Why You Should Never Go Shopping Without Your Umbrella

Yesterday morning I forgot to check weather.com, and I paid for it.

I left work to go run some errands a little after 4 p.m. downtown, but rather than go retrieve my car I decided to use public transportation because all of my destinations were located right on convenient bus lines. I skywayed it to my bus stop, and then stayed closely under the awning of the building while I waited. I wasn't too worried-- it was barely drizzling.

Then I got off the bus into a torrential downpour. Running in four inch heels is hard when the sidewalk is dry, and near impossible when you have to run up steps on wet pavement, all the while trying to cover your dry-clean-only ensemble and prevent your phone from getting wet inside your tote. Success was impossible.

I finished one errand and continued on to the next in a less torrential but still downpour rain. By this time I had given up on running, and turned my attention to coverage. Imagine a miserable Minneapolite desperately trying to keep her handbag closed under her arm, hunched over in vain to protect her dress and you have a good mental image of me.

After errand number two I had planned on going shopping at Cliche to pick something up for the Poolside Fashion Show. I knew it was probably a bad idea given the disarray of my hair and makeup, but I forged ahead, promising myself I would only decide on a frock from the neck down.

Although I failed in my promise and depressed myself with every glance in the mirror, I did come away with a lovely piece by Emily Weich! I am so excited to wear it tomorrow night (as long as the show isn't rained out!).

On the dance card for tonight is Singin' In the Rain at the Ordway! I am dragging BF along, and it will be his first live musical (that doesn't involve puppets). As fate would have it, Singin' In the Rain was my first live musical too, many many years ago. It has remained one of my favs and I was ecstatic when I got tickets.

Back tomorrow with a review (of course) and more anticipation of the Poolside Fashion Show (fingers crossed).

In the meantime, what is everyone else's favorite plays or musicals? Any special memories related to the theater? Commentter s'il vous plait!

Review: Cliche

Next on my list of authentically Minneapolis (and St. Paul) places to visit was Cliche. I should feel ashamed for never visiting the fabulous boutique until last week, but its inaccessibility by public transportation made that hard until I bought my car this month.

After a few minutes in the shop I realized my error. Cliche is well worth a few transfers and a small walk. At first I was a little flustered at the racks upon racks of clothes, dreading the flick-through that would only reap a few alright pieces. I was amazed when I loved every single piece I saw on rack number one, and continued to find gem upon gem in later racks.

Another concern that was quickly relieved was the quality of the local designer pieces. While I had seen a few lines during MN Fashion Week, I was worried about how they would transfer to ready-to-wear and if they would be quality enough to stay intact for longer than a runway walk. Designers such as Emily Weich and Carmichael Claith immediately stood out to my feminine and whimsical eye, although it was hard to discern them from the many other fabulous pieces I saw.

Not only was the selection plenty and the goods quality, the prices were right! The tags on lovely frocks and tops were much more reasonable than their New York-counterparts (as much as I love them). While last week's trip was strictly research, I am headed back today with my credit card armed and ready.

I hope an adorable pink dress by designer Emily Weich is still available. I am hoping to wear it to the Poolside Fashion Show this Thursday night! Who will I be seeing there and, more importantly, what will you be wearing?

Sunday Disaster

As much as I love BF, he can get me into some pretty miserable and disastrous situations. Take yesterday for example:

I woke up in the late morning to BF poking and prodding me, asking "when are we going to play outside" like the 4-year-old I know he is. I finally woke up enough to agree to go biking, which in retrospect was only achieved because of my hindered, half-asleep mental capacity. Fully awake with all engines running- biking never would have happened.

So after curling my ponytail and cuffing my pants, off we went to BF's parent's house to pick up the bikes. After visiting for a while we threw the bikes in the trailer and headed off to the Luce Line. Despite living within a five mile radius of the trail for most of my life, I have never biked/walked/ran/anything on it, so I was excited and felt like it was a great opportunity to keep with my goal of exploring my city this summer.

A mile or so down the trail we see a sign that tells us we only have three miles to go until we reach Medicine Lake and a turnoff for French Park. While I'm not in great shape, three miles seems easy, so I yell ahead to BF (who is easily surpassing me, that fit jerk) that it would be fun to head to French Park where we can stop and get an ice-cream sandwich before heading back. Leave it to me, even when I'm exercising all I think about is treats.

BF is excited that I am willing to go a bit farther than the original plan of turning around at Medicine Lake, so we speed ahead together- me racing for my ice cream, him just because. (Have I mentioned how much really in-shape people bother me yet?) Finally we make it to Medicine Lake, and even though there is a nagging part of me that knows French Park is still a ways off, we continue on.

ALMOST THREE MILES LATER! We finally make it to French Park. By this point in time I'm not sure if I'm huffing because I am having an asthma attack or a rage attack. So much for a leisurely bike ride along the Luce Line. We stop for ice cream (I was getting my ice cream!), and then get back on the bikes, going around the lake because BF thinks it will be faster than going back the way we came. I suppose it was about the same, very long, length.

We hopped back on the Luce Line about 2 or 3 miles later, and I am so excited. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel, and I am speeding along faster than ever just trying to end this miserable experience. About a mile down the Luce Line, I hear a loud shout from behind me. A quick glance back shows BF stopped and off his bike a ways back, looking down at his pedals. I grudgingly bike back to him, where he tells me his pedal has fallen off his bike. Could this be any more disastrous?

Suffice to say, BF runs with his bike the remaining two and a half miles. Even though he's fit I still felt bad, and at the realization that someone else was in a worse situation than me I stayed faithfully by his side the rest of the ride, pumping him up and making sure he was ok.

We collapse back into his car and start recovering, guzzling the water bottles we left in the car due to a lack of holders on the bikes. Although a miserable experience I don't want to repeat, both of us are fine, minus a really, achingly sore behind pour moi.

Has anyone else ever had a bad exercising experience? I know they are out there...leave 'em in the comments!

Via's Vintage Review

One of my goals for this summer is to get out of my mall and department store comfort zone and explore the many independent boutiques and vintage shops around the metro area. I hope to visit one new shop each week, and of course document my travels here!

The first place on my list was Via's Vintage. Not too far away from BF's apartment, I walked over there one afternoon last week and was excited for my first vintage experience.

While the store was quirky and fun to walk into, I was somewhat disappointed in the amount of selection available. For such a big store on the inside, there was a lot of empty space.

I understand however that vintage stores are completely vulnerable to what people choose to bring in and what they can randomly find, so I was willing to forgive a small selection as long as what was there was fabulous.

So, was it fabulous? I will say it had promise. While I didn't find anything to spend my money on, I got a vibe that if I start stopping by every so often I might just happen upon something amazing.

The honest truth: I found a few amazing pieces that I was very excited about, until I realized they were on the wrong size rack and would swallow me whole. For such a small selection, I was disappointed the clothes were so unorganized. The worst feeling a shopper can get is finding something they love and then realizing it was put back in the wrong place and would never fit. Especially in a vintage store where everything is one-of-a-kind, it was disheartening.

This week I am hoping to make my way over to Cliche. I might even stop by tonight to see if I can find something for their fashion show tomorrow!

Review: The Melting Pot

Friday night was double-date night for me, the BF, and one of our best couple friends. We had been trying to get together and go out to MP for awhile and finally secured a reservation downtown last week.

I had always been a mild fan of fondue, gladly accepting when invited to fondue parties or dinners, but have never planned or made my own. BF had never even heard of it before (he needs some grooming, yes), but was excited nonetheless.

After finally figuring out the menu, we opted for the "Big Night Out", a four-course event with cheese, entree, and dessert fondue and a salad.

The food was amazing. Fortunately (or unfortunately), they give you plenty of dippings so you can keep eating and eating. By the end of the entree course, I was stuffed. But not stuffed enough to forgo chocolate, and one s'more-filled fondue pot later I was done. While the food was heaven, it was exhasuting. I had been hoping for a little bar-hopping post meal, but the entire group was ready to turn in after expending all our energy eating.

Oh well. It was worth it.

While fabulous, I'm still not sure it will be a regular occurence. Rarely do I endulge so much, and I don't think my waistline could handle much more than a trip every six months or so. Save it for special occasions.

Oh, and the bathrooms? B- I was hopeful, but upon walking in I saw paper strewn all over the floor, enough so I had to look behind me on the way out. It was saved somewhat though with the nicely presented linen towels for hand-washing and incredible all-over marble decor. At least for now, not a deal-breaker.

Restaurant Deal Breakers

While not food-savy enough to comment on menus, I still like to consider myself a restaurant critic. Instead of commenting on the latest tasting menu or new addition of Kobe beef (I am ADDICTED to Kobe beef) though, I keep my critiques much more superficial: the bathrooms.

No matter the décor or wonderful plates that land on my table, any meal spent at a restaurant can be ruined if my trip to the lady’s room isn’t satisfactory.

A dirty toilet? I’m never coming back. Toilet paper on the floor? Last time I checked I don’t eat at dive bars. No paper towels so I am forced to wipe my hands on my designer frock or waste 10 minutes under a dryer? My food is getting cold.

But, if a restaurant shows me a nice, spacious, decorated bathroom with well-lit mirrors, linen napkins to dry my hands, and maybe even a couch to wait for my girls on then it is automatically vaulted to my “must-return” list, even if the food is sub-par.

It may sound naïve, but when I’m out at night I need a place where I feel comfortable freshening up before going outside and facing the barrage of men (and women) who only critique my every feature. Standing crammed next to five other women under fluorescent lights that only accentuate the flaws never gives me the self-esteem boost I need.

What do you think? Does anyone else have any weird or unorthodox deal breakers when it comes to venue choice?

Also, be sure to look for my review of the Melting Pot this weekend. I am double-dating there tomorrow night and am very excited. Hopefully the bathrooms are spotless!

A Socialite's Home and Life Lessons for the Week

Last week, while culminating in painful speeches at my younger brother's high school graduation, was mostly filled with the task I hate the most: moving.

Not only was it moving myself (bad enough), but it was moving BF. BF is finally growing up, and when his roommate took a job out-of-state, I finally convinced him he finally decided to live on his own. I am so proud of my all-grown-up BF, but unfortunately that left him without a moving buddy. So out of gratitude for no longer having to check the hallway before going to/from the bathroom at night, I volunteered. Because I am just that lovely.

However, an hour and a half into scrubbing the stove (no bigger than two feet by three feet), I was severely regretting my decision. Eight hours spent dusting, mopping, vacuuming, and scrubbing quickly shows you why Merry Maids is such a successful operation. Not only does Soft Scrub ruin a manicure, it also left pink blotches on my light-blue cotton tee I wore for the occasion. Ten points for me finally getting the old apartment move-out ready, minus 20 for my ruined Gap t-shirt.

After scrubbing until my hands were raw, it was time to pack. After two years of coming home late and passing out, BF had junk strewn all over the small penthouse. While a lot of it was in garbage bags due to pre-move cleaning, we still had to devote two or three "junk boxes" to various documents, receipts, movies, books, etc. Someday, I swear I will have no such thing as a "junk box."

While I didn't do any heavy lifting, I was responsible for the small boxes and miscellaneous suitcases. Four hours of walking up and down stairs was miserable, but finally done. Life lesson #2: Movers are also in business for a reason.

Currently the new apartment looks like a storage unit with boxes and suitcases strewn about the living room and the mattress still on the floor, a blanket haphazardly thrown across the top. However, now the fun part begins. Decorating.

BF, now a big boy, is ready for new furniture, wall ornaments, and other various items that go along with a well-styled home. This is one part of moving I will never hire out. While I would love to spend a few days with my account manager at Gabberts, BF's "cost-concious" attitude about his new but not permanent home leads me to IKEA. As long as he gets new bedsheets (ok, and a few other items), that's fine with me. Here are a few things I am hoping to pick up on a trip to the big blue buidling this weekend:


I know...long list. But hopefully a long list will also lead to a long list of actual purchases. I'll let you know. (All images are from IKEA.com, except for the lovely crisp bedspread, which is from Target.com.)

What about you, lovely reader? What are your favorite parts about moving to a new place? Do you also dream of one day leaving everything old in the old and re-buying everything new for the new?

I leave you with my dream come true, complete with Carolina Herrera, dogs, and fabulous lifestyle:
Photo: Douglas Friedman for Harper's Bazaar