truth be told, I was not intending to squeeze into the Bavarian version of a Victorian-era corsetted apparatus (ie, the dirndl).  I was really just browsing all areas of retail, like I do best.  But damn the display stylists and dirndl producers for their choice of the most vibrantly beautiful colors and the quaint, woodland-fairy-like atmosphere that is the "Traditional Bavarian" section of the store.

And so there I stood, faced with an impossible dilemma - to try on, or not to try on.  Surrounded by the colors of the rainbow and a pot of gold in the form of all the shiny dirndl adornments they doop you into buying, I spun around once, saw that NO one was within view, and began throwing dirndls over my sholders and whisking them into the fitting room.  By the time I got in there I'd amassed about 6 brightly colored Alpine peasant dresses, adding approximately 60 pounds to my frame.

Anxious albeit mildly excited at this point, I gingerly stepped into the first victim: a lovely pink and green number taking me back to my preppy roots.  I spent approximately 10 minutes attempting to get it on, worked up a decent sweat, and then turned about face to survey my progress.  The buttons, hooks and zippers looked stressed beyond belief which, of course, only matched my face.  Okay, okay, so it was a size or so too small - used to that, no big deal, on to the next.

The next victim was black and blue and turquoise and lace and very exotic looking - fitting, of course for the exotic American attending the soiree (HA!).  I put it on and looked like a gypsy.  And off it came.

Then there was the dirndl on sale!  Reducing it from the price of a small monthly mortgage payment to that of just a small leased sedan.  It was lackluster.  I wanted to look like Cinderella, not Quasimodo.  So it, too, joined the sea of beautiful fabric on which I was now standing. 

At this point, half way through the marathon, I paused to consider my dirndl buying experience last year.  It hit me like  Ralph Macchio (Daniel-son) hit the Zack Morris-esque tough guy at the end of Karate Kid....it was absolutely as miserable last year as it is right now.  Maybe it was because I was so new to Munich, so excited about Oktoberfest and had KC in toe to assure that each dress I tried was perfect, that I blocked the experience from memory.  Well the memory came flooding back and all I could envision was the larger than life Bavarian woman pulling and tucking and groping and yanking me into each dress.  Throw in the fact that she spoke no English and proceeded to instruct and demand and twirl me around like a marienette, and it surprises me not that I scortched it from memory.

Back to this year...it must have been the lack of employees or other browsers in the dirndl section that day that gave me the wild idea to try my hand at looking the part again.  I'll spare you description of the final 3.  I couldn't get them on and off fast enough.  Of course, before I was finished, a kindly German woman outfitted head to toe in the perfect dirndl attempted to help.  Good news is, I can now express that ich spreche ein bisschen Deutsch, and politely decline any prodding and tugging.  I quickly dumped the dresses in her arms (after re-hanging them, of course...I was raised right!), muttered a hurried 'Danke Shoen' and booked it to the escalator. 

Moments later, I found myself back in the center of the Marienplatz, breathing the crisp air and inciting self anger for getting so worked up.  Oktoberfest's all about the beer and revelry anyway, right?

Shoes and Haikus

These are the 4.5 inch clogs I wore for my (long) travels home a few days ago.  Receiving an intense number of stares whilst trudging through 3 airports in such a heel, I wondered if I was, in fact, insane.

I'm proud of my sanity, for these reasons 3:

1. They were the heaviest shoes I was traveling with, and wearing them saved me the $150.00 overweight fee.

2. Clogs are slip ons, duh.  I've mastered the stripping-down-in-security-line and am now much like a business man breezing through the process, especially when wearing clogs.

3. In more than one fifteen instances I have found myself at odds with the 'kindly' airline personnel, mainly during the check-in process and particularly with Easy-Jet, an airline I can no longer endorse (not that I ever did...).  I find that in situations where I lose my cool, thereby destroying ANY chance of my 5 kilo extra suitcase weight sliding under the radar, that wearing nearly 5 inch heels at least places me at an intimidating height.  I do realize that neither raising my voice nor standing in giant-like stature assist me in any way, shape, or form.  But at least I look cute in the process.

Miu Miu Dove-Print Satin Clogs

Come fly with me please.
Down to Acapulco Bay.
"Chirp chirp" says my feet.










picture via Saksfifthavenue.com

Lee Greenwood...what a guy!

What a talent.  What a legend.  Right up there with the last 30 minutes of Armageddon, the 'One Shining Moment' montage post NCAA championship game, and the final episode of any long standing TV series, 'God Bless the U.S.A.' never, ever, fails to leave me misty-eyed.

In honor of my forthcoming return to the land of the free and the home of the brave, I've compiled a list of the things I miss most about America.  This list is also my underhanded way of informing those who will be preparing for my arrival of pertinent things to stockpile, where possible.

Without further ado (and in no particular order):

My family.  Plus the new little squirt.

I will be consuming one daily for the duration of my home-stay.

self-explanatory

I've had the British version.  They aren't even as good as the ones the above monster coats in a thick layer of sand.

I now have 8 months of life sans microwave one under my belt, but it sure will be nice to pop a bag of popcorn.

Dallas

Self-serve yogurt emporiums.  Original tart flavor, please.

Chuck-town summer vacay.  Complete with MJ tribute dance parties.

My long lost pals.

A proper chicken cheesesteak.  I will never eat a doner kebab, especially after Bill Bryson described it as looking like something carved from a dead man's leg.

No, no no. NOT the show.  It's on approximately 8 times a day in England.  This is just the easiest representation of friends, generally.  Since I couldn't put a picture of everyone of my friends I miss, this will have to do :)

Getting manicures and pedicures, particularly with friends.  I'm certain you can get mani/peds in Europe, I just never really cared to do it.

And there you have it.  A long list of pictures to pump me up for my time stateside.  I simply cannot wait.  Until then, I will enjoy England/Germany - I certainly don't take them for granted!

Primark-able

So today I had my first, true Primark experience.  Since it's likely that you are as oblivious to the retail giant as I was a mere 3 months ago, allow me to elaborate: Walmart and the Dollar General conceive; the love child closely resembling Forever 21 with a chav swagger.

To be fair, that's probably a bit harsh.  I should not discriminate against budget friendly apparel providers as I will scour the bins and racks with the best of them...it's actually a challenging and fulfilling pastime.  As are, uh, plenty of intellectually superior activities in which I partake, but that's neither here nor there...

My experience today, however, is responsible for the mocking air in which I describe Primark.  I was probably in store for no more than a half hour, but I assure you, that was enough.  Let me preface this by saying I had quickly ventured into our local Primark before, but that wasn't really an experience.  It was by the direction of my oldest and dearest friend (also inhabiting this small island) who once wore a gray blazer so cute, I had to know her source.  "Primark," she shared, and off I went!  This trip was short and sweet...I ran in, found it immediately, forked over 10 quid (barely 15 bucks), and exited without even giving the myriad racks a second glance.  I must have been in a hurry, because it's just not like me to ignore rows of clothing...

Since that day I have paid more attention to Primark, an enterprise I now classify as one of the more entertaining things to do in a small-ish British city.  I began to notice girls, of all ages, toting the cheapest of brown paper bags, not unlike those still used in large American grocery chains.  And they ALWAYS seem to be filled to the brim - no exaggeration, see above.  I just don't get it.  Especially given the sight of some of these ladies, so scantilly clad that it doesn't appear they would even wear as much clothing in a season as the bags hold.

But back to today.  After ordering my iced coffee and asking twice for more ice (will never understand why Europe finds the freezing of water in small cubes to be such a formidable task), I exited Starbucks and found myself face to face with Primark, caffeinated, with time to spare.

At first I perused the perimeter, overwhelmed by the hoards of people and cheaply manufactured clothing which I cannot be certain did not originate in the dimly lit factories of third world countries...but as I'm, admittedly, not always the most informed consumer, I can't really go down that road. and so I turn back to the task at hand.  There actually was one.  I wanted tights.  Colorful, spring tights.

Casually sipping my iced coffee, I made my way to the hoisery section which was between the too-tight business suits and the too-tight pajamas.  Good news was that they had colored tights-a-plenty, and at 1-2 pounds a pair, I snatched up a few.  Next I headed for accessories, but not before passing by the dressing room where approximately 5 baby buggies were parked outside.  This is a slight exaggeration, but there were seriously strollers everywhere throughout the store - it became an obstacle course dodging them, their contents flailing arms and screaming "MUMMY!".  I may have initially found their high-pitched accents cute, but after one small-fry cut me off, hanger waving, en route to her heavily inked father, my compassion dwindled, and I continued on to the colorful racks of jewels.

Of course something else happened before I could get to the jewelry section.  I saw the baithing suits.  With visions of the Isle of Palms now wafting into view, I bee-lined.  It was just an impulse, as I was disinterested as soon as I ran my fingers across a few suits and cover-ups.  Then, I was reminded of a clip I'd seen on BBC news a week or so ago... Primark came under tremendous heat for selling padded bikinis for 7 year olds.  No, seriously, read about it here: 'Primark withdraws padded bikini for seven-year-old girls'.

Finally, I made it to the jewelry and after contemplating the obnoxiously large hair accessories, I settled on a cool bangle and headed downstairs to shoes.  Unfortunately, the shoe section was so overcrowded that I couldn't travel the aisles without risking injury.  I gave up, turned toward the till (as they call it here), and gasped as it was at least 16 people deep.  Convinced my luck would serve me better upstairs, I scurried to the other till which was also tiresomely long.  At this point, I viewed my items for purchase, debated whether they were worth the time, but just as soon remembered that I had a bag of crisps in my purse.  Sustenance was key.

I joined the queue (another mysterious British synonym), while balancing 2 pairs of tights, 2 bangles, empty coffee cup and freshly opened bag of soured (they add an -ed to it to make it sound more gross than necessary) cream and chive crisps.  I could easily survive now.  Plus, there's always completely useless things for sale along queues for which I'm a devoted sucker. 

And so I made it, to the front of the pack, smiled politely, and threw the contents of my arms onto the counter.  I explained to the kind lady that I'd brought an extra bangle with a price tag since the one I wanted didn't appear to have one.  Well you would have thought I'd have just gifted her a 50 dollar bill (does anyone else think of Data from Goonies when he uncovers the counterfeit 50's and proceeds to repeat 'fitty dolla biwls' over and over...).  She was so excited that I'd brought the back up bracelet that she first told me that I was welcome back whenever I pleased, and then she turned to her colleagues to inform them of her good fortune, while the line in front of her grew longer.

Oh, and my total for the 3 items was 4 pounds 50  (about 6 bucks).  To top it off, I was given my very own brown paper bag for the items.  This one was exactly like the paper bags my mom packed my lunch in.

I had a few laughs in store and in writing this.  If I ever find myself wide eyed and bushy tailed with 30 minutes to spare and a bag of crisps in toe (just in case), I think I'd return to the bargain very-friendly mecca.  If for nothing else than a good experience.

Shoes and Haikus

In honor of all my friends getting hitched...

Christian Louboutin Jeannette Spiked Sandals

Perfect for the bride
who's in charge of this party.
Yes, she will spike you.









picture via saksfifthavenue.com

I'm glad, orange you?

ORANGE! by grimmc3 featuring Ted Baker bags

1. Kate Spade Klick Sandal
2. Anthropologie Gravitational Pull Sunhat
3. Ted Baker 'Bobble Kisslock' Large Patent Wallet (this was my Valentines present from KC!)
4. Toywatch Jelly Watch
5. OPI - A Good Man-darin is Hard to Find

I am celebrating my current infatuation with the color orange.  Not really the shade of Florida's finest, but the deep, bright color of traffic cones and the lovely, if not fluorescent, items seen above.

This post is two-fold, really.  Inspired by my orange-obsession and by the aol homepage article explaining the importance of "super foods", I combined two of my favorie pastimes: eating and online shopping.  Admittedly embarassed that a) my homepage is still the standard aol.com that came with this bargain friendly laptop and b) I'm still duped into clicking on the page's scrolling pictures unveiling the worlds most invaluable news (ie, 'Kid Flushes Puppy Down Toilet', or 'What Happened to the Cast of Wings?').

To give credit where credit is due, I did find aol's picture of a butternut squash curious (especially after 'Armless Kicker tries out for Team') and thus clicked on to see where it would take me.  A fascinating article - using the term very loosely - in which there were more words than pictures (much unlike this blog) detailing the importance of superfoods, many of which are brilliantly orange: sweet potatos, butternut squash, carrots.  It's all about the beta-carotene and maybe some other long vitamin names.  Now I've been on a carrot kick for a few weeks anyway.  They're cheap, guilt free, and, when whole, have a whimsical ability to make you feel like/think of bugs bunny, attempt your best "what's up doc?" and coyly smile.  No?  They don't have the same effect on you?  Not the first time I'm in a category of my own...

Feeling challenged to create an orange superfood feast, I searched high and low for the best recipe while simultaneously browsing for some pretty orange things (see above) to enhance my summer wardrobe which happens to be boxed up somewhere in Dallas, or Baltimore, or perhaps scattered along I-40W.

Here's the recipe: Gordon Ramsay's Spiced Carrot & Butternut Squash Soup! 

I realize that April isn't exactly the time of year your body craves a thick, autumnal spiced soup, but I don't care.  This is England, people!  There are as many rainy, grey days here as there are sunny days in Miami.  Plus, I love soup.  And, it's so easy to make...usually. 

Enter: butternut squash.  while I've had squash in soup form, I didn't realize that I had little idea what one actually looked like.  Regardless, I perused the M&S food hall until I found the white-ish, half pumpkin, half gourd looking monster and marched on.

Dicing it into cubes was an entirely different ballgame.  Perhaps like cricket?  I've heard of it, I've even seen snippets of a match, but it's a bit odd and takes forever (days even!), as did the dicing.  The process wasn't pretty.  I hacked and butchered and even managed to cut the squash some of the time.  The result was 3 bandaged fingers.  I'm not even remotely kidding.  Could be the cheap knives in our furnished flat, or, believably, my impulsiveness and clumsiness.

I fought the squash and the squash won.  Moral of the story is, unless you have a few extra hours and appendages to spare, just buy it pre-cubed.

Regardless, the soup was delish.  Also, I used an immersion blender to puree it because that's how I roll.

Everyone's a sucker for something...

I'm a sucker for glossy magazine adverts.  You know, the kind that want impressionable young things like myself to fall victim.  Case in point: Chanel's new and "improved" lipstick line, Rouge Coco.

Maybe it's the fact that her smackers are so precisely lipsticked that I actually think, by use of the same product, mine will appear comparably flawless.  Perhaps it's the perfectly printed "CHANEL" in the column of lipstick pigment (visible in picture below).  Or is it because this chick is Johnny Depp's partner/baby-mama that I have declared my capital intentions to set myself back 30 bucks.

For approximately 10 seconds, I wonder what it is that makes me want to acquire my own Rouge Coco (how...French?) post haste.  My ponderous ways last no longer, of course, as I dash to my keys, slam the door behind me and tastefully jog down the steep hill to our local House of Fraser where I know the luxury brand is carried...which, I have no doubt, is exactly what Coco Chanel would have done...

Right.  So maybe it didn't happen exactly like that, but the point is, I bought (magazine), I saw (advert), I conquered (lipstick residing in my bag).  Plus, I did sort of hurriedly waddle down the big hill to the House of Fraser, excited to find my perfect shade (I went with #10, Camelia).  The kindly Chanel consultant, clad in the brightest shade of coral/gold lipstick - there exists such a combination - helped me pick out the best color.  Basically, she suggested one and I bought another.  You would have too, had you viewed her lips.

Regarding the 'stick's ability to provide me hours of moisture, saturated color, and a partner the equivalent of Johnny Depp?  I am unsure.  I fear that I'm eternally destined for dry/chapped lips.  I'm just not sure any product, whatever the exorbitant price, will remedy my kisser.  The colors are lush, though.  And Johnny Depp isn't for me anyway.  Sure, he's fun to watch in his best pirate garb, or with inanimate objects for hands, but KC blows him out of those pirated waters any day.

In conclusion, would I buy another tube of Rouge Coco?  Of course I would...just waiting for the next shiny advert to cross my vision.

Oxford in 2.5 hours

Weeks ago I spent a morning in Oxford en route back to Plymouth.  Aside from the camera I toted in plain view (and the rather large Harvey Nic's bag from a day spent in London), I totally looked like an Oxford student.  At least that's what I told myself and, not so secretly, what I desired.

Oxford was a powerful place overrun with rocket scientists, a large quantity of old stone, canoes-a-plenty (pardon my lack of rowing vocabulary - are they called canoes?), and the occassional Robert Pattinson look-a-like.

I use the phrase "phenominally old" far too often in my description of things in Europe, but it's just plain true.  I've been fortunate enough to have traveled a good bit of central Europe in my short 25 years and what amazes me more than the languages, more than the museums, more than the people, and more than the culture is simply how old the architecture is.

I remember furiously traversing Rome in an attempt to make it from one major tourist landmark to another in 48 hours, and stopping to catch my breath for the 5 seconds I allowed for such pertinent action.  Inevitably, whenever I would do so, I would literally find myself standing in front of a piece of rock with a barely legible plaque stating its origin in, like, the 1st century.  It would then happen all over again hours later with another random bit of ancient remains.  It blew my mind.

On a different scale, Oxford seemed to have a similar effect.  While not quite as old as the Colosseum, I still felt the profoundness of turning, looking straight up and seeing yet another massive turret, belonging to another massively old stone college.  I did actually buy a map in the Oxford train station hoping that my few short hours would be spent efficiently touring the most famous of colleges (wikipedia claims there's 38 total), but gave up when I realized a) it was a crappy map, b) my feet hurt from 2 days in Londontown and c) I had 2.5 hours until my train to Plymouth departed.  I did what any spoiled tourist would do: hailed a cab and told him to take me to Christ Church, of course, because that's where Harry Potter was filmed (duh).

Fortunately, after speeding through the brilliantly traditional sight that is Christ Church, Harry Potter dining hall included, I was able to mosey along it's perimiter and bump into a few other colleges.  Unfortunately, due to the aforementioned crappy map, I struggled to figure out which colleges they were exactly - especially after I stopped to photograph a "closed" college only to be shoo'd off.  That one must be where the rocket science happens.  Oh well.  I still feel like I accomplished seeing Oxford, including a tour of its most famous college, in record breaking time.

Proceed...

Christ Church

It was the greenest green I'd ever seen.

green color feature

green color feature again

Christ Church rugby pitch

before

after

There is no color accent here.  This is exactly what the trees looked like.

Same here - that tree was actually red.  Unreal.

Color accent here but the tree was far better in it's natural color.

When I have my own house I'm going to buy lots of wrot iron and paint it cornflower blue.

Christ Church dining hall.  Straight out of Hogwarts...or maybe the other way around.

Inside Christ Church.

Outside Christ Church.

Cheerio ol' Chaps!