The Gift of the Maxi

Kids,

This post is not an ode to feminine sanitary products. Sick.

This post is about the maxi dress. Maxi dresses are this girl's savior during warm summer months. And I appreciate them so much that I'm going to dedicate an entire blog to it.

First of all, what is the maxi dress? According to Wikipedia, the maxi dress is a woman's dress that is lengthy and can be formal or informal. That's essentially how I'd sum it up, too. A long dress that is kinda loose and fun and free and usually made of some swishy fabric.

The maxi dress made a big splash on the summer fashion scene a few years ago. And I resisted it. Oh, how did I resist it! I mean, it does kind of look like you're wearing a g.d. nightgown around town all the time.

This is a maxi dress you can find at Anthropologie this season. It's called the Summer Ballad Maxi should you want to go back in time and buy it...

But do you know what I've come to recognize about the maxi dress? It makes summer accessible to the rest of us! And by the rest of us, I mean the big girls. I mean, I'm not exactly going in for lap band surgery, but girlfriend ain't a size 0. And do you know what exacerbates a fat girl's dilemma more than anything else? Summertime fashion.

First of all, you have to listen to the skinny minnies bitch. Yes, I understand skinny girls, it's so hard to be you. As a child people called you chicken legs! That must have stuuuuuuung. (Sorry, I'm really not trying to attack you, here. Good for you, I mean that.)

But really. Listening to somebody talk about how they usually wear a size 0, but their bathing suit is a size 2 and can you see their love handles? And do they need to get a tan before even going out in the sun?

A chubby girl with lily white skin has trouble listening to that.

Add to that the fact that shorts are actually supposed to be an acceptable form of fashionwear for women. Can somebody tell me why this happened? Why am I supposed to put my thighs in display, and not even in a skirt, but in something that chokes each individual leg so tightly you'd think the shorts were parasitic and couldn't survive without the substantial girth and warmth of my thigh. I went shopping with my sister two days ago and came across a pair of shorts I found adorable. I picked them up, saw that they were my size (I always opt for a size larger than pants in shorts), and then put them back on the rack saying with disgust, "Ugh, I can't wear shorts!"

My sister looked over at me and said, "You sure talked yourself out of that pretty quickly."

Hell yes, sister. I suuuuuure did. Because shorts are evil. They are just another way to make us feel unpretty during the summer. Skinny girls wearing shorts is like a dagger through my ice cold heart.

But I've digressed so badly! I meant not to gripe but to glorify in this post. I meant to exalt the beautiful maxi, not to denigrate the already degenerate shorts. And of course, I really didn't mean to be mean about skinny people... It's not their fault that I don't live a healthy and active lifestyle.

Anyway. On to maxi dresses...

Here's why they rock.

They're long. They allow you to keep those pale, over-worked, bike-crashed, mosquito-bitten legs hidden from the rest of the world.

They're comfortable. I've taken to wearing the maxi dress to work a lot lately and I keep getting the same remark. "You looks so comfortable in your long, flowy dress." You know what, fellow co-workers? I am so comfortable in my long, flowy dress.

They breathe. This is why the maxi dress really is magical. Because it affords a certain amount of modesty while not drowning you in a blanket of sweat and self-loathing, because who feels pretty when their face is falling off? You can get a nice breeze and you can always pull it up just a little bit (just a little, mind you, I'm no strumpet).

They're cute. Wait, hold on. They're "cute". I still have to get used to the idea of the maxi dress as a fashionable thing. I mean, come on, guys. It's like a beach cover up and a nighty had an illicit affair and are trying to pawn their bastard child off as the fashion savior of the summer. Yeah, the illegitimate little bastard sure is lovely, but is it really fashionable? I'll give it "cute" and functional and leave it at that.

Oh maxi dress, I offer the heartiest thanks and praise to you. I shall put you on a pedestal and wear you day in and day out. I shall blog of your greatness and brag of your wearability. Oh maxi, my maxi, how well you have served me.

Oh! Here are some things I've learned about the maxi, by the by...

1) A lot of maxis are super low-cut either because the women wearing them are perceived to be as loose as their flowing hemlines or because they're just "cuter" that way. One of those awesome bandeau bras from American Apparel (or a cheaper one from H&M) is your best friend here. I mean, sure, a little cleavage is great, but if your breasts are literally falling out, just give them a little help.

2) The idea of the maxi being "lengthy" is sometimes taken to extremes by designers. This is especially true if you're of the "petite" variety, as am I. Belts, ladies. Get a belt. Make a belt. Use a rope as a belt, a la Little Mermaid. Cinch that bad boy around your waist, pull the fabric through a bit, and you've created an almost Grecian look (almost...) and saved yourself from tripping all the time.

3) Don't get something that's completely sheer unless you plan on wearing it to the beach or to the Barbary. The maxi dress is frequently made of light, loose fabric. This can mean maxi-mum exposure to your goody bits if you're not careful. And if you're using the maxi as a big girl summer savior, the point is to not put everything on display. Use a slip or skip the dress all together. Trust me on this one.

4) Rotate the maxi. I've literally taken to wearing a maxi every day. How boring of me. Rotate the style and maybe nobody will catch on. They probably will, but at least put some effort into it. Wear different cuts, different styles, different colors. Use your different accessories with different dresses. Mix and match, bitches! It's fun.

Is anybody else almost completely disgusted by the fact that I've said such things as "Oh maxi, my maxi" and "Rotate the maxi" in this post? It's a dress. Just a dress.

A Like-Minded Individual

Kids,

The guy who wrote this missed connection is near and dear to my heart (though I have no idea who he is). Mostly because I know a lot of people who get drunk and act like jackasses to those they love the most. I can be that person. One day you'll have a father who can see through it. Until then, I'll rely on dudes like this to make Craigslist posts with mass appeal.

http://philadelphia.craigslist.org/mis/2354317425.html

Shenanigans

Kids,

Not every post has to be about how I'm questioning my life and where I'm going. While I devote a lot of my blog to that purpose, a very marginal amount of my life is spent tossing and turning over things.

When I'm not having quarter-life-crises, I'm really enjoying being 24 and single and in Philadelphia.

Yesterday we did a lovely event called "Flavors of the Avenue". All you need to know is that I spent two hours setting up, one hour cleaning up, and five hours in between slinging margaritas. And I mean slinging. My hands got so sticky from the copious amounts of sugary-sweet mix and guava puree that they were getting stuck to the pitchers and every time I took my hand off to pop in a lime or give a straw, a little piece of my skin stayed on the pitcher. I had raw hands by the end, but it was frickin' fun.

Afterward, we got wind of another event. Broad Street was completely shut down for a festival and it was free and, oh yeah, Sharon Jones was performing. And boy, was Sharon Jones performing. Bitch is bad ass. Don't know how else to say it.

Look at all of those people!

We shoved a dozen Tecates in our purses and slammed them on the street while enjoying the gorgeous weather and the company of friends.

Ash and Mike are beautiful, no?

What to do?

Kids,

Do you know what you want to do with your life?

I decidedly do not.

I mean, I really do not know what I want to do with my life. Or rather, what I should do with my life. There are a ton of things I want to do, actually. But which is right?

I'm a waffler.

This goes for small decisions as well as large ones. Ask anybody I know. Oftentimes, I know I want to go to dinner, but I don't know where. I rely on whomever I've roped into dining with me to make a decision. I think that the only reason I may actually have friendships is because I need people to make decisions for me.

But not the big ones, kids. The big ones I insist on making (or not making, as the case may be) for myself. And I do not take advice. Ask any of my oldest friends. I have a new life plan every week. And it's not because I'm flaky, it's because I am undecided and confused and mostly really scared.

I know a lot of people who seem to know what they want to do with their lives. I use the word "seem" here because I think they're full of donkey piss. Really? At the age of 21-28, you know what you want to do forever? Do you? Some of you I believe. Some of you have this outrageous talent and/or passion and/or drive.

I'm not an unintelligent person. But I think my waffling and inability to decide what I want to do with my life makes me out to be one. I know how it sounds when I have a new life plan every week for my friends. I'm at lunch with Krystina and I tell her my latest plans and she nods like a good friend and offers advice like a good friend, but I can also tell that she's taking that extra sip of wine to wash down the grain of salt with which she is listening to my rantings and ravings.

Rantings and ravings may be a bit of an understatement.

In fact, my plans are usually pretty well thought out. For the librarian gig that I decided most recently I wanted to accomplish, I made a five year plan. It included saving money, doing research, possibly moving, going back to school, and finally finding a job.

The very end of my plan, in five years, was "be happy" with a smiley face drawn next to it. I don't even like smiley faces. But lately I've found that the bit of optimism expressed by that tiny little creepy drawing eclipses the waning optimism I have in my own life.

And this is not to say that my life is bad or even that I dislike my current job. As a matter of fact, I really like my current job. I like the company I work for, the people I work with, and the things I get to do. I like that I get to spend some time running around the floor like a crazy person, some time doing paperwork (I LOVE working with money), some time updating facebook, some time buying things, some time working on events.

Mostly, what I love about my job is the fact that it doesn't tie me down to any one thing. I get to put on a lot of hats and do a lot of different things. I get to be a jack (jackie?) of all trades while learning to master them all. Plus, as I mentioned earlier, I really do love the company I work for and the people I work with. It's refreshing to work with professionals (yes, there is such thing as a professional in the restaurant industry, though it is frequently likened to a mermaid or other mythological creature).

But what will I do forever? Forever is such an extremely long time. I guess I should say, what will I do for a long, long time? What will be my "vocation"?

Okay. I am ranting now. I hate ranting.

Kids, there is a long list of career possibilities I'm considering right this moment. If you should meet me down the road and I've settled on one of these, give me a big hug and congratulations. It has come only through much weeping and gnashing of teeth, I'm sure. If I've settled on something else, I still want a frickin' cookie or a gold star or something. Because dammit, if at some point in my life I've made it past aging and into adulthood, I want you to know that it has been with a LOT of work. And if you should ever find yourself a confused 20-something not quite sure where to go from here... Know that I was there, too. And if future me acts like a smug asshole because I've figured my life out and you haven't, then feel free to remind me about my closet-sized apartment that I paid way too much for and that one time I fell and knocked my teeth out of my skull. It'll shut me up, I promise.

(For your convenience, photographic proof of "that one time I fell and knocked my teeth out of my skull". You're welcome, you spoiled brats.)

Look, I'm just gonna stream them all along in one paragraph so you can really get the sense of confusion and stream-of-consciousness that goes into my future planning at the moment.

Restaurant Manager. PR Person. Events Coordinator. HR/Payroll Person. Librarian. Lawyer. Wedding Planner. Florist. Bookstore Owner. Journalist. Children's Book Author. Adult Novel Author. Screenplay writer. Kindergarten Teacher. Special Education Teacher. Professor of Literature. Mormon Mommy Blogger (SERIOUSLY!). Food Writer. Baker. Crafter. Retail Buyer. Editor. Critic. Museum curator. Social worker. Person who works with children with disabilities/adults with disabilities/basically any sort of bleeding-heart-non-profit job that will make me cry every night but will leave me feeling really fulfilled. Assistant to some rich dude. Person who asks for money for museums or performing arts centers or galleries or the like. Gardener. Stationery maker. Really on-the-ball housewife. Stylist. Caregiver to my grandparents as they age.

There's more. There's always more. To my kids, we'll see where it ends up. To my peers in the here and now, am I the only one?

Also, special thanks to Cathy and my dad and my sisters and my friends. But mostly my dad and Cathy, because they do have their lives figured out (as far as I can tell) and instead of being smug assholes, they're being really supportive. Possibly very concerned, but still really supportive.

Slamming Doors

Kids,

Everybody comes from somewhere. You came from me and whomever your father is. We'll get to that later. I came from David and Mary Kay Phillips. Unfortunately, you'll never get to meet your grandmother, and that breaks my heart. But luckily we've all been blessed with memories and pictures and tidbits of information to pass down through generations.

This next bit is an excerpt about how my father met my mother. In my father's words:

For background, I met Mary Kay in the spring of 1977. I had spent 2 years at University of Richmond and had transferred to VCU so I was a rising junior at VCU. At the same time I moved from home and into an apartment in the fan with 2 other guys. About a week later Mary Kay and Melody moved into the apartment above us – being college guys we sat on our balcony and watched as these good looking new girls moved in with the help of their boyfriends – this apartment living was looking pretty good. Mary Kay caught my eye right away but, of course she left for Florida right away to spend some time with POGs and take care of her Aunt Rose. She came back in early summer and Jim and Melody, who were now dating, decided to throw a party, one in each apartment. At some point in the party, at the request of Melody, I went upstairs to get something from their apartment. Being a gentleman I knocked, you mom opened the door, I said hi and she closed the door – well there was a fine “how do you do”. So that was our introduction – I am pretty sure it was the first time I ever spoke to Mary Kay. Of course you all know how charming I am and it wasn’t too long before she dumped her boyfriend and we started dating.

One day I hope that you close the door in the right person's face. And I hope that you tell your kids about it.

Coasting

Kids,

I went out with my friend Jill the other night. Jill is a friend I met at Marathon, and she is amazing. You know how they say that big things come in little packages? Jill is a very big thing in a very little package. There are just so many wonderful things I could say about her and I've missed her since changing work venues.

So it was nice catching up. We went to Black Sheep and got a few drinks and, I think, absolutely appalled the poor couple next to us with our no-holds-barred conversation. Jill is one of those friends that you can tell everything to and then trust that she'll tell you everything right back. And frankly, at the age of 24, we frequently sound pretty degenerate when we say it all out loud all at once.

But it's fun. And it's cathartic. And I value the time that we get to spend together, especially now that it is less and less frequent.

There was one downside: the coasters. Coasters are, of course, a given in any bar. Most places have Smithwicks or Miller Lite or personalized coasters. And I'm fine with those coasters. They are useful, disposable, and not overly tacky.

The coasters at Black Sheep on Friday night were tacky.

Exhibit A:

Yeah, I know, my Photobooth skills leave something to be desired. But I'll recap the letters of the backwards coaster that I just posted. To be honest, the coaster just doesn't deserve the dignity of being captured in a higher quality, or even flipped on my computer so you can read the writing.

Here's what it says:

Genius Tips For Picking Up Chicks!

1. Naked is as naked does.

2. If at first you don't succeed, try again, and again, and again. All it takes is one to say yes.

3. Look for women with an ugly friend. Then surprise them by hitting on the ugly friend.

4. Borrow someone's baby and bring it to the bar. Ladies love babies.

5. Lower your standards. Really low.

Yeah. That's really what it says.

And I know, I know, it's supposed to be funny in an ironic sort of way. Of course these aren't meant to be real ways to pick up chicks: they're just funny! I mean, who would REALLY bring a baby to a bar- haha!

But it's just not really funny at all. It's annoying and frankly, kind of creepy. I especially dislike the second one. Through some drunk dude's beer goggles that sounds like a recipe for date rape. I mean, I know I'm over analyzing it here, but I'm just annoyed. If you're going to take your marketing campaign to the bar... make it useful!

Market booze at the bar. Everybody loves those trashy chicks who pour Jaeger all over the place, even if they don't like Jaeger.

Market sex at the bar. Because, let's be honest, alcohol fuels bad decisions. And people frequently make bad decisions in regard to sex.

Market sports/music/art at the bar. And yes, television is a sort of entertainment in the same category as these things. But the thing here is that the marketing needs to be bar specific. If you're a sports bar, play the Sixer's game. If you're a jazz cafe, market toward the pretentious people who want to feel erudite (same goes for art here).

If you're just an average sort of bar, sure you can advertise for television shows. But advertise for good shows! Advertise for "How I Met Your Mother" or "Teen Mom" (ha!) or anything with Denis Leary.

But don't advertise for this stupid show with this stupid coaster! CBS, you can do better! Black Sheep, you can do better! Whoever got paid whatever insane amount I'm sure they got paid for making this coaster: you can NOT do better. You've really outdone yourself by getting this little baby onto the market and since I'm guessing you're a one trick pony, you ought to just get out of the game while you can.

Maybe this whole thing just bothers me so much because people tend to lump "Big Bang Theory" together with "How I Met Your Mother" and they're so different. One is funny!

Kids, there is no reason why a coaster should ever bother you enough to go home and write a blog about it. Don't grow up to be like me. Please.

A Long Way Off

Kids,

If there was one week in my entire life that I would almost guarantee that I did not meet your father, it will be the week that just passed.

Now dear, dear, future children: I do not condone getting incredibly intoxicated and acting like a fool. Several things suffer when you do this. Your dignity, your sanity, your security, your ___ity. It all goes right down the tubes when you start drinking more than you're thinking. But kids, I want you to know that if you, when you're in your twenties, have days or weeks where you just really lose control, I won't feel like you're failures.

Because, kids, it happens.

And it happened to me this past week. This blog is not a testament to my bad mistakes nor is it a beacon of hope for the degenerate woman that I can sometimes be. It is just the truth. And the truth is that I've had better days.

But I am still me at the end of the week. Smarter for the mistakes I have made. And really, a more amusing person, too. Because while I may have done some really stupid things, I've done some really funny things, too. Maybe that's not an even trade-off, but I'm still young enough that I don't feel too ashamed.

But kids. Don't get super annihilated at work or at work functions. It's just really bad form. And while I won't judge you for it in the future, I will wish that my progeny didn't make the same mistakes as I did.

So while I can assure you that your father is out there somewhere, I can assure you that he may not have loved the woman I was this past week. Then again, I could be wrong. Mysterious ways, my dears.