Flattered and Tattooed

In light of taking the initiative to do more for others, I agreed to, on this lazy Saturday of doing nothing but drinking coffee and eating mint oreos, partake in a super last minute "quickie" photo shoot. The requirement was a naturally pretty hipster girl with lots of tattoos. Apparently, I had the "naturally pretty" (thank you, btw) part down, but I was lacking in the tattoo department. Have no fear, Cole came prepared ... with a booklet of fake old school tattoos. 

In no time at all, I was being covered in soap and water washable tattoos. My mouth dropped when he put the book in my hands. "Where did you get these??" "Online. How cool are these?" I had a flashback of the fourth grade, when you went to party fair with your mom and came home with a packet of fake unicorn and butterfly tattoos, waving them in your best friends face just to get a jealous reaction out of them. 

I'm beyond flattered that I was even thought of by Cole to be the one in his promo pictures, and I definitely feel guilty for not owning any real tattoos. The pictures actually came out really cool. The whole idea was to be very simple, very subtle, and to have a complete focus. I think we've reigned success.

Cole's shoots are always so much fun. I hope he has more emergency photo shoots soon.

Enjoy!

Progress Process

Things are a-changin', kids!

Without having the reins in this crucial decision-making point in my life, I've done just that. Made some changes. Maybe we're more along the lines of in the process of making changes. But nonetheless, it's happening.

And I'm ok with it. I'm all for it, two feet in, ready to hit the ground running, never been more sure in my life, let's do this already - ready. Specifics would result in a novel, so I'll have to keep it all under wraps for now. But if you see me smiling, don't say I didn't warn you.

We all hit a little high, or low note in our life, when we realize that we either need to make a change, we deserve something, or we need to expand ourselves. I, conveniently, chose all three, of course. I like to keep things extra interesting. I like to think of it as a challenge, a challenge that can only result in positivity, happiness, and a solid girl of an outcome. I'm just wondering why I haven't made this decision sooner. 

I realize that I need to make a lot of changes, as we all usually do at any given point on our lives. They may not be drastic, or maybe they are. Regardless, change is always for the better. Always. I believe that I only deserve what God wants to give me. This is obvious. Anything He gives us, is really all we need, if you think about it. And anything that He decides to take away, is also exactly what you need. Sometimes He gives us a little less, so that when we finally get a little extra, we've learned to appreciate it for what it's worth and where it came from. My only complaint is that with the big heart I have, I know that I'm deserving of some solid, whole hearted love to love me right back. I have a big heart. I have a good heart. And unfortunately, people use it as A.) A stepping stool to get themselves to another level. B.) As a time filler. C.) As a test to see "what else is out there", or "what it's really like to be loved." I have a lot of love to give, and I give it to those who I believe deserve it. Unfortunately for me, I've given it to a few select people who had given me the wrong idea, and took it for granted. My love is now is a sealed-tight zip-lock bag, waiting to be used on the right one. Love is nothing to take for granted/use at your dispense. It's something you're deserving of. You've got to earn it. I'm also into expanding myself and my horizons. I've been doing things I wouldn't normally fid myself doing, and finding out that I actually enjoy it. I've been taking risks, and feel fulfilled. I've even been doing things out of my realm, and surprisingly it all fits. Things are looking up. Finally.

And I don't mind it. I don't mind it at all.

Current Listen: Iron & Steel - His Name Shall Breathe

Pretty Young Thing

Taking a second to stop and think with an open mind can do wonders. 

Who knew?

With a stack of three September Issues at my side, one Bazaar, one InStyle and one beloved and oh-so-sacred Vogue, I attempt to dive into at least one of these much awaited and coveted items. The September issue of any magazine is the most awaited issue of the year. One must put at least two hours of quiet time to leaf through, drool over, and savor each and every photograph on every single glossy page. Yes, even the ads, because those are the best part.

I was only on page one hundred eighty four, when I had a sudden epiphany: In the past week alone, my life has gone in twenty different directions. Where am I? The fact that I just asked myself "Where am I", made me a little bit nervous. Have you ever felt like you were in this really, really good place in your life, but at the same time, you had questions about where you'd end up? I have full confidence that I'm in a really healthy spot in my life right now. I'm fulfilled work-wise, I'm definitely rising in the right direction in multiple areas of interest, the friends that are here now, are the ones that are here to stay, I've been making tons of new friends to add to that "permanent friend" list. Along with other major/minor changes, all seems to be going well. But looking back to a month ago, it was all different. I had so many questions, so many doubts, the things that I was so sure about, I was so quick to disregard down the road. It seems like things are changing for the better. But who am I to judge? If I've learned anything, it's that not even you can make judgements on your own life. I have a plan. I have a purpose. And I'm sincerely adamant about staying on this path that's leading me to it. 

All five hundred and eighty four pages of my Vogue are giving me the stare down, so I think it's time I dive back in. I think I owe my mail man a nice apology letter. I feel terrible that he had to deliver these brick-like magazines to me three days in a row. Poor thing. 

Toodles!

Current Listen: Pretty Young Thing - Michael Jackson

Hearts And Souls Speak Aloud

In an attempt to give my readers the best possible impression of me in bit of a more intimate setting, I've written up this "About Me", if you will, which completely and entirely explains me best while in the element that I'm most passionate about. Every last sentence is from my heart and soul, each word is strategically placed in order to get every last word out right. I hope this gives you a clear sense as to what goes on in this swirling head of mine. Laugh. Cry. Enjoy. 

An icon of my own defiant personal style, there is something genius to me about a girl, all dolled up in an outfit you've probably rummaged right past on a rack in your favorite vintage shop. The way she wears her clothes as an art, not so much as being careful about what she wears, but how she wears it. Hip, effortless, and right, and the job is done. I rightfully believe that you're either born with a sense of style, or you're not. You either care, or you don't. Fashion has always been in my blood, since the ripe age of six. It's compelling to see the power of an outfit. Whether you're looking back at pictures from when you were younger; receiving inspiration from it, or when you receive the sweetest compliment on an outfit that you barely strategically put together before going out for the day. My trick is to be aware of trends and style, but don't make an attempt at it. That's when heads turn. I've tortured countless designer, one of a kind pieces, and things I've made with my own two hands, to fit me to a T. And I think I've done pretty well for myself. My goal? Possessing basic luxuries. Educated garments. Everything you wear, everything you buy, you have to make it your own. Otherwise, you're just like the rest of them. Fashion is the way my elusive self expresses who I am. Fashion is an art. And I do consider myself an artist. Beauty isn't something that's perfect. Beauty isn't something that's new and shiny. Beauty can be a chair in your house that's worn down to the stuffing. Beauty may not be something that's on the inside, it's simply what you define as beautiful. Let no one's opinion change that vision. My love for fashion is all I'll ever do. God bless my soul if I'm one day living on the streets, still dressed to kill, because I know the right things to pick off the racks at GoodWill. The world we live in is full of sharp-elbowed maneuvering. There's no way to push your way through, just live, being you. Eventually, you'll find yourself on top. On YOUR top. Let no one's opinion of what's ethic, right, just, or socially acceptable readjust your standards. Don't let anything affect your choices, just see a clear road ahead. And follow it

Life is good when everything is possible. 

I've been listening to His Name Shall Breathe every single night when I crawl into bed with a desperate attempt to sleep. Midway through Track three, I'm out until my alarm goes off. So, on that note. You know where to find me. 

Current Listen: Street Choir, Singing - His Name Shall Breathe

This Is My Heart. It Is A Good Heart.

Sometimes, we need a few new words to either pick us up, boost our ego, boost our self-esteem, keep us sane, gives us a purpose, builds us up, makes us smile, helps us get the thing out that we're trying to say, or maybe just let us know that someone out there feels the same way that we do.

Here's a few things that make me feel all the above. 

* There's a little truth behind every 'just kidding', a little curiosity behind every 'just wondering', a little knowledge behind every 'I don't know', and a little emotion behind every 'I don't care'.

* The Perfect Day: Going to sleep, and waking up with a purpose.

* No one falls in love by choice, it is by chance. No one stays in love by chance, it is by work. And no one falls out of love out of choice, it is by choice.

*It's hard to wait around for something you know may never happen; but it's even harder to give up when you know it's everything you want. 

*My heart knows more than I thought.

* To me, true love is the sweetest thing in life. That's why we're all either in love, or looking for love. Sometimes you have to work for it - especially when life gets in the way. But I believe that true, deep love is worth fighting for.

* Someone still loves you.

* Others are great, but you can be greater.

* Why wake up and stop dreaming?

* You are beautiful.

* Change the way you look at things, and the things you look at change.

* I could be an organ donor, the way I give up my heart.

* There comes a time in your life when you have to give up the pointless drama and the people who create it and surround yourself with people who make you laugh so hard, you forget the bad and focus solely on the good. After all, life is too short to be anything but happy.

* Remember ... Whoever comes are the right people. Whatever happens is the only thing that could have. When it's over, it's over. 

* Everyone thinks of changing the world, but nobody thinks of changing themself. 

* I can conquer the world with one hand, as long as you're holding the other.

* Your heart is a weapon the size of your fist. Keep fighting. Keep loving.

Current Listen: 55th and Halsey - His Name Shall Breathe

The Perfect Pretend

A girl needs to dream once in a while.

Here's to a perfect world ...

The perfect drugs.

The perfect light source.

The perfect dinner date.

The perfect dinner.

The perfect summer day.

The perfect simple form of transportation

The perfect pet.

The perfect past time.

The perfect situation.

The perfect way to make a girl happy/smile.

The perfect feeling.

A girl can dream...

Quad

Pretty Pretty Princess Picnic

For some reason, I could have sworn that I wrote a blog today. I guess today was just that long of a day.

Quite possibly the longest day ever, today started out incredible. I had my Starbucks Venti Quad Vanilla Soy Toffee Nut Latte in hand, a little Pete Yorn playing at a volume that could blow a speaker in the car, and the breeze in my hair while driving to work. Arriving at work, I make a list (my favorite) of things to do for the day, being that I have been the boss basically all week, and began, with Tori en tow. My four shots of espresso were keeping me alive, keeping my heart rate up, and my hands jittery, just the way I like it. I actually had someone ask me "what I was on", that's how light speed I was going this morning. (P.S. - It was 8am.) I told them a Quad. Then I mouthed off fourteen other things, which were a blur, because I was talking so damn fast. I will probably be drug tested on Monday for it.

Then, then painter shows up. We fired our painter. The other painter wasn't supposed to show up until Monday. But he was insisting that he had a list of things to "paint". To make a long story short, I tore down a 30 plus foot wall, only to have to refixture/remerchandise everything. Then, I had to do it again to another wall. Then again to the first wall I did. I needed a shower already, by 9:30am. Even with all of the energy I had and the desperate need to get it all out, I was not happy. Three hours of stress, constant phone calls, "Ali, I need you" 's, and everything else, I was super super stressed. I just wanted to go home and drink some warm soy milk and lay down.

My excessive energy (which lasted from 7:30am until 4:00pm), resulted in the best day ever, dancing on fifteen foot ledges, doing a karaoke of "All The Above" in the middle of Macy's, with customers wondering what drug I was taking, and how they can get their hands on it. Enjoying every single minute of it, I ended up in a laughing fit by 4:30pm, purely because I had lost my mind. I still, by the way, never got it back.

I opted for another Quad at 11:00pm, which is why you are receiving a blog at 4am. You're welcome. I now know to never drink a Quad again past 6pm. A girl's gotta sleep. Or does she? Just when I thought I was getting tired, I am finally home, completely wired like an illegal hot box from the "bad side" of Brooklyn, and ready to go right back to the party that I just came from. By the way, I totally enjoy sitting back and people watching the drunk kids. I have all the blackmail I'll ever need in my entire lifetime. 

It didn't take me long to realize today that I seriously love my life. Although I experience the ups and downs as you other human beings do, I am so fortunate and blessed to be able to live the life that I do and be exactly who I am. I love individuality and uniqueness. I love the individuality and uniqueness that I possess. And I love that I have the opportunity every single day to express it. So get out there and be you, kids. Be the kid you were born to be. Be exactly who you've always wanted to be. Be the person that other people look at and wish they had the guts to be. 

And on another note, I finally received my Prim Suspect business cards today. I an so OFFICIAL. I'm in love with them and will proudly pass them out to all artists, near and far.

I'd be lying if I said I was off to bed. I think I'm going to go write something. I'm definitely in the mood for some writing/art. 

Current Listen: Teardrops - Diamond Cut

Michael Jackson's Favorite Sedative Was In My Veins

Laugh It Off.

This would only happen to me.

So I'm in the hospital for my procedure. (One that I will not reveal, for TMI purposes.) I've done the prep, which was quite miserable and exhausting, to say the least. I'm starving, as I haven't eaten in two days, severely dehydrated, ready to pass out at any given moment. I'm the only human under 50 years old in the room. The nurse is finding a vein to insert my IV. I have no problem with needles, at all. But this IV insertion process is one that I will forever remember. She has my hand in hers, looking desperately for a vein in my hand. (The IV couldn't be inserted into one of my awesome arm veins, as nurses like to refer to them as, because of the position I have to be in for this particular procedure.) She's flicking at my hand, repetitively. "Ok, this is starting to hurt." I think to myself. "You can't find a vein?", I ask with a shocked look on my face. "Well, you're severely dehydrated.", she says, flicking, harder. The rubber strap she has wrapped around my arm is so tight, that m arm is starting to turn purple. She continues to flick my hand, really hard. "Nurses always tell me that I have great veins.", I say, as if I have to defend my veins or something. This really, really hurt.

She finally gets a vein, and inserts the IV. "Someone needs to retrain this lady on inserting IV's.", I'm thinking in my head. "That was terrible." I'm lead back to my bed, holding onto the nurses arm, well knowing that this is the beginning of a terrible adventure. 

I'm finally taken in to the operating room. There, I meet my anesthesiologist, and my doctor. My primary care doctor was supposed to send over my blood results from a couple of weeks ago in order to do this procedure. I hear my doctor ask the nurse a question about my blood results in some fancy medical terms. "Umm, we never received her blood results.", she replies. "You what??" He responds. Oh great. He calls my primary care doctor, telling them, "She's on the table ready to go, please fax over her results immediately." I'm starting to get nervous. "Did your results come back normal?" "Totally.", I respond with certainty. "He said all of my levels were normal." "And you're sure?", he asks, as if I have something to hide. "No, I have Hepatitis C and AIDS.", I thought to myself. "Yes, I'm sure.", I say in an almost pissed off tone. 

"Legally, I can't do this procedure. So let's wait fifteen more minutes for them to fax over the results.", says Dr. Geller. "Great.", I think to myself. This can not be going well. "So, how about them Yankees? Do you follow baseball?"

Ok. Stop right there. No, I do not follow baseball. And any time that question is stated in that exact fashion, means that something is wrong. Either, A. You're in an awkward situation and you are desperately fishing for a topic to talk about. B. You're on a bad date. Or C. Things are not going well. Considering the circumstances, I was in situation C. And things were definitely not going well. Ten minutes pass as I talk about about I don't understand the concept of football, big giant men chasing a little tiny ball filled with air. I get a couple of laughs out of everyone in the room, but I'm still lying there, nervous as all hell. "Ok, well, legally, I'm not supposed to do this, but let's go. Give her the anesthesia. Seriously? Ok. Fine. Go.

"Here comes the good stuff.", says the anesthesiologist. "This is Michael Jackson's favorite. I begin to laugh pretty loud. "Wait. Really?", I said, thinking he was kidding. "Yea, really. He used this stuff every day.", he replied with a smile on his face. "Man. That's crazy.",  said, calming way down. "No no no! WAIT!", yells Dr. Geller. "You have GOT to be kidding me.", I think to myself. I'm pretty sure I gave an involuntary eye roll. "Umm, Dr. Geller, you better hurry up, I'm about to insert.", says the anesthesiologist. "What's your primary doctors first and last name and location?", he says in a complete rush. "Dr. Christopher Bader. Medical Arts Building in Centrastate Hospital...."Gone. I sure hope he got all of that.

Only when I am present, do situations like these happen. What seems totally unprofessional and inhumane, happens to me on a daily basis. I don't get mad or upset about it, I just laugh it off, adding it to my list of "Things That Happen To Ali, And Never To You." list. #542. 

The recovery was a miserable one, as expected, considering the situation I went through. In fact, more that one day later, I am still uncomfortable. I'm just rolling with it.

The moral of the story, I guess, is to not get mad at situations that you have absolutely no control over. Could something have gone terribly wrong, had something actually been wrong with one of the counts in my blood? Probably. Did anything happen? I'm still walkin' around, friends. I've learned a long time ago to laugh off these kinds of situations, and roll with the punches. After all, I've much rather have things to laugh about, than things that I've been terrified about. 

Current Listen: Discotech - Young Love

Pure Talent

One of my faithful, amazing blog readers, Katie, drew this incredible drawing for me. These are two pictures of me modeling Killbrand's line. I am beyond impressed, amazed, grateful, and in awe of this. It's so sweet to know that someone actually took the time to do this for me. That's true love. I'm incredibly impressed that she actually took the time to nail every single detail of the shirt on the right. Katie, I hope you haven't pulled all of your hair out in the attempt of recreating the image on that shirt. You amaze me.

Thank you so much, Katie, for not only being such a faithful reader of Hipster Sister, but for being such an awesome person. You are so incredibly talented. Keep up the amazing work, doll.

I'm going to continue my staring contest with this picture for the next three hours. I'm in love. So, please excuse me. 

Current Listen: Fix You - Coldplay

Rev Your Engines

Leather Generation

Today I purchased the most unconventional, but also the most coveted item that I just needed to make as the perfect addition to my almost perfect wardrobe: A semi-high-wasted leather mini skirt. And yes, it was that important.

I saw this yummy little number dangling from a hanger. I laid eyes on it and reached for it. "Mine.", I thought to myself. Although I was probably the only person who has ever, and will ever purchase that particular item, I am extremely ecstatic that it is now happily dangling from a hanger in my closet. The challenge of finding the perfect leather mini-skirt is over. The only challenge now, is to find a place to wear it. With my outrageous outfit ensembles to inappropriate places, I'm sure this will not be an issue for long.

This got me to thinking - what makes a garment "unconventional"? Is it the fabric? The structure? The overall design? The fit? We all know that wearing something leather out in a place where the public eye is way judgmental can be a touchy night out. But I'm willing to suffer the consequences for fashion. The structure of a garment can surely be the be all, end all. That extra padded power shoulder blazer won't fly everywhere, you know. The design, too, can cause quite a few conflicts. A garment, or even a shoe itself can be completely unconventional. I've met plenty a shoe that will just not happen. You'd literally have to take baby deer steps everywhere you went. And you can forget taking sharp corners. And cobblestone? let's not even go there. I'm pretty sure I can leave the fit of a garment to your imagination. There are more than enough prosti-tots out there who display this issue on a daily basis, so I need not explain myself. 

I've already begin experimenting with it, finding that it doesn't have to be used for a total rocker chic look. I can done it down, or, believe it or not, dress it up. It looks just as good with my nude patent leather platform heels and flouncy white top as it does with some killer gladiators and a riped up white tank that I made. 

I'd like to call this day a success. 

Current Listen: Lisztomania - Phoemix

Cursed-Day

You will understand the appropriateness of this

photo once you thoroughly read this blog.

Today is not Friday, it's Cursed-day.

I had an incredibly unsettling feeling last night. Exactly thirty minutes after I woke up this morning, I realized why. My inner ESP was channeling me. I'm not going to journal you a sob story about everything terrible horrible thing that's happened in this entire twenty four hours of Friday, but I will give you the run down. Hopefully this ends up being the short version, instead of the long.

So, I wake up on Friday morning, alive, thank God, and start getting ready for work. I prop open my Mac Book to check my bank account that my paycheck went through, as I do every friday morning, out of habit. Not that my direct deposit wouldn't go through, it's just a thing I do, I guess. I log in, staring at what looks like a terrible mistake. "Did Macy's forget to pay me?", I thought to myself in a mixed feeling of disbelief and horror. "Nooo. There's no way. What happened? Was I robbed? Did I sleep-internet shop in my sleep? Do I have a shopping problem? Do I need a therapist for this? Does my insurance cover that?" When something sudden and terrible/confusing happens to me, my mind has a habit or running a bazillion miles a minute, eventually running out of control, creating the most horrid and unrealistic scenarios to totally psych myself out. I proceed to check my recent history on my account, you know, to see why the heck my account is reading $9.01, instead of the near $500 that it's supposed to. "This must be a mistake", I promise myself. 

Well, I was not sleep-internet shopping, and I definitely do not need a therapist. But someone at Progressive Auto Insurance needs to be fired pronto. Specifically in the accounting department. Because they screwed up. Big time. To make a long story short, I got a pretty hefty traffic ticket in February of this year. I was officially convicted of the violation in April. Well, Progressive failed to realize that there was a "pull over date" and a "conviction date", and instead of removing the "pull over date", they counted it as two violations instead of one, nearly doubling my premium, and emptying my bank account. Literally. In a state of rage and with a blood pressure that probably could have killed me at twenty four years old, I called them immediately to see what drugs they are on, because this was a mistake you just can not make without a crack pipe in your mouth.

The first lady I spoke to gave me the run-around, claiming she had no idea what happened, and then conveniently had "computer problems". Right. The guy she transfered me to had the heart of satan himself, and didn't really give a rats booty what the issue was, or that I had $9.01 for the next seven days to live off of, potentially bouncing checks for the next seven days, or that the company he is currently employed at completely screwed me. I could have neutered him, had arms possessed the ability to reach through my blackberry and do so. 

Eventually, the situation was figured out, and he told me that everything would be fixed come my next bill. For some reason, I didn't believe him. Which, was a good move on my part, because all of his little "promises" never came true. In fact, he hung up the phone and that was it. He never made any changes, never emailed me what he was supposed to. Nothing. Slacker. Stop playing Solitaire at work, buddy. To make matters worse, they never sent me anything in the mail, like, oh, I don't know, a new insurance card, since the one I currently have expired two days ago. Isn't that their job to send me a new one? That's what I thought. Not only was I completely dead broke on pay day, but I was driving around without valid proof of insurance, exactly what got me that whopping ticket to begin with. Thank you very much, Progressive, for potentially ruining my driving record even further.

And then, as I do every first Friday of the month, I pay my monthly fee to Freehold Township Court for this big ticket of mine. Of course, I can't pay it with $9.01 in my bank account. This lead to a warrant out for my arrest. Luckily, I was able to nip it in the bud and explain the situation to the court. They actually had a heart that wasn't freezing cold, and pushed up my payment date. I sung that lady's praises until my vocal cords gave out.

After I arrived a half hour late to work, thanks to Rick and our no-so-pleasant conversation, Tori, the girl I work with, debit card gets stolen. I was not kidding when I said today was cursed-day. They made about $90 worth of purchases. I've been nauseous ever since. Especially considering the very same person that had stolen her card, had stolen cash from my wallet four times before. I might be calling my parents from jail on Monday morning. The worst of me just might come out on this man. Sorry mom and dad, in advance.

On the flip side, I did receive some amazing news today. I am 99% moving to Williamsburg in two months, a dream come true for me. Now only if I can sell my stupid car and find a job in Brooklyn, I'm set. (NOTE: Details to come.)

So much for not journaling you a sob story. Sorry for the buzz-kill blog. I'm such a Debbie Downer.

State of New Jersey vs. Alison Pinho is a permanent statement, I'm afraid. 

Current Listen: Close Your Eye - Young Love

The Afternap

Although this photo does not do this dress justice,

this is what I've been working on ... the front, at least.

I hate naps.

I'm probably the only person to say so, but I can truly, honestly say that I despise naps. Physically, I'm not even capable of taking a nap in the first place, which is great, but this week, every single day after work, I've laid down on my couch and awoken three hours later, feeling like I just did the worst deed, was put in the worst mood, and missed out on so much life. Naps ruin everything for me. Maybe I'm just too much of a robot (this GO! GO! GO! lifestyle has me hooked) to lose three hours of my awake time, but naps make me miserable. I'd much rather be tired and groggy, than take a nap and wake up in a state of misery. This is just my personal opinion, of course.

The only upside to this unnecessary nap, was that I woke up super motivated to do some work on the dress I've been working on for my line, and nothing else. If it weren't for this dress, I would have been asleep at 8:00pm. I woke up and the first thing I thought of was what to do with this dress, having a solid, vivid image in my head. I went straight up to my room and added the black and gold leopard and vintage tan rosettes to the neckline. I went from doubting the entire entity of this dress, to being in love with it and instantly upping the price, all in a matter of thirty minutes. You'd never believe it, but all of those rosettes took me those thirty minutes to make and apply. Project Runway, here I come.

I'm actually really happy with the turn this dress has taken. In the event to create a handmade 1940's, 1950's inspired dress to launch for my Fall '09 line, I felt that it wasn't inspired by those eras at all. Although I have a bit more work to do (on the era part), I feel like I'm going in the right direction. I wanted it to have a modern twist, which I'm pretty sure I accomplished with the rosettes. I'd like to come up with one more element that makes it a little bit more 1940ish. I'll think of something creative to create a twist on, I always do. 

Recap of this evening? I took my involuntary nap, worked on my dress, chatted with my neighbor outside while reading a magazine, agreed to throwing a block party, declined a late night lake swim, and watched Shark Week while munching on gluten free bread with jelly. Ohh to be twenty four. Hey, tomorrow's friday night. Never underestimate your opponent. 

Help me choose my destination for tomorrow: 

- Partner's house to work on clothing line things.

- Winery in Philly

- Go out with the dude.

All I know is, I am definitely not parking myself on the couch, in fear that I might fall into the Nap Trap.

Current Listen: DOA - JayZ

Playing The Left (sad) Field

The potential dress #1.

The potential after-party dress.

The potential dress #2.

The potential shoe.

Today I engaged in an activity that was quite foreign to me ... searching/researching/humbly attempting to find a wedding shoe for my sister, who is set to be married on September 26, 2009.

While diligently searching for my sister's "perfect" wedding shoe, I was surprised to find out that we were doing quite the opposite. Her dress actually only allows her to wear a shoe no less than two inches, and no more than two and a half inches high. Meaning that two and three quarter inches in height was just unacceptable. Being five foot two and wearing nothing less than five inch heels, with no less than a one inch front platform, I was, for the first time in my life, nearly stumped. 

With her Mac Book in my face and my fingers frantically typing away in the search bar, I pulled up nearly every designer's site and every shoe website that I could pull up in my mental bookmark page. "Well, I know this site that has incredible vintage shoes you could check out", I suggested. "Ali, I want my own wedding shoe, not one that was already worn." Ouch. One who does not understand the wealth of a vintage shoe and it's structure, really bruised my fashion ego. "Ok then. Let's jump on Bloomingdales.com." 

While I realize that my area of fashion expertise influence and excite probably nine percent of the world's population, I like to think that I am the see all, know all when it comes to fashion. You want an eggplant formal ball gown for a gala you have to attend this weekend? Give me twenty four hours, and you got it. And those Balenciaga platform sandals that are three times the amount you are willing to spend are a must have for your wardrobe? I'll find them at a reasonable knock-off price, if not at a sample sale, in no time. This was a tough one. A two-two and a half inch wedding shoe in ivory that isn't a slingback, posessed some kind of embellishment and isn't $498 was surely a challenge, but one I wasn't willing to pass up. It's on. Set me on a fashion mission, dim the lights, pour me a glass of wine, and you're shoe will soon be yours.

Truth be told, I have a knack for this kind of stuff. I can see a top or a dress or a bracelet or a pair of shoes in Vogue, and in two hours flat, it can be mine, whether I find it for full price, or as a knock-off. Even if the credits in small print read: Price Upon Request. Leave it to me to find you're dream whatever. Trust me. I do this for my own living. 

Exactly six website visits later, I found her shoe. "Is it available?" "Yes." "Is it available in ivory?" "Yes." "Is it available in ivory in a size ten?" "Yes." "Add to cart. I want it." SOLD!!!

Something stirred in me that I should maybe do this for a living. For a split second, it seemed like a good idea. Then I realized that I'd be shopping for a living. For other people. Dangerous. I enjoy shopping for myself way too much. I don't want to buzz kill that adrenaline rush. 

The Badgley Mischka look-a-like was the winner. Perfection, with a two and a half in heel, cut out inner side, peep toe with rouching and crystal embellishment at the top of the foot was the winner. All for a measley $80. Why do I only find these incredible deals for other people? Why must all of my purchases be $100 or more? Actually, that's not true. I can not complain with my $29 vintage lace dress steal, or my $19 suede wrapped sandals, or even my $14 vintage wayfarer sunglass deal that I managed to dig up in the heart of Williamsburg, New York on a friday afternoon, all in one day. Now that, my friends, is a real fashionista's findings. I'd like to believe that it's just my hipster blood, seeking out the best fashion at a poor man's price. That, after all, is the best, no?

During the journey of finding the "perfect wedding shoe", I found about one hundred pairs that I would rightfully own myself. "Thank God I don't have a lot of money", I stated humbly, "or I would be buying a bigger house with an even bigger closet right now?" I said aloud. She thought I was kidding. I, as a matter of factly, found my wedding dress, complete with shoes and and after party dress in the process.

One day, I will be a Badgley Mischka bride. (NOTE: This will change approximately twelve times before my actual wedding.)

Current Listen: Too Young To Fight It - Young Love

Hipster Master Plan

I had a mini epiphany today. What else is new?

Having already decided this once before, I have officially, once-and-for-all decided that I am completely unhappy with my current career choice. Not that I hate what I do, because I definitely don't, I think I just hate the idea of it all. It's not that I'm unhappy, well, not completely (just with my career choice, that's all, really. I swear), I just realize that I'm not fit for what I'm doing. I go to sleep at night, wishing I didn't have to go to sleep in the first place; A. Because I'm not tired at 2am. And. B. I am not wired to wake up to an alarm monday through friday at 6am, following a strict schedule to get me out of bed, out of the house, and through my entire work day. Lord help me if I am even four minutes off schedule. It's the end of the world, as we know it.

I have had an "ideal happy place" set up in my head for quite some time now. The following list explains this ideal world, which is packed into my brain meat:

1. Move to Williamsburg, NY, so that I can finally fit in with my own "people". Just as do lions, cheetahs, and spider monkeys, hipsters need to live in a specific habitat. My current habitat of tractors, big fields, and loads of Hasidic Jews is sinking my boat. (NOTE: I am currently seeking out apartments in Williamsburg, and have already some some super deck places. Will update as process progresses.)

2. Sell my car and buy/have someone build me a bike or two. I am much more satisfied with my daily transportation in being a bicycle. Not to mention that fact that I desperately need to redeem myself from the horrific negative driving record I possess in my name. 

3. Quit my current corporate job as a Visual Merchandiser, and build my own empire solely out of artistic realms. Allowing me to stay up late and make art/research new ways to make money by hardly working in the real world/staying as far away from corporate America as humanly possible, just making enough money to pay rent, buy four dollar thrift store finds, and eat brunch after waking up at 1pm, complete with buy one get one bloody mary's at Lovely Day in Nolita. (NOTE: This is currently in the staging process.)

4. Attend frequent dance parties until early morning hours, not having to worry about the ultra dread of a 6am alarm clock, ringing in my ears, which, I swear, haunts me throughout the day. A true dance-party-seeking hipster has no actual intention of dancing, but shuffling, sometimes even in the rain, weather permitting. (We need to shake up our endorphins somehow, you know.) And "party" in "dance party" can mean either one of two things, you're either hopped up on Jack Daniel's and cocaine, commonly paid for with the money from your trust fund, or you're as straight edge as a greeting card. I, personally prefer the latter. To each his own.

I am adamant about the fact that I will make this all happen, sooner than later. The fact that my list is short will help speed up the process, I can only hope. 

Well, it's officially Monday morning. Dread. I'm everything except thrilled to hear this alarm clock in less than six hours. 

Current Listen: Deep Blue Sea - Grizzly Bear

Corporate Hipster

I thank a Spring Street vintage shop 

for providing the most perfect vintage lace dress ever.

There is nothing that I despise more, than knowing that I am a corporate hipster - a crippling stage that I am begging to soon pass. This term makes me beyond physically, and mentally uncomfortable. Had I lived in Williamsburg, I would be shunned by every surrounding resident, dodging stares and snares, I'm sure. From eight to five on any given monday through friday,  if you can spot me, I'm everything I don't want to be. 5:01, real life begins again. 

Driving in at eight a.m., (NOTE: This is a hipsters' deepest REM sleep time) blasting Young Love or Owl City, wayfarers on my face, and my morning coffee in my right hand, soaking up my last moments of hipster freedom. Once I step into the black hole that I call my career, it's like putting on an alter ego for the next nine hours. Completely ignoring the dress code for my job, I can at least keep my hipster apparel in check at work. Overdyed Urban Outfitters canvas sneakers, black super low rise skinny jeans, and a black v-neck tee. It's the best I can do, really. I mean, I've gotta be able to hold onto something, right? Let me have a little freedom. I comfort myself by reminding myself that as soon as I get home, I can change into my ultra low rise, super skinny destroyed Levi's and my favorite American Apparel racer back tank, gaining my hipster identity back. It's bad enough they make me sit through their "typical" conversations at coffee break. Really, if it weren't for Tori, the girl I work with, I would have lost it a long time ago. She keeps me sane, and puts up with my dance parties in our shop, sometimes even joining in.

If you think that the disposition of a hipster is naturally distraught, seeing the agony on the face of a hipster whoring themselves out to corporate America, onlookers would surely assume they were on their way to a concentration camp, not their day job.

If it weren't for the desperation of needing health benefits, because I have the immune system of a poodle, I would undoubtedly be spending my days much differently. Hipsters characteristically abhor employment in the first place, and having self-generated income, preferring instead to spend their days complaining about their lack of adhesion to the larger outside world. Keeping my genuine hipster in tact, I should have embraced my inner insecurity and continued spending business hours searching craigslist job postings at the local internet cafe and taking walks down Bedford Avenue with pride, or at least with a, "I know I'm hot but if you look at me again I will f'ing kill you" ambiance.  

As I continue working my tail off on my clothing company, I plan to quit this corporate stumbling block asap. I have made a vow to myself to never work anywhere where "corporate attire" is require (lucky for me, I'm able to dodge this one), or anywhere with the forbidden word "corporate" anywhere in the title. I'd much rather spend my days dragging my feet through art galleries, reading Hipster Runoff, or scavenging the new arrivals in my favorite vintage stores on Spring Street. My glory day is coming. And by glory day, I mean when the fourteenth day of my two weeks that I put in are finally up.

I can promise you this much, I am not looking forward to my Monday through Friday hipster walk of shame this week ...

News!

Canvas sneakers, my newest obsession.

Less than four hours of sleep, and I'm so so so energized. Hi. I'm a robot.

Yesterday was fantastic, obviously. Last night, I was the best baby snakes I could be. I went to Eddie's after coming home from the city. I delivered him some dinner, all topped off with a giant enormous monster chocolate chunk cookie, because I <3>

Today, we were total lazy babies. We woke up, watched Hot Rod (I can watch it a million more times), and then I sent him on his way to have a date with his bike and a really long trail. Now, I'm feeding you a brand spankin' new blog in which to follow out my own lazy day with. It's the weekend, sit yours buns down and relax.

There's something that I HAVE to plaster here. My brother in law started his own grilling/catering for parties company. I am telling you this not only because he is my bro in law, but because he REALLY IS an incredible incredible cook. He can put most Food Network stars to shame. I would know, I've eaten all of his food. Third and fourth helpings included. If you're planning a bbq, or a party, or anything that involves food, really, you HAVE to check out his im up. It's called Gratefully Grillin'. Everything you need to know can be found by clicking the link below. 

http://web.mac.com/nklemas/iweb/site/gratefullygrillin.html

Well, I'm off to continue this whole bummin' around thing. 

Toodles!