Bad Influence

Who wouldn’t want their kid taking after yours truly?

Well… maybe anyone that has offspring would prefer their child take after Taylor Swift in lieu of me but I digress.

Someone wants to be just like Auntie CBXB (the glass of rum will come in 19 years).

Ever since my niece has graced us with her presence into the world, I just knew she’d be a gal after my own heart. I was especially excited to stuff her into all things sequins and sparkle before she was old enough to speak and tell me no (which would be a bona fide heartbreak!).

Don’t you hate those moms who dress up just like their kids? Me too.

But it’s totally OK when aunts do it, right?

Black sequins for everyone!

Although I sometimes dress like a sixth grade girl, I have this sneaking suspicion that my love of gaudy attire will shine through Princess B as she grows up.

Giving serious thought on how to out sparkle me.

This past weekend while in Iowa, I was able to teach Princess B all kinds of tricks to accompany those fabulous threads we love to wear.  Aside from sharing a love of the most practical attire, we both adore Lay’s potato chips with a hefty dose of AE French Onion dip.

She knows to dunk, not dip.

Just like me.

And she’s also picked up my knack of classy eating skills.

No napkins necessary.

I discovered that we share the love of looking at ourselves online via a blog (this blog as a matter of fact, where I feature her almost as much as Ted – DON’T TELL THE BEAR).

Oh, I do look good in that picture don’t I?

Being that I will have finally mastered the art of yoga in 2078, Princess B picked up a few tricks from me.

An eagle pose so hilarious, I can’t hold it.

A downward dog so cute I can hardly stand it.

Princess B has also mastered the art of getting what she wants (or “sharing” as she puts it).

What Elsa dress is complete without Auntie CBXB’s sparkly UGGS?

This chick has a knack for noticing the finer things in life…like Louis Vuitton.

Think she’s hoping this is her bag when she trots off to kindergarten.

We studied sparkly nails, fuchsia lipstick and all the baubles that call my wrist and fingers home.

Yep. Safe to say we love bling.

Also safe to say we kinda love leopard.

Now that I knew our clothing, accessory, snack and workout skills were in line, we mastered the art of a selfie (not that I’m an expert after taking 5,390,201 pictures of myself).

Selfie test.

Selfie success (for Princess B).

But this girl didn’t need me to teach her to love a camera.

Princess B is going to be up to fun. Forever.

I can’t wait to share more fabulously sparkly tips as the years pass by…

Like the importance of putting a tampon in your pocket, not carrying it around while kissing people.

Happily, I think I’ve got a serious imitation situation on my hands that I will love for the rest of my days, as it’s the sincerest form of flattery, right?

Sorry, not sorry Dr. Cocktail and Sister CBXB!

CBXB

 

How to Pass the Sparkle On

I’ve never met anything gaudy that I didn’t immediately love and it’s of utmost importance (to me) that my love of sparkle make its way to the next generation.

Wishing this little giddy up still fit to parade around in daily, minus the heinous hair cut.

You can imagine my delight when I became the proud aunt of twins – one being a little girl. I knew she was going to fill my high heels in no time flat when I saw the camera hogging abilities with which she was born.

A natural scene stealer.

While my amorous relationship with glitter and glitz began with a turquoise sequins top, I thought for certain this raccoon-like trait would be passed along to my niece.

Please put this on me and never take it off. Ever.

Turns out my Princess B wasn’t a natural-born lover of all things ostentatious.

An underwhelmed, sparkly Super Girl.

Seems that the only time I showed disdain in an outfit is when it lacked sparkle.

Seriously, this First Mate shit is the best we could do?

Thinking Princess B may need to be eased into the gaudiness of Auntie CBXB, I hoped a bright pink, star adorned puffer vest might do the trick.

Flamboyancy fail.

To me, the only thing worse than wearing a simple jeans and t-shirt combo is the thought of anything neutral finding its way into my wardrobe. Even as a kid, the horror of me being in anything close to the color khaki threw me into fits of tears…

Dad might as well have thrown the brown sack over my head.

So you can imagine my utter delight when I purchased the most non-subtle dress for a toddler in the world (you bet your ass I’d have a matching one if it came in my size) and Princess B showed great interest.

Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.

Seeing the look on my niece’s face as she took her first few steps into the mini prom dress, I felt the taste of victory creeping over my fuchsia stained lips.

Sparkle lover being born…

But in .00187 seconds affection turned to disgust and the gaudy sky turned gray.

An all out bawl baby breakdown.

Followed by deep sighs and sniffles.

But suddenly the attitude was adjusted the moment Princess B stopped to smell the glittery roses and evaluated just how this ornate outfit made her feel.

But wait…feeling fancy doesn’t suck.

And then…

TA-DAH!

Dressed for extravagant success!

Turns out Princess B will be taking over the glaringly bright, gaudy baton I will be handing her one day after all.

Hopefully as a grown woman, she’ll be sneaking into famous people’s closets to play dress up, making Auntie CBXB proud.

I’m so glad she finally saw the light.

My shimmering heart bursts with pride.

I mean, someone needs to carry on my sparkly shenanigans, ya dig?

Sparkle On.

CBXB

 

 

 

 

 

How to Get Into the Closet

While upgrading to a new mini manse was a tad traumatizing for me this summer (click here to catch up), I could barely wait to sign the lease on my upgraded digs after I saw the walk-in closet that would soon be mine.

This is exactly how I looked when the leasing agent showed me the closet. I am the world’s worst poker player.

Upon moving in, I could barely wait to shove all of my glittered, bedazzled, pink, gaudy, (insert your favorite adjective here) clothes into their new home.

Bare as a bone.

After all of the manhandling was over, there was one teeny, tiny problem. I couldn’t see into the f’ing closet due to the door that a man obviously designed, as it opened into the damn room, instead of outward. I had to go into the closet and shut the door just to shop in my own store.

Seeing a sliver of my threads just wasn’t going to do.

While some folks are trying to come out of their proverbial closet, I just wanted to get the F into my actual one. So one night in a pissy, hissy fit, trying to find a cardigan that was behind the door, I decided to take it off its hinges (I felt like ripping but do want my deposit back one day).

Culprit thwarted.

And suddenly, the world of my clothes became the place I always knew it could be…my own personal heaven.

I can see! It’s a summer miracle!

Becoming doorless has left my closet exposed, much to my delight.

In all of its naked glory.

I can see my decor with much more ease (because every closet needs decorations, right? I can feel the eye rolls already. Yes, I’m talking to you – and I don’t care!).

Spotting my pink glitter to start and end my days correctly.

And I can finally see my scents and select accordingly instead of just grabbing whichever bottle my hand got to first.

Why so many to choose from? Depends which ‘personality’ I decide to be each day. Yes, I’m serious.

Of course with renewed access to my high shelves, I have my leopard stool that does the trick. Accompanied by a black, glitter throw rug.

My tiny throne.

Yes, my rug sparkles. Yes, I know how ridiculous that sounds. No, you can’t have it.

This room has become my little fur ball, Ted’s favorite place to hang – most likely because it looks like a rainbow threw up in the closet (probably a psychedelic trip for a kit cat). So here’s how Mr. Bear sees the renovated space…

He starts by laying on his left side.

Not being able to fully roll over to the other, he takes a breather and views my garments straight on his back.

And then he somehow maneuvers a roll to the right.

I know you’re wondering how all of my clothes have no shoe companions joining them in the closet.  Silly you! They have their very own room. But that’s a post for another day.

All high and mighty, sitting pretty.

So by simply becoming a design expert for all of 15 seconds and removing the closet door off its own hinges, I’m able to gander at the gaudy in my own home.

But where in the hell am I going to store the door?

CBXB