before the storm

Considering we might not have such a great-looking backyard space after Sunday's impending storm o' doom, Laura and I thought it might be a good time to get in an outfit post. Tomorrow we'll be taking in all the yard furniture and trying to stake some of the plants. I'd fear for my baby fruit trees and the new rose plants, but I should probably worry more about the giant trees that stick up through the middle of the deck and tower over the house! (No, that's not them in the pictures. They're each at least twice as large as those trees. In fact, they're so big that they nearly crack the deck boards every time the wind blows...)

This is why it's important, when deciding to plant trees, to think about how they'll look in 30 years.

Speaking of looking your age, today it was impressed upon me that no one would peg me as 29. What was news is that apparently I look young enough to not even be 21. Er...I guess this whole long hair + minimal makeup + dressing cute thing is exacerbating the short stature + big eyes thing. Welp.

Ugh, I just remembered that the squirrels we raised last spring, who come home to visit sometimes, will be out there on their own in the storm. Like I need to worry about more pets.

Anyway, hope everyone in the affected storm areas is prepped and ready for it.

cardigan: Mossimo for Target
camisole: Tommy Hilfiger
skirt/shoes/socks: Charlotte Russe
bag: Liz Claiborne
necklace: vintage brooch
ring: gift



never was a paul, baby

Hate to be the downer on everyone's feed, but Fred baby didn't make it. He went downhill very quickly, and his body was simply shutting down, so there was really nothing that could be done for him. Organ failure was the most likely cause of his condition.

I might not have made the other post if I hadn't convinced myself he would get better (especially as this seems to be turning into a dead pets blog this summer. Meant to post happy pig pictures here, not spread depression around, dammit.) However, I still want to show a few photos from back when he was healthy, how I'd like to remember him.


crossed fingers for fred-pye

The boy has gone in to stay with the vet for some major treatment, and things don't look good.
Best case scenario is that he has a serious-but-treatable illness. Worst case is one of the many untreatable, unpreventable problems guinea pigs can develop as they get older, and, well, we all know how that ends. I wish I didn't have pigs that were all so close to each other in age. This year could get depressing real fast.

Keep your fingers crossed for me, and for little Fred.


summer birthday babies

Birthdays come one after the other in my family, peppering the summer months with celebrations. This can be both a bonus and a source of frustration: having them all over vacation may mean more planning time, but having them so close together may mean less planning time. I hustled like I've never hustled before, people.

Friday was my sister Laura's birthday, which we spent at a few different places. After some morning gift-giving, we picked up the cake at the Mozzicato bakery in Plainville, which, if you couldn't tell from the stealth photos, is cute as hell on the inside. Tasted a few things while we were there, too. That's some kind of lemon tart topped with chocolate whipped cream for Laura, a chocolate eclair for my mother, and me with the giant cream puff of deliciousness. Tried so hard to finish everything, but no dice. That's just too much dessert at lunchtime.

Laura ended up choosing a chocolate mousse cake, in case you're wondering. I'm told it was every bit as good as our lunch. (No chocolate for me, thanks.) Before rounding up the crew for dinner out, we went for mini golfing at the only establishment I've ever seen have trees and shade, rather than being some hot open parking lot of hell. Apparently I got the best score. Without noticing. Shows my dedication to sports and winning, ha.

Here's to the Jane to my Daria. Or maybe the Patsy to my Eddie, I'm not really sure. Just as long as we don't turn into the Beales any time soon. Hope your birthday was a smashing one.

blouse: Ruche
ruffle shorts: Forever21
shoes: Charlotte Russe
sunglasses: Target
bracelet: MC Stoneworks

sweater: Aerie
jeans: Pacific Sunwear
shoes: Roxy
bag: Four Seasons

Laura (and sometimes Meesh)


don't say debbie downer

tops and shoes: Charlotte Russe
shorts: Forever21
socks: Macy's
bag: Aerie
sunglasses: Windsor


Lately, I've been struggling with writing blog posts in a way that's never been a problem for me in other corners of the internet. The main issue? Voice. 

Most of the fashion and craft blogs I read have a very optimistic, upbeat vibe. My natural inclinations are more on the opposite end of things. This isn't a problem if I'm critiquing the finer points of some science fiction story arc or chatting about reality show drama, since I tend to hang out on the snarkier side of fandom anyway. When it comes to style blogs, though, my comments seem so discordant, especially compared to others' unflagging cheerfulness. Then I end up doing stupid things like adding a bunch of exclamation points to soften the tone. Even here in my own posts, I keep having this moment of "oh hell, is this too negative? Am I criticizing too much? I'd better rewrite the whole thing." GIVE ME BACK MY LIFE, BLOG POSTS.

Don't get me wrong, it's not like I dislike reading friendlier blogs. I just seem to have a somewhat different approach and feel a little like I'm on the outside. Maybe it's regional. Connecticut people aren't what I'd call "chipper," to be honest. Or maybe it's a difference in personality, and I've just got to look harder for my fellow pessimists in this corner of the blogosphere.

On a side note, did anyone else see this list of worst-dressed cities from GQ? There's a bizzare entry on Bristol, CT there. And what's bizarre isn't even that freaking BRISTOL was mentioned. It's that the whole thing is about the fashion choices of televised ESPN workers and celebrities. So...not actual people that live there. Okay then.


sandy, can't you see

top: thrifted
shorts: Forever21
sunglasses: Target
flats: Charlotte Russe
bag: NY&Co


My town still has an old drive-in movie theater, and in the summer, some of the local social clubs run movie nights there. Having missed most of this year's lineup due mostly to conflicting schedules (and a kind of unfortunate choice of movies), Laura and I made an effort to go to the showing of Ghostbusters over the weekend. Predictably, it rained. And the camera battery died just before the movie started.

Kind of bizarre to watch movies with rain streaming down the windshield and the majority of the lawn chair crowd bolting for the cover of the new pavilion, but it's all good fun anyway. And at least there were actual bathrooms this year!

I tried to dress a little retro, which would have maybe been more appropriate for the previous week's showing of Grease, but oh well. 


color me cute. but not *too* cute

cardigan: Target
skirt and flats: Charlotte Russe
camisole: old enough that I haven't a clue
sunglasses: Windsor

lipstick: Covergirl 305: hot passion


Guest Starring:
a very angry little Dove

I love all my little critters, but some of them, they are not so photogenic. Case in point: those two pictures were the best we could get of The Dove today. Now, this is a guinea pig with a permanent frown anyway, but add sunlight and the noise of a clicking camera...well, I probably should have expected these squinty, grumpy results. (Especially squinty. Sunlight is a killer on me, too, and I don't even have the excuse of pink-colored eyes.) Sorry, little marshmallow.

Don't want to bore you all with my ramblings about the group social dynamics of guinea pigs, but The Dove is one of those oddballs that doesn't quite fit in. By this I mean that she wants to live with other pigs, but also gets really cranky about it and enjoys making random sneak attacks on the others if they happen to walk by her. Not as dominance battles, either, as she's nowhere near being the dominant female. Just out of pure grouchiness. Sometimes she frolicks happily afterward. There is something deeply wrong with you, The Dove.

(And yes, her name is The Dove. Or sometimes my Dove, or little Dove. Never just "Dove." Don't ask why.)

Apologies for the title; I'm deep into a Daria marathon and can't. stop. quoting.


wannabe dough-rey-me

I love art deco.

A few years ago, I couldn't even tell you what art deco was. Even now I sort of want to define it as "stuff Meesh likes, all crammed together at once." Crazy gaudy, opulent and ornate? Linear symmetry? Ancient Egyptian influence? I'm there. Plug it into my veins. Or at least into my jewelry.

The pieces in the picture above are mine, from jewelry making class back when I was in college. Just like any time I attempt design, whether it's for clothing or abstract sketches or blog buttons, it just sort of came out really geometric and a little eclectic. I can't help it! No matter how much I admire other styles, like the more lyrical art nouveau, this is the one that seems to come out of me organically.

I'm starting to embrace it.

(Someday I'd like to have another go at metalworking, but alas, I do not think I can afford any more hobbies!)

On a related note, check out these Byzantine-inspired pieces posted at whowhatwear. Do. Want.

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