Rebecca Jones-Howe's Blog, page 17

Lust List: Chic Christmas Sweaters

Winter has come, and now sweater season is now upon us!

Seeing that Christmas pretty much starts in October now, it makes sense that one should own more than one holiday sweater. “Ugly Christmas sweater” have become a legit millennial necessity, available all over Amazon and every crappy t-shirt shop online. Sure, a half-decent sweatshirt with Jon Snow on the front might win you the prize at your next ugly Christmas sweater party, but what about that obligatory trip to grandma’s house, or that office Christmas party, or that candlelight church service?

Being a retail worker, I’ve resorted to building a growing collection of holiday-inspired knitwear to wear to work for the holidays. Let’s just add this as a positive thing a disgruntled retail worker can do for the last quarter of the year.

Here’s a hand-picked selection of quality knitwear from some of my absolute favourite brands that will get you through any holiday function.

Collectif – Chrissie Striped Jumper

[image error]A sweet and simple Christmas colours in a classic stripe print. Its classic cut also pairs well with high-waist skirts. Dress it up or down. It’s perfect for any holiday occasion. (UK sizes 6-22 / US sizes 2-18)

New Look – GINgle Bells Jumper

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I wouldn’t normally consider tops with sayings to be my normal cup of tea, but sometimes you just need the right saying to speak to you. And to others. This one does. (UK sizes 4-18/ US sizes 0-14)

Sourpuss – Krampus Sweater

[image error]Wish everyone Greetings from Krampus with this goth-inspired option for those of you Krampus fans. A comfy knit in red, black and grey that pairs nicely with plaid. (Sizes XS-3XL)

Cath Kidston – Sequin Embellished Jumper

[image error]Give off some old-school vibes with this traditional jumper. Classic style goes modern with its forest green colour. (Sizes XS-L)

TULLE –

[image error]I love holiday sweaters that come in non-traditional colours. Means you can wear them outside of the holiday. This sweater’s gold and deep pink tones will carry you from Christmas and to ski chalet bars beyond. (Sizes XS-L)

Iron Fist – Girly Christmas Sweater

[image error]This sweater gives off a nice sweet chic goth look with it’s millennial pink and black colours and traditional Fair Isle skull print. Bonus points for the lacy Peter Pan collar. (Sizes XS-2XL)

Sugarhill Boutique – Rita Signature Sweater

[image error]If there’s a brand that knows how to make a quality sweater, it’s Sugarhill Boutique. I’m addicted to their knitwear, and this sweet polar bear knit is begging me to pull out my wallet. (UK sizes 8-16 / US 4-12)

The post Lust List: Chic Christmas Sweaters appeared first on REBECCAJONESHOWE.COM.

Mug Collection: Cath Kidston “Mews Ditsy” Stanley Mug

Let’s get frivolous and talk about mugs, shall we?

If there’s anything that says “millennial woman”, it’s a mug collection. Despite my husband’s insistence that we don’t need more mugs, I’ll take one home every so often, promising that we’ll get rid of all the matching ones eventually. We haven’t yet, which is a good thing that I’m picky. Every so often I’ll come across a great mug only to find that it’s not dishwasher safe or (God forbid) microwave safe. Cheap mugs are not cool. My collection is.

I promise you that my collection will never contain a single Rae Dunn mug.

Sidebar: What is so great about Rae Dunn mugs? They’re super cheap ceramic with a word in a trendy hand-written font. They’re only popular because a handful of women posted pictures on Instagram, and now women pay hundreds of dollars on eBay for a “HEY GIRL” mug that literally costs $6. Women drive cross-country to get their hands on Rae Dunn. They make literal vacations out of finding cheap dollar-store quality mugs. I mean, I get the minimalist thing, but there are better minimalist mugs out there. Am I right, or am I right?

Tonight I’m drinking coffee from my Cath Kidston “Mews Ditsy” Stanley mug. Cath Kidston is one of my favourite lifestyle brands, which specializes in ultra kitschy British-inspired floral prints. I love floral. I love British stuff. I especially love their mugs.

I added this mug to my cart at cathkidston.com just to make the most of paying $40 for shipping. It didn’t look like much on the site, but I was happy when I got it in person. The Mews Ditsy print is bold and vibrant. The cheery flowers make me happy in the morning. They make me happy at night. Best of all, the “Stanley” mug collection is the ideal mug size, holding 16oz (or 500ml) of coffee, or tea, or spiked coffee or tea!

This mug is dishwasher and microwave safe. The ceramic is high quality and is resistant to chips. Downside: it’s made in China. That all said, you can’t win every battle. Rae Dunn mugs are made in China too, so beat that, women with only white mugs in their cupboards.

As Kate Spade says, “Live Colorfully!” (which is “Live Colourfully!” in Canadian).

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A Retail-Worker’s Christmas Survival Guide: Vol 2

Ever since I started working retail I have struggled with Christmas.

At one point in time, Christmas was my favourite holiday. Presents were cool. As a Christian I think I put it up at #1 because I felt like I had to, December 25th being Jesus’ birthday and all, even though I now know that Christmas isn’t actually Jesus’ birthday and all that. Christmas just feels like it’s supposed to be everyone’s favourite holiday. The songs tell you so. The commercials tell you so. The stores tell you so. The sales tell you so. Capitalism has made it so.

At one point in my mid-20s, I wrote a survival guide for retail workers. I’m going to do it again. A retail worker 10+ years in the making, I know that there’s no mistaking the awfulness of the capitalized holiday season. But I’m not about to put a bloody gun in my mouth and neither should you.

1. The Christmas music is going to come early but find some way to enjoy it.

I grew up singing old Christmas hymns. Apart from “All I Want for Christmas Is You” and that stupid Britney Spears song that I identified with in high school because I was a sad angsty teen who couldn’t get a boyfriend and didn’t yet have access to Taylor Swift. I didn’t endure the true awfulness of mainstream Christmas music until I survived my first Christmas in retail.

After that, nothing was the same as listening to Xtina drag out every syllable of “This Christmas”. Nothing was the same as listening to 70 different renditions of “Rocking around the Christmas Tree” every day. Nothing was the same was wondering how the hell one woman could obsess over a guy for an entire year while never seeing him in the song “Christmas Wrapping”. Nothing was the same as HATING MICHAEL BUBLE AND WANTING TO KILL HIM FOR SINGING EVERY CHRISTMAS SONG IN EXISTENCE. JUST STOP MICHAEL, LET SOME THINGS BE SACRED.

I used to pick my most hated Christmas song every year. My suggestion now is to find just one that you can laugh at in a light-hearted slap on the shoulder kind of way. Now, I wait for the Jimmy Eat World version of “Last Christmas” to play during my work day? Why? Because “Last Christmas” is a song that I somehow found myself ironically enjoying. I know it’s a stupid song. I know it’s actually the worst mainstream Christmas song of all time (except maybe “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer”, but we need not speak of that abomination). I don’t care. I like it. The WHAM original is pretty epic (and 80’s!) BUT the Jimmy Eat World version is just truly the best. THE BEST. It’s all my teen angst spit-shined into a Christmas song that 30-year-old me can appreciate. I’ll listen to it on repeat play. I love it. It makes me feel like it’s Christmas. It’s childhood and teenhood and adulthood all fused into magic that makes me feel goosebumps even at the peak busy hours of the day. (The Puppini Sisters’ version of “Last Christmas” is also pretty good, with some 40’s Parisian influence!)

My point is, find a song that makes you feel this way. Christmas is so over-rated that there WILL be a rendition of a song out there for you. If there’s anything beneficial about the modern holiday season, it is that.

2. Have a drink.

As in alcohol. Sometimes a glass of wine after an extended into 1AM evening shift (because now your work opens late all holiday season!) is all you need. Then go to bed watching Netflix on your phone. Binge watch a new show. Wake up late. Enjoy waking up late. Enjoy it.

3. Have some tea.

It’s hard to really realize the impact tea can have until you swap your coffee for a big mug of Earl Grey in the morning. The hydration is like an extra kick in the face. Also, at the end of the night, swap your drink of booze for some soothing rooibos. Read a book. Make another cup. Variety is always nice.

Buy some (preferably caffeinated) tea.

Keep your tea in your work locker.

Have a cup of tea on EVERY SINGLE BREAK.

You’ll understand once you’ve done it.

4. Find ONE thing about working retail during the Christmas season that you can handle.

For me, it’s making feature gift tables. Last year I made a killer duo of “Gifts for Him” and “Gifts for Her” tables that I kept spiffy and beautiful until I no longer had merchandise to fill them with. A part of surviving Christmas as a retail worker is having some kind of pride in what you do.

5. Find an alternative way to decorate your house that is comforting.

Eh, it's a start.

A post shared by Rebecca Jones-Howe (@rebeccajoneshowe) on Dec 1, 2016 at 10:32pm PST

The year I probably hated Christmas the most, I decorated my house all goth. I got a black tree. I got red, white and silver ornaments. I went nuts. I haven’t decorated my house so much since that year. Now, I go a little more subdued in a more standard route with mid-century-inspired red, green, and gold on my white tree. It’s still “traditional” but it makes me feel happy to see my clean white tree when I come home from work. Over the years I’ve grown very fond of all things “Kitchmas”, which sort of leads me to my next point…

6. Make a tradition.

I know the hardest part of being a retail worker at Christmas is trying to find a way to find “Christmas spirit”. Traditions help, even if only you abide by them. For several years I used to make shortbread cookies with tea and put them in mason jars with custom-designed labels to give to all of my managers. It just felt good to bake for other people, to give back. I realize that not everyone might be in the situation where the particularly like their managers, but you can always bake for your family or friends, but there are other things you can do.

Aaaaaaand, the finished product!

A post shared by Rebecca Jones-Howe (@rebeccajoneshowe) on Dec 7, 2013 at 9:01am PST

Another tradition I’ve started was to make a simple paper bell ornament honouring my favourite politician of the year. In 2015 it was Justin Trudeau (who I know shrug my shoulders at, but it’s the action that counts!) In 2016 it was Bernie Sanders. Still deciding on the special politician this year, but I’m gonna do it again because it’s fun and stupid and at least something that I have to stick myself to.

Remember last year when I made that Tumblr-style Justin Trudeau Christmas ornament? Well, here's to a new yearly tradition of making politician ornaments. #feelthebern

A post shared by Rebecca Jones-Howe (@rebeccajoneshowe) on Nov 24, 2016 at 5:10pm PST

Another suggestion would be to make a retro-inspired putz house. Retro Renovation puts out a new design every year and it’s a fun way to do some arts and crafts while maybe enjoying one of your drinks from tip #2.

7. Plan a KILLER Christmas party outfit.

Hey, this is just me as a clothes-fiend speaking, but now is the time to truly dazzle yourself. Even if you’re not the sort to dress up every day, you might as well use the workplace Christmas party (no matter how lame it may be) to dress the hell up. Buy new stuff. Spend too much money. Why not? Everyone else is. At the very least you’ll get some decent mirror selfies for your Instagram profile and you can do a better job pretending like your life is perfect than you do the other 364 days of the year.

And it's brewery party time. Finally wearing my Irregular Choice shoes. #ootd #outfitoftheday #christmasparty #retrooutfit #retrohair #besame #besamegirl #irregularchoiceshoes #pearlygirly @irregularchoice

A post shared by Rebecca Jones-Howe (@rebeccajoneshowe) on Nov 26, 2016 at 5:33pm PST

8. Remember that Christams is just a day.

When all is said and done, it’s just a day. I’ve had awful Christmas’. The Christmas after my grandfather died was the worst one I’ve ever had. My parents went on vacation and it was just my sister and I can the grandmother that we’d realized by then we didn’t really know all that well (because generational gaps can be difficult, yo). I woke up that morning to my boyfriend and his friend playing tower defense games on the computer and then my sister and I picked up my grandma (suffering from demendia) from her senior home and spent Christmas with some family friends. It was hard because it was different. It was hard because my parents weren’t there. It was hard because my grandpa wasn’t there for the first time, and my parents weren’t around for Christmas for the first time, and it was a real karate kick into adulthood that made me realize that hey, Christmas isn’t predictible and won’t always be the same and everything is just a real gamble.

That year my sister and I gave my grandma a framed photo we’d taken with my grandfather in the hospice he spent his last days of battle with stomach cancer in. My grandma cried when she opened it. She said she said she loved it. Despite never feeling like we understood her or that she really understood us, my sister and I always knew that her husband was her life and that she loved him and missed him and that photo meant something to her. I’d struggled all my life trying to understand my grandmother and I never felt like I truly did until that depressing Christmas.

After I had my daughter, my mom lost her eldest sister and had to travel abroad to be with her family. She missed Maggie’s first Christmas and I was upset about it. My dad also forgot to pick up the turkey from the grocery store, so we had to scramble together a half-decent fancy roast beef recipe to salvage Christmas dinner. We made a decent roast but my dad still felt like crap for forgetting. My point is that Christmas is never predictable and sometimes you have to make the best of things.

That all said, I can honestly admit that Christmas is not my favourite holiday.

The feeling is forced.

The music is awful.

The commercialism is tiring.

My parents are impossible to buy gifts for.

I never watched Christmas movies as a kid (save for Home Alone!) so that whole thing where you wrap up Christmas movie DVD’s and what one every day is so annoying to me that I wanna punch people in the face who love garbage Christmas movies that much.

Halloween is my favourite holiday.

Then St. Patrick’s Day.

THEN Christmas.

But that’s okay.

If you’re an angsty exhausted retail worker reading this, I empathize with your pain. If you work retail long enough, the dread will subside a little, but not entirely. It might take time, but eventually you will feel “the holiday spirit” again. You’ll find a way to get through it.

As a customer once told me, “You only get to listen to this music once a year!”

I realize that you can actually listen to it whenever the hell you want to, but you’re only FORCED to listen to it once a year, or in actuality like 2-3 months of the year, which is only like a 1/4 of the year.

It doesn’t last forever.

It gets better.

It’ll be St. Patrick’s Day soon!

9. Put on some Irish music.

“The Rocky Road to Dublin” is always a hit. Also, this tip goes well with tip #2.

A Third Life Housewife/Full-Time Middle-Class Retail Associate (Kind of Writer) Crisis

I was going to buy myself a new pair of shoes tonight but then I compared my bank account to my credit card statement and I realized where my money really needed to go.

I had a drink instead.

Long story shot, I can freely admit that my plans with this blog have not come near to fruition.

I’m still trying to figure out what it is I’m supposed to write about. I’ve tried with politics and would love to speak more of politics, but I find it sucks a lot of my energy. I know that my stance as a “progressive Christian” would mean something in the current political climate, but I’m still apprehensive of speaking out that much in public. I used to do a weak version of personal blogging, but my life and marriage has never proved to be that interesting. Most of the deep stuff comes out in fiction, which is why none of it sees the light of day here.

I’d always loved the idea of lifestyle blogging, but that mission requires time and legit dedication, and while my Instagram profile definitely points toward my love of all things vain and frivolous, there’s really only so much that I’m willing to spend talking about it.

There are millions of millennials younger than me who have more hits and get more free stuff and trying to compete would only make me more depressed than I’ve been. I can’t compete with that kind of ambition. I’m 30 and just discovering that yes, I CAN do my makeup and formulate a proper skincare regime. I just had a kid and have had to readjust to my new abomination of a “woman” body with extra hips and extra love handles. Now my baby’s a toddler and that horrible self-consciousness is over and it’s almost like feeling 20 again, like I’m in college for the first time, thinking, “THIS IS ALL NEW TERRAIN!”

But then I cruise through a couple of YouTube videos and I realize that I’m not a teenager with 50 pairs of Irregular Choice shoes. I don’t even think 50 pairs of Irregular Choice shoes would fit on my credit card limit.

My shoe purchases come from the money I make in my retail job. Occasionally I’ll sell a short story and I’ll buy a pair that really feels special, that I feel I rightly deserve, even if I have no place to wear them. I don’t go to the bar, so I’ll wear that ridiculous pair of shoes to a friend’s 30th birthday party and feel overdressed. Still, strangers stare at the shoes and I get a tiny sense of pride accompanied by a sense of embarrassment. What am I doing wearing these shoes? Do people look at me holding my toddler’s hand and assume that I’m vain and awful?

Is this the way 65 year-old men feel when they finally save up enough to buy a red Corvette?

Probably not.

Here’s some real life shit:

The other night I was trying to cook with Jon. We were making a salad and I dropped one of the hard-boiled eggs I made on the floor while I was trying to transfer it from the pot to the bowl of waiting ice water. Then I tried to cook some bacon and I burned my fingers putting the raw slices onto the pan. I immediately started crying. I couldn’t stop. I sat in the bathroom and sobbed stupid until my kid walked in because I never lock the door. She asked if I was okay. I said I needed a hug, so we sat on the toilet and hugged for a while.

Jon wasn’t sure what to do. He asked if I was okay.

I said I was okay. I was fine after I got all the crying out.

Hormones, probably. Right?

I suppose in this day and age, the best you can remind yourself is that you live in the first world and have a stable job and can afford to pay your mortgage and are happily married (maybe not by those dumb social-media standards but by actual real-life standards that NOBODY tells you about when you first get married) with a healthy kid after dealing with a high-risk pregnancy, and hey, your diabetes has been pretty top notch since starting that keto diet and you’ve recently lost eight pounds and now fit into a bunch of the clothes you shouldn’t have bought and YES, SOMETIMES YOU CAN BUY YOURSELF A NICE PAIR OF SHOES YOU DON’T NEED because you get expendable income from time to time.

Also, I’ve started actually getting to editing my novel, so that’s where we’re at.

It’s not all bad.

It’s not all bad.

It’s not all bad.

#originalmilleniallife

Back In School

I remember Columbine.

I was 12.

My dad had a subscription to TIME magazine and I used to flip through the issues whenever he wasn’t reading them. I read all about the major news stories in TIME. I kept the issues about Princess Diana’s death and about Mark McGuire’s and Sammy Sosa’s home run records. Hype was easy to grasp with TIME. Columbine was something different. I was captivated by every article, every photo of teenagers crying outside of their school. Pictures of the victims were always arranged in yearbook format. I read and reread all the small details about who they were and how they died.

All I’d ever wanted as a kid was to grow up and go to high school. I wanted to emulate all the characters in the shows I watched. I wanted to be cool and popular. I wanted a boyfriend. I wanted to use the word “like” over and over and over. There was something cool about shrugging with indifference.

Columbine unearthed a lot of emotion in me. Part of me was intrigued with the macabre. I pictured myself hiding under a desk in the library, pictured myself running from the school with my hands in the air. Over the years I’ve forgotten many of the details that I once absorbed, but one question has always stuck with me, and that was the question that one of the shooters had supposedly asked of student Cassie Bernall before she was murdered:

“Do you believe in God?”

At the time I considered myself a devout Christian. I grew up in the church. I followed the doctrine, but at 12, I was starting to find myself swayed by secular society. By books and music. By television. By then I’d finally learnt all of the profanities. Sometimes I even used them because the boys always laughed when I’d say things like “Stupid bitch” or “Fucking shit!”

Sunday would follow. I would go to church and be good again.

Then I’d go back to school on Monday and I’d think, “Do you believe in God?”

Cassie said Yes.

Cassie was a good Christian girl, and then she got shot.

In 1999, the media blamed the Columbine shooting on bullying, on violent video games, on Marylin Manson. Many theories and stories that arose from the early days post-shooting were later found to be false or misreported. We now know that the “Do you believe in God” question was a myth perpetuated by hearsay, but in 1999, Cassie Bernall said Yes and was made a martyr.

I remember putting myself in Cassie’s shoes, wondering which response would keep me alive. Would I say Yes and face the bullet, or would fear take over and I would say No, assuming that I’d be spared? Natural selection could be cruel. Perhaps I was weak for even questioning my own faith. Or would the trigger have been pulled regardless? Did nothing matter?

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Post-Columbine, I’d spend a lot of my time knowing that I needed to swear less and pray more. I straddled my balance between the secular and the Christian, always looking ahead, looking down a barrel whenever I thought about God.

Was it better to believe in God or not?

By the time I got to high school, I realized just how much of a goody-goody I was.

A girl even called me a goody-goody to my face and it was the most humiliated I’d ever felt. I met many Christians in high school, but they weren’t Christian like I was. They were Christians who swore and drank and had sex. I spent a lot of my early years in high school struggling to find friends with the same values. Morals seemed to be a thing that only I possessed.

By then Columbine had slipped from my mind, but the answer to that question never did.

Do you believe in God?

I was sick on September 11th, 2001. I stayed home from school and watched the footage over and over and over, captivated just like I had been with Columbine. The aftermath of 9/11 was different, however. The issue was no longer about bullies or music or video games. The early 2000’s George Bush era of American politics became a spotlight for hatred. Perhaps I never paid attention before, but dogmatic issues like gay rights and abortion and morals and decency seemed to plague me at every corner.

I remember the gay rights debate. When I was 16, I used to think that homosexuals allowed to marry would eventually want to marry animals or objects, that the “sanctity of marriage” would be desecrated. I never voiced my opinion out loud. The other kids would judge me.

I remember thinking that abortion was murder, that unintended pregnancies were karma for women being sluts. I would hope that the girls I knew were having sex would get pregnant. I still strayed from the discussion whenever abortion was brought up. I’d sound like just another Christian.

I read the Left Behind series. In one of the books, there’s a scene where the survivors of the rapture must profess their servitude to the Anti-Christ by having a barcode chip embedded in their forehead. Christians in the book are magically marked with a cross on their forehead that only other Christians can see. In one scene, a lost Christian follower ends up with both a barcode and a cross, and I always pictured myself in that halfway camp.

Do you believe in God?

I invited a lot of my friends to youth group. We often played cool games and had a lot of fun. At the end of the night, we’d always have a devotional, or sometimes a lecture. Once we heard about how having premarital sex was pretty much equivalent to taking a piece of tape and sticking it to a bunch of different surfaces. How if up stuck the tape to too many things that it would eventually not stick to anything. I hoped that my friends would listen. I hoped they would live with morals.

Don’t have sex.

Don’t drink.

Don’t do drugs.

Those messages were always regurgitated with warnings. I still wanted to do all the things I was told not to. They were the things everyone else was doing. I spent a lot of my time reading V.C. Andrews novels for the sex scenes, writing sad poems, listening to nu-metal music. I liked songs about self-harm. Sylvia Plath was my hero. I gave myself a haircut whenever I found out that the boy I liked didn’t like me back. I gave myself a lot of haircuts.

During one youth group, a leader said, “If you read the Book of Psalms, your life will instantly change for the better.”

I read Psalms and I didn’t get a boyfriend. I cried a lot about not feeling loved the way I wanted to be loved.

I read a lot of books that my grandparents gave me about living a pure life and not dating until I was old enough to get married. I used to listen to Rebecca St. James’ “Wait For Me” on repeat. I still wanted a boyfriend, but the purity doctine gave me plenty of reasons to judge my friends.

Before graduation, when I found out that my best friend had had sex with her boyfriend, I wrote a blog post about how she’d done the wrong thing. She read it. That’s why we’re not friends anymore.

Throughout high school, I’d ask myself over and over, “Do you believe in God?”

I’d picture the gun. I’d picture the shooter and my answer meaning the end or not. Maybe if I were a better Christian teen I’d have no fear and I would look forward to seeing my maker. But I was a teenager. I was human and hormonal. The extensive self-doubt built up and I found refuge in writing sad poems or listening to angry music, or simply in having another day where I could potentially get the guy I had a crush on to finally notice me.

Do you believe in God?

My answer would come from somewhere deep; always a tiny little voice saying, “Yes.”

I still say Yes.

My parents raised me to believe in God.

That’s apparently what Valeen Schnurr said to one of the shooters in the real breakdown of what happened in the Columbine library on April 20th, 1999.

I’ve had plenty of chances to stop believing. There’s no real answer as to why I haven’t. Growing up in the church, I watched many of the kids get baptized at young ages. I remember asking my mom if I could get baptized and she told me that I wasn’t old enough. Plenty of the kids who were baptized have left the church, abandoned the faith. I grew sick of much of the moral doctrine, but I still believe in God.

I remember when I first took my husband to my church. He was and still is a lover of science. I thought he’d hate church. I thought he’d think I was nuts, but he kept coming back. He said he liked the community. When he told me that he considered himself a Christian, I was shocked.

We were baptized on the same day.

Do you believe in God?

At times I feel a bit on the fringe. I either feel judged or I feel guilty. When my book, Vile Men, was published, it was the judgement of my church that I feared most. I don’t speak of my writing at church openly. One woman in the congregation saw my name on a display of Vile Men books at my city’s major bookstore and bought a copy. She prompted returned it after reading the first appearance of the F-word. It’s awkward when I talk to her at church because I know the judgement is there. I feel it always.

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When Vile Men was published, a different woman at my church congratulated me. She asked if she should attempt to read it. She said that shed read the back synopsis and was wary. I told her she probably wouldn’t like the content within. She still said, “I’m happy for you.”

Whenever I come clean about my religion to new acquaintances or co-workers, the response I get is along the lines of: “You’re a Christian?” My response now is always to raise my hands and say, “I’m a Christian but I’m not like, a crazy Christian.”

Meaning that I’m pro-choice.

Meaning that I support gay rights.

Meaning that I don’t quote Bible verses to argue with the choices of others.

I just try to have empathy. I try to listen and to understand.

If I’ve learnt anything from attending a public high school, it is those things.

I’m thankful that my parents couldn’t afford to put my sister and myself in a Christian school. I’m sure the experience is nice for some, but I’ve appreciated my time in secular society and plan on raising my daughter in a secularized Christian life as well. I plan on sending my daughter to a public school. It’s where critical thinking is taught. It’s where debate occurs. It’s where teenagers face reality when they should.

It was only this week after watching the Murder with Friends episode on Columbine (you need to watch MWF because it is amazing) that I dug a little deeper and finally learnt that the story of the “Do You Believe in God?” question had been misinterpreted by the media. Valeen Schnurr’s answer wasn’t one of defiance, but one that came from adrenaline and fear.

I still struggle with identifying as a Christian. My writing has a lot to do with it, but so does my political stance.

All I want to do is try to understand and empathize, like Jesus did with the adulteress when everybody wanted to throw rocks at her. If you haven’t committed a sin, feel free to cast the first stone. Otherwise, stand back and realize that you’re likely guilty of something, too. As a Christian, I feel that it’s important to have a mutual understanding of sin.

I’ve watched Columbine documentaries all week and I feel that I understand why the shooters did what they did. One was most likely a sociopath with a grandiose sense of self. The other was misguided and depressed and self-loathing. I can empathize with depression because I’ve dealt with it. I can identify with feeling superior to others because I once lost friends for sitting on a high horse. I can understand the human struggles that the shooters dealt with without lessening the impact of what they did. They both existed in extreme. They complimented the worst parts of each other. Their extreme actions should be condemned, but it’s worth understanding what drove them to do what they did. I hate the idea of detaching from the far reach of what humanity can drive a person to do. The last thing I want to be is the person asking, “What kind of person could do that to another human being?” in the comments section of the next mass shooting.

Giving teachers guns, running extensive “active shooter” drills, and hiring a zero-tolerance school police force isn’t going to fix the source of the problem.

We talk more about mental health now than we did in 1999, but there’s still more to discuss. There’s still more to listen to. There will always be more to know.

A woman at my church will often ask me if I’m worried about my daughter growing up and becoming a teenager.

I always tell her, “No.”

We were all teenagers once, and it’s worth looking back. There’s nothing that I can do about my kid growing up and learning things, potentially doing terrible things. My daughter’s teenage experience will take place in a different time than mine, though I’m sure her emotional response will be just the same as any teenager’s hormone-ridden, angst-fueled, rage-inspired reality.

Every so often I listen to Marilyn Manson just for the sake of remembering what it was like being a teen, because the older I get, the more fearful I am of losing touch.

Filling Up Your Closet: Where to Shop Now that Modcloth Has Sold Its Soul

I’m sure by now that most of the “online shopper community” has heard the news of beloved indie boutique, Modcloth, is soon to be acquired by Jet.com, a company owned by Wal-Mart. As far as small companies go, this is relatively par for the course, but for consumers like myself who like to make shopping choices reflect our personal values, it’s a hard hit. For years Modcloth has been a “feminist company” with a great message and a wonderful selection of clothing for women of all sizes. It’s something that I’ve always appreciated as a sporadic Modcloth shopper. Their review system and community aspect was always something that kept me coming back. In a recent Facebook post, Modcloth claimed to continue running with the same values of female positivity, but I find myself in line with many other upset customers. Put simply, I just can’t support a store under Wal-Mart’s umbrella.

I’ve read a few articles that Wal-Mart is hoping to expand business to the millennial demographic, and I really do find it interesting how different companies are trying to appeal to millennials, because in 20 years or so, some of these companies are going to find themselves in a crisis. In Wal-Mart’s case, as the world’s wealthiest company, they could maybe pay their employees a living wage and give them benefits, or they could just buy up more small companies that millennials frequent and hope for the best.

This is all just laughable to me, because markets are extremely competitive, and what is Modcloth’s loss is another boutique’s gain. I keep thinking about the whole Ivanka Drumpf fiasco and how much influence people actually have with just a credit card. So don’t worry about where you’re going to get your funky dresses because I’ll share with you some of my personal favourite Modcloth-esque boutiques.

Boutiques I Love
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Blame Betty – Easily tops the list. I’m biased because it’s a Canadian boutique based in Calgary and the shipping is beyond competitive. Nevertheless, they carry primarily retro-inspired clothing, plus some goth stuff that really lead me down the hole of fun witchy-inspired clothes. Their holiday selection of clothing is also easily the best I’ve ever seen. I’m not sure how much I’ve spent at BB last year, but I’m going to keep doing it because they’ve quickly become my favourite online boutique. Customer service has always been wonderful, and they do have fantastic sales on a regular basis, so I’d say they’re definitely worth joining the newsletter for. Also, make sure to follow their Facebook page because they have regular contests where you simply like the post and comment (no sharing posts required!).

RoRox Boutique – This newly-established boutique is based in the UK and carries many popular retro clothing brands at VERY competitive prices. Seriously, I haven’t seen better pricing. Hell Bunny skirts for $50 CDN, regular price?! Shipping is a bit more than Blame Betty (at least here in Canada) but the items arrive quickly and customer service is great. You can also shop in your currency, which is a major plus. They also carry a good selection of steampunk clothing, if you’re into that kind of thing. Note: This is a UK store so you will need to know your UK size!

Atom Retro – I literally JUST bought some clothes from this site, but I don’t think I’ve had a better online shopping experience before. The website looks a bit dated and plain, but what they lack in visual appeal they make up for pretty much everywhere else. They carry both mens and womens apparel retro-inspired clothing (mainly 60’s-70’s, which is my HEAVEN), plus some home goods. Navigation is quick and easy and everything is neatly organised. Their shop even saves your “low to high” pricing organisation selection throughout your entire visit, which for me proved to be an amazingly handy setting. They carry moderately-priced items all the way up to high-end brands. I was also happy to see that they carried a good selection of Irregular Choice shoes at rather competitive prices. One major plus goes to their checkout, where you can get express shipping for just a couple bucks more AND YOU CAN CHOOSE TO PREPAY CUSTOMS AND DUTY FEES, WHY DON’T ALL ONLINE SHOPS DO THIS?! Shopping here was like being in heaven. Note: This is a UK store so you will need to know your UK size!

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Joy – I’ve shopped a couple times from the UK-based Joy. They carry a small selection of brands, but their stuff is quirky but polished, with a very upscale mainstream British vibe. They carry a small selection of UK-based brands, two of which I’ve grown to adore (Sugarhill Boutique and Louche). I actually discovered Joy’s boutique looking for the orange floral skirt featured in the leftmost photo above (one of my favourite skirts), which Modcloth was sold out of in my size at the time, and lo and behold, Joy was selling it cheaper. Joy does also have regular sales so they’re definitely worth the newsletter subscription. Note: This is a UK store so you will need to know your UK size!

Plasticland – I’ve only purchased a coat from Plasticland in the past, but I was happy with the service. They carry less apparel than they did in the past, but man alive are some of their accessories and home decor amazing. They’re also pretty fantastic for unique Christmas tree ornaments if that’s the sort of thing you enjoy collecting.

SugarDoll Swimwear – This one is obviously just for swimsuits, but if you’re into retro swimwear, this one-woman shop is pretty stellar. She mainly sells mix and match two piece swimsuits (though the growing selection of one-piece suits are great too!), and they’re wonderfully flattering, fully-lined and well-made. International shipping is a bit pricey but I’d definitely say it’s worth it because the bottoms I bought from SugarDoll a couple years back has friggin’ pockets. POCKETS. ON A SWIMSUIT.

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Ruche – I’d say that Ruche is probably the most similar to Modcloth. They carry many pieces in the same vein, and many times in the past I chose to buy from Ruche over Modcloth because their international shipping rates were much more affordable. Ruche went out of business for a short period of time last year but reestablished themselves under new owners. I haven’t yet purchased since they switched ownership, so I can’t vouch 100% for the store now. Another small downside is that most of their items are Juniors sizing, which means that when I buy a Large it’s not gonna fit like a bloody Large and I end up passing the clothes down to my sister. They do have a Plus range, though unfortunately, it doesn’t at all compare to the selection that Modcloth has.

Boutiques I Haven’t Yet Shopped, But Plan On Shopping

Shabby Apple – I’ve always loved the simple yet elegant clothes this boutique has offered. The price points are higher than I’d usually be willing to spend. They carry mostly dresses and skirts with a rustic/simple aesthetic, all made in house. The styles aren’t 100% up my alley, but I figured I’d include them for those who really love a good floor-length skirt.

Unique Vintage – I’ve heard some good things about this site, just have never had a reason to justify a purchase. I’ve also found the website to lack character, though in the last year alone they’ve updated it to be more Modcloth-esque. To be honest, I’ve always found the selection to be overwhelming, but I’ll probably be making a purchase here for some summer skirts pretty soon…

Pinup Girl Clothing – I’ve LUSTED after many of their clothes after hearing so much positive buzz, but unfortunately, many of their pieces aren’t items I would wear on a regular basis so I haven’t yet been able to justify the purchase. They carry mostly 50’s-60’s-inspired pieces. One of these days I’ll have the guts to don a wiggle dress at a wedding and I’ll take the plunge, I’m sure. One of these days.

What About You?

Anywhere you shop that I haven’t listed where you think I should spend my cash? Feel free to let me know in the comments!

Friday Night Track: “White Keys” – Chilly Gonzales

Hey, remember when I said I was going to blog once a week? Well clearly I didn’t stick true to that resolution, but have excuses and I still have other resolutions, so for the time being I’m posting a Friday Night Track. It’s also not even Friday night but it IS Friday morning so I’m not even messing up my post concept here. It’s all okay.

I like to mention Chilly Gonzales to people who want to listen to new music because 1. He’s Canadian, 2. His concerts are fantastic and he always plays in a bathrobe and his hair gets super sweaty and drips all over the piano, and 3. He’s pretty versatile. He does traditional solo piano as well as insane solo piano and also orchestral rap and also dance stuff and also has some 70’s-style pop album that I’ve never listened to because I’ve only heard horrible things about it. Also, 4. His concerts are AMAZING and you will go and learn so much about music and if you’re lucky he’ll pick you out of the audience and make you play the piano even if you don’t know how. There’s a little Chilly for everyone. I quite like the orchestral rap, but when it comes to writing, there’s nothing better than his solo piano stuff. Makes me feel sophisticated and also helps me write, because right now I should be writing and I’m writing here, which is writing but not the exact right kind of writing I should be doing right now.

Right now I should be editing my novel but I took a break to post and also watch this video because (little-known fact!) I have a major hand fetish and watching close-ups of people’s hands playing piano is just oh so amazing.

Drowning in a Sea of Orange

It’s been a surreal week.

Drumpf was inaugurated last Friday.

On Saturday morning, the women protested, and I was inspired.

On Saturday night, my sister and my friend and I threw a 90’s party, and for just a few hours we lived in a time period that I only remember with fondness and nostalgia. Everyone arrived dressed in ill-fitted 90’s attire, danced in the dark to all the cheesy sentiment and angst that 90’s music had to offer. I took pictures with a disposable camera, flicking the wheel after every shot. Then the party wound down and we packed up all the unhealthy snacks and cereal I used to eat as a child. We pulled the posters down from the walls, boxed up the Super Nintendo and the N64, lugged the heavy tube televisions outside and stripped the hall to its timeless state. I hated the idea of returning to the present.

I worked on Sunday, got my wits back together.

Then Monday happened.

Then Tuesday happened.

Last night I watched both hours of TYT while I cooked dinner, horrible story after horrible story making me uneasy. I’ve read and listened to enough analysis of what kind of spells the world would fall under with an orange man being president, but honestly, nothing really prepares you for awfulness until the awfulness actually happens. Being a Canadian, I’m not directly affected by the legislation that happens in the States, but the issues faced make waves up here, and every day I still worry about the kinds of things my American writer friends are posting.

I tried to unplug from social media after dinner. I did a little work on my novel, finally managed to give the opening some legs, but I still retired to bed early, still fell asleep uneasy.

This morning I woke up seriously considering unplugging for a while. My real problem is that I’ve become so reliant on the Internet that the idea of not accessing it is nearly impossible. So I got out of bed and checked my email, and there in my inbox was a forwarded message from a reader (and fellow writer, Renee James) who’d stumbled over my short story, “Tourist” in Gamut Magazine. I always love receiving feedback from readers, and I’ve found over the years that the best feedback I ever get is for “Tourist”, which is one of my only stories that has a reasonably happy ending. Reading some feedback on that story is always nice, but there was one particular quote from this email that hit me:

“In the end, I was relieved and gladdened, as if I’d been holding my breath for a long time and could finally fill my lungs with air, and my spirits were buoyant enough to perhaps survive another day of Donald Drumpf’s presidency.”

Now, I’m not saying that my story is specifically powerful, but it was more so the idea that a simple piece of writing could make somebody overcome the awfulness that was Tuesday, January 24th, 2017. That’s the power of art. That’s the power of a bit of positivity. There’s power in the smallest of things.

And I know that this is cheesy and so unlike me to say, but I’d at least like to make a better effort in these next four years to do more positive things, both online and off.

I know that people make an effort to be positive in their everyday lives (hello obsessive Pinterest quote board users!), but positivity is something that I (as a Canadian with many American writer friends who I’ve known for years but have never met in real life) can at least make an attempt to spread. By doing any little thing. ANYTHING. Not just with cat memes, but with honest thoughts and feelings. With words. With actions.

And maybe some crafts. Crafts are good too.

I’ve got something in the works.

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I’ve Entered the Dirty Thirties

For the last few months I’ve been excited about turning thirty. There’s something about growing out of a decade of life you’ve mentally drifted away from that feels satisfying.

I haven’t exactly lived the standard life of a woman in her 20’s for a while. That pivotal moment of becoming an “adult” for me was buying a house, and after that the parties I used to throw became less frequent. Having a kid has also trimmed away my free time to do whatever I want and frolic and wear my short dresses and my high heels. Every so often I’ll be online looking at a tiny black dress with a plunging neckline and think about how hot I’d look before finally realizing that I would literally never go out to an occasion where wearing such a dress would be appropriate.

That’s when I really realize that I’m getting older. Which is fine, because I never did that whole nightlife thing anyway. I never liked the music and hated the idea of being around people who dance to said awful music. I hated the idea of being hit on by drunk dudes. I just pretended to like it, wearing only robes while drinking in front of the computer, writing about the promiscuous woman I maybe could have been if my personality had manifested itself differently over the years. That’s the thing about robes, though. They never go out of style, and you’ve got plenty of reasons to have more than just one.

Nevertheless, since having my daughter, I’ve had “the talk” from various doctors and nurses about how your body changes after hitting 30, and over the past year I’ve found that the bomb has really ticked its way down. This morning I woke up stiff and sore and didn’t want to get out of bed. I only forced myself to to check my email for online shopping birthday deals, and all there was this year was a 10% coupon from ASOS, and it’s like, seriously ASOS…you just had mega Boxing Day sales and I have to settle for 10%?

Over this past year I’ve found that my late night’s spent writing have created a patch of exhaustion that I have to suffer through every evening at exactly 7PM. I’ll be eating dinner and falling asleep on the armchair. Sometimes I’ll take a nap. Sometimes I’ll have a coffee and get horrible jitters. If I’m smart I’ll have a cup of tea, and I find the hydration creates a middle ground effect between sleepiness and jitters that isn’t exactly great, but is better than either extreme.

I’ve found that my periods now are truly terrible. I get symptoms I never used to have, symptoms that now leave me absolutely paranoid that I maybe might be pregnant again, and seeing that I’m still back and forth between having a second kid I’m always like OH NO WHAT IF I’M PREGNANT I JUST GOT BACK TO MY PRE-PREGNANCY BABY WEIGHT AND ALL MY CLOTHES FIT ME AGAIN AND I DON’T WANT TO HAVE TO DO IT ALL OVER AGAIN AS A 30 YEAR OLD DIABETIC IT’S GONNA BE THE WORST. And then my period is a murder-scene nightmare and I can’t decide if I got the better deal.

I think the worst part though is being at work with a bunch of my younger coworkers, sitting in the break room only to realize that I can’t take part in their conversations the same way that I used to with coworkers. I tried Snapchat and I don’t get it. I don’t understand their boy problems. I don’t care about superhero movies. The divide is happening. The rift is being created, and I think that’s the scariest part of getting older, is not being able to relate to those younger than you, is the fear of turning into the curmudgeon that can’t empathize and can’t relate, and simply goes back to the “in my day” talking point.

My sister and my friend and I are throwing a 90’s birthday bash at the end of the month, and lately I’ve been listening to all the music I grew up with, thinking about how much better mainstream music was compared to the stuff on the radio now. I keep telling myself not to be so judgmental, but then I’ll listen to a Drake song and know that I’m right.

I know full-well that I’m right.

That’s how it starts.

And here’s me today dressed down with no makeup because it’s a Monday and who wants to go out on a Monday?

Because It’s 2017

I chugged a Red Bull that my sister left in my fridge before I put Maggie down for a nap.

For the first time I didn’t want to take a nap of my own, so I dealt with the dishwasher and the kitchen and tried to find some IKEA shelf hardware that I swore I bought but still can’t find anywhere in the house, and then I took out two loads of recycling and sorted all the beverage cans from New Year’s Eve. The Red Bull’s losing its touch now, so I figure it’s a good time to clamp down with my New Year’s resolutions.

1. Finish my novel. – Not just the second draft, but all of it. Get everything together, third-drafted and beta-reader read (hopefully!), ready to send out to those agents who are obviously going to be looking for a marriage/psychological thriller about Millennials. I wrote the first draft during NaNoWriMo, and while I may have taken a bit of a break from it to handle the stress of being a retail worker during the holidays, it’s time to get back to the grind and keep my goals going. I’m gonna spend at least an hour every day working on this thing (holidays and other such scenarios excluded).

2. Drink more water. – I don’t drink enough because whenever I feel the need for a beverage, my choice is pretty much coffee about 85% of the time. At this point I’m pretty sure my body is dying for legit hydration.

3. Blog once a week. – Clearly I’ve forgotten about this little space. I still quite haven’t figured how I want to ground my personality into this site. I’m also quite the procrastinator, but I intend to flex some of my writing muscles in a weekly-based auto-biographical manner this year. Just turns out that my post this week is a rather lazy one, but I’m dropping off a Red Bull high, so give me a break.