Do I need these shoes?

I think I do. Can they be worn with skirts? Like a black skirt with tights and then these shoes? And how cute would they be with black slacks. Cute, right?

Jparks and I are having a tivo standoff. The tivo in our bedroom (also known as my tivo since it records Gossip Girl, 90210, and Project Runway. All vital to my existence) has been crapping out this week. It records shows with no problems, but will not let you watch them. When you hit the tivo button on the remote, it takes about 15 minutes to respond. And lately its typical response is just to freeze up. It has only been doing this since jparks messed with our internet settings and I want him to fix it. For the love of all things holy, make the tivo let my Gossip Girl go, jparks! His solution is that we buy a new tivo. He claims this one is old. I claim he’s crazy.

This is the tivo we got after Katrina so it’s only three years old. Jparks insists that “OMG THREE YEARS OLD! Take it behind the barn and put a bullet in its head!” I insist that he’s fucking crazy and I’m not shelling out for another tivo after only three years. Doesn’t that seem like a short lifespan for a tivo? Shouldn’t it last at least five years? Dammit tivo, I signed up for a long time relationship, not a quick fling where you have your way with me in our bedroom and then leave without saying goodbye. I feel so cheap and used.

And now a question (has this post been all questions? I think it might be. It’s because I respect you guys so much that I want your input. And because I am dumb. dumbdumbdumb) What would you wear on a ten hour, overnight flight? I know not pajamas because ew, but what? I want to be comfortable and plan on sleeping, even if it means taking something to knock me out. Normally I don’t sleep on planes because I can’t get comfortable to save my life, so what can I do to boost my relaxation level up a notch? Would you wear shoes that you can kick off in your seat? Like crocs? (I know, shut up) Should I skip the pants and wear a skirt? I should I change into a bathrobe in the bathroom and walk back out to my seat like it’s nothing? (how awesome would that be?) Help me!

While packing for BlogHer it occurred to me that my pajamas are beyond ratty. Knowing that I was rooming with Whitney and not jparks, who is very used to my scrubs that are so old they are basically transparent, prompted me to think “I should go buy some new pajamas.” But I didn’t actually go buy new pajamas, I simply dug out some yoga pants and a tee shirt and called it a day, because that’s how much I respect Whitney, enough to cover my naughty bits around her, but not with the proper garments (on a side note, at one point over the weekend I did fall asleep naked but wrapped in a towel. So that thing about respecting Whitney? It just jumped out the window)

I honestly hate buying pajamas. And underwear. And right now I desperately need both. I know some people hate the shopping for underwear portion of the experience but I actually like that. I don’t mind bra fittings, even really touchy feely ones. I don’t mind that I’m one size in regular clothing and the next size bigger in pajamas and underwear. Nothing about the experience bothers me expect for paying for the items I need. I hate shelling out money for pajamas. I hate paying for bras. And I will spend a stupid amount of money of shoes, but then go cheap cheap cheap for underwear. (Although I draw the line at CostCo underwear. That’s just wrong)

And the fact that bras can easily be the most expensive item of clothing I’m wearing on any given day just pisses me off. No one (except maybe jparks if I’m feeling giving) is going to see it, so why should I have to spend a crapload on them? I’m not trying to make a fashion statement with pajamas, I’m just trying to comfortably sleep in them, so why can’t they be cheaper? GAW, this really pisses me off.

Maybe if I make a day our of the pajama and underwear shopping that’ll ease the pain of spending the money. Who’s up for a champagne brunch and an afternoon of shopping? Anyone? Bueller?

Last month two friends of ours eloped and last night was the wedding reception. So there we were at this lovely wedding reception and what do I do? I get totally drunk. Like three sheets to the wind, not sure how I even remained upright, possibly drank more than one bottle of wine by myself drunk. It was not pretty.

I’m not even sure how I got that drunk. I planned on having a few drinks and expected to get a little tipsy, but I seriously didn’t plan on passing out in my makeup when we got home. I woke up this morning with black eyeliner smudged under my eyes. It was not pretty, although it did kinda have that sexy look that I can’t achieve when I’m doing my own makeup.

Most of the people at the reception are not folks we see on a regular basis and when we do see them I’m not normally drinking. I’m now trying to run through the bits of the night that I can remember and see if I said or did anything asinine. God, I want to die just thinking about it. I’m pretty sure I told various folks that I was hot. And then I might have touched a finger to my bum and made a sizzling noise. Booze + 4.5 inch heels + a little black dress + some makeup = Regan feeling all sexy and mouthing off about it to every person that commented on her shoes. (not to linger on an off topic, but those shoes are bad ass. When the salesgirl asked me if I liked them I told her I wanted to go make out with them. When jparks and I got out of the car at the wedding he said “Baby, you look really slutty tonight!” “Uh, thanks honey.” “No it’s a compliment, I LOVE SLUTS.”)

I am just horrified. Did I mention that I’m horrified? I AM HORRIFIED. Sizzling noise! What person actually does that to themselves? Paris Hilton maybe, but not me.

And folks, if I thought I felt like death after that one beer earlier this week, then you can only imagine how crappy I felt this morning. And I didn’t even get to sleep in, I had to get up and go work a Giants game. Thankfully there were fried foods in the suite. Nothing makes a hangover better faster than fried foods. Unless it’s fried foods and a fountain diet coke.

No more booze. No more not paying attention to the number of refills I’ve had. No more skipping a glass of water between drinks. No more making an ass of myself in front of people that might not be expecting that from me. No more touching my own bum and making a sizzling noise. The next time I wear those shoes I can’t let their power go to my head.

You how some folks say they have a mountain of laundry to do but then that mountain turns out to be a small-ish hill, and not mountain like at all? I hate those people. Jparks and I truly have mountain of laundry to deal with and it’s existence has been eating away at my soul for weeks. WEEKS, I tell ya! Laundry is just not something that either jparks or I have any interest in.

Actually, that’s a lie. I love the laundering part of doing the laundry. I love sorting pieces into piles: dark colors, pastels, whites, bleachable whites, gentle cycle items, no fabric softener items, items that need to go into these awesome mesh bags that you can only find at Japanese dollar stores, etc. It’s a sickness really. I love filling the washer and measuring out the detergent. It all appeals to the OCD side of my personality. But once the items come out of the dryer I want nothing to do with them. And that’s where our mountain of laundry comes into play.

We have a hamper tucked into a corner for our dirty laundry but no real spot for clean laundry. Why should we? Shouldn’t it go directly from drawer to closet? ha. In order to accommodate our laziness we have added an ugly plastic hamper to our bedroom and all the clean laundry gets deposited right into it. And then more gets deposited. And then some more. Until we have this:

Cat included in picture for scale. And I know she’s blurry, but look at that tongue! OMGZ!!1!

Dude, that pile of laundry is almost as tall as our dresser. And notice that it is spilling over and spreading onto the floor. That pile of laundry contains all of jparks’ socks. And possibly all of my underwear. And probably all of jparks’ shirts. But do we care? Does it motivate us to fold it? Hell no! It does, however, motivate us to wish for magic laundry folding elves. And jparks will regularly wish for the ironing fairy to come so he has shirts to wear to work.

The real pain in the ass part is that, by the time I cave and start folding and ironing, I have at least 8 hours of work ahead of me. You would think that would motivate me to fold as soon as the stuff comes out of the dryer, but it doesn’t.

Maybe the solution is for jparks and I to join a nudist colony. We could spend our days playing volleyball and when I run the marathon I won’t have to worry about bloody nipples. Of course, we would never see our friends again, but such is the price of being laundry free.

Folks, I would like to share with you a picture of what I accomplished yesterday morning:

Doesn’t look like much does it? Just me in my guest bathroom. I’m not even looking at the camera. But look again. Look at the bow on my shirt. Look at how perfect it is. You know why it looks so good? Because I. AM. AWESOME.

I spent at least 25 minutes tying it, untying it, and then retying it until it was perfect because I am obsessive like that. Then I got in my car to head to the office and flatten it beyond repair. So yeah, I accomplished nothing. A large chunk of my morning wasted on nothing. Stupid bow. Stupid me.

Since September I’ve been a member of a flickr group called the Working Closet. We take pictures of what we wear every day and post them for all the world to see. It’s honestly more exciting than it sounds, I swear.

So I’ve been uploading self portraits for a couple of months now and it’s become a running joke that I don’t smile. If I were a LOLcat I would be “serious regan does not approve“. And I have no good reason for why I’m not smiling.

The frowning started strong here:

Looked like it might start to turn into a smile here:

Diverted into sarcasm here:

And then went right back to pissed here:

I never really thought of myself as unhappy person, but these pictures sure do a fine job of making me seem like one.

So, because I don’t have enough freaking goals for this month (one blog post per day! A different pair of shoes every day!), I’m adding another one to the mix. I want to take one picture of me smiling. One picture! Surely that can’t be too much to ask.

Yeah, we’ll see how this goes.

Years ago I waited tables at Applebee’s and my manager always told me I didn’t smile enough. I always thought she was insane, but what do you know, she was right. Damn her. hmm, maybe my smile muscles are broken. Sometimes I think I’m smiling but it turns out I’m not. See, my smile muscles are broken. Or maybe I was born without any. Like a smile birth defect. I was born to be permanent gloomy girl. grumble.

Mary-Lynn once spoke of magic pants. Magic pants are ones that seem to fit perfectly no matter what shoes you wear, or if you put on a couple of pounds. Ones that you can wear out to your local bar or to the office. Ones you can always count on to boost your ego and make you feel incredible.

I used to have a pair of magic pants, but recently they were retired thanks to a hole in the bum area. No pants have stepped up to take their place, but one of my pairs of jeans have made it clear that they want to be the exact opposite of magic pants. They want to be evil, mean, cruel pants.

These jeans never fit. Never. No matter how much weight I lose or how toned I get, these jeans still give me the sexy muffin top look. I like to pull them out of the closet on days when I’m feeling skinny and have them deflate my ego. I can’t wear them with flats or with heels because the length is not right for either.

Basically these pants hate me, and mock me every chance they get. And yet I can’t get rid of them. I recently did a purge of my closet, getting rid of all the clothes that have gotten too big or just didn’t fit right. And, even knowing how much trouble these jeans cause, I decided to hang on to them.

The reason I can’t get rid of them is because tomorrow morning I start Boot Camp and I feel like this might finally help me win my battle against these jeans. These jeans will be the motivating factor helping me out of bed at 5:45 in the morning. The inspiration I need to go out and run and crunch and jump and pushup when other people are still snug in bed.

Well, those jeans and the fact that I need to wear a bathing suit in 24 days. That’s equally as motivating.

I am in the middle of a crisis, one that is not going to sound like a huge deal, but for me, well, it’s life altering. Years ago, probably at least 11, my stepmom started working at Children’s Hospital and stole scrubs for the whole family. Ugly, green, plain scrubs. And yet I fell hopelessly in lurve with them. I’m pretty sure I was the only person excited about them and I embraced them with open arms.

Now don’t worry, I’m not one of those people that walked around in public wearing my scrubs. Other than a quick trip to the pharmacy or gas station, they were reserved for in house wearing only. Okay, except for that one time in college when I overslept and wore them to class. But isn’t that something you are required to do at least once in college, wearing pajamas to class? These scrubs have become my favorite thing to sleep in. They are the perfect lounging around the house pants.

But now they are starting to wear thin. Obscenely thin. Thin enough that it’s kinda scandalous to wear them around jparks, and he knows me in the biblical sense. But I can’t bare to get rid of them. What will I wear if I toss these into the trash? These pants are the ideal relaxing garment and nothing will take their place, trust me, I’ve tried. I bought some other sleepwear pants in a very similar shade of green, but they just aren’t the same. I think it’s the difference in material and the fact that the scrub pants are totally adjustable in the waist. Size 2? They can fit you! Size 20? These pants have you covered!

So my question is, other than checking into the hospital and guilting the staff into giving me a pair, where can I find new scrub pants? I know uniform stores carry them, but the ones I’ve seen have elastic waistbands, and that’s not right. Scrub pants need to tie. Come on folks, help me out, I don’t really want to check into a hospital, but I will do it out of love for the pants.

Some days I pull up the admin screen to write a blog post and the words won’t come to me. It’s not that I don’t have things to say, because blabbing away is my special gift handed down from God upon my birth. It’s more that the words won’t come to me in any kind of entertaining way and the last thing I want to do is bore everyone with lackluster tales of my weekend.

So instead of that, I’m giving you a couple of random things.

First a picture of me bouncing on the trampoline. Check out my shirt, it has humping unicorns on it.

And second, a random thought I’ve been pondering:
Why are yellow shoes so popular this season?

As anyone who will stand still and listen to me whine knows, I’ve been feeling stuck in a fashion rut. The casual office atmosphere of California blind-sided me and I adapted to it much too quickly, with arms way too open. I went from wearing dresses and heels daily to living in jeans, tee shirts, and comfy shoes. And while I don’t think there’s anything wrong with any of those items, I was starting to feel boring. And old.

Desperately wanting help, I turned to a very nice person with a very helpful fashion focused blog. And boy, help is what she gave. She wrote a long post packed with tons of tips to cure me of my fashion ailments. It was such a helpful piece that jparks even read it, and today said “You’re wearing an accessory, just like the post said to do!” (nevermind that I was wearing a necklace that I wear all the time. I was just impressed he read a fashion article)

I’ve taken Susan’s advice to heart and am planning on stocking up on chinos, strappy sandals, and a jean jacket as soon as I can get to a mall. Or wrestle the credit card out of jparks’ wallet. Until then, I’m shopping my own closet and hoping for the best.

And because she asked so nicely, here’s a picture of today’s outfit. I dug out some jeans from the Gap (I noticed after leaving the house that they are just a bit too long, even with heels), a silk shirt from Banana Republic, and some heels I had forgotten about. It was a simple outfit, but somehow felt better than my normal work uniform.

Now if I could only find the time to flat iron my hair and throw on some makeup I’d be unstoppable.