Hairnet Wednesday...

As you can see from the first two photos, I started the day with an adorable little number. High-waisted wool black skirt (hand me down from mom:) with a fun graphic tee (Pac Sun), a chunky plastic bracelet (boutique in the Dominican Republic), and a great silver knotted necklace (Dominican Republic, too, I believe). I ran some errands around town and even got a compliment from the woman who renewed my car title at the courthouse. I was most pleased that she liked my outfit because every DMV or other government employee who takes my money to make my car legally acceptable for road use seems to hate life so much they can't be bothered to return a friendly smile or light chit chat. And this woman seemed like no exception until she gave me the once over. It must have been the guns and diamonds juxtaposition on my shirt.

Feeling like a million bucks I headed to work at noon. I changed into my green polo shirt, (much like those the Arby's employees wear)oversize green pants and practical Dansko shoes. The outfit is so depressing I decided to add a hairnet today. After all, if I'm going to make food for 80 people and serve it out of industrial steam tables I may as well play along with the entire lunch lady look. After work I got home in time to hang out with my two-and-a-half year old niece for a few minutes. She asked what my hairnet was. I explained it and asked if perhaps she'd like to try it on. I said, "Violet, would you like to wear my hairnet? Look how cool it is!" She stared at me with a deadpan expression and responded: "That's not cool." Amen buddy. Amen. Guess I can't wear diamonds all day long...

Thank the Lord for Sensible, Comfortable, Working Woman’s shoes…

Today, I am the concierge at the assisted living facility where I work. I say today because I wear a few different, less glamorous hats during the week. On Wednesday and Thursday I am the evening cook. I spend eight hours washing dishes, making magic on the smoldering griddle, whisking soups to an edible state and steaming frozen vegetables. By the end of each cook shift my bangs are plastered to my forehead, my pants are spackled with the main entrée and my apron is sagging with grease, suds and indefinable food particles. Like I said, not so glamorous.

But today, as the concierge, I got to wear an adorable outfit with every intention of sitting in an office, answering the phone and never having to pull on latex gloves to bus the dining room or step in to the walk in freezer with my practical (but oh-so unfortunate looking) Danskos.

When I arrived at work, ten minutes before breakfast was served, I heard worried murmurs: “the cook never showed up,” “Who’s gonna make breakfast?”

Remain calm, I told myself, no need to soil my beaded butterfly skirt and crocket racer back tank. I walked into the kitchen to find the two servers and prep-cook nervously staring at the menu for the day. Indeed, the cook was nowhere to be seen and no one knew what to do.

I quickly fasted a frightening clown apron, made by a crafty co-worker who also milks her horses to make pancakes, and settled into the frenetic pace of a kitchen running behind schedule.

I stirred Malt-o-meal, thawed and baked sausage patties and sent the servers out with carts of bananas and applesauce. While I was preparing an egg, cinnamon, and milk mixture for French toast, my boss showed up and finished breakfast.

As I retreated to my office I realized how important a competent attitude and comfortable pair of heels are. My Sofft patent black heels were outstanding under pressure. I actually made it through a long seven-hour day with out so much as unfastening the three-inch wedges for a mini foot massage. Time for a new pair of Soffts and some new co-workers☺

Ladies, if I can survive 80 hungry elders in heels, you can survive a day in great heels at your job! What are your favorite comfy, gorgeous shoes?
Xo
-h.

Hey, it's OK!

So, I decided that I need to be more consistent with my blogging. That said, I stared at my computer screen- all that endless white space-- and couldn't think of anything interesting, delightful or meaningful to write. I opened my Glamour magazine and told myself I'd write about whatever page I turned to. Page number 122 in the August 2010 issue of Glamour is the Hey, it's OK! page. There is a little cartoon girl perkily standing with hand on hip and then a few validations for the modern woman in the form of "Hey, it's OK! ...to paint only your first two nails when you wear peep-toe shoes." Instead of simply reiterating those validations, I thought I'd compose a few of my own and hope you add yours as well.
Hannah's Hey, it's OK's:
Hey, it's OK! ...not to know if Ok, Okay, OK, ok, or O.K. is the correct AP style for the stupid word, even after an entire semester spent poring over the AP style book.

...to think blogging on a Friday night is actually more spectacular than getting glammed up for a night on the town.

...to browse your cousin's ex best friend's boyfriend's sister's facebook albums for a ridiculous amount of time before realizing it's ridiculous to be browsing your cousin's ex best friend's sister's facebook album.

...to be following Heidi Montag on twitter. Somebody has to keep tabs on the crazies.

...to feel extremely accomplished for making it through work while hung over.

...to be angry that your ex got over you and is now getting married.

...to just be you- enduring quirks that may not be that enduring and all.

The Great Outdoors

In a far far away land (we're talking no electricity and no neighbors for miles-except maybe the creepy backwoodsman who lives off the land, abducts his wives and has no idea that his lumberjack apparel went in and out of vogue) called Snedeker Basin I stayed in a "rustic" little cabin for two days. By rustic I mean four bunk beds, two queen sized beds in two rooms, a stove and little table for sorting out deer parts and playing cards while drinking whiskey sort of outpost. The hunting cabin looks like it was dropped by a crane in the middle of the Snedeker Basin hilltop with no visible roads to connect it to anything but the 6,500 foot hills around it.
My cabin-ing companion, Fred, says the Blackfeet Indians hunted the hills for thousands of years, monitoring the migration of buffalo by burning the grass in certain patterns. Thinking about chasing buffalo, antelope, elk, deer in the bitter Montana winters to survive affirms my staunch belief that God knew exactly what he was doing when he plunked me down on earth in 1986. I would be the whiniest Indian in the tribe- eventually getting exiled to an enemy tribe (who hopefully can gather berries in a warmer state:)
Now, it's not that I don't enjoy the great outdoors, especially growing up in the treasure state. But with allergies that flare up when I even think about animals, agriculture, flowers, penicillin and socks with sandals, my joy is diminished. Then there's my irrational fear that I'll get out of cell service, in, say, almost anywhere in Montana, have a reaction to basically any flora from the car to the cabin door and die. While I've lived a good 23 years, I'm not ready to die before I find somewhere to don my light denim shirt and polka dot skirt.
So, with trepidation I approached my stay at Snedeker Basin. But...turns out, it was incredible! I saw hillsides covered in lavender, mullan, snaking creeks, grazing cows, singing sparrows. On the second night at sunset I approached a herd of 200 elk and sat 50 yards from them, silently trying to communicate just hold blessed I felt to sit in their presence. The barking of an elk is something I've never heard, the stampeding of antelope traveling 35 m.p.h. is something graceful and breathtaking. And while I itched my eyes, cursed my constricted lungs and contemplated reading my Glamour magazine in the car with the a/c cranking, I paused long enough to see the extraordinary setting enveloping me.
I am so proud to be a Montanan-- even in allergy season.