Blogging and Boob Band Aids

Dress and Ring: Lotus, Shoes: Jessica Simpson, Necklaces: TJ Maxx

This is what I wore to a friend's Christmas party on Friday night.

Do I have this dress in 3 colors? Why yes. Yes I do. Thank you, Lotus.

Overkill? Perhaps.

I have it in black, hot pink, and in this burgundy color. And when I recently cleared my closet of about 1/3 of it's contents, not one of these dresses made it into the "toss" basket. To me... it's just about perfect. It's free flowing, but fitted enough to not look like a dowdy, shapeless paper bag. It's sexy, but because it's not tight it doesn't cross over into street walker/hooker status. The dress doesn't really wrinkle so you can easily pack it in a suitcase, or... say... leave it overnight in a pile on the floor next to your bed and then hang it back up in your closet the next morning (after giving it the sniff test of course) like I did. And my favorite part... you can eat and drink (to excess if you'd like) in it and be completely comfortable. The only downside... you can't really wear a bra with it, so I wouldn't recommend making any sudden moves. Although,  I can now (with confidence) recommend Target's brand of pasties.

There's a sentence I never thought I'd ever say or write.

Yup... pasties. Nipple covers. Necessary for times like this. They did the job, but man did I feel scandalous putting them on??? I guess I don't really think of pasties as being utilitarian. I think of them as being glittery or with tassels hanging from them. You know, stripper style. Think... Janet Jackson at the Superbowl, or Rhianna and Nicki Minaj pretty much every time they appear in public. Not these though... these were pasties for normal women. They were the color of a Band-Aid. And I am sure we can all agree that nothing screams sexy like flesh colored nipple stickers in the shape of Gerber daisies.

Switching gears... 

Do you guys believe in signs? Well, I have been thinking a lot lately of not doing this blog anymore. I started it a few years ago (3+) as a place for the rest of us. I've said it before, but most blogs I saw were hosted by 20 something, size 2 women with seemingly endless amounts of disposable income who live in glamorous big cities and get real photographers to take their pictures. I am not that. I was (and am) in my 30's. I shop at Target and (sometimes still) Forever 21. I gain weight, lose weight, swear, and don't endorse products. I don't really care about getting a HUGE following (of people who stop by mainly so they can criticize you) and I have no interest in making money off of this blog by advertising shit I don't really care about or use. I re-wear the same clothes quite a bit, and because I have to balance taking these pictures and writing with going to work, school and teaching Pilates... I take my own pictures (normally in the same spot everyday... snoozefest... I know).  I love blogging, but I started wondering... "is this getting boring to my readers"? I mean, you've seen pretty much everything in my closet by now. I guess I just haven't been feeling particularly inspired lately, ya know?

Then... this morning a friend of mine from High School chimed in via Facebook. I had changed my profile picture and (as you may or may not know) when you do that Facebook announces it to the world... attention... attention...  "Melissa has changed her profile picture." Like you care. Well, my friend from HS saw it, liked it, and then commented. She said some really nice, sweet things and then said... " ... and I love reading your blog and seeing your pictures. Don't ever stop."

I'm not sure if that was a "sign" or not, but it hit me like one. It was as if the question I had been pondering was being answered. So... thank you, Nicolette. For your compliment and supportive comments. I needed them today.

Now... if next time you want to throw in some winning lotto numbers, I would be eternally grateful. Although... if I won the lotto I'd probably hire a chef and a trainer... get a slamming body... buy expensive clothes... travel the world... and turn into one of those unrelatable rich bitches I talked about earlier. Ugh. The struggle.