The pretty clothes are scattered 'round the room. And it's so like candy.

This weekend, my family and I participated in two of my favorite activities: We went out for brunch, and we went bowling. Both are completely awesome. Brunch is awesome because it's, well, brunch. Brunch is an excuse to sleep late, and blend two already great meals into an epic one. It's a leisurely activity, tailored for long conversations with friends, Bloody Mary's and mimosas, and, if you're alone, the chance to plow through the Sunday paper in public. And it must be said that foods consumed at brunch are as close to perfection as one can find. Bottomless mugs of coffee? Omelettes? Pancakes? Sausage and biscuits and corned beef hash? Yes, please. I am convinced that if more people carved out a couple of hours for brunch on a Sunday, the world would be a much more peaceful and contented place.

And bowling? Bowling is the chance to feel like you're participating in a sport without actually breaking a sweat or doing anything remotely athletic. You are not going to whittle away a muffin top through bowling. But it's undeniably fun to hurl a fifteen pound ball down a slippery greased lane, and drink beer, and eat disgustingly greasy food, and wear really, really ugly shoes, and laugh at your kids when they accidentally throw their ball into the lane next to yours. Going bowling with small children is especially fun because it's an excuse to use the bumpers on the lane. I truly relish the chance to cheat, because if I didn't I doubt my score would break double digits.  I also take great pleasure at snickering at the bowlers who take the game really, really seriously. You know - the ones who belong to a league, and wear matching shirts, and lovingly polish their custom-made bowling balls in between frames. They become grim and silent when they miss a split, and downright depressed with a loss. I love them.

Bowling reminds me of my junior-high days, when my friends and I would hang out at our local bowling alley. We'd scope out guys, gnaw on stale gumballs from the vending machine, and eat burgers purchased at the snack bar. It was a sweeter, simpler time, of Bobbie Bell Lip Smackers and hair scrunchies and Debbie Gibson. Perhaps it was this youthful,  fun-loving spirit that encouraged me to dress like a bag of Skittles:

Thrifted Kenneth Cole blazer, thrifted Harajuko Girls tee, Gap long-sleeved white tee, Citizens Of Humanity jeans; J Crew ballet flats; Marc Jacobs bag

I also wore this outfit when I grabbed dinner with the epically awesome Erin of Work With What You've Got. I've been following her blog for well over a year and was super excited to met her. Unsuprisingly, she was just as sweet and genuine in person as she is through her blog, and I'm lucky to have her as my road-trip partner to the Texas Style Council Conference in March. *I promise* not to drive too fast.

Pink is the new pink

Do you have a favorite color?

Mine has always been pink. Pink is a cheerfully happy, effervescent color. It is the signature shade of rosy-cheeked little girls in pigtails who ride Barbie bicycles with streamers at the handles. Pink is the sweet side of red - softer, delicate, and decidedly feminine. Pink is the color of cotton candy, tropical sunsets and frosting on a cupcake. When the weather has been stuck in a forecast of gray, gloomy, overcast days (such as it's been here in Dallas all week) wearing pink instantly cheers me up. 

Studies have shown the following physical and mental effects of the color pink:

• Has a calming effect on the nerves and creates physical weakness in people.
• Alleviates feelings of anger, aggression, resentment, abandonment and neglect.
• Is a sign of hope in color psychology. It inspires warm and comforting feelings, and a sense that everything will be okay.
• Is so tranquilizing that sports teams sometimes paint the locker rooms used by opposing teams bright pink so their opponents will lose energy.

According to Wikipedia, the practice of assigning pink to an individual gender began in the 1920's or earlier. From then until the 1940s, pink was considered appropriate for boys because, being related to red, it was a more masculine and aggressive color. Blue was considered appropriate for girls because it was related to the Virgin Mary and thus thought as the more dainty, delicate color. In the 1940s, the societal norm was inverted; pink became considered appropriate for girls and blue appropriate for boys, a practice that has continued into the 21st century.

My love affair with pink extends well beyond my wardrobe. I have multiple tattoos in shades of pink, from the flowers on my neck to a cupcake on my left arm. Pink lipsticks are stuffed into my cosmetics bag. During pedicures, pink is my number one requested polish color (OPI's Shopping Frenzy is amaze-balls.) My journal is pink; I write in pink gel-pen; and I fantasize about adding hot pink streaks to my hair.  

When I saw this blazer at a thrift store, I knew I had to have it.  It would be my armor against rainy-day gloom. I'd don the blazer, glide on some pink lip gloss, and charge towards victory.

Thrifted Kenneth Cole blazer; Gap long-sleeved white tee; Citizens if Humanity bootcut jeans (eBay); J Crew pink ballet flats (eBay), Marc Jacobs bag; Forever 21 necklace