That dress, though.

I’ve already discussed my favorite underwear so it seems like a natural progression to talk about favorite outfits. Sure, I have certain colors I gravitate to, there are brands that I love, and cuts that are flattering, but what about the perfect outfit?

Have you ever found yourself scrolling through your Facebook memories lamenting over how well-rested and thin you used to be, when you scroll to a picture, and think “Dayum. That was a great outfit!”

Maybe you are sitting on your bed watching Below Deck reruns and folding week-old laundry, when suddenly something you see or hear triggers a memory of a night long ago. As you cringe thinking about the poor choices you made that night, you also smile because you remember how banging you looked in that dress, and you weren’t just feeling yourself – everyone else thought so, too.

I have a few that I can think of…

Junior prom. Just typing those words makes me nostalgic. I attended with my high school beau, best friend, and her date. A few months before I had been in Atlanta for my birthday and found the absolute perfect prom dress. It wasn’t a full gown, which was a slight risk. This was the early 2000’s and wearing short dresses to prom was not “in” again yet. She was a chocolate brown chiffon, halter-style dress from BCBG. I wore gold and bronze stilettos, my hair was pinned up perfectly, and my tan was on point. I looked goooood.

Senior prom was an epic dress, too. I had started dating someone after prom dates were asked, so he and I went with other people. My date was a dream boat that I had been crushing on since 8th grade, we were just good buddies, but it was super perfect. It felt like a culmination of sorts – very appropriate given that we were about to graduate. That year the name of the game was Elie Tahari and the color was candy apple red. Ahhh, I just die! She was a full length, sports car red, silk dress with a pleated square neck. She was magical.

In college one night several girlfriends and I were getting ready together to go to a frat party where I knew I’d see an ex. I borrowed my friend, Angela’s, dress to wear. It was just a simple black and white halter sundress, but it was a half size too small, and made my boobs look AH-mazing. My hair curled just right with my Aussie “scrunch” spray (you know exactly what I’m talking about) and my makeup was just right.

(On a side note: I’m excited to see all of the girls in the above picture this weekend! We will be showering the beauty in the middle with her eyes closed, and getting ready to welcome baby girl Wyatt into the world!)

I hope all of you can close your eyes tonight when you are laying in your bed and have sweet, sweet dreams about your most fave outfits, and how FINE you looked in them. Then channel that epic energy, wake up, and be a boss tomorrow as you tackle whatever lies before you! xoxo, Layne


Netflix and Chill

I remember years ago my grandmother telling me that on Friday nights she and my grandfather would have friends over for cocktails and they would play cards, or dance, drink their alcohol, and chain smoke cigarettes. She made sure I knew that the kids were home while all this was going on. She was a badass.

Growing up, my own parents were “Parrotheads”. If this is an unfamiliar term to you, a Parrothead is the name for die-hard Jimmy Buffet fans. So, my parents spent weekends watching some of Jimmy’s protégés play in dive bars and getting drunk with other middle-aged, Hawaiian shirt clad lushes.

Now that I’m married I feel like I’m socially lacking in comparison to the generations that went before me. The wildest parties we throw involve inviting two other couples over for Game Night, and we’re definitely not waistin’ away again in Margaritaville.

Netflix and Chill is what the kids these days use as code for pretending to watch a movie, but really doing hanky panky. Netflix and Chill is also what my weekend evenings typically consist of with and without the hanky panky part.

Shall I set the scene?

Picture a living room… nice open concept that connects with a beautiful kitchen and breakfast room, built-ins flank a floor-to-ceiling brick fireplace, and double French doors open into a sunroom that’s being used as a playroom. You think, “these people might have nice taste,” but you can’t quite tell with all of the crap laying around everywhere. There are a total of seven different blankets littering the sectional, a child’s sock in the middle of the floor, 3 juice cups (all empty, but not clean) are sitting in different obscure places around the room, you spot a single puzzle piece peeking out from under an oversized upholstered chair, and you’re unsure what the original fabric color was on the swanky high-back dining chairs, because now they’re stain colored. A husband and wife come traipsing down the stairs, just a few minutes apart, after putting their two kiddos to bed, a job in which they divide and conquer. Both collapse onto opposite ends of the blanket-covered couch and turn to face one another. The couple is tired, full of stories from the week that they could share with one another, but don’t because they are simply “over it”, one much more interested in “snuggling” than the other (who knows exactly where that road leads). The air full of tension from things unsaid, and moves not made, the husband whispers those 4 special words, you know the ones, “What should we watch?”

Aaaaaannnddd that’s it! That’s our entire Friday night. Usually we settle on a show pretty quickly and watch a few episodes before he switches the channel over to sports and I retire to a hot bath.

Please tell me that we aren’t the only 32-year-olds that are this lame. Please.