Dressing like a kid

One of my favorite ways to pass time as a kid was flipping through store catalogs. I'd pretend I could have, oh, let's say one thing from every two pages. I'd study the pages carefully, imagining my wardrobe, jewelry box, or toy chest vastly improved by the new additions. I'd declare, this one, and that dress, bathing suit, engagement ring, or rock tumbler would magically be mine.

Nowadays I dream shop by filling online carts with sale items at Madewell, Anthropologie, and Tattly (and never buying them). But sometimes, due to the rare online order, I will be mailed a slew of catalogs.

Damn you, organic cotton sleep shirt purchase! Look what you have wrought!

The catalogs aimed at me these days don't showcase enough merchandise to get my mind dancing. Picking just one thing is too easy.

Cape up top. Red vest below.

I'm also mailed catalogs for kid clothing. Flipping through one I finally realized, I want to dress like a kid forever! Kids get the fun stuff.

Dog raincoat!

Finally an array of clothing I can dream about! 

I choose the striped leggings with the pink knee-pads.

Dressing like our inner 5-year old reminds me of dressing myself at Burningman. 

Houndstooth skirt, striped leggings, striped socks, faux fur vest, and fanny pack. Legit style right here.

What I love most about Burningman, this crazy yearly festival in the desert, is that people are silently encouraged to dress as outrageously as they want to. No rules. No judgement. It can be intimidating at first, but you get the hang of it. Every day, twice a day (morning and night, because they are two totally different temperatures), you pick out all your own clothes from amongst all the dress-up bins you have access to. And no one says, NO, you're not leaving the house like that. Go back and change!

I don't recall having the luxury of picking out weird outfits for myself as a kid. Then I had a school uniform, followed by years and years of (not) figuring out my style.

Now I know. I want to always dress like a happy, carefree kid. Social pressure and norms aside, why the hell not? Maybe I'll also mix in a few art teacher vibes, some preppy tomboy, and rock 'n' roll. Just imagine!

What does your inner kid want to wear today? Mine has called for purple sneakers, two slightly different shades of red nail polish (one on each hand), and otherwise head-to-toe blue. Tomorrow, polka dots.

A peak inside

Oh so much has happened and not happened since I last blogged.

I went to Fairbanks, St. Louis, Phoenix, Chicago, and best of all, Portland, Oregon.

It was beautiful.

Regular blogging will continue shortly...

One good thing about Donald Trump and other ramblings

I’ve been taking a break from weekly blogging because, well, I can’t get my act together and formalize my thoughts. Perhaps it's computer avoidance. Perhaps I’m just setting higher standards for myself. Most definitely I’m lazy.

But damn if there isn’t a ton to talk about, eh? Can you believe this GOP field of “presidential candidates”? I mean.

The political shit show does wear me down. I weep that my country can contain, foster, protect and reward such stupidity. I wail that it's dangerous to call out said stupidity. I try to be compassionate and tolerant but lies are lies, wrong is wrong, and physics is real. 

The one thing that brings me solace about having Donald Trump in the ring for president of the United States is that when I run for president circa 2040 I will absolutely appear qualified.

In other news, I’m really furious with the Duggar men and fundie assholes around the world who subjugate women to men in the name of anything. Like those fuckers in ISIS. I’m mad as hell at child abusers, and am simply stunned by the amount of child abuse that goes on in the world. Since the dawn of time this shit has happened, and now we have the twisted luxury of learning about much of it. How do people cope with horrifying knowledge?

I've been quiet because these aren’t really topics for Dots.

You know what is?

This:

Samantha-fucking-Jones. Wearer of not one but TWO brooches in this here power suit (above).  A cat on top and a bird on the bottom. You go, Samantha Jones.

One thing Sam and I always had in common was the love of saying, "Fuck Off". I also share her thing for brooches, but my teeny collection rarely sees the light of day. Note to self - wear your brooches!

Check out this dog brooch from season six:

Bravo, Samantha Jones.

Shine on.

P.S. Pins are so hot right now. Exhibit 1. Exhibit 2.

Batteries are magic, part 2

I've spotted a Li-ion battery powered motorcycle.

Welcome back for part 2 (of 2) of how Li-ion batteries work, and thus their magic. (Rest assured that this educational material is a quick departure for Dots.) We left off discussing the importance of the two electrodes, named the anode and the cathode. Li-ions are stored in the anode when the batteries are charged, but much prefer life in the cathode.

Continuing...

Batteries are magic

There’s one thing in this world that I know more about than 99.999% of the earth’s population, and that thing is the lithium-ion battery.

A tech-savvy friend of mine recently told me that to him, batteries are “magic”. He waved his fingers a little when he said that. This made me smile. And then it made me think. Do people want to believe in magic? Are some curious about the underlying truths? Can I explain it to them in a way they can easily understand and never forget?

This post is for those of you who are curious.

Purchase panic of the relatively anxious

Plus three boards of drink menu over to the right

I try to be an even-keeled person. I try to think before I speak. I try to listen. I try to observe widely. I try to make informed decisions.

Until I'm at a register.

I can't tell you how many times I've had tiny panic attacks just confronted with ordering coffee. It goes like this. I'm in a short line at a coffee shop. Maybe one person in front of me, one person behind. I'm new to this coffee shop and today, I also want a small breakfast. I don't have time to thoroughly scan the menu, deciding what is best for me from this particular establishment. My eyes glaze over as I skim the bagel menu. Open-face California bagel? Yes, I'll take that. I like California after all. Can't be bad. And I need a latte! No time to see if they have different sizes, I order a large. A large surely has two shots in it, and that's all that matters. I pay, tip, and step aside. The person behind me is on his phone, arrogantly ignoring the silent plea from the employee at the register to get the fuck on with it. I rushed for this asshole?

I sit down to wait for my bagel and latte and use this time to actually read the menu. There are the drinks. They do have medium! Why didn't I just ask? My overly-milky latte comes and there's no one to blame but myself. Reading the bagel menu I see I might have liked the veggie melt bagel. I note this for next time, when my tunnel-vision is sure to return. The California bagel is good though. I consider myself one for two.

------

I resist getting a bicycle because I know I'll hate the experience in the shop. Sadly I'm not "just looking" today. I need a bike! This one over here looks good. It's $200. I practically throw my money at the register. JUST TAKE MY MONEY AND GIVE ME THE BIKE. Do I want a lock? Well yeah. Do you want to know the best way to use the lock? Of course, but please take my money, look, here's my money, just take it, and GET ME THE HELL OUT OF HERE. Leaving the shop I'm reminded I also need lights. Yeah sure, I'll get them later, no problem... later... (a dumb move because lights were RIGHT THERE and this is a mom and pop shop that gives you good deals on things when you buy a friggin bike!).

I think this is all bred from being overly concerned about not wasting other peoples' time, being seen as dim, or being seen as inconsiderate. I want to be the ideal customer. I want to know what I want, order it adeptly, receive it without confusion, go about my business, and let the shop go about theirs.

But when I don't know what I want, I want to have the patience to figure it out. Step aside, read the fucking menu, kindly smile and say I'm not ready if I'm not, and then, efficiently conduct business. Instead of purchasing panic, bring on some purchasing peace.

Now I'm curious if this is a normal experience for everyone, or just for the relatively anxious.

Hello, my name is Eve, and I'm relatively anxious.

The well-structured backpack

The only thing more ubiquitous than arm tattoos in the Bay Area right now is the well-structured backpack.

You, sir, with the arm tattoos, facial hair, and well-structured backpack, welcome to Oakland.

Green, Blue, Coral

The more rectangular the better!

Black, Light Gray, Dark Gray

I, personally, have no reason to upgrade backpacks. I bought this Dakine 'Garden' in black houndstooth back in 2011 and it's held up remarkably well:

Through a lot! So thank you, Dakine. I've got my eye on you for my next one...

From the dotty collection, where I may have just bought this.