Last week’s theme was pattern. At the beginning of the week I thought I’d never make it through. My closet is made up of colors and stripes! How was I to put together seven outfits with different patterns? Turns out there’s way more pattern in my closet than I realized. It’s like I forgot that anything that isn’t a solid color is technically some sort of pattern.

My favorite outfits this week are the crazy floral skirt on Monday and my dress from Friday, perhaps because they are both incredibly comfortable. The dress is my go-to dress. And the skirt has pockets.

If you want to know where I got any particular item, you can look at the original photos on flickr.

Happy Mother’s Day to all you muthas!

NSFW if your workplace isn’t down with repeated use of the word vagina.

Here’s the thing about dishwashers that I’m sure all of you who have had one for an extended amount of time have discovered. Over time they get progressively worse at cleaning your dishes. This is true of many humans, but it’s troubling when your sole existence is based on the act of cleaning dishes. And you cost a lot of money. Perhaps it’s time to replace it, you might think to yourself.

No, it probably just needs a good cleaning.

But, you think to yourself, dishwashers shouldn’t be dirty! They’re cleaning machines, and therefore they are clean!

Have you ever looked at the bottom of your dishwasher? I mean really looked at it? Like around the edges and under the arm? I’ve found a handy photo from the internets to help you with this visualization.

and that’s just the edge

But, I’ll just hire someone to clean that for me!

Ok, make sure you budget for that monthly cleaning service** when you buy your home.

Irritated with how many dishes came out of the dishwasher this morning rather dirty, I impulsively began cleaning the dishwasher. I was rewarded with the discovery of layers upon layers of black sludge and a gummy, yellowish film in every nook and crevice of the door, the arm and the filter. And the sludge and gummy film don’t respond to just a rinse and wipe. These things require baking soda! And vinegar! And toothbrushes! And elbow grease! And fortitude!

I am a fairly domestic Modern Gal and not easily disgustable, and yet this was the most repulsive thing I’ve ever encountered. The Modern Love Machine was instantaneously cured of his lack of ambition to exercise and went for a 40-minute run.

But by God, my dishwasher is now clean enough to eat off. Which is kind of the idea, right?

On second thought, maybe it’s just easier to buy a new one each time it gets caked in sludge and gummy film.

**The smart people at Apartment Therapy have a dishwashing-cleaning primer. And they suggest you follow some form of it ONCE A MONTH!

When our days become dreary with low-hovering clouds of despair, and when our nights become darker than a thousand midnights, let us remember that there is a creative force in this universe, working to pull down the gigantic mountains of evil, a power that is able to make a way out of no way and transform dark yesterdays into bright tomorrows. Let us realize the arc of the moral universe is long but it bends toward justice.

I’m an impatient person, and I was sick this morning listening to the NPR reports on this and this compounded by the general tone of politics and rhetoric these days. I am sick of compromise being a dirty word and justice being denied.

What are you doing to ensure the arc of the moral universe is bending toward justice?

Update: I feel somewhat better after this. I get that it doesn’t change much, but it’s still a step in the right direction.

**My all-time favorite class was 11th-grade English, during which one of our units of study was rhetoric. It left a huge impression on me, and for that I am thankful.

I know, so deep.

When I struggle with weight/acne/hair, I tend to totally ignore myself by not looking in the mirror and not paying attention to how I look at all. Perhaps it’s somewhat healthy to not care about one’s appearance, but for me it’s a defense mechanism. Seeing the photos of myself was the motivation I needed to get super-serious about Weight Watchers and triathlon training again, so bonus. The photos also prompted me to get another haircut, which I may or may not have needed, but I’ve been mostly pleased with the result.

Anyway, here’s how I dressed for week one, which was color week. Color week is so easy for me because if I’ve focused on filling my tiny breadbox closet with one thing, it’s color. I love color. I didn’t totally love how I looked in all this color, but refer to brain dump on self-consciousness. (The last photo is actually a part of week 2, but the uneven columns were making me crazy).

Something else I’ve struggled with is taking clear self portraits. Self portraits ain’t my thang, but the photo quality gets better in week 2.

Habitually successful people appear to have vast reserves of motivation, but it’s more likely that what they have is momentum. They have pushed against their inner resistance firmly and consistently enough that the ball is rolling at a good clip, all on its own.

walking with the modern dogs, photo by the modern love machine.

I’m mostly running this time around, since that’s the arena where I struggle the most. I’m fitting in the biking where I can, which basically means suggesting to the Modern Love Machine that we should ride our bikes downtown for dinner/beer/gelato. This ride is done mostly on quiet side streets with a slice of riding in traffic. That slice occasionally comes with asshole drivers who do everything in their power to make you feel unsafe. When I feel unsafe, I tend to pay more attention to the asshole drivers than I do to how my bike is interacting with the pavement.

And then this happens …

Second time in three weeks, no less. This happened Friday night. Photo taken Tuesday. My knee is actually more purple today. I’m not currently out of commission, but the road burn did keep me out of the pool on Saturday morning. My ego still stings a smidge.

For the past five years, I’ve spent my days either around college kids who wear sweat pants and clothes made of wicking materials or working alone at home. It did not take long for my wardrobe to turn from business-appropriate to one full of knit tops and jeans.

The current job falls somewhere in the middle of that, like most office jobs in the world. So one of the many adjustments going on in my life lately has been one of upgrading my wardrobe or finding better ways to wear stuff I already own. So with that in mind, I’ve decided to participate in this year’s Mission: Put Together rather than just admire it from afar.

For the next 30 days, I will be joining Megan and RA and the rest of the M:PTers in an attempt to channel our inner Stacys and Clintons and have well put-together outfits. It doesn’t mean we’re trying to be highly fashionable, we’re just trying to have our outfits mirror our inner-confidence (because inner-confidence rocks).

I feel like I’ve done a pretty good job of appearing put-together for the next month, but I am interested in trying out some new styles or new ways to wear old clothes. I’ll be attempting the optional weekly challenges to help with that (as seen below).

I won’t post my outfits here daily, though I will try to post daily to the M:PT Flickr group and I will probably do one post a week on my progress. And I encourage all of you to join in too!

Like so many of you, I’m brutal when it comes to my electronics. Amazingly I’ve never busted an iPhone, but my iPhones have never been without their heavy-duty cases. My computer has hit the floor more times than I’m willing to admit. So there was no way Apple’s flimsy iPad covers were going to cut it for me. I needed a bona fide case.

Because of the aforementioned windfalls, I felt it would be quite alright to purchase the best iPad case out there, the DODOcase. They’re handmade. They’re sturdy. They’re beautiful. They’re coveted by all design-loving tech nerds. The most boring one costs $60.

Because of the aforementioned windfalls, I also gave myself permission to purchase one of the DODOcases designed by J. Crew.** I mean, half my wardrobe is J. Crew (ok, J. Crew outlet/final sale bin), the iPad is the reason I have this job and I work for a company where design is a big deal, so it’s OK to invest in a stylish iPad case, right?

So after hemming and hawing over it for a week, I broke down and bought the $80 chambray case, speeding through the order process before I could change my mind. Chambray is like denim, it goes with everything. And then I waited. And waited. And waited. And mentioned to the MLM, ‘I thought my iPad case would be here by now.’

And then I checked the UPS tracking on it. And it had been delivered. To the condo where I lived THREE YEARS AGO.

You know how companies try to offer convenience by storing all your shipping and payment information? Well, apparently J. Crew does that, and it had been three years since I ordered anything from there. Clearly it was my mistake for not paying attention during the ordering process, but in my defense I never saw any mention of my old shipping address.

I panicked. I nearly burst into tears (at work). I felt sick to my stomach. I phoned the condo complex managers to see if by chance the box had been dropped off at their office or returned to them or something. No, no box there, but they promised to call me if they discovered it. Neither J. Crew nor UPS can do anything once it’s been delivered unless the person on the receiving end returns the box.

So I stopped by my old condo and knocked on the door after work on Monday. Cold-knocking on doors was something I had to do from time to time as a reporter. Sometimes it was to ask about a crazy neighbor who had just murdered someone. Sometimes it was to ask about tornado damage. It was always uncomfortable and I hated doing it. It’s amazing how much motivation an $80 shipping mistake can provide.

No one answered. The UPS guy just happened to be in the lot while I was there, so I explained what happened and asked him if anyone had returned a packaged to him. No, no returned packages he said with a sympathetic look. I went back on Tuesday at lunch and knocked again. No answer. I checked at the office again. No package.

So I gave up and ordered another one this morning, chalking this up to an $80 lesson on a mistake I will never, ever again make and being thankful that this was a mistake I can afford to make just this once. I paid far closer attention this time. In my defense, the spot that displays shipping information is extremely easy to miss, and the shipping information is not prominently displayed on the confirmation either. I’m willing to bet this mistake happens a lot. I’m not blaming J. Crew, but when I was asked to fill out a survey about my experience I did attempt to offer some feedback on their order form design. Except the survey crashed midway — and I tried going through it twice — saying I had a broken link. Imagine that.

**I do have this one beef with J. Crew to offer, however. Why are the DODOcases listed as men’s items? Why aren’t they OK for women too?

Every time I hear that song — generally in my head because I’ve never known another D.J. to play it — it just feels like the weekend. And that finally means something again for me. It’s Friday late afternoon, and I feel like there’s a whole world to be conquered in the next 56 hours.

Tom’s sign off every day was ‘Hug your babies when you get home and never, never give up.’ Always good advice.