OK Go Sounds Just Like Prince

I get intimidated by other people's ability to do great things. I say this because as far as "great things" go, well, I make pretty good coffeecake. Not my own recipe. I wouldn't know where to begin. Flour?

Erin made me some great things for Christmas times. Some of them I gave to loved ones and some I kept for myself because that's what Christmas is all about. Dickens doesn't know shit.

Below is a visual cornucopia of her wares as purchased and donned by me. There is further evidence of my love of her work on her own blog, as well as darling details of her daily existence and an Etsy store that you'd be MAD (the crazy kind) not to peruse with a pocket book.


I'm glad I waited to post about this because a tragedy almost befell my new-found accoutrements. Friday night B and I went to happy hour with some friends. During the exchange of a small booth to a large one, my scarf got left behind. It was The Rapture for accessories.


Once it was discovered that my brand new beautiful scarletty scarf was missing, a large search ensued complete with a hunting party. And dogs. Alas, it was not to be found that night. The bartender told my next-to-tears face that I should call the next day to see if they had found it later.

I had almost no hope. Hipsters are a scavengy bunch and they know a good thing when they see it. I feared that my beautiful scarf was now gracing the underfed neck of some bitch in tapered jeans and there was nothing I could do.

The next afternoon I called the bar as soon as it opened. He was too busy to go look...I should try back later.

So after a delightful evening of a movie and dinner, I stopped back by the bar and talked to Slash minus 25 years. He was very kind. I said "scarf" and added a question mark and his immediate reply was "red". I got my scarf back. Though he would not play that cool part from November Rain where the song goes from slow to fast as the coffin comes into the church (you remember that video, right?) because he said he was a bartender and not Slash at all. I wasn't about to argue...he'd done me a large favor.

So that's the story of my things.

Well, not totally.

The scarf that we had made for B's gramma got eaten by a dog. But only one little section and she swears she can mend it. Even the universe is jealous of our stylicity. I blame pheromones. But I don't know whose.