Show me your Calvins. No wait, DON'T.

Ok, I'm sorry, is it just me? Am I getting old? (ok, don't answer that)

What is with the whole showing underwear thing? Believe me, I'm Italian, I am a firm believer in pretty underwear. I'm not exactly a prude, either. However I don't believe you should show it to the world. Even Carrie was reluctant to go out in her underwear, and they were D&G!

Problem #1: young men wearing their jeans really low and showing their boxers. I don't know who gave them the idea that this looks good – it really doesn't. I don't want to see your boxer shorts. Pull up your pants!! (And if you don't, you'd better not move to Louisiana.)

Problem #2: super-duper-short skirts/dresses. I mean, that's taking "mini" to a whole other level. The dress Lindsay Lohan wore at the MTV Awards last year? Lovely, but way too short. Are we really surprised that we managed to get a good look under her skirt? Although at least this time she was wearing underwear. But still, did we need to see that? (Hormone-crazed teenage boys, this isn't for you to answer.) I think not.

More: just today, going through my e-mail, I saw two photos, from two different fashion blogs/websites, with gals wearing super-short dresses that I'm pretty sure gave onlookers a good idea of what they were (or were not) wearing.

Example #1: straight out of the latest WhoWhatWear newsletter

Their suggestion: wear trendy accessories with great basic pieces.
What they forgot to add: you know what's a great basic piece? Pants.

Example #2: from today's Shopbop's* Stylefile
Their tip: you've got it, flaunt it.
What they forgot to add: by "legs" we mean the part below your butt. Our model here is actually still getting dressed.

I mean, really.

I do admire these girls for being proud of their bodies, and I understand if people want to live by the old adage slogan "Nothing gets between me and my Calvins". I get it. But there really should be something between me and your Calvins.



*I still love you, Shopbop. This is by no means a reflection of how much you rock. Or maybe it is, just a little ;-)

"Mad Men" and maaaad women

Do you watch Mad Men?

I really like that show. It's interesting, taking a peek in a time so different from ours it seems like a different world. Of course it also makes me cringe, to see how it was just ok and perfectly acceptable to be blatantly sexists: men are copywriters and advertising executives, women are secretaries - and that's just until they "get the guy", then they become housewifes and look after the kids while their husbands go to work, enjoy happy hour and get home to a perfect roast made lovingly by their always-put-together, wear-pearls-while-cooking wives. Yikes.

Well, today was reminded of that when a blogger posted something on her blog she had written for her column at a well-known online women network. The reason why she posted it on her blog was that it was turned down by the Editor, because it didn't work with the general idea and purpose of the network, which apparently is to "encourage women to be better wives".

I read this post (and commented on it) because I saw it posted on Twitter. And like me, nearly 1,200 people. And some of them re-tweeted it. Which means that the link to that post might now be spreading like wildfire, not unlikely what happened with the stupid Motrin ad (man, what a fiasco.)

Maybe not. Maybe it won't generate that much outrage. But it might. And I'm having trouble deciding what side of the debate I'd be on.

On one side, I think it's just an unfortunate choice of words, and that even if it isn't people are free to congregate for different things, it's not like they need everybody's approval. It may not be my cup of tea, but people are different and have different tastes.

On the other end... well, read the title of my blog. It's pretty obvious that I'm not exactly the poster child for being a perfect wife/housewife. And I don't really think I'd want to be.

I love my husband. I really do. And I think it's wonderful when you love someone so much that they make you want to be a better person. But being his wife doesn't define me, nor should it. And to be honest, the idea that someone else would feel the need to encourage me or teach me to "be a better wife" is kind of offensive to me: A. because I don't think that's the area where we need support groups, like A.A. I mean, what do you do when you get there? Would it be something like this?

Me: "Hi, I'm Elisa and I'm a bad wife."
*chorus* "Hi, Elisa"
Me: "Sometimes I don't have dinner ready when my husband gets home from work, and yesterday I greeted him at the door in my velour tracksuit. Iwasn't even wearing my pearls and I had no makeup on."
*gasps all around*

B. because it seems to stem from the assumption that once a woman gets married, being a wife becomes her job, and she should work at being good at it. And yet, you won't find that same point of view about husbands. And while I'm not one for going around burning bras, the double standard just drives me crazy, sister suffragette.

and C. because that implies that everyone who doesn't fit that mold is not, in fact, a "good wife". Because if writing a humorous post about your husband makes you a bad wife.... well, something is definitely wrong with that assumption.
Because if there is a Good Wife 101, surely there are many many more important rules in it before "never tease your husband".
Because humor and good-natured teasing don't translate into a lack of respect, much less a lack of love.
Because in that case, the hundreds of mom bloggers who post about their children's less charming habits and traits could then be defined as *gasp* .... bad moms? And if you want a major uproar and outrage, that would definitely do it.

Moral of the story: clubs and "networks" are great to make like-minded friends, but make sure you don't turn judgmental.

Oh, and watch this Simpsons spoof of the Mad Men opning credits, it's awesome!

A random rant is still a rant

Should you shop for the life you want, or the life you have? What about positive thinking? What about wanting to own a perfect dress in case you get a surprise invite to a fabulous restaurant? What about owning a pair - or several - of fabulous heels because you just KNOW that once you can go out without kids more often you'll be wearing heels more again? And what about that gorgeous dress, one size too small, you bough as motivation to lose the one size that stands between you and looking fabulous wearing it? Is this shopping for the sake of it and wasteful, or is it positive thinking?
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I'm regretting re-joining Facebook. Because there are some people you don't really want to get back in touch with. Why do I have to explain why not? It's my business. Or maybe not, since I joined Facebook. Is joining Facebook like becoming a celebrity? You have to put up with the sometimes unwanted attention, and if you didn't want to, you just shouldn't have gotten into it?
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I don't care if Shopbop (which happens to be one of my fave online shops) calls it "The New Pant" – it's not new. It's been here, it's been done, and it's been gone. And oh how I wish it would stay that way! Seriously designers: please stop looking at the 80s for inspiration. I beg you.
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When will I learn? Stick to the good stuff. I get bore easily. It's a marvel that I've been married for 12 years (hi, honey, love you – this is totally a compliment!!) I like to experiment, to try new things (stop, stop, this isn't dirty.) Case in point: I was subscribed to InStyle for 2 years. Loved it. Decided to change and subscribe to Lucky instead. WHY? Why coulnd't I just stick to what I had and liked? DOn't get me wrong, lucky is a good magazine. But it feels less focused, kind of all over the place. I like it, but I prefer InStyle.
And now I'm feeling stupid for even wasting a paragraph on this.
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I feel like a bad mom. AP isn't entirely working for me right now. Stella is still not sleeping in her crib, in her bedroom, with her sister, as she is supposed to. She is also not potty trained and not showing any signs of friendly demeanor towards the potty, despite several (admittedly, feeble) attempts. And I think she watches too much TV. And doesn't have a lot of friends her age. When Stella was 14 months old, she still couldn't walk unassisted. Someone told me that the fact that she had passed her first birthday without being able to walk on her own was a sign that I was not a good mother to her. I didn't believe him then, but if he came and pointed to things now I think I just might.
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Am I just having a bad day? Probably, but I'm not going to re-read this, or I'll chicken out from posting it.

Oversharing and overbitching

This was supposed to be a different kind of post. I had it all worked out - it was going to be called "Geekdom: the Final Frontier" and talk about why ComiCon is weird and awesome, and all the fun I had there. But I can't write that post. Because this morning, instead of going to ComiCon, I had a mini-meltdown. About what, you may ask. Which brings me to the title of this post. The time has come to address something that I haven't discussed openly, but most of my friends already know. No, I am NOT coming out of the closet. And no, I'm not pregnant (baby dust deflector - activate!) So what just what the heck is wrong with this bloody drama queen?

This summer (at the end of July, to be precise) my family and I will be leaving The Empire State and The City That Never Sleeps to return to The Great Land of Cheese and Chocolate. To stay. For a while, at least.

We knew this was coming and we knew it would be in 2009. Was I hoping we'd stay longer? Yes. Maybe. No. But our first year and half here was much more stressful than I expected; having moved so many time before, I expected the move to be a breeze. Of course none of my previous inter-continental moves included children. But Sarah always had a remarkable capacity for adaptation, and Stella was just a baby, she's get used to whatever as long as we kept her routine in. Heh. "Wishful thinking" is such an understatement.

That year and half was the longest ever. Sarah was having trouble at school, Stella wasn't sleeping. And I don't mean "she woke up every 3 hours to eat" not sleeping, she really wasn't sleeping. Not during traditional sleeping hours, that is. I became a monster. Saying that I was crabby was such an understatement that I could hardly use that word. And you know I don't curse on this blog, but I truly became the bitch from hell. The fact that the lack of sleep was messing up my (sensitive post-partum) metabolism and I gained a bunch of weight didn't help, either. I had lost all my pregnancy weight, only to gain more here.

Anyway... at some point, everyone got settled. Sarah's trouble were handled by moving her to a new class less replete with snobbish queen bee wannabes, and Stella started sleeping a little more. I swear the first night I slept 6 hours in a row I woke up in such a remarkably good mood that I sounded like freakin' Mary Poppins.



That's when I started building my life here, so to speak. I made more friends. I started attending events more, like Here Comes the Sun, Shecky's GNO, SELF Workout in the Park, openings (yoga clubs, stores, etc), and so on. I started blogging. 2008 went by so much faster than 2007 had!

And now that I feel I have a life here, now that I fell in love with New York, now that I look forward to spring to take my daughters to Central Park, now that I got used to having a million places to choose from as destination for date night... I always have the moving date looming on the horizon*. I guess I could be very carpe diem about it, enjoy my time here more because I know it's about to end, but somehow it doesn't work that way. Somehow every fun thing I do, every time I see my friends, every event I attend, at the end of the night I feel sadder to go than I did before. And I've tried to keep Zen about it, tell myself I'm ok, that this is not so bad, that it's not a big deal at all.
And then this morning it all came exploding out of me, and left me drained. For a while.

And once I snapped out of it, I realized that I do have to be Carpe Diem about this. And I may have missed ComiCon, but I'll be damned if I'm going to miss BlogHer. I don't care if I have to get off the plane from Chicago only to board the one to Zurich.




*There's more about going back to Switzerland than leaving New York. There's the fact that I'm Italian. I'm naturally perky. And they are Swiss-German. They are naturally grumpy. They march down the street like soldiers when when they are going shopping. They don't smile at children. The speak German, which ok, is enough to put anyone in a bad mood ;-)

A brand new year of ramblings

There is a saying in Italy: "What you do at New Year's, you'll do the whole year" - in other words, if your want to ditch cigarettes and booze in 2009, don't spend New Year's chain smoking and getting drunk (I can hear a chorus of "how else would you celebrate the New Year?"); and if your resolutions include losing weight and "everything in moderation", perhaps you shouldn't spend New Year's stuffing your face ("oh, that's how!") at a huge banquet with all of the foods you are getting ready to swear off as soon as you are ready to start on your impossibly unreal resolutions to be thinner, smarter, better organized and just nothing resembling your current self, really. No? Just me then?

Everybody is making a list of resolutions, things they want to accomplish in the New Year. Because that number one on the calendar is like a signal, like someone giving you carte blanche, and then you can do whatever you want do, be whoever you want to be, or become - it's like a new year gives you more freedom, like the beginning of the year is a new beginning.

And maybe it is. Or maybe we just like to find excuses for new beginnings, new chances to start over. And of course we all look for ways to motivate ourselves to start doing better, start being better, and why not? Motivation isn't the kind of thing you can just wait for. You need to go after it.

So here we are, at the beginning of a new year, going after motivation and going after our goals, after our better selves that we know - or at least we hope - are somewhere in our future. Oh, who am I kidding? Most people's idea or "better" these days means "richer, thinner, better dressed". How many people do you know who include "be kinder" in their New Year's resolutions? If it wasn't for the fact that being "green" is trendy right now, most people wouldn't even think of including that in their resolutions, either.

Oh boy. Maybe watching Six Feet Under while writing a new year-themed post wasn't the best idea. Then you come up with a sad, preachy thing instead of a nice, motivating, hopeful post. Because who wants to hear (or read) dark, preachy thoughts when they are trying to start the new year right? (That is - in a good mood?)

And I'm actually in a good mood, despite appearances :-) I started off the year just right, just as I wanted to. And while I know that my bad traits - like being a procrastinator and kind of a control freak - will resurface here and there, I'm hoping that it will be less than last year. And I'm hoping that I can improve myself this year. Because hope, that's what the new year holds, and why we like it so much. Because it tells us there's still hope, that we don't have to give up on our dreams and goals, we can hold onto them and we might just reach them, this year. And what more reason for a celebration could you ask for?

Baaaad mood!

Bad mood this morning. It might improve later on, but I can't make any promises. Unless, you know, I get a present or something. That might help. No, chocolate isn't enough today. We are swimming in it, thanks to my husband's recent trip to The Great Land of Cheese and Chocolate.

Why the bad mood? Sleepless night. And while that isn't unusual to anyone with kids (or anyone with an interesting social life – but the first scenario is much more relevant here), it wasn't their fault. It seems I might be developing CTS, which really sucks – especially considering I am about to finally get a laptop for Christmas. Awesome timing, just great.

So here's a few dark, grumpy thoughts on this fine (read: cloudy) morning.

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Stella is watching TV. Which is normally a time I cherish because I have a chance to check my e-mail (I swear, if you are saying "bad mommy" right now, I will have to respond with "Bite me". I warned you about the mood.)

Today however, I am cringing – so much so, in fact, that I think after this day they will have to invent new names for wrinkles. You know, "cringe lines" or something. Or "annoyed out of her mind" lines. Or "if I hear any more of this I'll have to shoot the TV" lines.
Because on that recent trip to Switzerland that caused the current (and above-mentioned) inundation of cheese and chocolate, my husband also bought some German DVDs for the girls. Among them, a special Christmas edition of the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. In German. So what I'm hearing now is the beginning of the show, the song, which goes like this "Das is das Micky-Maus Wunderhaus/Komm herein/Wir laden euch ein" which is just, you know, wrong.

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It is NOT ok to use a real celebrity's name as your Twitter name. Because if someone (and I mean, just anyone, you know, no one in particular) was to look up a celebrity on Twitter, like say, Hugh Jackman (again, this is totally theoretical) they would be pretty blipping annoyed to find a loser who is trying to be funny by Tweeting about what he thinks Hugh Jackman is doing while filming Australia, instead of the real, sexy, fabulous, amazing REAL Hugh Jackman. Even worse, a German loser doing so. Which is, you know, just about as far as you can get from Hugh Jackman.

(I know it sounds like I have a bone to pick with Germans today. Sorry about that. It's not your fault if your language isn't pretty.)

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Yesterday I was getting all ready to go out and enjoy the sunny (albeit cold) day, but when I reached for my favorite sunglasses I found that they were broken. Big deal, right? Except these were my favorite sunglasses. The kind that works perfectly with your face shape and doesn't make your nose look bigger. I know I sound like a shallow spoiled brat from Gossip Girl. But if you found a pair of sunglasses that looked that good on your face you'd understand. Even worse, these were by Gattinoni, whose stuff I'll probably have a very hard time finding anywhere out of Italy without spending an arm and a leg. And they were a present from my mom, which means I'll never hear the end of it. (Have I mentioned she is arriving on Sunday?)

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I knew there was something to make me feel better! This irreverent humor blog is my new favorite: Just another ink-stained wretch.

And if you, like me, woke up in a bad mood, this Tweet might help. Even if you aren't in a celratory mood yet, there's hope ;-) National Cupcake day, people!

Chocolate makes everything better. Even school events.

Ugh, school events. Can't stand them. I'd even go as far as saying I despise them. Maybe I wouldn't if I liked the school more, but considering it's full of stuck up obnoxious snobs and their spoiled offspring, there's a small chance of that. And that's the least of my problems with this school. As far as the school is concerned, I actually can't wait to go back to Switzerland.

But let's get back to the task at hand: school event today, yearly Christmas Bazaar - yes, not Holiday Bazaar, Christmas Bazaar because who could possibly attend this school and maybe have a different religion, right? Which is probably the reason all pupils have two hours of mandatory religion every week. Two hours. Mandatory. Guess which religion: why, the official German religion of course, Lutheran. Not that I have any problem with the Lutheran religion, but I'd prefer it if my daughter was exposed to different faiths – in fact those two mandatory hours wouldn't bother me if they were spent discussing different religious beliefs, to teach the children diversity and that one's spirituality can be expressed in different ways. That could be confusing, you might say. True. And that makes the mandatory thing bogus. After all, this isn't Sunday school.

But I digress, again – it might have something to do with the fact that I am tired and cranky, and that might have something to do with the fact that
a. Stella has been waking up at 4.30am for two weeks and
b. my husband just left for a 1-week business trip to Switzerland.
He has promised (kind of under coercion, but still) to come back with a new charm for me, which has me somewhat mollified, but I'm still not happy he's away. I think I'll have to make sure I meet friends daily this week, so I don't go nuts from lack of adult interaction (not that kind of adult interaction, although, that will be missed as well).

Shoot, I went off-topic again – will I ever manage to stay on-topic in this post? Who knows. I'm kind of falling asleep (at 10.44pm, what a glamorous life I lead), and the only reason why I'm still up is that I think this is the only time I'll get to dedicate to the blog this week.

Anyway... where was I? Right, the Christmas Bazaar – Weihnachts Bazaar, as they call it. It's such a drag. There's a show, which takes place in the too-small hall, and then there's food, which is sort of a good part, because they also have a Raclette Stube
, a room where they set up tables and raclette grills and of course cheese, potatoes, silver onions and tiny pickles. Yum. When I think back, my mood starts to improve :-)

There's also a Caffee Stube, a room where you can buy desserts, coffee and tea – each class brings 5 cakes, so you are guaranteed a wide selection.
Geez, I can almost hear my mood swing. The thought of chocolate cake always brings a smile to my lips.



Did it work for you too?

In fact, all of a sudden, I don't think the Holiday Bazaar (yeah, that's how I'm calling it) is half bad. Except for the polite small talk, that is. I did meet a few people I like, but I also ran across people I don't like a lot, including the Queen Bee.

But let's look at the positive (because I need a good night's sleep and going to bed in a bad mood isn't a good idea):
1. I got a chance to wear my new ankle boots, which were murder on heels the first 30 minutes but then became bearable
2. I got to give my sitter her gift (love my sitter, got her a Clinique gift set)
3. I got to eat Raclette
4. I got to eat chocolate cake
5. I got to spend some time with Sascha and the girls before he left
6. Nobody can say I didn't go to the Holiday Bazaar, and yet I made it out of there in a little over two hours, so I could finish my husband's luggage with plenty of time to spare before the shuttle picked him up.

There. So I guess it wasn't so bad. I'm no longer in a bad mood. But I still can't help but feeling like the gal in the graphic above when I think of school events. Is it just me?