Anthropologie Spring Reviews Part II

This post should really be entitled, “The Time I Melted In The Dressing Room And Lived To Tell About It.”

In the first set of my reviews a few days ago, you will notice I started with a sideways braid.

But it started to unravel. And I started to unravel.

So, in the next few pictures, you will get to see me attempt to cool down by moving my hair off of my neck. It ain’t pretty.

It didn’t work.

This is going to be anti-climatic, but I am going to give away the ending.

I survived.

I tried on fifteen items in a dressing room.

And I survived.

Who knew I was made of such strong stuff?

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Linen pants.

I really liked these pants on the hanger. These were too tight on my thighs. As most linen pants are. I wish I could remember what size I tried on the Level 99 Wideleg Linen Pants for you. I think it was a 28, because I think I wanted to try on a size 29 and they did not have it. Or it was the other way around. All I know is, maybe these would be good in a size up, but the store did not have it. Which was also good, because I did not have it in me to try one more thing on.

Told you, my reviews are helpful.

The color of these pants is amazing. If you can wear linen pants then these are for you.

The Pintucked Buttondown is so cute. In the print I am wearing, there are sweet little pastel birds lounging around. I am wearing a size six here. Kristin from Lovely Apidae bought this top a few weeks ago and it looks so much better on her. She gives a good representation of this top. It looks much better with jeans.

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Then I tried on this Mahdia Peasant Top with a pair of Pilcro Stet Slim Bootcut Jeans. I like the jeans. They are a size 28. What do you think? I do not know if they are too short with these boots. But with flats, they might be too long. I also realize it is hard to tell because of the way I am standing. Remember, I was melting. So, this seems to be a good stance to take to sink into the floor. Other than that, I have no answer or excuse for you.

I added these pants to my wishlist. Please let me know what shoes I should wear with them. I am clueless.

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I adored this top. It ended up being the same Mahdia Peasant Top as above, just in a different print. I am wearing a size six in both pictures. I am still unsure about it. I do not know. I did not add it to my wishlist, but I might. Purple is my least favorite color, but I love it with the turquoise necklace here.

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Speaking of purple.

This Del Mar Tunic was the top I thought I was definitely going to buy before I tried it on. I loved it online. This is a medium. I have larger arms and this sleeve was not flattering on me.

Notice my hair and make up falling. The end is near, I’m sure.

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What can I say about the Haru Pullover?

It has really good reviews on the product page.

It was not my favorite, but I think the sleeves are fun.

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This Texture-Print Tunic was me stepping out of my comfort zone. This is a small. I think it is flattering. It is cute and preppy. It is not my style, but it would be great on someone whose style it is. I also think the center pink stripe is surprisingly flattering.

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I think I would have really liked this sweater, except it was the last thing I tried on. And that dressing room was hot. And, well, this is a sweater. I like the color and the crochet panel. It is called the Sujet Top. I am wearing a small in this picture. I think this runs big. It was extremely comfortable. It is see through, so an undershirt of some kind is required.

Have you braved a dressing room lately? Do you like trying on clothes? Do you find yourself getting warmer in the dressing room?

P.S. I recently did Free People Spring Reviews, too!

Overheard in March 2014

I did not actually overhear a lot in March. Okay. That is a lie. I overheard a lot of stuff I felt was too inappropriate to share. One thing in particular I cut out because it involved a young teenage girl. Gotta use my common sense.

It’s in there, I swear.

Somewhere.

With that in my mind, here are some funny or interesting conversations I overheard or took part in in March:

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I find dynamics between women fascinating. When we were eating a meal in Vegas one day, I happened to overhear an awkward woman in her late forties approach the table of two women the same age who were currently all ready halfway through their lunch.

“Hi!” She screeched. And the two women at the table exchanged glances. And I cringed inside for the loud girl.

“How are you doing?” She guffawed. But before they could answer, she immediately jumped to, “Did you hear I got promoted?!”

They acknowledged that indeed they had.

The awkward girl tried to downplay it like it was no big deal, but one of the women interrupted her and said, “It’s obvious you’re really proud of it. You can’t play it off like you aren’t.”

The girl could not take a hint and stood there for a good five minutes longer, looming over their table describing the entirety of her new job and title. She could not seem to sense that the two women were not only not happy for her, but that she had long overstayed her welcome.

After she finally made it back to her own table, I was able to breathe a sigh of relief. It was a tough one to witness.

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Yesterday, my family and I went to a falconry lesson (post to come soon). While we were driving home, we were discussing the things we learned and the many different raptors there are in the world.

My son said, “I would really like to see a Golden Eagle.”

To which my daughter replied, “You know it’s not really gold, right?”

My son sighed heavily, and sadly said, “Really? Darn! I really wanted to see that.”

My husband said, “It is more like a brownish gold.”

My son replied, “Oh! So, like a perfectly toasted marshmallow?”

I will never be able to see or hear the words Golden Eagle and not think of marshmallows again.

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We were walking back to our hotel in Las Vegas and a couple was fighting in front of us. Not in front of us, but rather, they were walking directly ahead of us and their conversation was loud enough for me to hear. And not necessarily fighting, but having a loud conversation that neither of them was likely to win.

“You do this every time!” The husband proclaimed. He was neither indignant nor was he sad. Just kind of factual and emotionless.

The wife did not seem to care. “I’ll make it up to you when we get back to the hotel.”

“Great.” The man said in a slightly uplifted way. Meant I am sure to be sarcastic, but the wife was all ready rushing ahead, intent on whatever new pursuit had caught her attention.

The man begrudgingly began to follow her and I was just close enough behind him to hear him mumble, “But you won’t.”

And I wish I had not been that close, because that made me sad.

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I was at a bar with my friends. Wait. That sounds rather seedy and dangerous. Oh? It doesn’t? Okay, good. No need to explain further, then.

There were two young couples in their early twenties seated at a table next to us.

I noticed that one of the four young adults would jump up, tour the bar area slowly and then come back and the next person would get up and do the same thing. It was too loud to overhear what they were doing. My talent lies in observations not in conversations. I was far too shy (and frankly far too lazy) to go to their table and ask them what they were doing.

My outgoing friends had no such qualms. They approached the table and inquired as to their curious behavior.

It turned out that the two couples were in town to celebrate one of the couple’s engagement. They were all old friends and had decided to meet there that night.

The bar had a long wall of paintings and each of them was getting up, picking their favorite painting and coming back to the table. The game was in deciding if the other members of the table knew the person doing the choosing well enough to correctly guess their favorite painting.

It was a cute, innocent drunken game. And I was happy to witness easy fun between friends. Us girls were so much older than the two couples and it saddened my heart to think of the light-heartedness eventually coming to an end as the heaviness of the years takes over.

I hope it doesn’t. I hope their light is trapped within each of them like the oil on the paintings that they each picked. And does not tarnish.

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Speaking of friends. On another night while walking in Las Vegas (oh! My feet. My poor, poor feet. This blog would take on a new tone if they could speak), a trio of men would burst ahead of us. And then stop. Then run. And stop. They were all over the place.

This might have been scary.

Had they not each been under one hundred thirty pounds. In their very early twenties (little boys, really). Dressed in pastels. And had not been so completely oblivious that there were other individuals in the world besides the three of them.

They were yelling back and forth to each other. Somewhere along the line, the three of them got separated (how this occurred is beyond me, as it was a straight walk back to our hotel).

I walked in front of the dark haired young man with the purple pants and blue checkered shirt. His eyes focused. Then refocused on me. “Hey!” He screamed, even though we were two feet apart. “Hey! Have you seen Ferdinand?”

I replied, “I do not know who Ferdinand is, but it is a lovely name.”

He was back to ignoring that I existed and five feet a head of us a blonde haired young man was impatiently stalking.

“Ferdinand!” Yelled the young man. They happily rejoined each other as if they had not been separated for less than three minutes.

“Ferdinand, she doesn’t know who you are! She’s never heard of you!”

They both looked back at me and snickered. I was surprised he remembered speaking to me. The two boys took off running.

I wondered if the two of them remembered their duo had been a trio just moments earlier.

I turned to my husband and said, “Wow! I have never seen anybody drunk act like that before!”

My husband chuckled at my naivety. “Honey,” he said. “That wasn’t alcohol.”

“Ohhhhhhh.” I exhaled. It had never occurred to me that it could be anything else.

And I guess that is a good thing.

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I was at our hotel and a group of male escorts were behind us. I accidentally stopped and one of them almost ran into me. But before the collision occurred, he belted out, “BOOM!”

Which startled me and made me move.

And then chuckle.

Because if that is not the best way to get someone out of your way, I don’t know what is.

Have you overheard anything funny lately? Any good stories to share?

* If you missed February’s Overheard In, you can find it here.

Keepin’ It Real March 2014

My brain seems to have turned to mush in the month of March. Is that how the saying for March goes? “March Madness” or March Mushiness”? I keep making foolish mistakes in my posts. I have been catching them before they actually go up (hopefully). But, for example, in two posts, I found these two sentences:

“The hotel also sent up a sweet gift of chocolate covered strawberries for are anniversary.”

” I thought this was the picture that best depicted the link of the skirt.”

I brought a $10 bill to dinner when I thought I had grabbed a $100. I have been making silly blunders. Everywhere in life. It is odd and I hope it ends in April!

In my Keepin’ It Real posts, I like to share things that went on in the month that I never got around to posting about. Or photo snafus. It is my monthly random (or at least, more random than usual) post:

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I love the nail color I painted my nails this month. It is a gel nail finish. I will have to get them redone this Friday.

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Photo outtakes.

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A Murphy photo outtake.

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Okay. Here is another one. He deserves it. He is quite ornery.

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I have been reading this romantic fantasy book series as a wonderful escape.

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I thought this was a funny item waiting in our hotel room bathroom at The Wynn hotel.

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If I were to describe March in a sentence, I would say it was the month I became obsessed with Nutella.

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Trader Joe’s has super cheap daffodils right now.

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I was at a club with my friends and had to take a picture of the tile around the toilet. It was so unexpected and pretty. I want to do this in my master bathroom as the toilet is in a separate stall.

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Have you tried a hamburger from The Habit? Oh. My. Gosh. Yum! : )

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Found a new italian restaurant in town that makes their pasta from scratch. Mmmm. So good!

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We have an authentic wood burning Italian pizza place right around the corner from us. The pizza is amazing. My son and husband have started adding french fries to half of their pizza and declared it the best thing ever. I tried it and it is surprisingly good. Have you tried french fries on your pizza?

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My son is a gentle soul. We have long since learned that rough sports are not for him. He also did not like the yelling involved in martial arts. So, we found his thing in golf.

I love to go with him to his lessons. It is so peaceful. I thought this tree branch looked like an evil hand trying to pluck the hawk from the sky.

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Have you ever read Jenny from The Bloggess’ recount of the time she purchased a five foot tall rusty rooster? If not, here it is. She does curse. This does not bother me. But I thought I should add that before you click over. However, she is the funniest person. Ever.

Anyway, in honor of her, I had to snap a picture of this huge rusty rooster I found whilst driving around. Again, there are so many people in this world I must meet!

What was something cool you saw or tried this month? Please share!

The Time I Met A Fairy Tale

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I am about to tell you a tale.

It is up to you to decide what to make of it.

Everything in this story is true.

And for the past seventeen years there have been moments where I have questioned the validity of my memory. Thankfully, it has remained the same after all of these long years. However, it does not make the story any less strange:

When I was nineteen I worked as a hostess at a little steak restaurant in town. The owners were a really cool laid-back couple in their thirties. Every girl that worked in the joint had a crush on the owner. We’ll just call him Derek*. He had long dark wavy hair that caressed the collar of his button-down cowboy shirt (the type of buttons that snap… And unsnap quickly, if you get my drift), a Brad Pitt smile, brown gleaming eyes, the sexiest whisper of a voice, and he wore his jeans well. Sorry for all of the sordid details. I wanted to get the details right for the story’s sake, of course.

Well, actually, Derek had nothing to do with the story, but I thought it would be fun to throw him in. For my your dreams tonight. It will make the story I am telling a little less disturbing.

You’re welcome.

So, there I was. At the hostess counter. The restaurant was extremely busy. The bar was full. We were operating on a short staff. We had an hour and a half wait. And us two hostesses were being swarmed with customers. Hungry customers, who after ten minutes into their hour and a half wait, would be coming up to us demanding to know where they were on the list. This wouldn’t be so bad if just one person did it, but it seemed that many folks parading around under the title of “adult” were terrible at time management.

And would come up every ten minutes to check our magic list. Because time must work differently on it.

This is why we always gave a wait time longer than we expected it to be. And, beside each name, the time we had given them to expect to wait was written.

That’s a little hostess trick I’m givin’ ya. And my second gift in this post.

Again, you’re welcome.

I might have also been slightly irritated that the white crayon I had been whittling with a steak knife had had to be put away to deal with the crowd. And also why today, there is one less whittler and one less crayon sculpture in the world.

This is where my gifts to you end.

Somehow, in the midst of all of this, in through the crowd, stalked a short little old man.

He is the center of our story.

He was as real as you and me.

He had a long white beard. A face full of leathered wrinkles. A large hawk nose. Beady little eyes. And a scowl larger than the whole of his entire body.

He also could not have been taller than five feet. In my memory he was as tall as the bottom of my rib cage, but that seems entirely impossible. And so for you I say, “under five feet.” In my head I say, “as tall as my rib cage.” You may choose to believe whichever you choose. It is just a small part of the story. He was not a “little person” as we know them today. He was just a very short…Very grumpy…Very odd little old imp man.

He came up to the hostess booth and asked me how long the wait would be. I asked him if he was by himself (this is because parties of one are quicker to seat). He was.

I told him his wait would be an hour.

Then I asked him for his name.

And he told me.

And I stared at him.

I asked him again.

And he told me.

And I laughed.

I could not believe it. It was the best joke of the night.

The little old man’s cheeks flushed red with anger. In my memory, he stomped his wee feet. But this is the part I think I might have exaggerated. For this story’s sake, though, we will say he stomped his feet in a mad little rage. He asked me why I was laughing.

And this is what I said, “Your name. Why, that can’t possibly be your name!”

He just stared at me. And stared at me. Until I picked up my pen.

“Okay. How do you spell that?” I inquired. It was at this point I began to suspect he was quite serious. And it was at this point I began to wonder if the air in the restaurant had been drugged.

“R-U-M-P-E-L-S-T-I-L-T-S-K-I-N,” he sharply spelled out, all the while giving me a stare that would have shriveled straw.

“Okay, Rumpelstiltskin. I will call you when your table is ready.”

The little old man stalked off towards the bar.

Our hostess desk continued to be bombarded. And I put the strange man out of my head for a time.

Until his name was the next to he called.

“Rumplestiltskin, your table is ready.”

No answer.

Snickers from the impatient crowd.

Two more times I called his name and two more times there was no answer.

For the last time, I said, “Final call for Rumplestiltskin. Rumplestiltskin, this is your final call.”

I never imagined that those words would be uttered from my lips.

I really never imagined any of the situation would have have occurred to me.

And that it would indeed be not an imagination.

Rumplestiltskin never did answer my call.

Maybe he had heard we had a magic list at that hostess desk and he was disappointed to learn the truth of it.

I think he left, because he was upset that he told me his name.

Either that, or the fact, that I cannot spin straw.

But it is definitely one of those two.

There really is no other explanation.

My having laughed at the poor man being entirely out of the mix.

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* Derek is the only part of this story that is made up. The name, that is. The man, well, he was oh so real.

Sweet dreams.

P.S. This absurd and 100% true account was written for The Daily Post’s Weekly Writing Challenge: Power Of Names.