Breakfast at Tiffany's, Lunch at Goodwill, $$ left over for Valentine Dinner

 Valentine's Day is like a hologram. Some years you look at it and it's all shiny and littered with little Brach's Conversation Hearts and tiny paper cards in your milk carton Valentine box, and you rifle through them and YES, there is one from your third grade crush, Ricky Batesole, even if his mother signed it because everyone knows Ricky can't read or write yet, but he rules at Red Rover. Other years, you look at it and -- meh -- it's treacly and sticky and the cards are all sappy and $4.99, and you go into See's Candies for inspiration and buy candy, but then they give you one sample and it turns out to be... a Rum Nougat instead of a California Brittle, and you sit on the curb outside and eat it anyway and carry that fake rum flavour around all day.

 

It's a schizophrenic holiday, and Holly GoLightly

would have no part of it. She was too cool and thin to eat Rum Nougat or fawn over trinkets. She made "no-name slob" sound glamorous:

 

“Holly: I'll never let anyone put me in a cage!

Paul: I don't wanna put you in a cage, I wanna love you.
Holly: Same thing!
Paul: No it's not, Holly--
Holly: I'm not Holly! I'm not Lula Mae either. I don't know who I am. I'm like Cat here. We're a couple of no-name slobs. We belong to nobody, and nobody belongs to us. We don't even belong to each other.”

 

Who doesn't love Breakfast at Tiffany's (and I don't mean that cheap rip off of a song by Deep Blue Something or Other, and I remember we all Kinda Hated it). On Valentine's Day, the Empress wishes that Truman Capote were alive and spoke to her in his best high pitched Southern  voice, "Sugar, I only buy the finest thangs, and I will simply die if you don't let me take you to Goodwill for an iconic bracelet for your very ladylike wrist." Because San Francisco would welcome Truman with open arms and Mint Juleps, and SF Goodwill would have the perfect item for the Empress on V-Day, a Tiffany's bracelet at a Goodwill price:

Here's the link, just click and bid : SF Goodwill Tribute to Truman Capote http://cgi.ebay.com/Tiffany-Co-Engraved-Heart-Tag-Charm-Link-Bracelet-/230584162535?pt=Designer_Jewelry&hash=item35afe318e7

Go out and have a lovely Valentine's Day with your partner, your pal or your pet. And if you see Ricky Batesole, tell him I said "hey." 

P.S. On second thought rip Ricky's lungs out for me. I just remembered that he fed my pet hamster to his pet snake, and this is not acceptable even on Valentine's Day. If you are reading this, Ricky, you are a pig and we will get you when we have the show trials.

Goodwill presents Jewels Fit for a Queen (or Empress)

The Empress did not win the fabulous multi-jeweled necklace of fake Bedazzled® gewgaws shown in her last post. The Empress' subjects may do her bidding, but no one does her eBay bidding for her, and alas, she was distracted by more pressing state concerns such as (1) which Burt Bacharach song Jens Lekman would sing at a stranger's wedding, (2)  how to hide the evidence of her eating chunky peanut butter straight from the jar from the Duchess of Dolmas, and  (3) whether to dress as a 14 year old cowgirl or Black Swan for the Oscars. So the Empress lost the auction for the Mega-Bauble by 50 cents, or the equivalent of one Twix bar, legal tender in the Empire. Looking back, it is now evident that the stars were not aligned that day for a reason. There were more Empressy things to come at Goodwill. Just take a gander at these beauties, fit for coronations, galas, and workouts at the gym to get that peanut butter off the Empress' hips.

 The Empress' annual Birthday Month is on the horizon, when the Royal Court gathers to protest the unfairness of the Gregorian calendar's alteration of the Julian calendar, and resulting loss to the world of a whole day. The Empress says "a pox on this algorithm" and throws herself down on her ermine duvet cover in a hissy fit worthy only of pampered royalty. Check out the flawed math:

if year modulo 400 is 0
       then is_leap_yearelse if year modulo 100 is 0
       then not_leap_yearelse if year modulo 4 is 0
       then is_leap_yearelse
       not_leap_year

Wrrite your own protest on Wiki - Leapyear Cheats The Empress

If you want to make it up to the Empress, you can bid on these earrings -- real diamonds, gold and emeralds, at SF Goodwill link to auction of earrings rightfully belonging to the Empress.

Holy Bobbins and Broomsticks, these earrings go for only $2,999.00 -- or 5,598 Twix bars. Dogdangit -- The Empress will have to increase the rents on the serfs' demesnes.

The Empress Humbly Salutes the Goddess of Thrift, Mrs. Vera

      After the six month Goodwill Challenge was over, I succumbed to the sirens of retail for a few days, and have been doing penance by wearing a hair shirt (by Marc Jacobs, with great buttons of course) and meditating on my Sins in my little garden shed full of flea market finds valuable only to me. I even started refinishing thrift furniture for my Cloister of Retail Regret.
      What could inspire me to blog again after The Fall? (My apologies to Camus and my defense lawyer colleague, Jean-Baptiste Clamence.) It would have to be a subject that shines as a beacon of light for Thrift and Goodwill, a fashionista of the Five & Dime, a maven for the mundane, a Doyenne of the global junk drawer, a Harry Winston of Household Objects and an Artist of the First Order: Mrs. Vera.

Mrs. Vera, the original Conehead.

      Some of the Great Unwashed have accused me of being Mrs. Vera's Biggest Fan, as if that's a bad thing, like Kathy Bates in Misery (hey, she won an Oscar donchaknow). The truth is I am a huge fan. Because the fact is MRS. VERA RULES THE WORLD, the Verasphere that is. She is making art out of the world's cast-offs, creating beauty out of our flotsam and jetsam, and her creativity knows no bounds. The world she creates is beautiful -- a Woolworth's counter on acid, with a dash of wormwood and a side of Gaudi on steroids. No more talking! I'm out of words. Let me show you why Mrs. Vera deserves more attention, funding grants, museum exhibits and stalkers (nay, fans!):

Mrs. Vera was on Leave it to Beaver.  

     

   Mrs. Vera brightens any room.

                           

Mrs. Vera is a poser, not a poseur.   

                           

 Mrs. Vera is a travelling picnic basket of wonders.

Mrs. Vera's personal paparazzi, an artist in his own right, Mr. Stone. 

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Dot dot dash, so much panache!

Mrs. Vera dressed scores of people for the Pride Parade, a wonder of ingenuity.

And if that is not enough to make a fan out of you, check out Mrs. Vera and Mr. Stone's adorable Cindy Lou in her chapeau!

oxoxoxoxoxoxo

The Empress

Does the Empress Go Bottomless? Inquiring minds want to know.

Persons reading this blog (and I use the plural case loosely) may have noticed that the Empress only posts photos of thrift items that adorn the Empress' bodice or neck, with an occasional tunic or dress (or tawdry teddy). A question arises as to the nether regions of the Empress, and whether they have coverage. My readers have been too shy to raise this question.

 Wait, since I am apparently baring all to you, let me be honest here: no one has raised this question, possibly because my regular readership consists of The Empress and her two doxie assistants (I read it aloud to them and we all have a good chuckle/snort, though they look quizzical when I say that I am a dogged shopper). And while I'm on a truth-telling binge, the Empress has purchased fabulous things for the lower 40 acres. Until now, she has not posted them because her dress form has a steel rod where legs should be. [Insert off color joke of our choice here] Here is Mimi:

 The Empress could don these bottom items and somehow take photos of herself from the waist down, but what right-minded woman would do so? Our Bodies, Ourselves never told us in our 20's that childbirth, gravity and a diet heavy in Cheetos and chocolate chip cookie dough would mold our hind sides like play doh into unrecognizable shapes. The answer: two dimensional photos of the great pants and shoes I have found, less the flesh and blood that distends their shapes. Here are Marc Jacobs pants and AG jeans I found in Goodwill boutiques:

Here are my favorite AG jeans (retail $160) Goodwill: $15

Shoes: I bought these Tory Burch flats online at shopgoodwill.com:

These are beautiful embossed boots for my daughter. Again, shopgoodwill.com.

I bought these form fitting Weitzman boots on sfgoodwill's site on ebay:

I have more items but I promised a shorter blog, so I will save them for next time. So now you know, the Empress sports full coverage, so as not to scare the dogs and tots staring up at her as she greets the little people of her empire.

This Week's Issue: Should the Empress be Committed?

1. Commitment to Thrift.
The byword for this week is "committed," as in, should the Empress have been committed for her foolhardy trek through snow and sleet to shop at Goodwills in New York City? Or, as in, should the Empress' subjects admire how committed she is to thrift shopping considering that her hotel was 1/2 block from the biggest Macy's in the world, there was a white-out snow storm, and she did not enter Macys hallowed (and heated) revolving doors? (Note: jarring pronoun change to first person coming) Here is the the magic talisman for my commitment to thrifting.

I bought this necklace on etsy.com (the rusty chain), and if you haven't shopped on etsy yet, first turn over your assets to a conservator so you don't blow it all on charms and chotchkies.  

2. The Wizard of Saks.

My magic necklace is a shiny reminder of the joy of thrifting,  and I had to kiss it like the pope's ring for strength when I slipped into Saks Fifth Avenue and breathed the rarified fumes of people who bathe their dogs in J'Adore perfume and burn their money as incense in the restroom to ward off common folk. I was in Saks to buy something nice for my lovely daughter, who deserves something that no one else has worn before. (The Goodwill Challenge does not apply to gifts.) By shopping thrift, I save enough to indulge others (Reason no. 41 to shop thrift). So I'm in Saks, and I dozed off on the velvet settee in the Burberry section, and there was a tornado, and when I awoke, everything was in color and there was music and food and lights! I must have killed the wicked witch! Hipster waiters offered me champagne and pink macaroons! Had I taken too much Benadryl again? No, it was the opening of Zac Posen's new line and the style-mongers were out in full force.

I am somewhere in that photo in my wet jeans, furry boots and puffer coat. Yeah, I really blended.


3. Destination NYC Goodwill Stores.


Happily, I was rewarded for my commitment to thrift when I steered my dogsled to two NYC Goodwills. Here are the fashionable Goodwill establishments, where Zac Posen's clothes will go to for a happier second marriage.

Flatiron District Goodwill

Chelsea Goodwill

NYSE tableau at Chelsea store

With blue hands and my body like a buffet ice sculpture, all I could think of was find.WARM.clothes. So I bought 4 boring warm sweaters. I was channeling my Mom's classic fashion sense. Next, defrosted to just soggy, I bought 2 skimpy dresses for warmer climes and times.

4. Repetitive Item Syndrome.


 Looking at these from a warm room in California, I realize I was hypothermic and bought THE MOST BORING CLOTHES EVER. Look at the variety:

Wow, stripes! I went crrrrazy.

This argyle number yells, "Social Studies teacher disappointed in Love but self-supporting."

Here are the two things I bought in case the sun returned to its orbit around the earth:

 Left pic: for my pretty one. 

Right pic: My protest against pastels at Easter.

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5. Traveling with Archie and Jughead.

Random showing off of item that is NOT boring: Here's a cashmere scarf from Kitson I bought at Goodwill's Fillmore store -- it kept me warm in the snow, and one New Yorker told me I looked like a New Yorker, the ultimate compliment for a shivering blonde with hat hair. It's Betty from Archie comics. I like her. We all like her. We hate that slutty Veronica, who would surely win the The Bachelor on TV by climbing over Betty's back in her spiky Louboutins.

I commit to a shorter blog next time. 

GAME OVER

Mantra for the day: Frugal is Such a Sexy Word

 As a member of royalty (like Dame Edna), I have to be be mindful of "my public" at all times. I feel some noblesse oblige to impart bits of wisdom to my two followers. So Lesson no. 1, courtesy of Mr. Alonzo R., a 95 year old Southern gentleman who taught me to count offering at church by using the Sum of the Digits method invented by a WWII concentration camp survivor, Jakow Trachtenberg (See the Trachtenberg Speed System of Basic Mathematics). I reckon y'all should know that it ain't the sum of your digits, it's the way you put them digits together, which leads us to Lesson No. 2: It's not how much it costs, but how high it ranks on the 1-10 Fabulosity Scale (1 being Britney Spears on a bad hair day - 10 being Audrey Hepburn on any day. In short, my motto is: 

Now, fabulosity is such a subjective concept. For example, to The Empress, this sweater was the most amazingly fabulous thrift find on Monday at the Pick of the Litter store. Imagine, a recent Anthropologie sweater WITH TAGS,  for $5.00. Here's the sum of the digits analysis -- ANTHROPOLOGIE + NEW TAGS + LONG ENOUGH  FOR TALL PERSON + COTTON + DOGS + RUFFLES + NAVY BLUE + DOGS + THRIFT = 11. But for a theoretical person who will not be named here but who fathered my fabulous children and tolerates dogs but not when they have "accidents" in the house, the analysis added up to a negative number, expressed as "Isn't that sweater too long for you?" Translation: "That sweater is an unholy abomination and don't blame me if you find it buried in the compost heap while you're not looking." As if that would ever stop the Empress from her quest for Fabulosity.

Frugal is a sexy word because when you buy frugal, you can afford to make mistakes on the road to the Kingdom of Fabulosity. Just check your addition of the digits on the way.

Beyonce' Creates Theme Song for Goodwill Campaign Against Exes

That's right, you've heard it  in your car and while shopping for holiday Peeps at Walgreens:
To the left, to the left

Everthing you own in the box to the left

In the closet, that's my stuff

Yes, if I bought it then please don't touch. 

To put the kibosh on all the treacle surrounding Valentine's Day, Goodwill Keystone Area did Beyonce' one better, and created the "Dump Your Exes Stuff" campaign.

     I love that Keystone Goodwill is clear that it will NOT accept your ex's weapons, dehumidifiers, kerosene lanterns or mattresses (ew). They must know their constutuency. And we all have exes. Exes are not limited to men and women and pet crocodiles who turned on us or failed to live up to our dreams (Mr. Hyde, could you just put me through to Dr. Jekyll  now?) , but also include lemon cars, tetchy computers and leather pants that let us down. If you have ever bought an outfit only because it was a bargain, you probably ended up with an an albatross that made your ass look like it was on an IMAX screen.  What you need to do is break up with that outfit, and breaking up is hard to do. Cue the Everly Bros... Bye, bye love...

     Allow me to serve as a cautionary tale for all my subjects. I have had multiple break-ups with purchases, and I'm here to share. Hello, my name is the Empress, and I'm a clothing slut, I buy 'em and I leave 'em. Here is an embarrassing photo of all the stuff I bought one time. I even put brand labels on cards on some items for the photo! (What next, scrapbooking? Save me!)  I made these things think I cared for them. I washed them, hung them, wore them. And within a year, I threw them over ...  into a Goodwill bag (even the Rainbow Brite MaxMara skirt). I was cold, callous and unfeeling, but I am the Empress, and sometimes heads must roll and pink mohair coats must find someone who cares: "It's not you, pink mohair coat, it's me."

Other broken-hearted rejects from my closet:

Be kind, if you don't love it, set it free.

The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pantalones

  Hola'. There, now I have used up 2 of the 14 Spanish words I know. I am ashamed to live in California and not speak Spanish. But I took four years of Latin, and hand me some Ovid and I'm your girl. Not really, I only know one phrase in Latin, but it's a useful one: "Semper ubi sub ubi." Translation: "Always wear underwear." Good advice, the kind of advice a big sister might have given me in second grade before I launched myself on the monkey bars. Sisters are supposed to be good at that kind of thing, but here's the rub: I never had a sister. I had three brothers, so I spent a fair amount of time faking injuries and watching them get punished. Perhaps this is why I like the movie Reservoir Dogs so much. So much blood.

  But you don't need blood ties for a sister (and you don't need dorky make-believe traveling pants that fit all four friends even before America Ferrera lost all that weight and got Ugly Betty cancelled.) One of my brothers married the Duchess of Fort Bragg, and she is a master thrift shopper. Here is a belt she bought recently (the top and jeans are also thrift):

  Here's one thing I know for sure. If I had a sister, and she shopped with me at Goodwill, she NEVER would have let me buy this little wench number. My sister would have had a cool name like Laramie or Patti Smith, and she would have seen this number and laughed a throaty laugh and said, "Who do you think you ARE buying that thing? An Empress of a Second-Rate Renaissance Faire? A waitress at Gulliver's? A puppet in a It's a Small World ride? Stop embarrassing me and  put all that dachshund crap down before we get to the register. Ahhhhh, sisterhood.
  

Here Comes the Sun, No! Wait! It didn't stop! Grab the next cab and go after it....

Little darlings, it's been a long, cold, soggy week. Trees Falling, Streets Flooding, and Cats and Dogs having to get along in close quarters. Just when I thought I saw a plague of locust on the horizon, I was squinting into a big yellow flaming ball. Was it a sign? Was it the result of overdosing on Visine after getting a cat hairball in my eyes yesterday? And then... it was gone. But I tell you, brothers and sisters, I believe. Yes, my testimony is that I believe it will return. Can I get an AMEN? Because we believe that the sun has not forsaken us forever, but is taking PTO days in a galaxy far, far away, here are some bright, cheery things that are for frolicking on sunny days to come. Trust me on this. I'm not a perky weather girl with a precision haircut, but I can look out my window.