Hi, Daddy! Hi, Taylor! Hi, Entire State of Tennessee!

Shirt- My dad's practice shirt from college football, Belt- has sorta made the rounds within my friends and family to the point where I'm not even sure anymore, Shorts- LF, FACE BAG!!!- I snapped that shit up before Taylor had a chance to think twice (i.e. vintage that I bought from Taylor), Boots- exact same situation as the aforementioned, the light-up thing is a watch. That's how it tells time. I brought it back from my trip to the Space Age, Triforce Ring- Pamela Love, Cross Bracelet- Konstantino, cause I'm a fancy lady. Told you to stop reading this part. It's just gonna get apeshittier and apeshittier.

This post is weird. I'm gonna post again tonight anyway, so, outline format, take it away...

- Sorry the outfit is a bit boring. Joey and I were in the parking lot of our local "North Texas Attempts Some Kind of Independent Film Store, Fails", realized I was wearing the OfficialTaylorConzelmanOfThingsOnHangersLeatherSmotheringBag AND the OfficialTaylorConzelmanOfThingsOnHangersGrannyBoots, so decided to go ahead, try and minimize my increasingly David Bowie-esque face (Thanks, blahbleghblah, for causing the least flattering weight loss possible!), and show you people what you really want to see. Which would be the aforementioned Conzelman Smothering Bag. We're a morbid lot, aren't we? Speaking of morbid:

  - I lucked out on a perfectly preserved antique Victorian 

    Mourning Locket yesterday. Dead hair and all. 

  - I also got another one of those shiny dead beetle lucite 

    bracelets that creep my mom out so much!

    - See, sometimes I talk about shopping.

    - Still no fashion anywhere in this post, though. I think I 

      kinda dislike fashion. My style icons are Henry Rollins and 

      Brother Ethan. Female-wise...probably the angelic girl 

      who rang me up at Half-Price Books yesterday. And Riley 

      Deaver. But see, all those people are too busy being singer/

      poets, awesome hippie brothers, mysterious book pixies, and 

      amazing singer/dancer/actresses (god, Riley, is there 

      anything you can't do?) to care about "fashion".  I should 

      have thought through this last summer when I started a 

      blog and named it, uh, FASHIONlitter. I guess I just can't

      bring myself to find "icon-status" inspiration in someone 

      I don't even know. I shall make an exception for the late, 

      great Ruth Gordon, and a fictional literary character- 

      Daisy Miller. OH! And Madeline (the blogger, not the child
      who lived in the Plaza), and Taylor, and Stephanie...ok, if 
      I start naming blog-friends this could go on all day. But I 
      can't forget Casey Strawberry Freckleface. Or Langley Meek. 
      She isn't a blogger...more of a guru of all things. Fun 
      Fact: Langley Meek has two sisters, all three of them are 
      stunningly gorgeous. Joey likes to ponder that often- not 
      in a creepy way, more from a genetic standpoint.

      - I was silly not to name this blog something more 

        creative, like my cousin, Sarah, who just started a tumblr     

        www.moonlightstarbright.tumblr.com

        - You should visit my cousin Sarah's tumblr.

        - She is that beautiful pin-up badass I featured. The 

          Zelda Fitzgerald genius Alabama native, remember?

Ok, my outline got all bonkers, and I only have a couple more things to say. 

First: just thought of a few more style icons, and I happened to notice that, once again, there's no Pixie Geldof-esque blahblahs to be found (but let's be honest and ask ourselves why, exactly, Pixie $ Geldof $ is $ a $ fashion $ icon...$$??). There's Travis Jennings Brown, who already sounds like a Hemingway-esque author (if you think I'm referring to Dree Hemingway, then I will seriously block you from my blog), but isn't quite yet. He will be our generation's Hemingway, though, and I shall supplicate at his feet. Maybe he'll let me write a rambling intro or some shit when they do his biography. I could talk about that one of those Den of Iniquity weekends. I promise there will be Simon, and Garfunkel, and naked night swimming. There might be some illicit substances, but then again, maybe we were all straight arrows. I guess you'll find out in fifty years when I write this intro. 
Last but not Least: did you know my daddy was like, a super serious football player? Fascinating factoid, eh? He played Center (?) for the Dallas Cowboys. That's why I live here. Seriously. If he'd been drafted by the Green Bay Packers, well, I'd be me, but in Green Bay. Which I imagine involves a shit-ton of turtlenecks and very little barefoot time. that scares me. 

That was basically ALL tangent. I sounded like an annoying person who took speed. And made about as much sense. Forgive me, I'm doing about five things at once. And I'm not gonna proofread (eeep!). Publish.

Ethan Starts College on Monday and I am LOSING IT. This Post Is All Kinds of Crazy.

Dress, Denim Shirt, Boots, Head Scarf, Necklaces, Slave Bracelet- vintage, Bag- littlest brother Griffen got it for me in Peru, Bracelets- bleghhh, blah blah blah if you have any questions just ask me in the comments, k?

How cool is that last photo? It kinda makes me nauseous...but pretty much everything makes me nauseous these days, so no surprise there. Every morning I open one eye, cautious, breath-held, praying (to whom?) that the fluid sloshing around in my ears isn't gonna result in another day/days/week spent lying on the couch, waiting for the world to stop spinning. 

Explanation: Lucky Ol' Margaret (oh, fuck off, I know referring to oneself in the third person is lame) has another odd illness!!! Technically, I've had the same illness since twenty. I've never mentioned this on the blog, because it is ostensibly a style blog of some sort, but I had a rare auto-immune disease called Guillain-Barre Syndrome, which involves years of recuperation/setbacks. Illness talk is never interesting and always depressing, so if you feel the need for details or a disgusting symptomatic rundown, wikipedia those three evil words. "Guillain-Barre Syndrome". SO. FUCKING. HORRIBLE.

Anyway, the random, ridiculous after-effects of GB linger for years, which sucks. Obviously. And it seems to hurt everything, and currently that thing is my inner ears. I'm sorta at the point where my mom has to accompany me on every doctor visit because all I hear is "bleghbleghbleghbleghhhh". So from what my mother has told me via my ear specialist, I have Labrynthitis. Which basically is just a huge excess of fluid sloshing around inside my ears. Apparently, this is normal for those lucky few who are sorta not really kinda hopefully recovering from an Autoimmune Disease. But if "normal" means having the spins way too often (you know, like when you're wayyy too drunk?), tripping/falling like a toddler, and wasting chunks of my life sprawled on the couch, then fuck normal. 

God, I sound angry. Like, Henry Rollins angry. 

I'm actually quite happy (like, Wayne Coyne happy) thanks to the FANTABULOUS TAYLOR CONZELMAN! Taylor (www.thingsonhangers.com), you made my day, week, month, whatever, with the amazing FACE BAG...plus some other really cool junk I would never have sold. 

Sorry for all the complaining, brother Ethan leaves for college on Monday and I'm starting to lose it. A bit. Or maybe a lot. Colorado is far away and Ethan is so independent and all I can do to keep from a full-on sobbing episode is remember that he will be perfect at whatever he decides to be perfect at- and you will know his name. If you're cool enough. 

Because here's the thing- Ethan, Griffen and I are a billion tiny feathers. You have no idea what's happened to us. We see colors like you hear jet planes.*

*That last part was...ehhh "modified plagiarism"? Sort of a mishmash of Dave Eggers book quotes that probably made sense to only me. 

Margaret, the red-nosed lady...

Coin Vest- vintage, Nirvana Tee- Chaser, so fake vintage (I liked the graphic, ok?), White Cutoffs- Siwy, Belt- vintage, Loafers- men's vintage, Slave Bracelet- vintage...ok, everything else except the earrings (UO) is vintage. Nobody reads this part anyway, from now on I'm getting rid of it. 

My brothers and I are hopelessly impulsive. Like, "How did I end up in Oklahoma with no wallet and a penis tattoo?" impulsive. Or "Why did one glance at a photo of Tao Okomato's bowl cut cause me to chop my hair off with meat scissors over the kitchen trash can and no mirror?". Usually our shared impulsivity gets us into trouble, but I'm seriously proud of my hair-cutting success! This particular adventure ended quite well, except for the part where Joey gleefully grabbed a hunk of discarded hair out of the trash and shouted "Just like a hay bale!". Sad, but so true. 

I'm off to enjoy my second birthday (long story), but welcome any opinions regarding the new hair. I'm kinda digging the obvious choppiness and awkward length, but am no coward when it comes to going shorter. Should I go balls-out and shave my head (that's only sort of a joke)? Or go back to the "Rosemary's Baby" pixie I had for my wedding? Opinions, please (if you aren't super pissed that I've been a horrible commenter lately...). 

BTW. How amazing is that vest? The best part is the symphony of jingles and jangles that probably drives people crazy. But come on, the kind of person who would be super annoyed by a lovely little symphony of jingles and jangles is dour, pinched, and probably teaches Geometry. And fails you at the end of the semester with a 68 or 69. 

I'm in a hurry and am just gonna publish this, so any nonsense is probably not intended nonsense.

WAIT!!! My amazing cousin Sarah Sheffield started a Tumblr, and I'm already riveted. I get a bit teary-eyed at what an amazeballs (stole that word from her) beautiful Zelda Fitzgerald Marilyn Monroe genius perfect hilarious cousin Sarah is. So go to www.moonlightstarbright.tumblr.com and enjoy the ride. 

Miami Arts District

Shorts- Obesity and Speed, Top- stolen from my mom's cloest, Belt Buckle- vintage, Creeper-esque shoes- Nonage, Tie Dye Socks- Journeys, Bakelite/Insect Bangle- vintage, blahblah more flair who cares

Hello, people (person?). I spent a lovely week in Miami and finally got to see the awesomeness at the Arts District. Joey stayed home with his unyielding work ethic, which was sad since he's quite the fan of propaganda art and we ended up at Shepard Fairey land. In case you've been hiding under a giant rock for the last six months, that's Ai WeiWei I'm pointing at in the seventh photo. I refused to pose in front of the art, because posing in front of art is awful and horrible and wrong on so so many levels, hence the generally awkward photos. The posting slowdown should end soon, but maybe not. I'm having a bit of a "who am i?" blogging crisis.