Pole-jumping.

I believe this will probably be the longest you'll ever see my hair.

 Jacket: thrifted.  Scarf:  thrifted.  Mr. Sparkle Simpsons shirt:  thrifted.  Jeans:  NY&Co.  Shoes:  Pink Duchess.

A friend of mine is a newly-certified life coach and I am lucky enough to be one of his first guinea pigs clients. I told him the story of how my Sweets and I were waiting around at the airport when we spied a couple of poles about crotch-high.  "Bet you could jump over that," he challenged.

 Ring:  3 Monkeys, Portland.  I'm not really a flower-loving type, but could not resist this giant acrylic bloom with its rhinestone center.

I usually take challenges quite gamely, so I proceeded to try and jump over the pole by vaulting off the top of it with my hands and swinging my legs around it.  At every attempt, though, I caught myself in mid-air with my feet glued to the sides of the pole, looking very frog-legged.  "C'mon, you can jump over it, just do it," he encouraged, so I kept trying to do it, and each time catching myself before I actually cleared it.  I had visions of splitting my chin on the concrete or giving myself a new asshole that even Goatse would envy.

 Boys love this shirt.  One swooped down on me to let me know that the Japanese on it is actually slightly incorrect.  I told him his approach was incorrect.

Finally, on my last try, I swung my leg around and smashed it into the pole, giving myself a soft-ball sized bruise.  I marched off to the benches and sat down in a huff, knowing that I would look at that bruise for the next couple of weeks and regard it as proof that I suck at life.  Yes, I know, these are the things that go through my mind at 2 a.m., fresh off a flight, on a head full of Tylenol P.M.

But Still.

I relayed this story to this certain life coach, and we decided that I should forever renounce trying to meet goals that aren't important to me.  I didn't really care about clearing the pole, I just wanted to live up to my Sweets' challenge.  And so, as my first act, I think I'm going to cut my hair.  I've only been growing it out because the media (and my mother) insist that you really aren't going full-bore female without having super-long hair.

But the fact of the matter is, long hair makes me feel like I'm hiding.  It feels heavy, humid, boring and spaniel-ish.  It hangs and does nothing (or everything) if one doesn't employ a variety of creams, balms and devices.  And anyone that has ever cut my hair knows how I hate devices.  Messing with your hair's natural texture makes baby Jesus sad.

So, like I said, this may be the last time you see me with hair this long.

This may also be the first and last time you see my new keychain aka "The Bling Duck" as advertised in the gas station-- but only because I don't make a habit of photographing my keys.

But don't you just love him??

Yours,

Elissa.

To Phoenix and Back...

 I'm back!  This past weekend was one of the most fun conventions I've ever attended.

Sweater:  Victoria's Secret.  Jeans:  NY&Co.  Shoes:  Simple.  Tank:  Urban Outfitters.  Bag, Shades, Neckace:  Thrifted.

 Our hotel was in a casino (I limited myself to $30 and lost it all in about 15 minutes on video poker.... dummbbbb...) We were surrounded with great people.  I took them to the pool after "work" with me each evening.  Amazing food was served, each new meal signalled by an employee playing a xylophone in a church-clock style chime.

Bangle: Forever21.  Rings:  Target. 

On the last evening, they bussed us out to a mock ghost-town for a steak dinner under the stars featuring the best mashed potatoes I've every had (really-- cheese, poblano peppers-- mmm) and unlimited tequila sunrises.

Dress:  Forever 21.  Tights:  Target.  Shoes:  Steve Madden.  Blazer:  Kaspar.  Belt:  thrifted.

The hotel featured this horse statue in the lobby.  I was impressed to learn that the neck is made of the "skeleton" and roots of a whole cactus.  Apparently the green, squishy, water-filled parts of the cactus are merely a skin over the woody parts... who knew?

And now that we're back, I cannot extricate myself from the poor cat's attention-starved, furry little grasp...

Yours,

Elissa.

It's baaaaack! And better than ever!

By the time you read this, I'll be on a plane for Phoenix.  I'm attending a convention and industry awards show... a workish thing that promises to be fun, fun, fun-- after all, we are being put up in a hotel/casino!!  I've been fantasizing about cowboy boots and how the Southwestern locale virtually requires me to turn up in some hot boots.  I have the pair below, which would pretty much be my ideal desert-walking boot.  Pity they don't actually fit me!

Tejano Boot

BUT, they may actually fit you!  That's why, after a longish hiatus, my Etsy shop is now back up and running!  Those of you who follow me on Twitter may have noticed me Tweeting ever so softly about new things I've been listing.  Here are just a couple of things you'll find at the Spandexpony Vintage Menagerie!

Gloria Babydoll Frock

Dear John T-Shirt

Elvis Oxford Lace-Ups

If you decide that one of these lovelies must join the rest of your closet friends, just mention my blog in the Message To Seller for a 20% Discount!  Things are still in the pupa stage but getting better day by day.  Expect many more great things to come!

Yours,

Elissa. 

Bi-Couturious

You may recall that last summer I spent many a lazy hour playing with Looklet.  Now, Couturious is giving Looklet a run for their money, benefitting from its association with Weardrobe and Facebook.  I've already taken a shine to it, as you can see...

Now I know this one isn't as eclectic as I might hope for, but the model's Angelina-like looks beg for simple sophistication and black, black, black.  Nude accessories are perennial favorites of mine for keeping otherwise dark outfits from feeling funeral.

I dub this one Zooey Deschanel x Bethenny Frankel.  I'm kinda lovin' this gold-digging hipster look.  Cheetah shoes will always win with me, and the top-over-a-top thing is one of those glorious devices that are the sole provenance of the small-breasted woman.  Oh, to layer my own tops with such aplomb!

This one is my absolute favorite.  Ever since I saw The Day of the Locust, I've had wide-legs and bandeau tops on the brain (movie-inspired post to come).  I imagine this look to be right at home in Nantucket, yachting, champagning and what have you.  I put her in the subway, though, because this look reminds me of my "coming home from Coney Island" looks I would sport in my NYC days.  Must... rededicate...self...to...abs!!

Crunch! Crunch!,

Elissa.

Extra, extra!

The kind folks at T-post contacted me recently and asked if I'd like to check out their wares, to which I answered, "Like, DUH!!"

 

Now, you may say to yourself-- who cares?  There are a bunch of t-shirts out there, each better designed than the last.  But T-post has its own cool little thing going-- it's actually "wearable news".  Each t-shirt constitutes an issue, and features a news story printed on the inside back.  The graphic on the front of the t-shirt is the artist's rendition of the story.  When you subscribe, you get a new t-shirt -- with news story -- every month. 

Here I am, contemplating the news while wearing said t-shirt.

Sweater:  Anthropologie.  Leggings:  Old Navy.  Shoes:  Vintage, thrifted.  Tee-Shirt:  T-post.

I am pleased to report that the shirt fits the girls fine, and unlike many other women's cut tees, has enough room in the armholes.  Hollah!!  And last but not least, it's nice to receive something in the mail postmarked from Sweden.  Ya know??

Til next time,

Elissa.

A short tale about blue hats.

As I was planning out our wedding last year, one of my most burning issues involved what to put on my head.  My fiance had said that in no uncertain terms, face-covering veils were both "gross" and "scary".  I had never been to interested in them, myself, seeing as they held no special or religious meaning for me. And also, hello, I spent like x number of dollars getting my makeup done, people will see it! Although I ultimately went for a tulle headband type of thing, my less demure side ached for a fabulous blue something on top.  

Liaison

For the Ceremony:  It really kills me how beautiful this thing is.  So much so, that I'd happily have it instead of hair.  It's like a curtain for the proscenium that is your face.  The only reason it hasn't sold in the 5 months or so it's been on my favorites list is most likely because it's $900. 

Hats By Cressida

For the Reception:  Some people would tell you that if you truly want to be the most awesomely appointed bride on Earth that you should probably change into a different outfit for your reception.  Others might agree that they'd like to burn the image of themselves in a wedding gown into their guests brains so that its memory can live on forever.  In such a case, perhaps just a quick hat change would be in order.  This hat, for example, let's guests know that while, yes, you're still in a gown-- it's time to get down.

MellaVintage

Getting Away:  I always pictured being sent off onto a honeymoon in a skirt-suit waving good-bye to everyone on the pier as a bottle of champagne was smashed against the side of the ship.  I believe I had this hat on.  In reality, I think we clambered to the airport in sweats with some vestigial toothpaste at the corner of my mouth, my eyes locked on the Starbucks on the other side of security. 


Speaking of which, I could stand to wake up right now-- the dreariness lately makes the day feel like a better-lit extension of night. 


Groan,


Yours,


Elissa.

Personality crisis...

 Bare-legged weather is upon us...

Frustration heartache's what I got.  I can't take a good photo lately... blog inspirations run the gamut from "Hmph" to "Seriously girl, no", mostly because I crave to craft a post around outward inspirations and not my inner turmoil.  I try to keep that definitively OUT, for many reasons but not least of which and maybe misguidedly so, my blog address is listed on my resume.

For that reason, vagueness/tasteful restraint ensues here.  I'm a voraciously career-minded person with a very singular goal that I'm not eager to give up because when I think about it, I envision myself at 37, wielding a rolling pin and spitting fire at a horde of brats and remembering only vaguely my love of writing about glittery nail polish.

Dusty sang it best...



Yours,

Elissa.

Shoes have I loved

My paper-writing lark is proving to be both intense, and profitable-- so I apologize for the brief interruption in juicy blog-post morsels.  Today I spent the entire day reading The Haunting of Hill House, and then watching the corresponding film; I need tonight to let it form into a nebula of a clue on how to write a paper on themes of "perversions of motherhood".  Ick.  Yes. 

I spent a time today, chasing down shoes of an altogether spectacular nature, to cleanse my palette of perverts and ghosts.  Here, a selection of shoes, simultaneously icky and yet mystifyingly desirable.  Now if only the perverted ghost of my finances would return...

 

Nike Gladiateur

If ever there were a shoe for a modern-day Athena, these might be it.  At first, I was shocked by their revolting, Teva-like tendencies, but later resolved to love them and treat them as a breezy high-top.  Now I'm determined that the right pair of slouchy, cropped slacks; a loose-fitting, graphic-printed racer-back tank, a short sequinned vest and a jaunty chapeau are just the things to take these from crunchy to crunk.

Pour La Victoire Sonya

I'll admit it.  I kinda hate the huge, platform heels that proliferate the hooves of every large-glasses wearing celebrity.  They seem like the giant, buoyant false breasts of the shoe world.  These, however, are ahhht dahling, of the highest kind. These I prescribe a white, pin-up style bikini and a dressing kimono of the old Hollywood kind. 

Camilla Skovgaard S10002.1

If one could meld the shoe lusts of Rumi and Sal, out would pop these delectables.  Architectural, towering, aggressive, sexy, these are the kind of shoes whose sole purpose is for stamping out your cigarette butt before you calmly and confidently walk away from a building that is about to explode.  Or they could definitely be used to add increasing pressure to the accelerator of an Aston Martin as you launch it from one end of a rising drawbridge to the other... to get to the library before they close because they're the only branch in town with a copy of The Haunting of Hill House on the shelves...

Back to work,

Yours,

Elissa.

Rain... blurgh...

What better to do on a rainy day then pull your sewing machine out of storage and get to work?? I've had my sewing machine packed away for well over a year, now, and after a very interesting and inspiring conversation with a girl I met recently about how she wants to start a wedding gown business-- she wants to create gowns especially for creatively hiding tattoos-- I got the old bastard out and hemmed up a formerly dowdy frock into something incredibly cute...  I'm thinking over a swimsuit, on the beach... to be seen shortly.

Speaking of things one never uses, I have a whole bunch of really lovely silk scarves that I mostly just like to look at and feel but never wear.  My little bomber ensemble made me turn a new leaf today, and I felt like a little bow around the neck was just the fitting accessoire; kind of half Earhart, half Collins.  Collins is probably where it's at because the drag queens who live across the street felt moved to yell at me as I walked by, "Work that scarf, honey!!"  I could ask for nothing more.

Working my scarf,

Elissa.

Origami.

 Kuru Maru Felt Ball Necklace, $35

Just popping in for a quick post to say that I just bought this from Homako's Etsy shop and I'm thrilled to pieces.  I'm feeling really inspired by origami-like pieces, from jewelry to shoes and this little lady makes things that fit the bill quite nicely.

 Origami Necklace, $38

Origami Kurukuru Necklace, $35

Bodou Necklace, $43

 Bubble Polka Dots Necklace, $40

Oh, the little balls might be my favorite!  

I'm having a really lovely, eventful and accomplishment-ridden day, I'm hoping the same for you! 

Yours,

Elissa.

Indulge me, dear.

Today was an awesome day.  We got to 60 degrees here, and everyone was out saying "hello" to each-other again.  I celebrated by taking a couple of new things out for a spin...

Jacket:  American Rag.  Tshirt: F21.  Jeans: NY&Co.  Shoes:  JCPenney.  Earrings:  Aldo.

One of my new things includes a pyramid-studded t-shirt found in the "Gaga" section of Forever 21.  I don't normally go for things that are punky-- I spent so much time in them as a teenager that it's like going back to wearing diapers.  But this t-shirt is heathered and the studs are bronze, so it has a femininity and quietness to it that can't be found in black leather and silver hardware.

On the opposite end of the quitness spectrum, I dove back into the sparkly nail-polish pond.  I think my first bottles of nail polish were opaque white and silver glitter, and try as I might to kick this childish habit, I think I'll always be a sucker for glitter.  I applied it as I got my hair did today-- 

The girl that did it said that she thought my earrings looked like little golden records-- I dig the comparison.  She also told me that she was pregnant, and I said, "Congratulations!  Are you excited?"  and she said, "Not really, it isn't mine,"  she paused, "I'm a surrogate."  I really wanted to learn more about it, but I didn't want to pry, either.  What a thing to do!  I can't say that I can wrap my mind around it but I'm glad the option is out there for people.  Who knows, maybe I'll give her a call sometime for services other than a cut and color...

Yours,

Elissa.

Arnie and Sly.

Yesterday I traipsed off to the mall endeavoring to spend up my Anthropologie gift card.  However, I didn't buy anything because they didn't have these spectacdicluous shoes in the store. 

 Everything thrifted except jeans:  NY&Co.  and Tank underneath:  Urban Outfitters.  See my keeton?

Resignedly, I poked through some other stores.  Now, as you may or may not know, I live in Columbus, Ohio.  This weekend was the weekend we all wait on with baited breath; The Arnold Classic.  For a week, our bars, hotels and streets are flooded with guys and gals who could crush our heads--but won't-- wearing TapouT t-shirts and Diesel jeans, inspiring reactions from subtle amusement to outright awe.  Arnold Schwartzenegger presides over this motley crew and he comes to our burg to judge the competitions.

Well, as I was considering big earrings vs. gargantuan earrings at Aldo, the girl behind the register says to the girl on the floor-- "Ohmigod, what?  What? I have to see this!"  The girl on the floor says, "He's out in the hall!  He's coming!"  I say, "What-- who?" The girl behind the register says to the long line of customers, "I'm sorry.  I have to do this."  She runs out of the store and I soon see why-- here comes Arnold Schwartzenegger and Sylvester Stallone, ringed by cops, enjoying ice cream cones.  It might be worth it to note here that both men eat ice cream using their lower lips as scoops.  The girl who ran out screams, "Arnold!  Arnold I love you!!!"  He looks over, smiles, waves and she dissolves into consonants and syllables, nothing more. "Guh-guh-bu-spluh."  A huge wave of people followed them obediently, as if they expected them to turn those ice creams into wine.  I couldn't help but feel some glee, myself, but I forgot my phone, and you know if you don't Tweet it, it doesn't count.  Ah well.

One thing I am making count is these tasty Eddie Bauer oxfords I thrifted the other day.  The only other things in the mall that people were a bigger fan of were Arnie and Sly.  These shoes are one of those magical things, besides pizza and money that appeals to all ages, races and creeds.  I was stopped by a Forever 21-shopping cougar, a black teenaged boy, the Pakistani guy who runs the news-stand, and a girl that looked like the heir to the Urban Outfitters fortune to ask me about them.  So I'll tell you.  $1.99.

Guh-guh-bu-spluh,

Elissa.

Sketchy

I felt moved, on my way back from work, to scribble up a "Love x Machine Guns" tee-shirt. Click to enlarge.

I learned a lesson today-- I have two overhead projectors in the back of my car.  My Sweets and I won them at an auction for $4 apiece, and we have a plan to use them to project a sweet stencil onto the wall to trace.  Well, today, I parked my car in a nice, sunny lot and went to the bank.  I came back to my car and threw the literature they'd given me in the back seat, on top of one of the projectors.  Then I pounced off to the grocery to pick up some lint rollers, because I'm wearing a lot of black lately, and my cat is white... and sheds like she's got a deadline.

I came back to my car, and saw a guy with a puppy.  I thought, "Man-- I can't wait til it's summer. --sniff, sniff-- wow, somebody's roasting marshmallows or something, it smells delicious out here! --in here!!!"  I suddenly became aware that my car was completely filled with smoke.  I took a panicked inventory and saw a tasty little fire brewing in my backseat.  My first thought was that someone had broken into my car and started a fire in there, but no, my own laziness, an overhead projector and some solar serendipity worked together to create a little ambience in the back of my ride.

I grabbed the papers and threw them outside into a puddle, but geez-- if I'd spent more time in the magazine section contemplating Mariska Hargitay's supposed bikini fails then I might be looking up bus routes now.

Projectors.  Who knew?

Yours a la flambe,

Elissa.

Love Times Machine Guns.

Yep, nearly the same outfit as yesterday, but I'm running a semi-reality racket here, folks.  And besides, I've improved. Everything thrifted, but the shoes are Miz Mooz.

This week is smacking me up with its busy-ness.  Not least of which, I've contracted to write 4 papers for someone on varied classic movies and it's not as much of a cake walk as I imagined.  Because I'm a flippant child of the present day, I find watching the classics to be arduous work.  I'll never get my eyeful of great old, Hollywood costumes; nor will I ever tire of repeating lines back to the screen in a transcontinental accent.  But the conversations themselves are pretty much un-followable.  So... winding, and... innuendo-ed.  My understanding of most scenes is pretty much suspended until someone gets slapped or chloroformed.  He bad.  She good.  Me like hat.

So it came as a pleasure to me to overhear the following short conversation today between two, energetic young men:

Fred:  I still haven't seen Where The Wild Things Are. 

Harry:  Eh, it's alright.

Fred:  Do you think I would like it?

Harry:  I dunno, are you a hipster?

Fred:  Well, sure, I guess.

Harry:  Then you would probably love it "times machine guns".

I nearly convulsed with laughter.  It's so... ironic, expressive, timely!  Love times machine guns.  Well, classic movies may not be exactly my thing, but as long as I'm invested as I am in finishing this project of mine, I might just learn to like them...times tommy guns.

Yours,

Elissa.