The view from my cell in Fashion Prison.

If you know me,  then you know that I have an unhealthy addiction to shoes and a rather *unique* fashion sensibility.  Ok- I know everyone thinks that their fashion sense is sooooo unique.  But when I say unique,  I mean that I have never seen anyone else that dresses the way I want to dress,  or with the inconsistency of genre that I know I reflect. Maybe my style in high school is what got me locked up in the fashion prison I live in today.

Let me start by emphasizing the phrase *I want to dress*.  I can't figure out if it was because I grew up wearing uniforms in Japan,  or because of synaesthesia, or both,  but I *want to dress* in a manner that I have found is unacceptable to the general public. 

And before you start judging me for my repression or whatever: not only is my dream style impractical for social reasons,  it would definitely see me sent home from work. Having a well paying job and not being gawked at are valuable enough to me to tone down my look. 

Ok,  disclaimer over.  Let's do this. 

Hair:
I would adore to have long black hair with some exciting colored streaks. Probably cerulean.  And maybe a couple of pretty plum streaks too.  And a pink one. 

Why I dont:
1) I do not have the self control to grow my hair out past my shoulders.  It gets to an awkward length and I HAVE to cut it. 
2) I am reasonably sure that if I put all those colors in my hair,  I would be sent home from work after an admonishment about being presentable for the more conservative customers. 

SO: I have black hair cut in a slanted bob.  Low maintenance,  non-offensive. 

Earrings:

I get away with most earrings that I try,  I don't do gauges or cartilage piercings.  I have a slightly edgier than dainty 3 holes of normal size.  Two in my right ear,  one in my left. 

I love earrings with feathers and dream catchers and long dangley threads and studs that look really heavy metal.  I also like big hoops.  Not embellished or enormous, but thin circles with a max 2 inch diameter.

I don't:
Wear earrings that touch my shoulders or big hoops or crazy studs.  I would like to,  but I am sure I would get negative attention for them in my pretty conservatively dressed office,  and they would irritate the crap out of me when I use the phone.  Which I do a lot. 

Other Jewelry:

I wear statement necklaces to work,  because with a low key top and slacks,  they help sate my desire to act out fashionably.  I don't see myself wearing necklaces outside of that scenario,  though. 

I kinda wish my eyebrow was pierced.  But I am noncommittal. And one should not be noncommittal about additional holes in one's face. 

I like some bracelets.  But they irk me and I eventually take them off.  I have 3 different spiked or studded bangles/cuffs.  I have worn them collectively one and a half times. I have a layered pearl stretchy bracelet that fares better on me, but I still rarely wear it. 

Clothes:

I would describe my style as: Buffy the Vampire Slayer seasons 1-3 plus Japanese school girl that likes rock and roll plus punk plus metal plus sometime preppy Americana/sometime pinup Americana. 

What I don't like to wear:
I'm not really a fan of the hipster/Dave Matthews girl/ bohemian look that seems to be super popular around here.  Also,  that strange way that girls that are "quirky"  in movies dress.  That's not me.  A lot of people have been confused and thought that was me.  It isn't. 

I prefer black to white,  silver to gold,  colors to earth tones,  and leather to animal prints.  I don't love floral, or most regular patterns.  I do like Gothic crosses and bejeweled things,  ooh and shiny paint,  and graphic prints that are not pop culture references.  Like a picture of a photocopy looking rose or a kabuki lady or something.  And that shit better not be centered. 

All references to Japan/UK/Cherokee Nation instantly have appeal to me.

Shoes:
My most powerful and wallet crippling addiction is also my most impractical.  I have a penchant for skinny high heels.  There was a time when I wouldn't even consider a heel shorter than 3 inches.  I just like the look of them. I am 5'8.5".  Yeah, I need that half inch on there to illustrate the point that in my most beloved heels,  I tower an Amazonian 6'1.5". It is too tall. I'm afraid of heights and I feel like a godzilla.  I own shoes that I haven't worn.  I bought those shoes imagining some fantastical world where I attend red carpet events.  I see them on my feet and for some reason I am 5'4" in this world and I can wear these one-off shoes with jeans or a cute sun dress.  Inaccurate. 

My pinterest account is slowly acquiring a sampling of stuff I think looks awesome.  Stuff that I will never wear to work because at my most restrained I am already pushing the boundaries on dress code.  Oh well,  story of my life. 

Delta and Me; a not so good trip.

In recent years,  Delta airlines merged with Northwest, incurring the absorption of my remaining frequent flyer miles into the Delta Skymiles Program. Unfortunately for me,  they add up to about one intercontinental flight I probably won't be using. 

On our trip to California this year,  we tried Delta.  I had a negative perception of them left over from my father cursing them during my many childhood flights, but they had the cheapest tickets. 

So... you know. 

Well,  this comedy of errors has not come to curtain,  and yet,  I am rather compelled to share my experience so far with my readership of web crawling bots.  I am starting this entry from the seat of a 757 waiting to take off from Atlanta.

We started out with a surprise, before even getting ready to pack: enter an email from Delta informing us that a layover has been added to our itinerary.  Our flight out of DC was supposed to stop over in Minneapolis/St. Paul before going on to San Jose.

Delta felt that we should enjoy the scenic vistas of Salt Lake City as well,  but only for such a brief time as to take pictures during take- off and landing; stealthily attempting to hide the use of the cell phone camera from the stewardesses.  Even though this additional layover was barely long enough to get from one gate to another,  it added on two hours to our travel time. 

Thanks,  Delta. 

But I digress. 

So with new itineraries in hand,  we arrive at Reagan National during the wee hours of the morning.  We board our little plane and take off for Minneapolis /St. Paul.  Everything went smoothly until we landed at the sprawling twin cities airport.  
We disembark the plane  with all of our luggage (we avoid checking because it costs more,  duh.)

The board at our gate directs us to our next gate (of course it isn't listed on our tickets) and we trek a solid 25 minute hike at a brisk pace to find our flight to Salt Lake. 

We relax at the gate then start to wonder why we haven't begun boarding.  We waddle over to another board and see that our flight has been bumped to a gate on the other end of the airport. 

It has started boarding.  There was no announcement. 

So now, we haul ass 25 minutes back to right near where we landed, arriving out of breath and sweaty.  We made it.  My feet/arms/lungs hurt.

Thanks,  Delta.

At Salt Lake City,  as I have already mentioned,  we have a miniscule layover,  but of course our next gate is about as distant as possible from our arriving gate.  We hustle on,  passing up a few photo ops of the beautiful snow capped rockies. Our flight to San Jose had started boarding as we landed.

We get to our new gate and are informed that the flight is full and we will need to check our carry-ons. 

Whatever.  Fine.  Take them. 

The man takes our bags,  affixes pink tickets and throws them on a cart to be taken to cargo. Pretty seamless,  this time,  though it was rather a rush. 

We are finally in San Jose.  The pilot makes an announcement about our checked bags being at the gate when we arrive. 

We wander down the jet bridge to the gate and look around for bags.  No sign.  I speak to the man at the counter,  asking where our luggage will go of it was checked at the gate.  He asks what color my receipt is.  There is no receipt. 

People are flooding off of our plane,  and none of them seem to be down a bag or two. 

He says we probably should go to the carousel.  I don't feel good about it.  We hang out at the gate some more and  see our bags get loaded onto an elevator to the bridge. I go back and ask the man if we can go back down the connecty thing to the part where our bags are being dumped and he says we can't go back in after getting off.  So now he has to go get our stuff.  Which is kind of funny.

Thanks, Delta.

Day one of deltified travel complete.  We made it. 

On the return trip we had some excitement.  Of course. 

First,  while we were waiting at our gate for boarding (past security)  a couple of Vietnamese dudes roll up and ask us where the they can get their tickets.  I asked "Your tickets? You have to ALREADY have tickets to be back here. " 
They clarify that they mean boarding passes.  And we point them toward security.  HOW DID THEY GET TO THE GATES WITHOUT BOARDING PASSES?  In the world of today,  the thought is a little terrifying. 

Finally, the time to board arrives.  Oh dear.  The flight is overbooked.  Shocking.

Who volunteers to wait for a later flight?  They only need two or three people. Not a lot of takers.  OR any. 

Whatever,  not my problem. 

The gate keepers jump on the speakers again to inform us,  and I quote, 

"Um,  so,  this flight may experience a delay in boarding.  There is something wrong with the plane,  but we don't know what it is yet." 

Restless mumbles and some sardonic laughter from the passengers.  The lady gets on again,  perhaps hoping to assuage some fears.

"What they sayin' is: the pilots' instruments isn't workin' right,  but don't worry,  we'll have you on this plane tonight."  Her insight falls a little flat. 

I realize that I am off on Thursday all day,  and go up to ask if the need volunteers to switch flights.  The guy looks at the girl and asks do they need more volunteers.  She says "naw..."
He turns to me and says "naw."
Great. 

Eventually,  they fix the plane,  or give up on it,  or whatever,  and we board,  about 45 minutes behind schedule.

Aboard,  the pilot comes on to tell us that Delta is sorry about the delay,  and that the big problem was a sticky cargo bay door that they had a hard time opening and closing.  But it's all better now. 

Oh yeah and there was a weird light on in the instrument panel.  Seems fine now though! 
Up, up, and away! 

As we taxi toward Atlanta,  the little TVs pop open to show us Delta's new,  slightly humorous, safety video.  About a quarter of the way through, during take-off, power in the cabin flickers hard, and there is a strange crackling sound, but everyone's TVs reopen to resume their spiel 

Well,  except ours,  which has a black screen and is seizing open and closed at us menacingly.  After it has its fun,  and we are sufficiently unnerved,  it reopens on its own and picks back up into the video.

Good thing I know all about placing the bag over my own nose and mouth before assisting others.

Thanks for the fancy plane,  Delta.

Atlanta finds its way below us after a night of turbulence and our inability to turn off the Billy Crystal movie that makes one sort of wish the power in the cabin would go back out.  Also, there is a baby on the flight.  Did I mention that the TVs are for everyone to enjoy,  so even if they are right above your seat on a red eye flight,  you can't turn them off?  Did I mention that?

Thanks Delta.

And Billy Crystal. 

And Woman with Baby.

As we taxi in Atlanta,  it becomes apparent that our next flight is already boarding. And we have to ride a tram to get to it.

We won't be on that plane.  But our luggage will!  They made us check it again,  what with their chronic "booked-to-the-gills-itis". 

The captain comes on to let us know that no one will be missing their connections. 

Hurrah! A success story. 

I doubt it.  I say so to Josh. We load up our itinerary on our phones and rebook for the next flight into DC which leaves in an hour. 

As we truck through massive Atlanta, we see the gate for the flight we should be on.  The screen next to it says the stand-by passengers have been cleared to fly, it then switches to closed as we approach.  Josh says we should try to get on. 

I ask the man at the gate if we can board even though we just rebooked. He says if we do,  we will have to wait for our luggage to arrive an hour behind us.   Nope.  We go on to the gate for the next flight.

The next couple of hours are pretty uneventful,  thank goodness,  and we get to DC only about 45 minutes later than originally expected.

We go down to the baggage claim,  watch the carrousel run dry,  and then seek out the Delta lost luggage claim desk.

There is our stuff!  It came in on the earlier flight. That we could probably have gotten on. Had anyone anywhere known anything. 

We put our receipts (made sure to get some this time.)  on the counter, skip the line, and grab our bags. 

Ordeal over. 

Thanks, Delta. 

I think you will be keeping my sky miles as a memento to remind you of me in my upcoming absence.

List Blog 1: 5 things I really love.

Before we head out on our trip to California (and I have inspiring events to write about),  I figured I ought to write an obligatory list blog. 
I am doing this blog thing as an exercise to force me to write more.  So, even though I am not incredibly inspired at the moment,  I am going to do this. 

It won't be pretty.  I am sorry. 

Here goes :

1: I am a Japanophile- specifically an Okinawaphile.
I generally like all things Japanese (within reason).  I loathe the idea of being considered an Otaku.  I'm not that.  I really care about the culture,  history,  geography, architecture, geology,  environment, classical literature,  art, politics, economics, and folk music of my beloved island: Okinawa. It is a passion for me. Part of my identity.  If I could,  I would get a graduate degree in Ryukyu Studies.  I don't care about Anime or Manga or J-pop.  I don't cosplay.  I don't eat tons of sushi,  or whatever those Otaku kids eat.  I do like video games and Japanese fashion design.

2: The freaking ocean.  I love that thing.  I love the water,  the creatures,  the flora,  undersea volcanoes.  I sometimes wonder if I was a mermaid in a past life.  I have always had conflicting emotions about Disney's The Little Mermaid.  I want to hate her because I am one of those competitive females that instinctively dislikes any other skinny white girls,  especially if their dad is rich and they have a nice singing voice.  Also,  she doesn't appreciate her beautiful undersea home. Running away with prince Eric is only a sacrifice for her because she loses her voice,  which she eventually gets back. Why isn't losing automatic Scuba abilities and fish communication abilities the sacrifice they focus on.  Dumb ho.

3: I really love things that peek.  When critters or people or cartoon characters sneakily peek out from behind anything,  I cannot contain my mirth.  When that weird dude in the wedding singer peeked out from behind the curtain while Adam Sandler was playing his guitar and singing... I almost peed I was laughing so hard.  When Baxter tries to climb up the end of my bed and his little head peers over the edge, full of hope and determination, my heart is warmed with glee.  Basically, if a burglar peeked in a playful manner into my house,  I would probably give him some stuff just for the performance. 

4: Historical romance novels- sometimes called "bodice rippers"  in the pornish literature industry.  Hey,  I read high quality literature all the time.And smart stuff like National Geographic and Science Magazine.  And I really don't watch that much TV.  So stop yer judging.  I love to pick up a $2 trashy novel,  read it over the course of a few hours,  and then sit on my high horse and judge the author and her editors for the hackneyed style,  redundant, repeated phrases and clichés,  minor spelling errors and plot holes and whatever else I see fit to scoff snobbily over.  I sit in pedantic judgement every time I voraciously read crap about maidens in distress finding forbidden love with rogues and rakes. It is like brain junk food.  My name is Rebecca and I'm a trashy novel addict.

5: Metal.  Like the music.  I honestly do listen to all kinds of music,  but I am really enamored with heavy metal.  Well,  more specifically: epic metal,  viking metal,  symphonic metal,  speed metal,  folk metal,  the list goes on...I like most metal, from Bathory to Haggard to Hammerfall to Ensiferum.  I am even starting to listen to Japanese metal. I like reading about the history of metal,  the culture around it.  I have even been thinking about learning Swedish or Dutch or German.  Just because.  The only variations I don't really dig,  for purely synaesthetic reasons,  are black metal and a fair amount of death metal. Although,  I will take them any day of the week over Justin Bieber.  Just sayin.

Well, this is probably not my funniest work or most beautiful prose; but I wrote it.  At least it is honest.  Don't give up on me.
Kthx bye.