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A Note from Miss Plumcake

Hey gang, I know I’ve been pretty quiet -uh, inasmuch as I’m ever quiet– recently and it’s not because I’ve stopped loving you or I’m just trying to shill merch. I mean I totally AM trying to shill merch  (mama gots to get paid) but you know I could never stop loving you.

I’ve had a death in the family (don’t say “I’m sorry for your loss” I HATE it when people say “I’m sorry for your loss.” as if you left out the “for your loss” part I’d be wondering if you’re just really late in apologizing for confusing a Balenciaga sleeve for a Laura Ashley one.) and it looks like another one is eminent, so uh, you know. I got other stuff to do.

Listen, I can’t write a great treatise on death. I can’t even write a great treatise on remembering to pay your phone bill on time, but I can say that regret is a son of a bitch and the less you have of it the better. So speaking as someone who spends more than her fair share of time dealing with death and dying, I’ve got a few thoughts I want to share. Ready? Okay!

Have more orgasms.

Seriously, just do it. Have ’em by yourself, have ’em with a friend, I don’t care. Just don’t shuffle off before you get off. And I’m not saying be promiscuous, or skank it all over town, my position has always been: be thoughtful about the people you take to bed, but your body can do some fun stuff and it’s a damn shame if you don’t take it for a spin on a regular basis. If you’ve got difficulties in that area, address them. There are a like bazillion medical reasons getting your rocks off is good for you, but mostly it’s just good fun and there’s no reason you shouldn’t.

Really what I mean is be more harmlessly self-indulgent.

I can’t remember where I read it, but in an interview, Karl Lagerfeld once said he was his own greatest indulgence, and that it was only by indulging himself that he could indulge others. Well, as much as it pains me to do it, I have to agree with Herr Karl. Self-deprivation for its own sake is pointless and it’s showy. That’s right, I said showy. Don’t be a martyr unless you’re actually going to be, you know, a martyr. Fun is not wrong or sinful or a sign of depravity. It’s a gift. Refusing that gift is rude, not to mention a passive-aggressive swipe at everyone in your life who manages to be a good person AND enjoy a cocktail or twelve. As trite as it is, you’re not going to die wishing you had less fun. Or fewer orgasms.


… hates empty walls

… always wants spinach for her birthday

… owns only three pairs of shoes

… would cheerfully give up one pair of those shoes for another piece of Le Creuset cookware

… is still amazed that she’s a professional writer

… makes lace while watching sci-fi and detective shows

… bakes the most awesome pies and cakes you have ever tasted, and isn’t at all bad with bread and cookies

… hates to lose games

… will never read another Steinbeck novel or sit through another Tennessee Williams play

… chooses not to function without coffee in the morning, but is capable of doing so

… loves to polish her nails, but never in red or pink

… cries like a baby at weddings and sad movies

… is a magnet for animals and small children

… wears a great deal of purple because she can’t imagine being sad in purple

Your turn.

(shamelessly stolen from Notblueatall)


FINE. Are you happy now? I give and I give to you people, and all I ask in return is a whole heap of cash, free swag and endless praise. Is that so much to ask? I THINK NOT.

It’s the bi-annual sale at Nordstrom and I feel like I need to give it up to them, because they actually use plus size models and then I have to take it back because their plus-size selection is called Encore. Really? Are we still doing cutesy names?

Anyhoodle. Metallics are taking an interesting twist and going into florals and jacquard for this season. Although I don’t tend to wear much in the way of florals myself, they can be a good choice for a big girl provided they aren’t too tiny or too twee.

A good multiseasonal floral that hits the right notes right now is this shantung number from Adrianna Papell.

Yeah, ideally this would be silk but alas, we live in a broken and sinful world so polyester it is. However, I’m pleasantly surprised to see the level of detail on the bodice, the rosettes at the neckline are actually brought up from the waistline in a rather lovely fold and tuck treatment that punches above its priceline.

I also like this raincoat, because it’s hard to find a decent long raincoat that’s cut for a woman with hips.

Saks has taken 30%-40% off many new items including their excellent Salon Z collection, but hurry up. Some prices go back up at midnight!

I’m going to do an investment dressing post next week featuring several pieces so I won’t spoil the surprise, but look what Tadashi Shoji has brought back:Mo’Nique’s Oscar Gown.

Okay, and now for the real shocker:


Green Manolo

Manolo says, please allow the Manolo to introduce to you the newest addition to the Manolosphere, Green Manolo.

Edited by our good friend Christa Terry (a.k.a Never teh Bride) of the Manolo for the Brides and the Manolo for the Home, the Green Manolo is the blog all about the super fantastic sustainable lifestyle!

And now, you must go visit the Green Manolo

Admin, Chat and a little Monday Hotness

Happy Monday my delicious little pickled herrings, how’s every little thing?

Me? I’m great. I got my beloved brother all married up on Saturday and that was fun, inasmuch as anything in Denton, Texas can ever be described as fun. It was a small courthouse wedding, the bride looked flawless and appropriate and –miracle of miracles– I managed to sit through bad Tex Mex AND the inane ramblings of various family members without any bloodshed which was achieved WITHOUT ALCOHOL through the cunning use of staring at the Real Madrid vs Atlético Madrid match until blood came out of my eyes. Kinda like this.

And do you know what that means? That’s right. A totally gratuitous photograph of Iker Casillas being pounced on by El Guaje (David Villa) who also wouldn’t be booted off the pitch for eating tapas.

Oh Saint Iker, I’d like to observe YOUR feast day, if you know what I mean. sigh.

Right, where were we? Brother got married, Iker Casillas being hot…OH! Right, fashion-y things. The past two months or so haven’t really been fashion-centered and I thought I’d shed a little light.

Doing sales posts are boring and it’s mostly for clothes I wouldn’t put on my body and thus can’t wholeheartedly recommend to you. Since sometimes we make money –a very little bit of money, but money nonetheless– off these affiliates (not all stores are affiliates but some are) it’s a bit of a sticky wicket because it could look like I’m recommending clothes that I wouldn’t personally wear just to make a quick buck. So although there are alley cats and federal lobbyists who can only aspire to my lack of morality in my personal life, professionally-speaking I really try to keep everything above board. It’s a curse, but I live with it.

So that means I can only recommend things I’d let come in contact with my own alabaster epidermis, but when I do post Plumcake-approved items? Complaints galore. Too expensive, too formal, too painful, too protected by the Endangered Species Act of 1973 blah blah blah. it wears on a girl. Besides, if giant pandas didn’t want to be turned into coats they should’ve picked a less convenient color scheme.

Twistie’s Sunday Caption Madness: The Clifford, Is That You? Edition: The Result

Ah my dears. Last week I slammed you all with this deathless image:
and you came back swinging with six delicious responses.

In the end, though, there can be but one winner. This week it’s the glorious perletwo for this sad tale of romantic woe:

He hated to be speciesist, but Mr. Ed couldn’t help feeling he’d gotten shafted on this double blind date deal.

Congratulations, perletwo! And thanks to everyone who played.

In Praise of Men, Again.

It was interesting to read the comments to yesterday’s post because I think what many of my beloved readers picked up was not what I was intentionally putting down.

I’m not going to tell you how to Get The Guy.

First of all,  I don’t KNOW how to get the guy. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got a fantastic guy but I fell backwards into it, just as I do into most of my relationships and frankly, though my relationships are usually full of fabulous prizes and exotic men, I wouldn’t exactly say they’ve been entirely successful.

That wasn’t the point of yesterday’s post –which was really just an appreciation of men– and it’s not something I could do even if I tried. Although if I did try it would probably go something like this:

1)Be interested.
2)Be interesting.
3)Don’t be psycho.
4)If you are psycho,  at least have great tits.

That’s all I got.

But honestly it wasn’t about how to meet a man, although I can see how it might read that way. It was about not perpetuating these bogus gender wars that make men the enemy and our lives more complicated than they need to be.

When I used to watch television I would get so riled because almost every commercial and sitcom would feature a smart, sassy wife and a dopey, oafish husband. What is wrong with us that we think men are these stupid creatures? I mean there are plenty of stupid men out there, I nearly hit one with my car today (THERE IS NO EXCUSE FOR FRONT PLEATS, OKAY?) , but there are just as many stupid women.

The point I was trying to make, not very effectively, is that men are great as a species, not just as potential objects of desire and it’s a lot easier to have a good time in life if you don’t view them as the enemy or a bunch of dopes who automatically judge you in the negative for being fat.

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