House of CaRa

a little bit of fashion, a little bit of art, a whole lot of shoes.

[puccicoco]

Tales from the Mild Side: The House Bunny

As someone who has been freelancing (read: job hunting) for the past 5 months, I have learned a lot about free time. At first, it’s joyful. I read books. I redid the living room. I volunteered. I walked the dogs in the middle of the day and got good parking spots at Target. My house was clean ALL THE TIME. And I emptied my DVR of saved shows. That was the first month.

Now that I’m pushing month six, I keep thinking of the phrase “too much of a good thing.” I’m now annoyed if I have to get up before 8am. I’ve run out of things to watch on Netflix. Think about that for a second. I RAN OUT OF THINGS ON NETFLIX. I have also been known to wear workout clothes all day, even after working out in them. I returned from the grocery store the other day and caught a glimpse of myself in the car mirror. Hair quickly and carelessly pulled up in a ponytail, minimal makeup, jeans with tennis shoes, who was I?!?!

I’m sure there are others out there like me. I occasionally see them at Petco at 11am on a Wednesday. I also feel much more connected to retirees than ever before. Especially when I’m in line with them at the post office. Yes, I go to the post office now…and strike up conversations with people in line. But only when I dare to venture out. I mean almost everything can be handled online now, so why leave the living room? Actually, there were clear signs that I needed to get out more, so I thought I’d share…

MY TOP 10 SIGNS THAT IT’S TIME TO GET OUT OF THE HOUSE

You rationalize wearing pajamas all day. “But they’re sweats, not just for sleeping. “ “I’m not going anywhere anyway.” Sound familiar?

Showers are now optional. I mean, throw a hat on, spritz some perfume and who cares?

Your only long conversations are with your pets. My dogs are very analytical. Real thought-provokers.

You can accurately review any new streaming show. Full season. No problem. Just finished it.

You refuse to do any errands on the weekends. Too crowded! No parking! Annoying!

Your mail delivery person knows you on a first name basis. Mail is the highlight of the day! Hi Pete! Great to see you again!

Amazon deliveries are daily because online shopping is also daily. This is especially dangerous when unemployed, I mean freelancing.

You were done with Christmas shopping and cards in October.

You respond to every social media post within 30 seconds of it going live.

You don’t think you have a problem. I’ve watched enough episodes of Intervention to recognize the classic signs of denial in myself. See 1-9.

While I have thoroughly enjoyed being around the house, I definitely think it’s time to get out. Just as soon as I finish this Investigation Discovery marathon…

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This post from 2018 is soooo 2020!

[tomford]

Jennifer Lopez wore a TOM FORD Liquid Sequin Hooded Jumpsuit during her performance on The Ellen DeGeneres Show in Los Angeles. 

http://tmfrd.co/SequinJumpsuit

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seems like the perfect travel outfit to me :)

[puccicoco]

Tales from the Mild Side: The House Bunny

As someone who has been freelancing (read: job hunting) for the past 5 months, I have learned a lot about free time. At first, it’s joyful. I read books. I redid the living room. I volunteered. I walked the dogs in the middle of the day and got good parking spots at Target. My house was clean ALL THE TIME. And I emptied my DVR of saved shows. That was the first month.

Now that I’m pushing month six, I keep thinking of the phrase “too much of a good thing.” I’m now annoyed if I have to get up before 8am. I’ve run out of things to watch on Netflix. Think about that for a second. I RAN OUT OF THINGS ON NETFLIX. I have also been known to wear workout clothes all day, even after working out in them. I returned from the grocery store the other day and caught a glimpse of myself in the car mirror. Hair quickly and carelessly pulled up in a ponytail, minimal makeup, jeans with tennis shoes, who was I?!?!

I’m sure there are others out there like me. I occasionally see them at Petco at 11am on a Wednesday. I also feel much more connected to retirees than ever before. Especially when I’m in line with them at the post office. Yes, I go to the post office now...and strike up conversations with people in line. But only when I dare to venture out. I mean almost everything can be handled online now, so why leave the living room? Actually, there were clear signs that I needed to get out more, so I thought I’d share…

MY TOP 10 SIGNS THAT IT’S TIME TO GET OUT OF THE HOUSE

You rationalize wearing pajamas all day. “But they’re sweats, not just for sleeping. “ “I’m not going anywhere anyway.” Sound familiar?

Showers are now optional. I mean, throw a hat on, spritz some perfume and who cares?

Your only long conversations are with your pets. My dogs are very analytical. Real thought-provokers.

You can accurately review any new streaming show. Full season. No problem. Just finished it.

You refuse to do any errands on the weekends. Too crowded! No parking! Annoying!

Your mail delivery person knows you on a first name basis. Mail is the highlight of the day! Hi Pete! Great to see you again!

Amazon deliveries are daily because online shopping is also daily. This is especially dangerous when unemployed, I mean freelancing.

You were done with Christmas shopping and cards in October.

You respond to every social media post within 30 seconds of it going live.

You don’t think you have a problem. I’ve watched enough episodes of Intervention to recognize the classic signs of denial in myself. See 1-9.

While I have thoroughly enjoyed being around the house, I definitely think it’s time to get out. Just as soon as I finish this Investigation Discovery marathon…

[tomford]

The ultimate statement shoe and handbag.

http://tmfrd.co/PussyPowerNatalia

[puccicoco]

Can’t think No ideas On the brink Of Frustration

Won’t delay Pushing forward Every day Like it or not

Can positivity Lead me To creativity? Gonna find out

[puccicoco]

Tales from the Mild Side: I Feel Pretty

My first recollection of being concerned with how I look is probably from the middle of fifth grade. I had been attending St. Joseph’s since first grade, having completed Montessori nursery school and some random Christian kindergarten. St. Joseph’s meant mass every morning, along with all the traditional Catholic milestones like First Communion (second grade) Confirmation (never made it that far), ruler slaps (daily) and guilt (still a constant). I had a best friend, Kim, and normal boy crushes. I had an advanced vocabulary because, well, Catholic school. And I was pretty comfortable in my own skin. Then, in fourth grade, Rogene showed up. She was an average blonde girl, with a very bad attitude. 

Yet, I was very nice to her. I even slid over to make space in my church pew her first day at school since she was late. She returned the favor by being condescending to me in front of my classmates and pretending to be nice in front of the nuns. I knew her true self. By the end of the year, Rogene had stolen my best friend and made me feel shitty about myself for probably the first time ever. At the beginning of fifth grade, I made new friends (we are still Facebook friends FWIW, take that Rogene!). Things were looking up. During the last month of fifth grade, after my mom’s dispute with St. Joseph’s intense principal (Sister Betty) over what I’m not quite sure, I transferred from uniform-wearing, rigid-rules following Catholic school to a public middle school in my neighborhood. It was AMAZING. The kids were sassy, there was no discipline that I could see and we could wear whatever we wanted!

Also on the positive side, I met my new best friend who is still my best friend to this day. On the negative side, I met mean girls that made Rogene look like a saint. (I’m talking to you, Lynette) I was almost instantly concerned with my lack of boobs, my retention of “baby fat," my top-notch vocabulary which made me teacher’s pet/social outcast and of course, my inability to properly feather my hair. I tried to bribe my way into popularity with gifts (who gives gifts in 6th grade outside of a birthday party?). I tried acting “cool” by sprinkling some swear words here and there (and then immediately saying a silent “Hail Mary” to redeem myself). These attempts were all epic fails. This lack of self-confidence and overall loser-ness continued through junior high, exacerbated by the fact that my mother was a substitute teacher at my school. I was always the girl who tried too hard…to fit in, to be funny, to be liked. Do I blame it all on Rogene? That wouldn’t be fair. I think a lot of it is just growing up and hitting those awkward phases while discovering who you are and who you want to be…and navigating mean girls along the way.

In high school, I was much more comfortable in my own skin. I still did not feel “pretty," but it didn’t matter as much. I was brave (or naive) enough to try new things. I played soccer. I was on student council. I was the school mascot one year. And I was even voted onto Homecoming Court my senior year.  I still compared myself to the icons of the era: Madonna, Brooke Shields, Elle Macpherson, Cindy Crawford. However, the mid-eighties offered plenty of options for those who weren’t traditionally beautiful or popular. Edgy was in. Different was starting to be okay.

Now, here I am so many years later in the world of Instagram perfection and social media pressure wondering why I still feel so insecure. My career in entertainment is not helpful, to be sure. But I know plenty of women outside of my industry who still struggle with self-confidence and feeling good in their own skin. As much as I’ve accomplished and learned over the years, there is still a little fifth grade fear of rejection inside me. I’m surrounded by great friends, a supportive husband, and encouraging family members, but none of that seems to matter. I can’t stop comparing myself to that magical 1% of over-achievers. The mid-life beauties in perfect shape who run businesses and take exotic family vacations. The female executives who have seemingly avoided all obstacles hurled at them and managed to stay on top. These comparisons can be defeating, but I try to stay positive. To remember my worth. To own my experience and my destiny. Will I ever truly “feel pretty”? Maybe when I’m seventy, but hopefully much, much sooner.

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Breaking in the new kicks

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Tales from the Mild Side: Horrible Bosses

In light of the recent wave of horribleness regarding offensive/criminal behavior by men in power, it got me to thinking about some of my horrible bosses over the years. Not all of them were male, by the way.

And none of them, thankfully, were sexually inappropriate. But the ones that stand out were definitely bullies. There was the head of marketing who was constantly belittling people in the department. I worked under his iron fist for over ten years. HR and others would make excuses… “Oh, that’s just his personality.” One HR person even told me, “Yes, he’s a problem, but unless I can specifically tell him that you’re the one who complained there is not much I can do.” Maybe I was naive, but that seemed ridiculous and still does.

Years later, when I no longer reported to him but worked in the marketing-adjacent digital group, he often called to yell at me. He told me I should make the changes he wanted or that “with one phone call” he could take control of digital and then I’d have to follow his orders. It was definitely worse NOT reporting to him. It encouraged him to randomly call and bark orders or tell me what a shitty job we were doing. Also, in meetings which included me as a representative, he could publically mock whatever digital was doing. At least when I reported up to him, I had a layer of middle management as a buffer.

One of those middle managers was female and fancied herself my role model. She was not. She wasn’t so much a bully as someone who was on a power trip, and not self-aware in the least. She would sit in her office and shout my name…didn’t matter if I had stepped away to go use the restroom, the shouting would continue until I arrived dutifully to make her copies or answer a question. She wasn’t the worst though, just annoying.

The worst was the dude who threw tantrums. Who turned pink with anger over stupid shit. Who turned morning staff meetings into verbal executions. Days would be ruined by that staff meeting, where young executives (myself included) would be lectured on all that was wrong with the company, the leadership team, the internet…you name it. It was impossible to stay motivated or engaged. I tried very hard for my team’s sake; however, I soon became quick to anger and fiercely protective of my responsibilities. This did me no favors with regards to my long-term career goals.

I worked for the screamer for over a decade. In that time, our group became a management hot potato. The screamer had five managers in 10 years. To be fair, the division itself changed leadership about 6 times in that same time period. And with every new entertainment chief came a shift in digital strategy…which only seemed to infuriate the screamer even more.

Here’s what I learned by working for bad bosses: I learned how to be a better boss. A better manager. The kind of manager who listens, even when she doesn’t like what she’s hearing. The kind of manager who takes time to thank people for their hard work. The kind of manager who remembers birthdays, or shares the vendor’s gift basket with the team. A manager who encourages personal growth and allows team members to have new experiences. In return, I learn a lot from my team, whether it’s new trends or simply what the culture is like beyond the executive suites. In retrospect, I can thank the female executives who showed me how to navigate the bully, the screamer, and even the annoying one. These women remained calm and in control, professional and appropriate. They showed me how to be strong and rise above horrible bosses and a culture that did nothing to stop them.

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Holiday vibe

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Shirt skirt and fun wedges for “Hotober”

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Tales from the Mild Side: Bad Moms

I would never say I have a bad mom. I have a mom who loves me a lot, but we never really clicked. We never really “got each other.” Know what I mean? I was a daddy’s girl, 100%.

But, see, I can never complain about my mom because when I was two-years-old she had brain cancer. I mean, WTF? She had brain surgery and fully recovered. (total miracle, BTW) HOWEVER, she was a little crazy before the whole brain cancer thing and then once you add YOLO to it…let’s just say she has always lived life to the fullest. Like when she and my dad would throw parties in our backyard and have my brother’s band play. And the cops would show up but then realize the chief of police was dancing on our patio. 

Or when she would create wild fashions by using a belt as a headband or wearing “Mork” suspenders with a skirt. She also has to wear wigs because her hair never grew back on one section of her head. So, why not have a different hair color/hairstyle every month? 

Mom was also a teacher. (Again, miracle. Got her masters degree AFTER the brain cancer) She taught at my junior high. And my high school. This did not help my social status at all. It did make me less likely to bond with my mom.

I couldn’t relate to girls who said, “My mom is my best friend.” My mom was always encouraging fun, which as a preteen was mortifying. On the upside, she would always persuade my fearful father to allow me to do things. Like, ride my bike outside our driveway or attend the homecoming dance with a junior my sophomore year. For that, I will always be grateful. Her fearlessness has made me a little less fearful, although I tend to embrace my father’s love of rules and safety. Her love of fashion gave me an independent spirit when it came to style. Her love of adventure has given me a love of travel and a curiosity about other cultures.

We hosted a Japanese exchange student when I was in 8th grade. I was annoyed and a horrible hostess. I had to take this girl to classes with me, show her around school – and remember, I was already not popular in 8th grade. Later, when I was in high school, she taught ESL to older Japanese students and that went much better. My best friend and I took two of the girls to a Rick Springfield concert (our moms in tow).

I am the classic GenXer in that my mom never coddled me as I got older. I was a latchkey kid because both my parents worked. I was very independent when it came to organizing school activities, applying to colleges etc. I was basically told that I’d be given a fixed amount for school and so I need to make it work and get it done in four years or pay for the rest myself. Hey, at least they paid for four years, right? On the one hand, the trust and independence shaped who I am today. On the other, who doesn’t want to be babied a little longer?

I will always be grateful that I did not lose my mom to brain cancer when I was a baby. And, as her only child, I think she did a wonderful job giving me a fun and memorable childhood. Some memories are crazier than others, but I wouldn’t change a thing.

[puccicoco]

Tales from the Mild Side: The Jerk

I was what you might call “boy crazy” when I was a kid. I can remember having crushes as early as kindergarten. These easily carried into middle school where boys like Joey, Curt and John were the objects of my childish obsessions. Not to mention the posters of surfer boys, Scott Baio, Christopher Atkins, Andy Gibb and the entire cast of The Outsiders on my walls.

Junior High was a disaster on all fronts: Friends, boys and my social status were all a mess. It was my first immersion into public school having spent all but one year of middle school with nuns and rules and large vocabulary words…none of which made me “cool.” I did have my first real kiss in junior high though. I was at a pool party and someone got the idea to turn over a raft so we could hide under it while standing in the pool. That turned into a mini make-out session between me and Jeff R. He had braces. That’s pretty much all I remember.

I didn’t have a boyfriend in high school, but I hung around boys a lot. Having grown up with boy cousins, it seemed natural to me. I was almost always in the “friend zone” and that was totally fine as well. I had no clue how to be a girlfriend or how to even really flirt. I was the “fun one” that got asked to dances. And more than once, I was the last “date” before the guy got a serious girlfriend. Hmmm…sounds like a movie plot.

College was my first stab at having a boyfriend and I didn’t do a very good job at first. I lived in the dorms freshman year and my RA (resident advisor) asked me out. He was clean cut version of Jeff Spicoli. A surfer dude who got stoned A LOT.

We had a few months of awkward dates and fooling around, but I wouldn’t sleep with him. I’m pretty sure this led to our breakup. And since we both lived in the same dorm, that was weird.

Then there was Bruce. He was what I consider my first real boyfriend…and he was a jerk. My friend was dating his friend, yadda yadda yadda. He lived near my hometown and I was living about an hour away for school, so we saw each other mainly on weekends. It was fun because we had a bunch of mutual friends and we could all hang out together. He started out all sweet, but he was cocky and I was naïve which was not a good combination. Over the course of almost two years, we fought a lot and he constantly berated me. I was becoming less of myself and more of this wimpy dependent girl that I did not like. I’m pretty sure he started dating his new girlfriend before we even broke up. Oh the tears I cried and the lessons I learned! Not sure it makes things any better, but he wound up marrying that new girlfriend. Like I said, I was always the one right before “the one.”

I transferred to UCLA my junior year and avoided having a boyfriend until a few months before graduation. Dave was super cool, a great artist and into ska. His mom and my mom actually conspired to get us together. He was coming out of a long relationship and I was, well, considering getting a cat. So, why not? We hit it off really well and wound up moving in together with a third roomie once I graduated. This lasted almost two years and was a pretty crushing breakup for me. He apparently got to a point where he wasn’t that into me anymore. I think he was intimidated by my career goals and nineties power suits. He had a new girlfriend within a month.

My next “long-term” thing was over a year later, with a guy I met while working at NBC. This Italian stallion was a graphic designer, a charmer and also a jerk. A year and a half into our relationship he had to move back to Europe while his work visa got sorted out. I planned a week-long visit to London after we had spent the summer apart. My first clue that things were going south is that he was forty-five minutes late picking me up from the airport. Ever the gentleman, he waited until I flew home before he broke up with me during a phone call. “I like the idea of us,” he said “more than the reality of us.” Seriously. WTF? I sat at my desk and sobbed at what my international life of intrigue might’ve been. 

At this point, I switched jobs and went to work at a digital start-up with a very young staff. Best. Time. Ever. We were all young, single and doing fun stuff like managing chat rooms and creating digital content when it was all still very new and ground-breaking. During that time, I dated more than ever. Mostly jerks and disappointments. I was getting very discouraged…and kinda getting old. And by “old” I mean, mid-thirties. I didn’t really feel the urge to have children, but wanted to at least get a dog with someone.

Thankfully, my old boss at NBC called me with a job offer just as the dotcom world was imploding and everyone at my current job was getting laid off. Of course, going back meant facing the Italian who had finally sorted out his visa and was back at his old gig. I gave him the cold shoulder until he begged to sort out our issues. Whatever. He was dead to me. Luckily it wasn’t long before a new Italian entered the picture. We were on the same digital team and kept our relationship a secret until our engagement almost two years later. I think kissing a lot of jerks made me confident about what I didn't want and how I shouldn't be treated. I still have insecurities and am by no means a relationship expert; however, I've learned from my heartaches. So, thanks jerks!

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California winter wear

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Almost made it to lunch... almost!

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Tales From the Mild Side: Revenge of the Nerds

I have never been cool. Or edgy. Or even 100% weird. I wasn’t the girl who nailed the Catholic-school uniform look. I was semi-bullied in junior high for my socially awkward attempts at humor. To this day, I often feel like the drama kid hoping to sit with (read: work with) the popular kids. But here’s the thing about being nerdy, or feeling left out, or not being “on trend” in your teen years: It ultimately DOES make you cool. Whatever you’re into or whatever your version of self-expression becomes can ultimately create a persona that others are curious about.

In high school, I embraced my individuality and went on to conquer many different cliques. I played a sport. I was on the cheer squad (as mascot, let’s be real). I was on yearbook staff. I was on the Student Body Council and oversaw lunchtime activities with my two counterparts. I even got elected to the homecoming court my senior year. Didn’t win. Not bitter. Whatever!

The notion that I, with my short spiked hair and cut off tights (it was the 80s people!) could manage to find friends in all corners of high school life while still maintaining my close friendships taught me to always be myself even when it didn’t seem normal. Yes, I liked punk and NewRo and goth, but I also just liked fashion in general. Yes, I liked having fun, but I also like following rules and - truth be told - I have always been bit of a teacher’s pet. 

So when it came time for college, I kept my unique approach. When I went through sorority rush, a week before school started, I wore my name-tag as an earring. Admittedly, this knocked me off a few “day two” invite lists immediately. (I’m looking at you, Delta Gamma.). But it DID help me find those girls who appreciated individuals, not perfect Orange County girls. I wouldn’t have necessarily considered myself the “sorority type” until I met some cool Theta chicks who showed me that sisterhood doesn’t have to be a ridiculous stereotype. Although, I do now know a secret handshake and no I won’t show you.

When career time came around, I’m not gonna lie. There were some missteps. For example, don’t wear a backless dress to the office, especially when you are the receptionist. However, for the most part I discovered that in the entertainment industry there are a lot of formerly uncool folks who found their tribe. Most artists, writers, designers and creators were not dominating their high school social scenes...but they all seem pretty darn cool to me!