Archive | August, 2011

Thrift store heart break

30 Aug

About 9 years ago, I had my very first real boyfriend.  He was mature, handsome, and 3 whole years older than me.

Every “date”, the two of us would sit and hold hands on my parents’ couch, awkwardly ignoring the sweaty buildup of nerves collecting between our palms.

Afternoons consisted of carting his pesky little brother to the local arcade, as I sacrificed my meager  bank account on “JUST ONE MORE GAME OF WHEEL OF FORTUNE!!”.

And each evening?  We whispered and giggled on my private phone line, endlessly mulling over our deepest dreams and desires.  My young heart soon blossomed into a wise, all-knowing, 16 year old, quickly and deeply “in love”.

I would brag to my high school friends about my super-cool, mature college boyfriend.  “He has a car, you know?  And he doesn’t even have a curfew!”  He was so…dreamy.  And perfect.  And did I mention mature?!

One afternoon, when I’d had my fill of Wheel of Fortune, I cautiously invited him into a small, and very personal piece of my world.

The Thrift Store.

On our drive to Goodwill, my heart began to palpitate and my speech began to stutter, as my mind flew through the lists of possibilities swarming the isles.



80’s track suits!

The possibilities…

As we walked in those dusty, dirty doors, I turned to my boy and gushed, “Isn’t this marvelous!  I feel positively HIGH and GIDDY with excitement!”

He slowly turned to me with a look of worry and deep sadness in his eyes, and whispered, “I.  Hate.  Thrift stores.  They make me feel…hopeless!  Depressed!  Empty inside!  I’m going to find a chair and take a nap while you look around.”

My heart dropped.

And that folks?  That was the beginning of the end.

Thank God for life lessons.

Details::  shirt {Forever 21, thrifted, $2}; skirt {Urban Outfitters, $8}; wedges {Target, $6}; belt {thrifted, $2}; hair scarf {thrifted, $2}; bracelets {Kohls, $10}; Watch {Kohls, $55}

**Yes, I made it through 8 hours of teaching in these 5-inch wedges.  I’m insane.


Handmade with love

26 Aug

Once upon a time, I took a sewing class.

I assumed we’d be making quaint little pillows and ill-fitting-t-shirts.  Imagine my delight when I learned we would be making a skirt of our choosing.

I high-tailed it 40 miles to Jo-Ann’s Fabric, and aimlessly drifted about, while caressing chiffon, lusting after shimmering sequins, and nuzzling patterned fleece.  Finally, I settled on an utterly generic, safe, and familiar blue cotton with white polka dots.

Our instructor hissed daily in her high pitched voice about kick pleats, invisible zippers, and hemlines.  I ignored her nagging as I giddily cut and measured, sewed and seam ripped.

Soon, my friends began to flutter around the room with their giddy little faces, twirling in skirts to audiences full of “oooohs” and “ahhhhhs”.  I was sweating, cursing under my breath, and ripping out my seam for the 18th time in a row.

Weeks passed.  Friends began constructing handbag, after onesie, after ill-fitting t-shirt.

And I couldn’t get my freaking hem to line up.

After approximately 6 different zippers, countless tears, and more than a few pep talks from my instructor, my skirt finally came to fruition.

And then I never sewed ever again.

The end.

Details:: shirt {Gap, $7}; skirt {handmade, priceless}; wedges {Payless, $20}, bracelets {Khols, Claire’s, Elementary School I work at, $20, gift, and free, respectively}, rings {Claires and heirloom, both gifts}