A Charmed Life

Oceans of Fun

I hope everyone's week is off to a great start!  I just had the best Monday ever.  One of my best buds, T., came out from the Wilds of Colorado with her 8 year-old son, R., for an unexpected visit. Well, to me, at least, since it was R.'s spring break and she'd obviously planned it ahead of time. Knowing how much I adore surprises, she called me when she was already halfway to San Diego, and asked me to meet them at Sea World this morning. 

I miss being able to hang out with T. like we used to when she lived here.  We'd always have fun together doing the most ordinary things.  I love her and her son to death and there's nothing I wouldn't do for them, which is probably why she roped me into going onto the combination roller coaster/water ride with him.  She stayed behind to spend some time with Sephie, who she hasn't seen since last May.  As I listened to the excited chatter of the young man having his "Best. Vacation.  Ever.", I couldn't help but think back to the day he was born- honestly, one of the best days of my life.  What's a little cold water on a sort-of-breezy day, next to an honor like that of being Auntie Deb to such a great kid?  Besides, I'm no dummy, I'll just take off my (thin!  but with SPF 30!) hoody and ride the coaster in my T-shirt, so that I'll have something dry to slip over any upcoming wardrobe malfunctions.

Brrr.  The ride was fun and we did get wet, but it was my pants that got soaked, instead.  Think SpongeDeb WetPants.  So much for looking like a sexy, tousled MILF- I got to walk around for the next hour looking like I had on a wet diaper. 

The child actually wearing the diaper probably had the best time out of all of us!  T. said that she was laughing hysterically at the boats on the coaster, squealing, "SPLASH!!  Again?  Again??"  We got to watch the "byooga!" (beluga) whales being fed and having "rubba tummies?" (They really did look like they wanted their tummies rubbed.)  Seph was a little frightened of the polar bear growling sounds being piped through the "Arctic Encounters" exhibit, saying she was "'cared, monter!" (scared of the monster), but I told her to just hold onto my hand, because mommies don't taste good and monsters tend to leave them alone.  She wasn't at all scared of the bat rays and would gladly have jumped right into the tank with them.  And she batted her long black eyelashes at R. at lunch until he let her have some of his chocolate layer cake.  Eating together was just like old times, trading bites of dessert like we always have. 

Seph and I sure had a whale of a good time, even though we never got to see Shamu.  (Whatever's been going wrong with my eye started acting up again- I think it's an allergic reaction to the pollen count lately, gumming up my contacts- so we left early and I ended up driving the 35 miles home with one itchy eye closed most of the way.)  It was so nice to see our friends again, and I can't wait to move so that we can be closer by and get to see each other more often.  Theme parks are great fun, but I'll be just as happy to drive down to visit them in their cozy house, in their friendly small town, and have fun doing ordinary things again.  After all, (with apologies to Marlin in "Finding Nemo"), with friends like these, who needs anemones?

Have a great week...and go kiss your mommies!

Marabou Barbie?

Marabou Barbie?
Originally uploaded by Debbie Svoboda

For years I swore that when I became a parent, I would never, ever spoil my child.  That was not only prior to producing an adorable moppet with industrial-strength blue eyes, but long before I'd ever set foot in a Target.  Lucky for me, Seph is for the moment content to "visit" the toys and mug for my cell phone's camera.  I find this pose to be half workin' the boa, half wise-guy in training. 

"Buy me the princess dress, and you won't hafta hear that annoying clicking noise when youse turn the key in the ignition."

**Far-away family and friends, this is your weekly "Love Thursday" post so I can stop crowding your in-boxes while trying to remember who got sent which picture!  If you'd like a printed copy, let me know and I'd be happy to send one to you or post it on Snapfish.**

A Bone to Pick With Mother Nature

I hate wearing glasses.  I've needed them since the fifth grade, while I was still in Catholic school and had to wear an ugly brown plaid jumper.  It could have been worse- their huge tortoise rims would have looked even more fetching when accompanied by the red, square-toed orthopedic shoes I was forced to wear in the third grade.  (They only came in red and blue.  I figured, brown uniform, I'll take the red, right?  Except I had HUGE feet, and I looked just like Ronald Mc Donald, except not nearly as happy.)  It's not even so much having to wear something on my face to avoid smacking into walls (although it saves on decor to have the whole blurry house look like a Monet painting.)  What bugs me is the genetic unfairness of having something so wrong with one of my senses that in an emergency, I'd be bumped farther down the food chain.  I'm like that guy in "The Mummy" who couldn't get away from the monster because he couldn't see.  I live in southern California, where The Big One could happen any day. I worry that it could hit in the middle of the night and I wouldn't know where the heck I was if my glasses got knocked off the nightstand by the tremors.  Consequently, I wear my contacts nearly 24-7, so I've scratched my cornea, and now I'm wearing glasses.

They are kinda cute, slim little oval wire rims that compliment my face shape.  They're a bit on the delicate side, though, since the lenses are so thick.  "Hey..", I often hear, "I know...you should get those Featherweight lenses!!". Awkward silence as I tell the helpful hopeful, "Umm, these are the Featherweight lenses".  Seriously, people, if I squint?  I can burn ants.  And I have the sneaking suspicion that my big Italian nose is a direct result of my other senses trying to overcompensate.

Since I'm blind as a bat this week, I thought I'd search the animal kingdom for this week's Weird Wednesday.  It's a great place to find  Teh Weird.  Take the baculum , for example.  This penile bone "aids in copulation when mates have only a short encounter and need to perform quickly".  I believe that the equivalent in the human world is called, "alcohol". Lots of mammals have baculums, such as the otherwise adorable-appearing scourge of suburbia known as the raccoon. Its baculum measures around five inches in length, which would seem modest until one remembers that the entire animal is only two or three feet long.  Proportionally speaking, a human male would be lugging around 10 or 15 inches. No wonder raccoons walk funny, and why they always appear to be smiling.

You know who really should be smiling is a walrus cow.   The baculum on their knights in shining ivory are the biggest of any mammal, both actual and relative to their size..a whopping two feet in length.  It's really only fair, because with the size of those boys' tusks, the girls aren't getting their lovin' any other way. Hey, maybe Darwin was onto something, after all!

Perhaps evolution is a bit spotty, though. I read an article several weeks ago that I'm still laughing over, that said, "Bats developed flight before sonar ".  Gary Larson, where are you?  That was poor planning on Mother Nature's part, don't you think?  But it would make an awesome Far Side strip.  Especially since bats also have baculums.

Happy Wednesday!

My Momma Done Told Me

Happy Easter Sunday!  And to the Greek Orthodox branch of my family, happy Easter-candy-on-sale-Eve!  Aunt Deb's gonna hook you up and good.  The same goes for the person who can finish that quote without Googling it first!  First person in the comment section with the right answer (hint: the answer is somehow relevant to Easter) gets a box of See's Scotchmallow Eggs, along with my undying love and respect.  But I totally get it if you'd rather have the candy.  Dark chocolate, marshmallow and caramel...does it get any better than this?  If you don't like dark chocolate...well then you're a heathen, and begone with ye!

I thought about my mom all day today. While running, of course, since my September race is in her memory.  At church, because the Easter flowers made me think of her in the yellow dress she wore to my First Communion.  Mostly, though, the holiday brought back so many memories of her because it was one of the times she really had the chance to shine.

Mom was a great mother, both generous and creative, and she really pulled out the stops for Easter. Every year she'd go to Bromilow's Chocolates (if you're in the NJ area, check 'em out, they're awesome) and load up on chocolate bunnies and foil-wrapped eggs.  I still can't eat a chocolate bunny without wincing (I can't help it, I'm sensitive!), but those eggs were the star of the show.  Some of them went into our baskets (and although we never had much money, we always had our own basket) along with the standard jelly beans, malt eggs and Peeps.  The rest of them were the quarry in our annual Easter egg hunt.  Every year, Mom would write a poem, customized for whatever home we were in, and hide the eggs in batches of three for my brothers and me.  Those little eggs really got around...we'd find them hiding in the bookshelves, taped under the desk, even in the spider plants.  We begged for those hunts even when we were way too old for them.  I think I even took over one year, because they gave us such a laugh.  I wish I had a sample here to post...maybe next year, after we unpack.

I couldn't replicate the chocolate egg hunt at my house this year.  For one, Seph is too young to understand the rhymes and follow the directions.  For another, I have pets, and my first instinct when seeing something brown on the rug is not to eat it. But the last directive my mom ever gave me, in the letter she left for me after her passing, specifically mentioned keeping the family traditions going.  What, might you ask, is the time-honored Angelo family Easter tradition?  The "dud" egg. 

It's easy.  You start with perfectly normal egg dye- your choice. Now attempt to color said egg in an unusual hue.  The standard goal is purple, although salmon is a good choice some years.  The object is to end up with a hideously ugly egg that can only redeemed itself as an egg salad sandwich. This is accomplished, either accidentally or on purpose, by moving the egg from one color bath to another in an attempt to redeem the color into something remotely attractive.  Ugly is the goal, but laboring for several minutes only to end up with what looks like an ordinary brown chicken egg is pretty good, too.

Seph with the purple dye...can she do it??  Hmm, looks like she's ended up with...brown.  Although I bet if I check her fingers carefully, I can find that nice mottled salmon-violet color.  I guess we need to dye another day...

Run-On Sentences

I suppose I could have titled this post, "Faster Than A Speeding Chihuahua". I'm several weeks into my novice running program, and thought I should share my progress.  It's only slightly faster than my next-door neighbor's overbearing little ankle-biter, and at least as persistent. 

I still kind of hate getting up in the morning to run.  Nothing personal, oh healthy new habit 'o' mine.  It's just that anything less than a freshly-toasted bagel is meager motivation to move my sorry behind, never mind the prospect of encasing it in Lycra and venturing out in public. I have noticed that I am starting to look a little less like a fraud in my running tights.  To heck with good cardiovascular health and the prospect of raising money for charity, I'm in it to get a nice pair of getaway sticks.  And my rear view hasn't looked this good since college.

The view from my morning route is pretty, too.  I live across a field from a gorgeous Serbian Orthodox church. Flowers are blooming everywhere.  Most days, the sky has even stayed blue.  One thing I wish I didn't have to see is the tiny, faded shrine to Keithan Panyavong.  I always blow him a kiss when I run on that side of the street.

I really stink at running. No, really, I do.  I've done some soul-searching and discovered that I am naturally better at short, unsustained bursts of creativity and/or energy. I'm a great sprinter, physically and mentally.  Learning how to run long-distance is teaching me lessons in patience. I think waiting for each run to be over is harder than the actual physical exertion.

I'm very goal-oriented.  I am trying to think of the journey and not the destination, but that's not naturally my style. Whenever I want to stop, I think of my family's faces at that finish line, and how I want to cross it running, right into a bunch of great big hugs.

Tomorrow's my long run day.  Want to lend me some moral support?  Go to my LUNGevity.org page and visit the Debra Angelo Leave No Mom Behind Fund. 

Or, you know, just toast me up a bagel. 

Beauty Is Only Kin Deep

I'm very fortunate. I have two smart, funny and successful brothers who have always been my very best friends.  I'm very proud of what they've accomplished (brother #1 is a USAF officer, brother #2 an attorney), and normally am not the least bit envious of either of them.  But when Brother #2 actually gets to have a manicure and I'm the one with rough, icky hands?  It's time to take the gloves off.  (Or slap some moisturizer on my hands and leave the gloves on...oh, whatever.)  You've heard of highbrow humor?  Get ready for some eyebrow humor.

OK, I'll admit it, I actually have not only his blessing but almost his insistence that I post this.  You think I'm gonna cross an attorney?  Our mama didn't raise no fools.  My barrister bro is probably the funniest person I've ever met, and when he tells me an amusing story about his day, it's too good not to want to write about.  I'd tell him to get his own blog, but apparently junior attorneys work 100-hr weeks. Probably a good thing, because those manicures can really add up. 

Brother #2 and I are not the "pretty" ones of the family.  We're nice-looking, as was our mom, but that honor went to our dad and brother #1. One thing Brother #1 did not get was our dad's hands.  Long fingers and nail beds, they look like they should be in a Rolex ad.  Brother #2 got 'em instead.  (I did not.  Sephie did, which is why she has a manicure now and I don't.  But I have my own secret weapon.)  He told me he went for a manicure to make his hands look nice for an interview (it worked, he got the job!).  In retrospect I should have teased him that I got my bikini line waxed for the same reason.  In any case, his manicurist asked him, "You want pedicure?".  He declined, saying that he didn't like having his feet touched, he just wanted a manicure to look nice for the interview.  She pressed on, and asked, "You want eyebrow wax?"  He declined, at which point she put her face two inches from his, and asked, "Are you SURE??".  The kicker came came when he recounted the story to the girl who cuts his hair, who replied, "Oh, I can see where she'd ask that.."

Had she never seen an Italian before?  We all have three eyebrows, or one eyebrow, depending on how you look at it. I put up with the pain and watering eyes of waxing and plucking because I only have a few stray brows that have wandered off to snuggle in the Botoxian valley between my eyes.  Plus, as a SAHM, I don't have anywhere I need to go that I have to look extra sharp.  I can't imagine being defended by a lawyer who had red, puffy post-waxing skin and eyebrow stubble.  That stylist should have seen our brother, who is very handsome yet strongly resembles Sam the Eagle (of Muppet Show fame). And now he's a military officer. Hmm, who saw that one coming ;)

((I'll finish this after my doctor's appointment later this morning.  Time to have a mole-like substance removed from the dead center of my forehead. Needle in the face, whoohoo!)

((I"m back now.))  So the dermatologist took one look at my face and said, I don't know what that is. Lie down."  He must have been a real hit with the ladies.  Anyway, he said that it could be the start of a "cutaneous horn", but though that was strange since he didn't see other sun damage on my face.  Heck, it's better than thinking it was skin cancer (he doesn't), although if I am turning into a unicorn I am going to be very lonely because besides my daughter, none of my friends are virgins.  The needle to the forehead was much less painful than I expected, too.  The only part that hurt was when the nurse accidentally taped the pressure bandage to my bangs.  Not a good look.  I walked back out into the waiting room, pointed to the large gauze bandage and told the receptionist, "hey, I didn't know he did lobotomies!".  While picking up the bleaching cream he prescribed (I don't get much acne, but when i do, it leaves dark spots on my skin), I asked her, "now, this gets stains out, too, right?".  She wasn't that quick on the uptake and responded quizzically, "what kind of stain do you have?".   I love it when someone walks into one of my jokes like that.  "Large bloodstain.  On my rug.".  It took her a minute to get that I was joking.  I also love  how having a pressure bandage taped to your forehead lets you keep a straight face.

So, where was I...oh, my brothers.  I just have to say, despite the fact that they're both good-looking, funny, and successful, I love them just because they're the best brothers I ever could have asked for.  Even if they could both use a good eyebrow wax. Tell you what, guys, if you can't afford it, I'll send you some of the extra tape from this pressure bandage.  If I can get it off my bangs, that is. Happy Love Thursday, guys!

Smorgas-bored

It's still Tuesday night and I'm actually on time to write a "Weird Wednesday" post?  That's strange in and of itself.  I'm going to blame it on the migraine wanna-be currently infesting the inside of my skull that is preventing me from simply calling it a night.  I'm awake and I'm bored, so here's some mental leftovers, brought to you by the makers of Aleve, The Other Little Blue Pill, and by Dreyers Slow-Churned Light Ice Cream: So You Can Eat A Double Portion and Still Kid Yourself That You're Dieting.

Weird Things About Me That I Should Be Embarrassed To Share But My Head Is Pounding:

• When I'm making a sandwich, whether for me or somebody else, I spread the condiments, peanut butter, etc., to the very edge of the crust.  (Have I mentioned, I'm a Virgo?)
• I can't stand having my bellybutton touched.  I even hated it when I was pregnant with Seph and she would pull the "meal service cord" from the inside. :::shudder:::
• I sometimes crave cigarettes even though I've never even tried to smoke one.
• If I see a brownie, I have to eat it. Same goes for chocolate-chip cookies and soft-serve cones.
• I can't look at, hear, or smell, someone throwing up without retching myself. I'll give you a kidney if you need one, but if you barf, you're on your own ;)
• I think lots of things are funny but rarely laugh out loud
• Except when I drink, then I'm like a hyena on nitrous oxide
• I love my friend's Doberman yet am terrified of the next-door neighbor's Chihuahua
• I am training for a marathon but suck at running. I do run slightly faster than a Chihuahua
• Whenever I see a love scene in a movie and the characters are kissing, I unconsciously nibble on the tips of my fingers.  I really need to bring brownies to the movies!

Speaking of which, my chocolatey Lab is being a drama queen and whining that he needs to go out AGAIN. Bladder late then never, I suppose.  Have a great Wednesday!

Here's To You, Pattysue

It's Mommy Monday!  I'd like to dedicate this week's post to Tricia "Pattysue" Lawrenson.  She's a young woman with cystic fibrosis, awaiting the double lung transplant that will save her life at Duke University Hospital.  She's the adored wife of Nate and the proud new mommy of Gwyneth Rose, who despite being born two months ago at over 15 weeks premature, is now breathing completely on her own!  Gwyneth is also gorgeous, to boot, but then, I'm kind of a fan ;)  You can read more of their story here.

ApplePieMom over at Crazy In Love wrote a beautiful post in Tricia's honor, telling her all the things she can't wait for her to be able to experience with Gwyneth.  You see, Tricia can't so much as touch her own daughter's skin, for fear of infection taking away her chances of the lung transplant surgery.  Not to mention, Gwyneth is still in the NICU, and will be for some time, so visitation is pretty limited for her anyway.  They're not even on the same floor, and Tricia has only gotten to see and hold her daughter in the last week.  Even with so many people hoping and praying for this family, the hard truth of the matter is that Tricia will only get to do all of the things that we other moms take for granted (and even complain about) if she lives long enough to receive, and survive, her transplant.  I'm sure Tricia would love to be able to put up with half of the craziness that we put up with from our little rugrats precious offspring.  So, with my "eyes on the prize", here's what I wish for you, Pattysue:

• the "oh-no you-din't" look on Ralphie the cat's face the day Gwyneth reaches for his tail
• the "really?  for Me??" look on Meka the pug's face when you bring her home a baby to lick applesauce and Cheerios from
• really big, poopy diapers.  The kind you have to call Nate in from the other room to see, because just *what* did that healthy baby EAT?
• Hours of the Home Shopping Network because that's the only thing on at two in the morning, and ooh, pancake puffs! 
• Rosy little baby toes.  Dee-licious. Now, where did that stupid sock go?
• The sound a little bellybutton makes when you zerbert it
• Baby giggling.  Someone needs to bottle that!
• Crayon marks.  EVERYWHERE.  May I recommend Magic Erasers and an Etch-a-Sketch?
• a baby who ignores the hotel crib on the vacation you FINALLY get to go on and who will only sleep if she is lying across your face. And you let her.  And you can actually sleep this way
• having a little person around who mimics EVERYTHING you say and do, including walking around with a calculator held up to her ear like a phone
• hearing the little "i sowwy, mommy" when she realize you've caught her red-handed, going through your purse to play with your lipgloss. AGAIN.

• trying desperately not to laugh while lecturing a small girl who is covered in lipgloss

There are so many other moments that I could list here, but I really don't want to push the envelope of "waterproof" mascara.  Suffice it to say that there isn't a moment when my daughter is driving me nuts (and she's 2 and half, so you do the math on how often that might be) that I don't stop and think that this particular brand of insanity is a privilege. (Nuts are good for you, after all.)  Clothes and babies and walls all come clean, and at the end of the day, she's not in the corner, but safe in my arms, where all little ones should be.  Tricia, you make me humble and grateful to be a mom.   Happy "Mommy Monday" to you, and many, many more.

Love always,

Debbie and Persephone

Baby Got Back To Basics

Oprah has come out with a "Top Ten" list of wardrobe must-haves. Susan of Friday Style  fame wants to know, "what's on your top ten list? ".  As in, what are the top ten things in your closet that you keep coming back to and wearing, or the things that you keep wishing would appear in there?  (Brendan Fraser. He counts, because I would wear him..out, heh heh heh.  Dave is fine with that, because in that same fantasy universe Halle Berry shows up in his closet.  But I digress.)

I'm writing up a list because I love Susan's writing and advice (with the notable exception of her hatred of socks), certainly not because I think I'm a snappy dresser.  You're looking at someone who once paired overalls with a short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt and white heels.  In my defense, I was 12, Madonna and rubber bracelets were the haut couture of the junior high set, and my ensemble was put together from the castoffs of a much-younger friend of my mom's.  Plus, I didn't leave the house.  Please stop cackling, I am baring my soul here!  In any case, I have improved my style sense quite a bit in the last 24 years, so here's my list, for what it's worth.

I should mention, I'm tallish (5'8"), mediumish (I hover around 150#), and have almost no torso.   Bust?  Ridiculous.  Rear view?  Sicilian.  You do the math. And I have a sticky toddler at home.  (Are there any other kind?)  What I consider a "must-have" is tailored around these facts.

1) A properly-fitted bra.  In one sense, I'm lucky to need a special size, because it forced me to go to a special store.  And pay special high prices.  But it was worth it, because my back pain went away and I looked taller and thinner.  And more....rowr.  Money well spent.  Even great clothes look lousy without the proper undergarments.

2) Hmm, no subtle way to put this...thongs.  Not the nasty floss kind, the Hanky-Panky 4811, one size fits most,  sold out at Nordstrom Rack unless you practically hijack the truck, lace thongs. I'm the last person on earth that ever thought I'd wear one, and now it's almost all I wear. No VPLs, totally comfy, and tres sexy without being trashy.  Thank you, wonderful evil SIL, for getting me hooked on expensive underwear.

3) Camisoles/tank tops, especially the J. Crew finely ribbed tank.  They're extra-long, which I like because even though I'm short-waisted, my bust takes up some length, and I hate going up a size and then have it bag everywhere else.  They're substantial enough to wear alone, thin enough to layer, and provide a little extra coverage for V-necked shirts.  Busty girls are always told to skip crewnecks and go for V-necks, but unless you want someone mistaking your cleavage for a parking space, you really need to snap up some tank tops to wear underneath.

3) The above-mentioned V-necked T-shirt.  I love J. Crew's version, and it's pretty easy to catch them on a sale.  I'm a SAHM and need something cute, simple and easily washable.  You can get shirts cheaper, of course, but I find that they don't always come clean or wear as well after frequent washings.  Plus their tees are all fitted, so it's hard to look frumpy even in something so simple.

4) An awesome pair of jeans. After I lost all my weight, I tried on no less than 50 pairs of jeans before deciding on my favorite.  You guessed it, J. Crew won again, with their dark-rinse, bootcut jeans.  I've got large thighs and junk in the trunk, no matter how thin I get, so matchstick will never be an option for me.  These are lean through the hip, though, so you look small!  It's magic!  And it should be, for what they cost.  But it's cheaper than therapy for the days when you hate how your butt looks in the three-way mirror. Trust me, these are the cure!  My second faves are CK's slim-fit flares.  Nordy's Rack, and when you can find them, they're really cheap.

5) A cashmere sweater, in the color that suits you the best.  Because you're going to drop some serious cash on it and it had darn well better make you look and feel good every time you wear it!  I have the excuse that I am chronically anemic and always freezing cold and therefore need cashmere OR I MIGHT DIE.  Mine is in royal purple and do I really need to tell you where I bought it?  I won't make you cry by telling you what a great deal I got on it, though. 

6) A nice purse to spruce up the outfit.  I'm the simplest of dressers so I like to go for original accessories.  Also, you don't have to wash a purse, most of the time!   My aforementioned  SIL introduced me to Maruca purse and I just love 'em.  They're jacquard and available in all sorts of styles, so if you fall in love with a fabric you don't have to settle for a mom-purse if you're young and single, or a teeny clutch if you need to haul diapers and sippy cups in it.  Man am I in trouble when we move to Boulder and I can hit the factory sales.

7) A great watch. I'm a watch fanatic.  My jewelry box sounds like a ticking time bomb.  Most of them are relatively inexpensive, Fossil-type watches.  But my current love was my Christmas present from Dave this past year, a Bulova lunar-phase model with a mother-of-pearl face and tiny diamonds on the case.  (It was less than half-price on Amazon, I swear!)  It's something not everyone is wearing, in a classic style,  but what I like most about it is that it's large and easy to read.  I'm gettin' old.  But in diamonds, so nyahh!

8) A great bracelet.  I'm Sicilian, I talk with my hands, and a pinky ring seemed too over-the-top.  As you might have guessed from my blog title, I favor charm bracelets.  I liked them before they got trendy again and I'll still like them when they're not.  Plus they're a wonderful way to distract a cranky toddler. My favorite bracelet is a gold one that I won on eBay that used to be an antique watch chain. I've collected the charms for it one at a time, so nobody has one just like mine.

9) A wrap skirt.  If you've never tried one, run, don't walk, over to Liberty Worth's for a Libby Dibby two-sided skirt.  Fantastic quality and customer service will be yours, along with the most comfortable skirt you'll ever wear.  It travels without wrinkling, and if you are pawed by a grubby child (or spouse!), just turn that puppy over until you can get to a laundry sink.  They work with Keds, sandals and boots with equal ease, and go from spring to fall and match with anything. 

10) Attitude.  You heard me.  It doesn't matter what you're wearing- if you look worn, it won't look right.  Have you ever seen someone wearing some horrid accessory that you would never venture out in public with, but they make it look like everyone should?  In the end, you will look like how you feel about yourself, and if you like who that is, you'll always look nice.

Unless of course, you're wearing overalls with heels.