Fashion Magazine

Enter Witty and Poignant Title Here

By Wardrobeoxygen @wardrobe_oxygen

I have two bags I use on a regular basis - my ALLSAINTS tote and my Dagne Dover backpack. I keep them in the dining room so it's easy to switch between them. The rest are upstairs in my closet, I bring them down and fill them from the bag in the dining room and put everything back in it after it's used. This is a system that works for me. We were off to do a shoot in a neighboring town so I put my purse essentials in the bag for the shoot. I remember the wallet in this bag, specifically putting it in the bag in case we went to lunch afterwards (we didn't, we went home like frugal responsible boring adults). I remember seeing the wallet in this bag when I unclipped the shoulder strap and tucked it in to photograph the bag as a handbag. I remember the bag empty, on my bed after the shoot. I remember I opened it, all that was in was the shoulder strap which I reattached to hang it in the closet.

The next morning I couldn't find the wallet. I was in a rush, running late to the gym. I'd rather not speed especially without a wallet, so I went without my wallet to work out, crossed my fingers and maintained the MPH. Came home, looked in my three purses, no wallet. Took Emerson to school. Came back, looked more carefully, no wallet. Searched the bedroom, the office, the living room. I tried to think, could Emerson have moved it somewhere? Karl think it's a toy and threw it in the toy box? Did it get caught up in folded laundry and go in a drawer? Did it somehow fall out the bag from the shoot and was it in the car? It's a big wallet, but I checked my coat pockets, even of coats I didn't wear that weekend. Maybe my memory was wrong and I didn't have it in the bag for the photo shoot. I last used it at Starbucks the day prior, did I leave it at Starbucks? I ask my mom and Emerson who were there with me. Emerson says she remembers putting it back in my backpack. I knew the cashier, Chris would notice if I didn't put back my wallet, he'd notify me immediately. Where the hell is my wallet?

I was so busy Monday. I had two draft blog posts due to brands. I had three phone calls, and no content written for the remainder of the week. My right eye was being weird, I swear it was half the size it used to be... or was it that Botox opened my left eye to twice the other eye's size. I bumped into an old friend as I was running errands. We hugged and she asked what was wrong with my eye. What the hell is going on with my eye?

Let's not even discuss what's going on with my ass. Okay, I've never been one to shy from discussing TMI subjects. I've had hemorrhoids off and on since having Emerson. However, since working out regularly they have come back and never left. And they seem to only get worse, no matter what I do for diet and medication and care. Oh, and I have PMS. So I have an ass on fire, one shrinking eye, an incredibly short temper and have been on the verge of tears for a couple days, and my wallet is missing.

Let's focus on what needs to be done immediately. Finish the Botox post that was started the week prior (and prior to my right eye shrinking which has me wonder if I should even post it). Finish the sponsored posts and send them for approval. Take the calls (and a few Advil for my ass). Pick up Emerson from school, work on homework, get dinner started, eat dinner, finish homework, put her to bed. Keep checking apps on my phone between it all to be sure no one has used my credit cards.

9pm, I need to find this damn wallet. If I can't find it tonight tomorrow will be spent cancelling my life and I don't have time for that. I again start in the dining room, search every inch of the main floor. Go upstairs, scour the office. Go in the bedroom. I literally get on my hands and knees and search every inch of the room. I'm now in tears, my head is spinning, I feel dizzy and as though I may have a panic attack. I'm on the floor of my closet surrounded by things that should be on shelves and hangers. I get into child's pose, close my eyes and start repeating over and over in my head, "Please help me find my wallet. Please help me find my wallet." I repeat it so fast and so often it becomes white noise. And then silence, and in my head I see the wallet. I get out of my closet, go to my nightstand, and pull my wallet out of a brown paper gift bag. The one Ruth Barzel gave me that held the jewelry for the second shoot of the day. The one that held the jewelry until I picked a giveaway winner and mailed them to her. It was 10:45pm and I could finally rest.

The next morning I went to the gym for the last time for almost a week since my trainer was taking a much-deserved vacation. Came home, took the quickest shower ever, took Emerson to school and then went to the butt doctor. Okay, this guy is a general surgeon, but recommended by my GP for handling hemorrhoids. He was running late, I spent over an hour in his waiting room sitting on only one butt cheek because my ass was on fire. But it gave me time to do my makeup. Damnit, left my brow color at home.

The doctor was exactly the kind you want when you need to spread your cheeks to a stranger. Friendly, not too chummy, professional but not sterile, warm dry and firm handshake. He took a look and informed me that I had a thrombosis. The nurse cut a hole in the middle of a sterile sheet, I dropped trou and laid on my stomach. She covered my ass with the sheet and held my cheeks open while the doctor lanced my ass and pulled out a blood clot the size of my thumbnail. He then packed my crack with a ton of gauze, taped it in place, told me to take a break from working out for about a week (talk about perfect timing) and the nurse gave me three Advil and educated me on how to care for my wonky ass.

I went home and realized I got my period. Awesome, now I have blood coming from two places and I was wearing my favorite underwear. Quick change, and I called an Uber. I planned on driving but with the situation going on, I couldn't see myself sitting upright and dealing with DC traffic. Next stop, the plastic surgeon.

I pretty much was horizontal the entire ride, where I answered about 50 emails and took a phone call (a blogger's work is never done). I was excited to go to the surgeon, I figured a little bit of Botox near the small eye and in a week I'd be even. This doctor was also running late, I spent 45 minutes in his gorgeous waiting room slumped in a chair trying not to have any pressure on my throbbing ass. I felt sticky and clammy and downright miserable. I figured I could use this time to get some work done but realized I brought my laptop but no power cord and it was dead, and my phone was at 27% with no cord to connect to my battery and I needed it working to call an Uber to go home. I read three magazines and wanted to die.

The doctor said no, my eye couldn't be fixed with a bit more Botox. I had a ptosis, and if I looked at my before photos, I had it all my life. It just wasn't as visible because my brows and lids had drooped with time and gravity. Botox just made it more pronounced. When the Botox wore off, I could get a minor procedure where they snip my eyelid, tie up a tendon, and I am good as new. Oh awesome, maybe I'll schedule my eyelid surgery for the same day as my hemorrhoid surgery. I was so upset and in such discomfort and I thought my tampon was leaking that I didn't ask a lot of questions. I said thank you and rolled out. I cried in the Uber. How can I be a fashion blogger with a fucked up face? Here's me looking so happy and confident, don't you want to buy this sweater from a woman with a tiny eye? Karl said I looked like Forest Whittaker, my daughter told me I looked like Popeye. #GOALZ amirite?

I get home, and the clothes for the next day's post finally arrived. I wash my tear-stained face, hit the Visine, and try on the clothes. The shoot must go on. Except none of the clothes fit. Due to some confusion, the clothes took a month to arrive and now they're all too big and there's no way to make them look good. Fuck. I try on all the clothes I have from this brand, and all of them are too big. Fuck. How can I promote this brand that I love properly when the only item in my closet from the brand that currently fits is an old striped tee? Do they even have that tee on their website any more? They do. Oh thank goodness, they do. Let's Tim Gunn this thing.

Karl and I go to the lake near our house. People are flying kites, walking their dogs, running and laughing. I still want to cry, but we make it work. He makes me laugh, he shoots me in profile to hide my weird eye, shoots with my sunglasses. He offers to take care of Emerson, put her to bed. I work on the blog post and various other blog stuff until 11pm and then take a Bonnaroo Shower (definition: that amazing hot first shower after a music festival where you slough off all the Tennessee dirt and layers of sunscreen and sweat and slowly acclimate to real life). Yep, I cried in that shower. No gym the next day, so I slept in until 7:00am.

And the next day I saw things in a different light.

I am so lucky that I didn't really lose my wallet. And to think of where it was, in a bag of beautiful jewelry I had the honor to borrow and now give to one of my readers who helped me achieve my dream of quitting my day job.

I have dealt with a pain in my ass (literally) for three months. This doctor even was shocked I went so long with such an issue. "Young lady (I told you he's a great doctor), you must have a very high tolerance for pain. I am impressed." I still have some hemorrhoids that will have to be taken care of with surgery but it's not a rush issue. For now, I am comfortable. And I haven't been comfortable since before Christmas.

My eye situation isn't permanent, and it was free (I got it for being an influencer and we were seeing a long-term relationship). This Botox keeps on giving with the introspection.

Brands find me valuable enough to send me free clothes and partner for giveaways and sponsored posts. I write crazy posts like this about my ass and they still want to partner. I feel good about this business I have built, that I am able to stay true to who I am and still find success.

I am married to an awesome guy who may joke about me being Forest Whitaker but lets me cry it out, finds my best angles for photo shoots, and sees us as a team.

And I have you, who read and click and share and comment and engage and make me excited to write more content, even when my ass is on fire and I have a wonky eye and can't even keep track of my wallet. Thank you for supporting me. It was so cool to host all those giveaways with great brands and be able to give you super cool prizes. This blog is nothing without you, and I feel gratitude every day. And every day I get better at this full time blogging thing, and with my body getting on the mend, I'll be even more in this game. So yeah, I have crappy days, but oh so much to be grateful for!


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