Why all the excitement? Well, today I’m featured over on Little Bit Funky’s blog!  Woo hoo!  She is running a giveaway for one of my posters, which means you should all head over there and enter to win because you could be the proud owner of a new poster. For free. I’ll even pay for shipping and everything. Which kind of makes me your fairy godmother, spreading good will and brightening up your day and all that, and, fine, you can call me Oprah all day if you really want.

And while you’re there make sure to poke around. Her blog is full of recipes (love these cake pops) and tutorials (check out these adorable reverse applique shirts) and all of the cute stuff she makes and sells (someone very special will be getting one of these adorable tees; they haven’t actually been born yet but, man, will they be psyched when they see the cute wardrobe waiting for them).

Now I have to go and get some coffee and massage my cheeks (the face ones you dirty birds).

So, as long as we’re NEWLYWEDS we decided to do it up right with dinner out and flowers and the whole bit. The coup d’ etat was that we each planned an activity for the other person that we thought they would like (aren’t we adorable? We’re newlyweds!).

Now, I don’t know what my activity is because it wasn’t happening last weekend (weird because Zara is open every day…) but Chris’ Lovefest Event was to go to Hardly Strictly Bluegrass, this huge 3-day free music fest in the park. Honestly, I didn’t know many bands that played, except Lyle Lovett (whom I adore and I was going to say is third on my list of singers I’d most like to marry but I won’t because that is a totally inappropriate comment for a newlywed to make) but it was all in the Name of Love and they were selling Kettle Corn so, no matter.

And then what can only be described as the Most Fantastic Thing I Have Ever Seen in a Park happened. We turned a corner and there was this guy, sitting at a typewriter with a sign that said, “Pick a topic. Offer a price. I’ll write you a poem.”

Of course, we did it!

Three minutes, one phone number and an eye-rolling amount of flirting from a scantily clad pair of ladies later (seriously, this guy is like the Sensitive Poet’s answer to George Clooney. It didn’t matter their age, the ladies love Lynn Gentry…), we had our poem.

I love being a newlywed.

Today I’d like to introduce you to a dear friend of mine, Penne.

Look at how lovely she is. Such shiny hair and…

Holy hell!  Where’d she go?  We were just talking about her and suddenly there’s this person with… Wait a minute.  There she is.  I just didn’t recognize her because she went all incognito on us with her new Incogneato Mustache!  Phew!

And here she is again! Always the master of disguise, Penne uses her mustache to portray someone thinking very, very hard. Perhaps coming up with a catchy name for How Fab’s mustache?  Why yes she is!  The Incogneato it is!

The Incogneato can be used for a variety situations  – hiding from your boss, unexpected run-ins with your ex, merging seamlessly with barbershop quartets.  And, with its handy, fold-up feature, you’ll never again be caught out without your ’stache.

Want your own Incogneato Mustache? Of course you do! Send me a quick email with your address and I’ll put it in the mail to you (free!). Offer is good until October 31 and then, well, you’re on your own. *Sorry, I can only send to US addresses at this time because, well, I’m not rich. If you want to find me a sugar daddy though, we can talk.

(Yes, Penne thought up Incogneato, which is quite possibly the perfect name for a mustache. Check out more of Penne’s wittiness here.)

Anyway, my list has 103 things on it and one of them was to go to the Renegade Craft Fair.  Not as big as “Meet Mark Kermode” (More on Dr. Kermode at a later date.  Actually, pretend I didn’t just say that.  I feel like he deserves a post of his own and now I’m worried that you’re going to google him and have an imperfect first meeting when I know that if I’m there to lead you through the process, you will love him too.  Don’t google him!!! I swear this isn’t one of those reverse psychology moments! I really need to be there when you meet!  Gah!  Pretty birdie!  See the pretty birdie!) Where was I? Oh yes, Renegade.  Not as big as “Meet – ahem – Oprah” but then again not as small as “Do a pull-up” (although now that I think about it, that one is actually pretty huge since my right arm is still sore from the gallon of milk I carried home two days ago.).  Anyway. I’ve always wanted to go and I’ve never lived in a city that had one and it seemed like a weird thing to base a trip around.

“Why are you going to LA?”

“To buy a toast scarf.”

Weird, right?

But since we live in San Francisco (check that off the Life List) we could go and even base our entire weekend around it! I don’t know who was more excited – me or LB.  Okay, it was me. I was pretty much a nightmare all Saturday morning. I didn’t even have coffee because I was afraid it might (literally) give me a heart attack, I was that jazzed up.  It was all I could talk about incessantly so you can imagine LB had the kind of day that they just don’t warn you about before you get married.  Although the excitement must have rubbed off on him a teensy bit because he did come in to take a look.  Okay, he pretty much walked right back out but I think that had more to do with my discovery of this book of cats in wigs than the actual fair itself. I get it. A man can only take so much.

Renegade was everything I’d hoped it would be.  There were toadstools, tons of posters I would have bought if we had a wall to hang them on, Gingerbread men missing body parts (he had a tag around his neck that said – “The one that got away”), a lady walking around selling felt ice cream people out of an ice cream cart.  It was so good.

I only made one purchase but I LOVE IT.  I’ve been absolutely desperate for one of those fancy feather headbands (but then who hasn’t been, really?) but they were all either too expensive or not the right colors. And then I saw Tara to the T’s booth.  Not only did she have headbands in just about every color imaginable but they were only $22!  It was truly an Inspired Craft Fair Moment (which reminds of a conversation I had with our friend. Him: “What’s with the Renegade? Why’s it a ‘Renegade’ Craft Fair?”  Me (without a hint of irony): “Because the crafters there are CRAZY.”)

I have to admit, after meeting Tara (look how cute she is! and nice!), I was secretly hoping that the fascinator would magically transform me into a sort of writer-ly version of her – all retro fab with blond locks and tattoos, perhaps a pencil coyly tucked behind one ear – but it didn’t. Still you have to admit, the results are pretty dramatic.

What a day.  That gets a hearty cross-off the ole Life List (at least until next year).  And yes, I’m going to post a ton more links.  There was just so much cool stuff I want to make I sure do justice to all of them.

Go over and check out all of Tara’s fascinators and her line of stewardess-inspired dresses at Taratothet.com.

(I’ll give your eyes a moment to recover.)

After that debacle I purged my closet and had what I thought was a lean, fashion-friendly closet.  So, imagine my surprise when my sisters come over to help pack up my closet and we found these treasures….

1.  Jacket bought (at considerable expense) to jump-start my career as a “working woman.”  I remember standing in the boutique (in Canada, no less!) agonizing over whether to buy this or a black shirt dress. Fortunately, I chose timeless. I always do.  (Sidenote: Molly is brushing her bangs with a comb found in the pocket.  Used to keep it on hand in case, I don’t know, I needed to tease my perm?)

2.  This was my first “vintage” piece (I believe it was circa 1993, bought it in 2001).  When paired with a moderately flared, slightly distressed jean skirt, it says, “I am short-waisted,” like few things can.

3.  This was one of my first purchases from Anthropologie and, I have to admit, the only thing I’ve ever bought from there that I’ve never worn.  See, parts of my brain still work.

Because I was moving everything myself (LB was already in San Fran) I told LB that we needed to weed out his closet and get rid of everything he hasn’t worn in the past 10 years. (Soooo mean!) Typically he lets me in there once a year and after a whole lot of moaning and groaning concedes one t-shirt that has so many holes in it it looks like an old-school football jersey. (Remember those?  Even I could see mesh was a look that wasn’t going to stick around.) After about an hour, it was not going well.  We’d thrown away one tattered T-shirt and had a pile waist-deep of things he wanted to “think about,” when I stumbled upon my saving grace – the Halloween box.  Turns out “hobo clown” is easier to swallow than “out-of-date.”

Molly and Jill wasted no time in putting together a “Greatest Hits of LB’s Closet.”  Okay, so Jill doesn’t look good in everything.

So that was so much fun I’m thinking we’re going to have to do more of it.  Because I have A LOT of ridiculous pieces of clothing.  Many that I still wear in a way that is undoubtedly funky and creative, just like that pea green jacket.

So here’s the deal.  Mother’s Cookies has gone out of business – you know the company that makes those delicious iced oatmeal cookies and the variety bags, and most importantly, circus animal cookies.  I’m sure you’re thinking, “Big whoop, who eats those cookies anyways?”  I’ll let you take a wild guess.

So, I have been a wee bit frantic.  Or crazy.  Take your pick.  My sister, Jessica, found out that King Soopers bought all of Mother’s stock so I have been running around like a mad woman to all their stores and buying them out.

Now before you judge too harshly, let me explain.  I LOVE circus animal cookies. Every Christmas my mom gives me a bag of them (we are CrAzY at the Kull household) and I parcel them out for the next month so that they don’t go too quickly (and I get too, too fat).  They are this delicate balance of sugar with a tad bit more sugar with little colorful drops of sugar.  Heaven.

And now this is it.  For the rest of my life, I will only get to eat as many circus animals as I can accumulate in the next month or so.  So if I’m 100 years old and sitting there, thinking about circus animals, I’d better hope that I planned ahead.  Hence, the daily trips to King Soopers around the state. (Slight aside:  It’s so bad that I actually pondered whether or not I should post this because of fear of competition for the last, remaining bags.)

But, surprisingly, all of this isn’t the real problem.  The real problem is that I can’t stop eating them and they are turning me into an elephant (mmm…elephants…coated in pink and white sugar and sprinkles…I’ll be right back…)  I haven’t had them around for a reason – because I have no self-control around them.  So now I’m stuck in this vicious cycle where I eat them and then panic because I’ve reduced my stock so I need to go and buy more and then I have more around and…

The best Christmas present you could give me this year, dear reader, is a grocery shelf free from circus animals.  Or a cookie manufacturer that is willing to add them to their rotation. Or a crate full of bags of them that I can roll around in.  Either or.

Speaking of presents, watch out!  All next week, I’ll be posting “Fabulous Gift Ideas That Will Make Them Love You Even More” or basically, gift ideas.

And then this character pops up.  What is it with these people?!?!  Who has time to make a new piece of art every single, friggin’ day?  I barely have time to make freshly squeezed grapefruit juice, much less come up with a new poster every day.

So now that plan is all shot.  I’m going to actually have to come up with something to talk about.  Thanks, Christopher Ryan David, thanks.

PS.  When I was perusing the site I thought January 23rd said “We are all part nudist” and my brain said, “Isn’t that clever?”  I have real issues…or perhaps, a new greeting card?

PPS.  If you are having a baby anytime soon, don’t look at December 2nd because I’m probably going to give that to you.

PPPS.  If you want to send me a present, January 1st is my favorite.  Just saying.

Yes, little ole me has figured out how to end wars worldwide, bring disgruntled party leaders together, and unite the disenfranchised with the, well, franchised.

Ahem.  From here on out, every important meeting, negotiation, merger and, heck, first date should be required to drink from these mustache glasses by Bread and Badger.

Because if they don’t lighten the situation and remind us that we’re all human then, frankly my dear, nothing will.

via Suburban Bliss

Fast-forward a couple of years and after moving into The Den of Love with my betrothed, I only have one closet.  It’s a jam-packed affair that I attempt to clean on a regular basis but still tends toward overflowing.  So, I decided to try out my coffee shop friend’s experiment and wear some of the little-seen treasures that have been shoved in the back.

Day One:
I head down to get my haircut at the very trendy, very fashionable Parlour.  I leave the house wearing a Betsey Johnson circus-tent mini-skirt and sleeveless tank top, feeling funky and hip.  I return home feeling outdated and ridiculous.  Maybe it’s time to let them go.

Day Two:
I put on a long-forgotten t-shirt that features ballet slippers and gathered ribbon sleeves with a fitted white skirt.  The lady ahead of me in line at the mall keeps looking over her shoulder to check out my outfit.  “Why yes, I can be youthful and cheeky while still turning heads,” I think.

Later, after my sister tells me I look like a confused high schooler with a too-short shirt and sleeves from the 90s, I wonder if maybe the woman was trying to telepathically tell me to go home and change.

Day Three:
I’m starting to wonder if this experiment is best left to baristas with closets full of Buffalo Exchange cast-offs.  I decide to give it one more try.  I pair a slightly sheen blouse from a long-ago trip to Paris with an Urban Outfitters skirt from college.  And I feel dumb.   I don’t have to leave the house to realize I look like I need a good closet cleaning.

I call my youngest sister.

Day Four
Jill, who is young and hip and the only person I’ve ever met in real life who looks good in leggings, comes over and tears apart my closet.  Shirt with bedazzled butterfly (but I bought it in Paris!) – gone.  Jeans from college that I swear I will one day fit into – gone.  Too tight t-shirt with sparkly parrot – gone!
Jill is harsh.  Jill is tough. Jill hurt my feelings a teeny bit.  But Jill also gives me a brand spankin’ new closet where I can see what I have and don’t have to horrify the modern world with clothes that were funky last millennium.

What did I learn from my little experiment?  Maybe it’s not in my best interest to have multiple closets.  Maybe I shouldn’t wear clothes that I bought a decade ago.  Maybe it’s okay to ask for help.  Because I’m happy to say, I will now actually be wearing everything I have in my closet, more than once, and I ask you my little peanut nuggets, how fab is that?

So, you can see the state I was in, standing in the make-up section at Target.  Do I go with a tried and not-too-bad brand that works for the first week?  Or do I buy into yet another glossy promise and steel myself against disappointment?  When suddenly a young woman breezed by, pulled the new Cover Girl LashBlast off the shelf and told her friend that it was “the best mascara she had ever used.”

I stood there, motionless, thinking, “Either I have entered into an alternate reality where dreams really do come true or Cover Girl has some serious in-store stealth marketing.”  Most of me thought I was probably being tricked into purchasing another wand of disappointment.  But, there was something else there too.  Something small, that had been pushed down for too long.  Hope.

So, dear readers, I took a chance.  Took a chance that maybe, just maybe, I could have long, dark lashes without all that nasty clumping.  Took a chance that I could feel easy, breezy and beautiful with Cover Girl.

And…it actually works.  Wait, let me repeat that in case you momentarily fell asleep.  IT ACTUALLY WORKS.  I swear. My eyes look wider; my lashes look long, yet natural.  There is zero clumping and it swipes on easily, just as the package promises.  My boyfriend even said how pretty I looked (although then he asked if I had needed to fix my contacts – something to do with excessive eyelash fluttering…).  I’ve been using it for over a month now and it hasn’t started to build up like so many of the other brands.

Because I am not one to keep a secret to myself, I’ve been forcing all my nearest and dearest to try it and guess what?  They love it too! My best friend even went so far as to say that she really only bought it to shut me up; but now, she is very, very glad she did.  If that’s not a ringing endorsement, I don’t know what is.

Have I put to rest my mascara fears?  Temporarily.  Am I a one-mascara gal? Tentatively.  For the moment, I will believe that my mascara can fulfill the promise set forth by LashBlast.  For the moment, I’ll keep on swiping.