Fashionable Friends: JIMI EDITION!!!

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THIS PICTURE folks. This picture illustrates why it has taken me so long to write this post about one of my most fashionable female friends… she is way too fun a drinking partner! That bitch. After beginning my informal interview at Valentines downtown, we headed to the Eastside to check out one of her favorites, the legendary Lloyd Allen Sr. (never been? It’s worth your while.) at the Blue Diamond on Sandy Blvd. where the above pictured drinks were consumed and from where I took a Radio Cab to a different bar and then to a loft party and then to my bed where I woke up the next morning realizing I had lost the notebook in which I had recorded what I had remembered to be an EPIC conversation.

However, never fear. The notebook was found, waiting patiently for me in the loft where I had left it. Right under this ass poster at the Pizza Friday offices (check them out):

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God damn miracle. Therefore we are now finally able to proceed and I can gush with proper notation over one of my most fashionable, talented, and fucking awesome friends here in Portland, Miss Jimi Pop. About fucking time, I know.

To really get at the heart of it … one of the things I love most about Jimi is that she is so, so, so fucking cool, like, painfully cool, and yet still, one of the sweetest, most unassuming friends I have. Unlike me, her cool quotient is off the charts, but even though I don’t front a seriously kick ass local Portland band, or have an effortless sense of style that translates into second-hand retail sales, or make and successfully sell my own jewelry line, or have epic hair … ok wait, I do have epic hair, but even though I am lacking in all those other areas that would earn me textbook cool points, Jimi never makes me feel like anything less than her equal. If you live in a place like Portland, where “cool” reigns supreme, I’m sure you understand how rare and endearing a characteristic this is in a person of her caliber.

Ok, so meet Jimi:

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Ugh I know. I’ve written about her before a few times on this blog. Like, there was that one time I wrote about her because even though I’ve gotten really used to her being a blonde, she used to have babe-tastic raven black locks:

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Yeah, sorry, she’s totally taken too. By that handsome boy rocking some serious liner on the left, who acts as 1/6 of their band, Thanks. This is a primarily a fashion blog, but what fits better with fashion than rock n’ roll? Correct answer: not much.

The reviews are in … from me, Willamette Week, and the Portland Mercury … Thanks churns out some seriously growly, sexy, soulful music. They’ll soon be recording a full length album, but in the meantime, their EP, Silver Scars Will Be Our Constellations, is available on iTunes for less than $6. So, I mean, I’d check it out if I were you. They also play around Portland pretty frequently and put on a killer live show, so if you’re in the area, follow them on Facebook for upcoming events. Totally worth your while. They’re mega talented and also ALL SO ATTRACTIVE. It’s dumb.

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According to Jimi (omg I’m pulling notes from my once lost notebook! so exciting), she was always obsessed with R&B music – I have Mariah Carey and Boy II Men scrawled down so let’s go with that – and always wanted to be the girl doing runs in the background of said R&B.

And then … well then … I can’t really tell what happens! See for yourself …

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I mean, write your own story here people, and I’ll skip to the point in my notes where it clearly says she has a moment of revelation, exclaiming: “I was sitting in my car and I was like ‘Fuck that! I can sing!”

She goes on to tell me that not only did she realize she had a set of pipes, but she could also write. And since you’ve already gone and listened to the Thanks EP, you know how right she was about that.

Beyond Jimi’s talent, can I also point out the notable camaraderie inherent in this band? It’s tempting to assign Jimi a Gwen Stefani, front-woman stigma, however in this band, it’s anything but. They really actually truly all love each other and pull their weight and when they’re up there on stage your eye is equally drawn to all of them at any given moment. Someday I’ll write fashion profiles on each of them, but for now, let’s get back to Jimi and her fashion steez.

It’s enviable. Mostly because it seems so effortless. Bitch. Some people just got “It”, right?

You want any of these items? Cause they’re totally waiting for you to buy them from her leased space down at Red Fox Vintage’s newest location on Woodstock.

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Guess ankle booties/banana republic oatmeal sweater/dooney & bourke bucket backpack/vintage Abercrombie boyfriend jeans!!!
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“Uhhhmazing vintage Wilson’s leather front zipper pencil skirt/lady sized authentic fatigues. I might not be able to sell these… Space 36! Red Fox on Woodstock.” – Jimi
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Otello Pele thigh length leather vest/Mexico muscle crop tank/classic flannel
She excitedly mentioned to me over happy hour the other day that in her first week leasing this space, she had sold enough to cover her share of the rent AND make a profit. This obviously has something to do with the fact that, as she explains to me, she was born under a “Thrifting Star”. She’s always getting lucky and finding awesome goods. Clearly.
She also has a system she follows when searching for the racks at everyone’s go-to spot Goodwill (or as Jimi calls it, the Mothership): “I start in the shoes, then I move on to the bags, then the dresses, and then I’m warmed up enough to fuck with the shirts and stuff.” But she doesn’t do pants because … wait, I can tell you why, because trying on pants sucks. I mean you actually have to try them on most of the time and screw that. I fucking hate trying on pants, which is why I keep going back to buy the same pair in different colors and variations from Urban Outfitter. I don’t really know if that’s why she doesn’t thrift the slacks section, but it’s universally true enough that I’m going with it.

Oh and guess what, I’ve tried Jimi’s “system” and I am not born under a thrifting star. I know. It’s totally shocking. I never find shit. And I get impatient right around the “bags” part, which is why I collect books instead of clothes. Luckily, now that she has her own leased space, I can just go buy the stuff she picks out. Beats Internet window shopping, which is ALL I do these days. Then I decide to think about a purchase over drinks and next thing you know all the money set aside for clothes is spent on whiskey shots and tacos or something and … this is why I only write about other people’s fashion. Moving along …
The day we met for our interview she had just found these gems at Little Edie’s Five and Dime on N. Williams. Pretty perfect condition of course.
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And she had tie-dyed her own shirt.
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Oh and that jewelry? She made that. Her very own Old Tiger and Peach line. The name is a Charles Bukowski reference, so you know, that’s also hot.
I will take a crystal pendant please and I’ve always been a sucker for the geometric drop necklace too.
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All her jewelry is available on her Etsy site HERE and also at Rad Summer  on Burnside if you’re a local.
So – as you can see – Jimi does a lot of cool shit. And has great style. And is a great drinking partner. And is a totally rad girl. It was a no-brainer profile. I’m thankful she’s in Portland and not tromping around being ultra cool in New York or something.
I’m also thankful for Thanks. I’m excited to see where their future takes them – and I think it will be somewhere wonderful and exotic – so best see them now while you can still get all close and personal up in their shit.
And I think because she’s so nice to look at we’ll just end with some pretty photos! K? K. xoxo, Lou
Modeling for Sturnelle Collection – Photo by Em Bolles (you’ve read about her, right?)
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Dressed as Prince … I know, right?
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And finally being very Portland and very pretty with my FAVORITE GIRL NIKKI! Hi Nikki! We miss you.
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Sick Fashion

No really though, I caught the plague, which is why I have been completely slacking on getting up some new posts. For days I have felt like this …

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Steven Meisel for Vogue

You’d think being sick on the couch would make for the perfect blogging conditions, but my brain wouldn’t even allow me to form a proper sentence, so I decided to put it off. Even though my head is pounding and I’m still a snot monster, I’m feeling a bit more chipper today, so planning to head home and get back on the blogging wagon. Must have been the whiskey and Jameson I had for St. Patrick’s day yesterday that cured me.

And I even got to wear a green top that my mom made as a wee 20-something lass, so not a total fashion fail weekend:

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Ok so that’s that. No more sick girl.

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You can buy the white snapback if you really want it … but I’m jonesing for that gold chain myself.

See ya again later tonight,

xoxo, Lou

Get Drunk, Get Fat

FAIL.

Fail, fail, fail, fail.

My experiment to get drunk, not fat did not go as planned last night.

Or…it did, since I drank no beer which is what I set out to do for a few weeks.

(Thought the night I wrote that other post, the boyfriend came home from a BBQ with a six pack of PBR and without even thinking I took the one he offered me. My resolve lasted two hours! Record setting fail.)

Last night a bunch of us went out for a friend’s birthday. I was resolved to not drink beer even though I have about $80 to last me til payday on Friday. The bar we convened at serves it’s signature cocktail in a giant mason jar. I fucking love drinks in mason jars. I love drinks in any sort of weird container. Glasses shaped like cowboy boots, copper mugs, fishbowls, I love them all. I’m a sucker for them.

Therefore, I started the night off with this:

That is a shit ton of bourbon, some other alcohol and then a whole lot of sugar.

SUGAR.

So by not drinking a god damn beer, which would have been 5 dollars cheaper, I drank this monster sugar beast which contained god knows how many calories.

We then moved on to everyone’s favorite neighborhood strip club/dive bar, Sassy’s. No birthday is complete until you’ve seen bored, tattooed strippers flail around in mis-matched bra and panty sets.

(I LOVE strippers but for the love of god, ladies, put a little effort in. It looks like you got to work, pulled off your jeans and ironic Motley Crue tank top and hopped up in stage in your Target bra and Forever21 panties. That don’t even match! Gah! That said, there are some fantastic girls who work there that I adore and kick ass at what they do.)

I decided that instead of a tallboy, I would have a rum and coke. Because more sugar was obviously what I needed.

Then a friend bought everyone a round of whiskey shots. That was the best caloric decision of the night, given that whiskey is only around 73 calories.

But I followed it up with another rum and coke. Though to my credit, there was so much rum in both drinks that I doubt I even got very much coke.

At this time, after having a girl force me to look into her lady folds up at the rack, I decided I needed tator tots. Add to my calories for the night a basket of greasy potato nuggets. Excellent call, Sweetbird!

After my tots I then gave my last ten dollars in cash to a dancer only because she could make her ass cheeks bounce by flexing them one at a time. I’m intensely jealous of this ability as well as booty popping, clapping and any other form of doing cool shit with your ass.

Best.Booty.Video.Ever.

Broke and drunk, we called it a night and rode up the never ending hill home. Sure, Portland has hills. Slopes…inclines. Whatever, seemed really hard last night.

Upon arriving at home, I made myself a vegan grilled cheese sandwich with fake bacon and ate some cookies.

Winner.

What have we learned here? That giving up beer will not make me less fat. Drinking liquor makes me more drunk and more prone to getting the munchies.

New plan: just work out more. 

Okay, so enough with trying to pass of my drinking as a health experiment. Back to fashion and beauty. I got nothing though so it’s up to Lou!

Get Drunk, Not Fat

Shockingly, I didn’t just pull that title out of my ass.

It’s a freakin’ website….called Get Drunk Not Fat.  It does just what its says, teaches you what the best things to drink are to get drunk and not fat.

Ha!!!

(sidenote: I started looking for pictures of drunk hipsters to put throughout this post but the first picture that popped up with of Lindsay Lohan being druuuunk. Then much like Katy Perry’s breasts, I got sucked into fucked up Lilo pictures. Now you get her!)

Lilo watches her calories by taking shots all night.

Full disclosure: It’s about 80 degrees outside and I’m on a self imposed booze free night. Therefore I’m hanging out in cut offs and a bikini top making cookies. Oh and baking bread. I’m such a fat kid. I’m totally eating the cookie dough too. It’s okay cuz it’s vegan so I can’t get salmonella. Just fat.

Lou’s big sis once shared with me her dietary wisdom:

“Eat less, save your calorie intake for alcohol.”

Drunk Lilo thinks that’s great advice!

I tried that a few times and while it did result in spending less money and getting more drunk due to the empty stomach, it made me feel like cat shit the next day. Lou has mastered the art of drinking her dinner and never seems to be worse for the wear. I think it’s something in that family’s blood. Magical princess hair and excellent boozability.

What does any of this have to do with fashion? Nothing. Other than the fact that clothes look better when you’re not lumpy in all the wrong places. Girls with beer guts are no bueno.

During my cookie baking/fat kid pig out, Ms.Cuntbook texted me to tell me to invent her a calorie free beer. I don’t think my idea of drinking the beer and then barfing it back up ten minutes later was the bright idea she was looking for.

I’ve never really considered how many calories were in beer. Actually, I never consider the calories in anything. Probably not the smartest thing.

Apparently a rum and diet coke is a great thing to drink because it’s only 64 calories. To that I say barf. Keep your mixer!

Lilo loves rum! 

Booze by the calories:

Rum – 64 Calories per 1 oz
Brandy – 64 Calories per 1 oz
Gin – 64 Calories per 1 oz
Tequila – 64 Calories per 1 oz
Scotch Whiskey – 73 Calories per 1 oz
Vodka – 73 Calories per 1 oz
Whisky – 73 Calories per 1 oz

The internet says that the average bottle of beer contains 150 calories. WOOF! Give me straight whiskey any day.

There’s been a lot of hullaballoo (best word ever) around these parts lately about alcohol. Some people have gotten it into to their heads that when you’re a grown up you don’t go out and get sauced anymore. Have those people never seen Mad Men? Booze and cigarettes all day! Not that Don Draper should be a role model. But still….you can still be a responsible person, an adult, and enjoy drankin’.

I’m giving myself a health challenge (I’m laughing as I write this because a health challenge involving drinking is fucking hilarious to me) to lay off the beer and just enjoy either wine or whiskey. For…a couple of weeks? Maybe til June? Just to see how I feel. Perhaps my little bit of tummy will back the fuck off. Probably not but my intake of cheap beer since we moved back is bonkers. I’m an adult now, god dammit, I’m going to drink like one!

Okay now can someone tell me how the fuck this happened?

Holy jesus, girl!! 

Alright, I’ve got cookies to eat. Go to the bar armed with the knowledge of how fat what you’re drinking is going to make you, adjust accordingly. Or don’t. I’ll probably blow it after two days. Beer is cheap, yo!