buoy

more indecent exposure

the sunset from the top of my van in the driveway, after a crazy rain storm:

pretty damn awesome.

another guest post from brian!!!!!

a while back, my friend brian began guest posting here about his move to nebraska.  

well, guess what?  he's back!  (here i mean, as in, this blog.  he's not back in tucson...)

so, without further ado, here's his latest installment!

For the first time since my journey here, I experienced the sheer essence of the midwestern small town. If there is any one movie that could accurately describe what it's like, I would have to surprisingly go with Back To The Future. And I mean that partly because they are about 20 years behind. You know that square (or park) that sits outside the courthouse with the tower? And that strip of road Marty McFly drove back into 1985 on? That's quintessential. Things you might here being said on a weekend night are, "I'm bored, let's go drink and drive around the square" or "Hey let's go drink and drive down the strip"

I had a wedding in Kearney, Nebraska, which is about 2 hours west of Lincoln. It is about 30,000 strong, which makes it quite big in comparison to other towns here. However, just like every other small town, there is nothing to do. The big attraction for such a big town, it seems, is University of Nebraska - Kearney, which actually looks like something from 2008. That's sad.

As for the rest of the town, it's basically split up in two, there is all the commercialized businesses, equipped with an inordinate amount of hotels (who'd think people actually STAY here overnight?). They actually have gaming cafes... you know, the ones in the 90s that gamers would pay money to have high speed internet. No word if "soda jerk" is still a profession there.

Then literally, on the other side of the tracks, sat the residential outfit of the town. You go down this strip of road that college kids reside just like any other college town, with fraternities and sororities just like anywhere else. However, there is nothing to do, so they are pretty much alcoholics. Actually, if you aren't an alcoholic by 16, you probably moved to Lincoln, and are just a social drinker.

But it was a special night in this town! It was CRUISE NIGHT! The biggest event of the year! I understand with all those exclamation marks, you'd think I were sarcastic, but no, and wait 'til you hear what it entails. Basically, you sit out on the street, drink, and watch cars drive by. Go ahead... re-read that for continuity purposes. I can't make this shit up.

Now sure, the cars that drive by are really, really nice cars... and by that, being Nebraska, I mean really nice classic cars. You think anyone can get a ferrari out there? No! But I guess I can understand the allure of such an event. As a waitress at the country club said when I pressed her on this fascinating event, "It doesn't matter how old you are, you can drink as long as you're on private property. The instant you step on the sidewalk, the cops with stop you and ask questions. But a cop could just sit and watch a 12 year old kick back with a brew and won't do anything" Just as a sidenote, I had a temporary crush on this waitress, simply because she was trying to get me trashed on beer. But I think she just wanted me to experience the heart of Kearney - alcohol.

And boy did I! On the way back, traffic was brutal because of Cruise Night. Since it's not a structured event, we were kind of part of this classic car parade. Were driving down the strip in our beaten up '99 Chevrolet Cavalier, next to a '68 Mustang and a '73 Camaro... supercharged (I'm making this up, cause I suck at my knowledge of classic cars... but you get the point). Being drunk, I ate this up for dinner. I think I was 2 beers short from hanging half way out the window yelling at people as if I had Tourette's. And, of course, I had to take ample ..shitty drunken.. pictures.





This says it all. Practically the whole town was out for this. Even the douchey dude-bro frat goobers come out for the fun!








But whatever you do, DON'T go on the sidewalk!





And what is all this for?





Cars like that. WELCOME TO KEARNEY, NEBRASKA!!!

i made something!

this is the beginning of a serious addiction.

warning: VERY LONG, SOMEWHAT RANT-ISH POST

for today, just a bunch of randomness that somehow ties together in my head:

- i finally started a polyvore account.  i think the thing that pushed me over to the other side was meggy's post.  perfect, right?  i got all excited.  i mean, i've seen a lot of bad polyvore-ism out there, and i've always been afraid of contributing to that genre, but she gave me hope.  a light at the end of the terrifying tunnel.  

or at least a tasteful combination of garments and accessories.

(and i also got pretty worked up when i realized i could put things OTHER THAN CLOTHING into my collections...  is that what you call them?  collections?  collages?  god, i'm so new at this.)

- i got a bunch of listings up in the shop last night.  finally back in business!  yay!  

i feel a little awful about how long it's taken me to get things back in there - especially since the ever-wonderful amber provided me with some GREATLY appreciated add space over at painfully hip, which up until last night, when clicked upon, would lead directly to an empty shop. 

i don't want to be that kind of person.

- on topic of the shop, i am starting to wonder now if maybe i should change the name.  (yes, after all the effort i've exerted on creating this shop.)  reasons?

this morning i awoke to find a rather snotty email in my ebay in-box that questioned my ethics in the listing of a certain non-vintage item.  

my immediate reaction was a faster heart-rate as i thought "oh no!  i listed something incorrectly!"   

upon further inspection however, i reassured myself that i had not listed it incorrectly, and nowhere on the title or in the listing itself does it say "vintage."  

here's the thing: i try my hardest to accurately list items.  i'm really really happy with the shop, and where my life is at, and the freedom that running it gives me.  i don't have to work for anyone.  i can wake up when i want, i can drink coffee and wear bad outfits to my desk to do my work, i go thrifting for a living.

why would i want to do anything that could possibly harm this privilege?  

i have spent what feels like the majority of the last 5+ years of my life working towards the point where i am at right now, so it seems obvious - to me at least - that i would not try to jeopardize this by trying to "trick" someone into thinking that a $9.00 item i've listed is something that it's not.  

at one point i had a little note up in the shop that said something along the lines of "vintage and a handful of non-vintage, unique, one-of-a-kind, pieces," to explain the concept of the contents i chose.  i realize now that it's no longer up, which is my fault, and i owe an apology to anyone out there who's absence it might confuse.  

as someone in the customer-service industry, ultimately it is my job to ensure that the people who purchase (or browse through) the garments i have listed don't feel like i am trying to pull the wool over their eyes.  i want them to feel like they honestly found something amazing, that it was accurately represented, even under-represented, so that they are surprised - in a good way - when they open the box.

i chose to add the word "vintage" to the end of my shop name because i do list a lot of vintage items - the majority of what i am drawn to and thus sell, are vintage garments.  

however, (and i'm starting to feel like this might have been an error on my part), i also chose the word because i felt like it accurately summed up the aesthetic of the shop as a whole, and the type of girl it would appeal to.  

there aren't a whole lot of helpful words out there to gracefully sum up the type of shop i (and a fast-growing group of others) have.  unique?  one-of-a-kind?  these are what our parents want (or don't want) us to be.  other than that there are the ever-dreaded handful of labels given to this specific subculture, most often used in a derogatory, name-calling, sort of way - hipster, indie - and honestly, i'm not confidant in my direction enough, to really take one of those words on, to "own it," to throw it back out there as a "yeah?  and what?  now buy the look."

i know that a lot of people "get it."  (my thoughts here.)

they get that we don't really have a set, marketable category that we fit into - and that's the appeal, in a lot of ways.  we're not total "hipsters."  we're not "rockabilly" or "alt" or "goth."  we don't dress in all 30's, all 60's, all 90's gear.  we see the appeal in american apparel and thrift stores.  sometimes something at forever 21 (god forbid) just works with what we feel that day.  we understand the beauty in the high style and comfort of granny shoes.  we make a lot of the things we wear. 

i also know that we seem to be missing a term that we can use to sum ourselves up in an easygoing, self-confidant, no-unpleasant-implications sort of way, so in turn, a lot of us have clung to the word "vintage."

these thoughts started forming a while back, and i think they really boiled to the top for the first time a few months ago, when i stumbled upon the message board containing all the gossip about why the nasty gal vintage shop had shut down on ebay.  

she seemed to be doing so well - fantastically well - and then one day she was just gone.  (as it turns out, she just started a web site where she sells with a set price, rather than auction form.)

there have been plenty of rumors that nasty gal was shut down by ebay for running her auctions in an un-ethical way, which, if true, i fully support.  however, after a handful of posts regarding this, the message board became nothing but page after page (i'm talking like, twenty plus pages here,) of nothing but one catty vintage seller after another tearing apart everything from her use of the word "vintage," to the shape and poses of her models.  "they look like they starve themselves."  "they pose like they have to go to the bathroom."

this from people - grown people! - who then want us to take them seriously as sellers.

i know a lot of this stems from jealousy - when you succeed at something - especially in the public eye - many people become bitterly jealous.  and when you do it with pretty skinny models - or are pretty and/or skinny yourself - people accuse you of just flat out being a scam. 

it doesn't matter that nasty gal's auctions were ending in the $200 range - by the choice of her bidders.

she should not be taken seriously because she found (or employed!) skinny pretty girls.  

if her tactics in reaching these outrageous end bids were dishonest, then by all means, shut her down, but, by the looks of her listings, she put a lot of work into her shop, and in the end, is it possible that all that hard work just paid off?  

in my mind there are two categories here: the shops that are run like real, full-time businesses - where the girls (or boys) have nice backdrops, have taken the time and effort to learn about photography, understand lighting, style each garment in a flattering way, use attractive models in professional looking poses, go on buying trips, promote their shop like a real business...

and then there are the shops that are run like a hobby - which is fine - but what's not ok, in my book, is when rather than gather inspiration and ideas from the people who are clearly finding success, these people spend hours - and hours - posting bitchy remarks on public message boards about the weight of the models.

to break it down even further, (and i know you're dying for me to do this, in fact, i hear you screaming right now, "please diana!  don't end this post now!  it's just not long enough!  i want to miss two meals today in my attempt to finish this in one sitting!") i think that there are two categories of vintage sellers.  

i think there are the ones who fit into the category above - the "hipster"-ish fashion-obsessed indie girls and boys who love vintage pieces, but not necessarily for the integrity of the age, but the uniqueness of the piece, and then there are the true, die-hard, vintage-down-to-the-exact-date-it-came-off-the-assembly-line fans and collectors, who demand (and rightly so) that the pieces they are bidding on be totally, absolutely, beyond a shadow of a doubt, accurately labeled.  

and in my humble opinion, as much as these vintage sellers on the message boards claim to be clamoring for the cause of the latter, i really just don't see it as being an issue.  i don't think that the collectors, the people trolling ebay for authentic edwardian dresses, are going to stumble upon a shop like mine, (or nasty gal vintage, with altered pieces and risque editorial-ish styling), and say "oh my.  this is exactly what i'm looking for,  i must outbid the $250 this skinny blazer is already at."

let her call it vintage. 

if it's from the 80's, it truly is, at this point.

what other word do we have?

and as much as "customer service" means serving the customer, i also feel that one of the best things about ebay is the freedom it gives people to list what they love and can truly get behind, and yes, there are some shady, scamming sellers out there who are doing everything they can to fool even the most discerning vintage shopper, but for the most part, the people who make this their life - and i promise you, if you have opened even a halfway decent shop, it IS your life - they are doing it because it's what they love to do, not to fool a customer.  just as with everything in life, along with honesty in exchange, there is personal responsibility in the choices we make, and if you don't feel comfortable bidding $9.99 on a dress that wasn't marked "vintage," (or even $250 on one that was,) you have the choice of not doing it.  

there are a million other things on ebay.

i'm sure you can find one that you like.

 

may contain paragraphs

exhibit a:

can you read that?

it says "may cause drowsiness."

i'd like to add that this is on my prescription for sleeping pills.

exhibit b:

i don't know why i haven't shown this fanciness off sooner...

this was (is) my birthday gift from my mama and pops.

a vintage canon.

real film photography!

beautiful, isn't she?

you don't even know the adventures we'll be going on.  

soon.  soon...

i will not mention a word about my wisdom teeth today

that's a lie!  i can't stop myself!

i'll try to limit it to a paragraph though.

here goes:

my body is playing a mean game of "get diana," probably to punish me for all the horrible things i subjected it to throughout my teenage years, (and yes, even into my twenties...)

i'm sorry, poor, pre-pubescent pear-ish shaped body.  

last night i awoke from a somewhat deep sleep to this epiphany: i am about to vomit.

(i don't tend to be a puker...)

i ran from my bed and did indeed throw up into my poor retro trash can, which, considering the stitches holding my jaw together, the four abandoned tooth holes, and my dry sockets, i must say, it was not my most favorite puke of my life.

seriously though, (and i've already told you how i feel about the phrase "seriously though...), what is WITH all this?  can't a girl just have one uneventful post-surgical experience?  

ok, on to my other favorite topic.

i have have had the best thrifting luck lately - christian dior blazers in a teeny tiny size (yes, blazers.  as in, more than one.), dreamy vintage oxfords in size 7.5 and 8, jumpers, rompers and puffly little high-waisted mini skirts in splashy patterns, broken-in acid-washed jean jackets, 80's cut shorts with lots of buttons and high, wide legs, beat up western-styled lace-up boots with a slightly different color heel and toe and the perfect stacked heel hight, perfect summer hats, floaty summer dresses...  i should stop, so i don't make you cry.

i'm a nice person though, and i've somehow managed to agree (with myself) to let some of these things go...  i will be listing a TON of these things in the shop tomorrow, and by a ton, i mean many many more then the one sad little auction for the sun dress that i managed to get up this week, before returning to wailing about my teeth. 

(it's embarrassing, yes.)

i have to say, i'm really excited about this week's listings.  and i don't mean that in a "this is my shop, and i have to say that about it" sort of way.  

i mean it like, i'm really excited.  i am in love with ever piece in there.

well, my pain medication is starting to kick in, and i think i'm rambling, so i'm going to cut myself off now.

xo

hot beans

i'n case you didn't gather, i'd like to publicly announce that this is no longer a fashion/diana's life blog, but now my little corner of the interweb devoted purely to discussing my medical conditions.  and if we're going to get even more specific, four teeth i no longer even own.

ok, now that that's out of the way...

i went back to the oral surgeon today because my boyfriend was a bit concerned with the amount of mashed potato that would accumulate on my chin as i ate, before it either:

a) was noticed, and brushed off, or 

b) fell on to my american apparel top.  (ooh!  fashion reference!)  (but that was actually only to be comical, witty, and slightly ironic.) 

actually, to be honest with you, it was never option "a."  

i just wrote that to feel better about myself.

anyway, i haven't been aiming too well with the spoon lately, which becomes even more of an issue when you combine it with the fact that i still can't feel the lower left half of my face. 

at all.

as in, not a bit.

i would catch mike staring at me as i gummed my jello, a look of pure horror mixed with a little bit of "do i really want to be in a long term relationship at this point in my life?"  to which i would respond with the ever-popular "what?!?!" and he would shake himself from his daze and say, "oh nothing...  i was just thinking about how much i love you."

whatever dude.  

i know you want up on my granny foods.

so i called the oral surgeon.

i say, "i can't feel my face."

the receptionist says, "who is this?"

i divulge.

he says, "oh.  that's not good.  you should feel your face by now.  you need to come in immediately.  tomorrow."

(that's not immediately.)

when the receptionist knows it's not good, the first thing that pops into my mind is, 

"oh.  that's not good."

so i go back to the surgical center this morning, and the first thing they say is, "well, you have two dry sockets."

for any of you who don't know what that is, i'll tell you.

a dry socket is when raw bone is just hanging out in your mouth by itself 'cause the bacteria has decided to eat the blood clots.  (um, scabs.)

it hurts.

but modern medical advances have found that a really good way to deal with that is to take scratchy pieces of cotton that have been marinating for a couple of centuries in a foul flavored juice, and cram them into the hole with the pointiest tool you have ever seen in your life.

it's very cutting edge.

i cried, but i told them that it was with joy.

then the surgeon gives me a kleenex and the nurse reaches over to hold my hand.

(this is creepy, ok?)

after a moment of staring at me, he says, 

"well, you have a very rare nerve injury as a result of the surgery.  you can't feel the bottom left side of your face."

"really?"

"now, 90 percent of the time this happens, patients DO eventually regain sensation in their face..."

cool.

"but this could take many weeks - or even months - before you have feeling again...  and then there is that 10 percent..."

so i could be pollock-ing up my chin every time i eat for the rest of my life?

he does, however, end this conversation on a bright note:

"well, at least it doesn't affect your looks!"

cool.  so due to the fact that the surrounding muscles are still raring to go, the left half of my face does not just hang there, sullen and un-cooperative, like the cool kids on the bus on field-trip day in junior high. i'm glad i can still smile and open my lips wide enough to spit at people.

i guess i don't really NEED to know when i dribble taco sauce down my chin at a business lunch, or bite into something hard and chip my teeth, or crack my lip open to the point of bleeding because i can't TELL that it's chapped.  never mind the intensely creepy sensation of not being able to feel your face, or the raging urges to smash my head against a brick wall when an itch starts deep in my skin but i can't scratch it because i can't feel it.

never mind that i have to kiss my boyfriend good night with the right side of my face because i can't tell if i'm forcefully ramming his head back when i attempt it with the left.

at least i it's not affecting my looks.

i don't mean to sound so bitter.  

bitterness doesn't get me anywhere, and out of all the medical risks involved in living, i am incredibly lucky that the one i stumbled into does not affect my ability to work, or participate in the things that i love (well, other than eating, and kissing a certain boy good night...)

i can't help feeling a little offended though - offended that this happened to me.

and that's silly, when you really think about it, because all the things out there waiting to happen - good and bad - they're waiting to happen to someone.

what we talk about when we talk about wasting time

as of late, the only joy i've drawn from public appearance is when mike's involved - what with the black and blue jaw line (yes, i have bruising on the outside - as in the fatty layer - of my cheek,) the swollen eyes and the extra two to three inches added to the circumference of my face, it creates the illusion of "oohh...  looks like she was talkin' back..."  

he gets many dirty looks. 

and being the crotchety old woman that i am, i love it. 

(that's crotchety, as in crabby, not to be confused with crochet-y, as in productive with the making of sweaters.  i do not mean to imply that i am being productive with my down time.  i am not.)

mike took a picture for you:

this was before the bruises really got going. 

i'm even prettier now.

xo

i'm (slightly) baaa-aack!

i needed to eliminate something from my to-do list, and apparently it was this.  

i would have given some warning, had i known this poor little blog was going to be neglected.  that's why they have that stupid saying about hindsight being 20-20 though...

unfortunately, the bad news is that this might not be the end of the dry spell.

a lot has been going on in the dianaverse lately, and it doesn't really show any signs of letting up.  

for the purpose of maybe preventing a few of you from giving up on me entirely, i will now give excuses.

mike and i made it to tucson on the fourth of july, after driving 2500 miles in the heat with all of our clothes, books and house plants.  

we also got stopped by border patrol, and thought the van broke down in new mexico, but in the end, it didn't, so that was good.

tucson is the most wonderful place on earth, and our new house pretty much seconds that.  

our kitchen is literally the size of our apartment in brooklyn, and not only do mike and i have the actual bedroom which we sleep in, we each have our own rooms in addition to that.  (and yes, a living room too.)

i do responsible office-work in mine, and i don't want to know what he does in his.  

i think it involves piles of belongings and not a lot of attention to safety or detail.

so, since arriving in tucson, i have been obsessively shopping antique malls for anything danish modern, and combing thrift stores for goodies for the store.  (which i will be updating soon, i promise.  i have the most amazing stash of summer treasures, and an even BIGGER hoard of back to school loot.  be excited.)

along with that i've been spending many hours every day with my lovely, long-missed friends.  

i can't even begin to describe how wonderful it is to once again have a revolving door of awesome people in my life.  (not that there weren't a couple of stellar folk in nyc, but location, transportation, intense work schedules and a closet of an apartment all made it more difficult to socialize as much as i would have preferred.)  

however, my new kitchen practically screams for a steady stream of company. 

(regular dinner parties and such are in the plans for the very near future.)

so i've been catching up with friends and unpacking and furniture shopping and desperately trying to get set up to re-open the shop, and then yesterday morning i woke up with a toothache.  

which quickly developed into the most severe pain i have ever encountered in my life. 

which drove me to spend $200 to get an emergency check-up with an oral surgeon this morning (after sleeping for a total of three hours last night - sitting up so that the pressure wouldn't build to the exploding point in my jaw.)

which lead to me being scheduled for emergency oral surgery 7:00 monday morning, to remove all four of my asshole wisdom teeth that suddenly decided to grow INTO my friendly teeth, causing nerve crushing and tooth cracking to occur.  

so, send me good luck wishes, and if you have an extra $2000 you could send me that too, because the $2000 i'm using to cover the surgery at this point is coming directly from my "not really available" fund.

(which incidentally was also the source i used to cover the many-hundreds-of-dollars-in-car-repairs incident i had yesterday too.)

so yeah, in other words, i'm totally rich at the moment.  

drinks are on me.

this said, i will now be spending the rest of the weekend desperately trying to photograph as many of the wonderful things for the shop as i can, before my surgery-induced chipmonk cheeks prevent me from being able to look like someone who's style opinion you can trust.

bring on the knives!

xo 

 

my dog ate my motivation

i swear to god i am not as flakey as you think i am.

(long-term friends, please keep your mouths closed right now.  

i have my reasons why i'm consistently AWOL.)

yes, i disappear in real life too.  

it's not just this blog that gets neglected.

the thing is, i really like holing up in my apartment for days at a time making lists of things i need to do, and being entirely unproductive.

next subject:

the stress of this somewhat last-minute decision to move cross-country has caused me to loose my appetite almost entirely, and i've managed to loose that "freshman 15" (which in my case would be more aptly called the "bumble 15.")  

i managed to maintain the same under-weight frame for the first 24 years of my life, and it wasn't until AFTER graduating college and getting a mind-numbing soul-eating job that i turned to food-as-anti-depressant tactics and developed what my friend jake so kindly pointed out as he sat in my room reading "cosmo," "hey diana!  you've got this 'pear shaped' body!"

thanks jakey.

anyway, i'm back down to under-developed pear shape, thanks to a combo of heat/loss of appetite/panicked packing and the fact that i no longer feel the need to take "smoke breaks" throughout my work day, in which i don't smoke, but hide in the private bathroom behind the reception desk and eat as many cookies as i can in four and a half minutes and cry.  

(on an entirely different yet still somewhat related note, i'd just like to point out that this is totally backwards from the way most of america wants to believe: skinny = happy.  i found it to be more along the lines of: happy=eating less crap=healthy body weight.)

but before you punch me, i'd like to point out that my mother, who is in her 50's and has birthed 5 children is ALSO a size 1.  and although she is the most health conscious person i've ever met (she MADE soymilk and whole wheat bread for the whole family through my entire childhood - along with growing a 5 acre organic garden.) she does not follow any sort of regular exercise program.  

genetics are awesome.

thanks mom.

seriously though (and i really hate people who say "seriously though,") i believe that your outside reflects your inside.  and i don't just mean it in that "i feel pretty today!  people are going to notice my confidence and respond to it!" sort of way. 

i mean it like, if your brain feels healthy, your body feels healthy.  and then it just becomes this vicious cycle of health that you can't break free of.

what the hell am i blabbering about?

just look at my van, ok?