I understand that most of the world is currently obsessed with Lady Gaga. I get it. That doesn’t mean that I’m any different. I saw her show on Monday night in St. Paul and it was nothing short of faboo! The outfits, the theatrics, the jazzy pop music with an almost-sinister twist—Lady Gaga’s show was just too much fun for words. The entire evening was enchanted, intriguing and made me wonder, “What would happen if Lady Gaga was president?”

:: A leotard with ripped fishnets would be the national uniform of choice. On special occasions, we could spice things up with wands and festive hats.

:: The wig industry would grow to over one million times its current size.

:: “Alejandro” would become the most popular baby name. (Move over, Emily! So passé.)

:: The constitution would read, “We the Little Monsters of the United States, in order to form a more perfect Dance Party…”

Ahhh….a girl can dream (with all the glitter, hairspray and fake eyelashes she’s got). And while it might seem so fantastical to imagine Gaga as president for a minute or two, she’s well placed exactly where she is right now—as the best entertainer of the decade.

Here's a photo I took of Gaga as she sat at the piano and sang. Her slower songs at the piano, while very different than the upbeat craziness of the rest of the show, was one of my favorite parts.

Hats (and wigs) off to Gaga for a great show in Minnesota!

Last night I had a dream in which Brett Favre came to me, gave me fashion advice and also mentioned that he was going to return to the Minnesota Vikings this season. I should mention that Adrian Peterson was also there, but I didn’t get to talk to him because he was running around in circles the entire time while clutching a football for dear life.

Gosh. I just have to stop eating ice cream before bed.

But if for some reason my premonition is spot on, I expect a call from ESPN and every other major media outlet for that matter. I’ll be coined, “The Favre Fashionista!” And everyone will come to me for input on the latest sports-related news, and fashion. Take that, Erin Andrews.

Who knows, maybe this dream was a sign that Brett Favre’s wife and daughter will show up to shop with me on Thursday night at my Private Shopping Event. (You know, to hook it up with some cute clothes for the upcoming season?)

Oh well. Even if Brett Favre doesn’t return to the Minnesota Vikings for the season of all seasons, and if his family doesn’t show up to my event, I sure hope you’ll be there on Thursday night! Click here for details.

I love those nights when I walk into the mall to make a return and end up coming out with something new and expensive. It’s a real testament to my amazing self-control.

Last week I went into the mall to make a small exchange. I parked at Nordstrom—which is a fairly normal thing for me to do. Within moments of setting foot in the door, I was bombarded with Stuart Weitzman, Manolo Blahnik and Tory Burch screaming at me, “Try me on! Buy me! You know you want me!”. The shoe department was screaming at me—testing my ability to walk on by. And it was the Anniversary sale, so all of these screams were coming to me at the lowest prices of the season. Still, I pushed on through the madness and made my return out in the mall.

But let’s not forget I had to walk back through Nordstrom on the way to my car. And this time I wasn’t as strong. I purposely avoided the shoe department and made my way through accessories instead. And there before me was a table of designer sunglasses a mile long. Burberry. Gucci. Chanel. And Fendi. I stopped to look around. I picked some up. I tried some on. And I attracted the attention of the sales associates (who could obviously tell I was a fashion-obsessed sucker). From designs only Lady Gaga could pull off, to the prim and proper, the sales associates had me trying on designs for 20 minutes. And one of those designs came home with me: a pair of black, oversized Fendi shades with glittery insides and simple, elegant outsides.

“Well,” I thought as I folded the receipt up and stuffed it into my handbag, “at least the PPW will be low.”

What does it mean to be high maintenance? Based on looks alone, 99 out of 100 men surveyed on the street would say that I (yes, little old me) appear to be high maintenance. (It could be the giant heels, huge Marc Jacobs bag, blinged-out watch and oversized sunglasses. But judge me based on looks alone? How dare they!) I have high expectations for a lot of things in my life—but does that necessarily make me high maintenance? Absolutely not. To me, high maintenance is defined my incessant nagging, annoying and time-consuming habits and unrealistic demands. Doesn’t even sound like me for a second. And if you don’t think so, here are some things that might make you side with me.

I can shower, get dressed in an adorable outfit, put on full make-up, dry my hair and accessorize in 45 minutes.

I know people who can’t seem to pull themselves together given two hours. They have to go through an entire ritual-like process. My philosophy? Don’t waste your time getting ready. Make that quick so you can spend more time having fun AFTER you’re ready! Plus, if it takes you three hours to get ready, it probably means you’re ugly.

Last weekend, I didn’t wear any make-up for four days. I only showered two out of those four days.

Confidence goes a long way, people. When you don’t have glitz and glam at your fingertips, put on a smile and an attitude and no one will notice your lack of dazzle. And make sure you take care of your skin, too.

I rarely ask people to do things for me. Normally, I do stuff myself.

Other people do things wrong. That’s why I don’t ask. I don’t feel like I need to elaborate any more on this. In the event I ask you for help with something, it must mean I really respect you.

I rarely ask people to buy things for me. If I want something, I buy it myself.

Other people are too cheap. If I ask for Chanel, I want Chanel. Not a pleather bag with two interlocking C’s on it. If I buy it for myself, I’ll never be disappointed. At least that’s the theory….

I don’t believe in emotions. Life’s just easier this way. I don’t do that, “Can we talk about our feelings?” stuff.

Feelings are high maintenance. They require a lot of pampering and a lot of attention. The only thing I like to pamper is my body—in the form of manicures, pedicures, salon treatments and expensive highlights. And as far as attention is concerned, my ego has called dibs on that.

See? I’m not high maintenance. At least according to my standards. What about you? What things make you a high maintenance princess? Or are you just as easy-to-please and go with the flow as yours truly? Leave your thoughts in the comments section!

Today I bit into a delicious, juicy pear and it tasted like it was infused with vodka. At first this caught me off guard…then I ate the whole thing. It reminded me of Grey Goose La Poire, which in turn reminded me of Vegas. Which made me think, “What things would actually be better with vodka?”

Things That Would Be Better With Vodka:

Pears. I experienced this so it’s a fact. Pears that taste like vodka would make eating fruit more fun.

Exercise. I’m not one of those people that enjoy exercising. I’m not going to feed you that, “running on the treadmill for an hour makes me feel so energized” crap. It makes me feel tired and sluggish. But, if vodka and exercise were combined I could see my opinion changing.

Swimsuit shopping. If martinis were mixed with swimsuit shopping, the female population would be a little less uptight about that extra five pounds.

Beer. A cold brew just doesn’t really do it for me any more (my college days are definitely over). But maybe with a little vodka in it, I could rekindle the flame between me and a nice, cold pint.

Some people. I won’t mention any names. But you know who I’m talking about—they’re not fun unless they’re buzzed.

Doctors appointments. Sure, your vitals might be off. But who cares? Knock off the edge and relax a little bit. Suddenly, “You’re gonna’ stick that WHERE?” doesn’t sound quite as bad.

Tests. I use really big words after a few cocktails. I would love to go back and take the SAT after a couple martinis.

When you really think about it, a lot of things could be better with vodka. Maybe even this blog.

PS: I realize that this post is ridiculous. Sometimes this is just how my mind works. I am by no means addicted to vodka, nor do I endorse binge drinking. Vodka just happens to be something I enjoy occasionally (and by occasionally I mean most weekends). Drink responsibly. And make sure you’re 21.

For some strange reason, I can’t get enough of the trashy pregnancy shows that are on television right now. “I Didn’t Know I was Pregnant” and “16 and Pregnant” are two of my absolute favorites. I could watch them for hours. I laugh. I cry. They move me.

Last night I found myself as I do most nights: sitting at home with work to get done, needing some background noise. I turned on the TV and after viewing the guide, noticed I had two viable options for background shows: “Property Virgins” or “I Didn’t Know I was Pregnant.” I chose the latter. There comes a point when watching newlyweds buy starter homes loses its sparkle.

I’ve watched “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant” several times before. But for some reason, last night’s episodes stood out amidst all the others. There were so many supposedly normal women who didn’t know they were pregnant until one fine day they got a stomach ache, bent down and a baby popped out. Give me a break. You carried a seven-pound child in your stomach for nine months and didn’t suspect a thing? I can tell when I eat French fries twice in one week: my jeans don’t fit. A baby, however, would be an entirely different story.

But maybe these women secretly did know they were preggers. Maybe they were just in denial. Maybe, they just didn’t want to admit to themselves or anyone else what they actually knew all along, that they had a baby on board. This prompted me to think about all the things I “didn’t know.”

“I didn’t know that was an expensive purchase.”

“I didn’t know this martini had vodka in it.”

“I didn’t know I had to pay my credit cards back.”

“I didn’t know I was being a huge bitch.”

“I didn’t know $1400 was considered pricey for a handbag.”

And don’t even get me started on “16 and Pregnant.” My all time favorite quote from that show was a pregnant girls’ friend saying to her, “Well, there’s really no way you could have prevented this.” Oh really? You couldn’t have prevented getting preggers at age 16? Fail.

Really, these two shows just set out to prove what a beautiful thing naivety is. When in doubt, just say you didn’t know.

I just hate talking about how busy I am. But really, I’ve been busy. That little thing called “my real job” has been keeping my brain working 24-hours a day. And in my free time, I’ve been trying to maintain a somewhat respectable social life. Yeah. It’s hard to be me.

But, to help bring you all the Pretty and Poor you need for the month of June, I’ll be writing some original posts (the ones you know and love) and leaning on my network for others. That’s right. This June I’ll be featuring some guest blogs by a host of great people. Make sure you check back often for some fun commentary by this hand-selected group. And if you’d like to write a guest blog, make sure you send me an email by clicking on the "Contact Me" section above. I’d love to hear your ideas!

I’ll also be revisiting some of the things I’ve written in the past couple years—from the helpful to the hilarious. After all, Pretty and Poor’s second birthday is less than two months away! There’s no better time to reflect than now.

So stay tuned for great, new original posts, guest posts from fun people and some Pretty and Poor throwbacks. Happy June!

PS: I am aware that the comments currently do not work! I making a few slight adjustments to the site right now and will have things back to normal in no time!

I make fun of hippies a lot. But it’s just because I don’t understand them. I’ve never been intrigued by recycling. Trees are cool, but they’re everywhere...so hugging them has never really made me happy. And a hippie’s desired dress code? That’s never really worked with me, either. Loose and flowy clothing sometimes only ends up making people look misshapen. And let’s be honest, hippies aren’t really into shiny things (which I love).

Here’s a list of things hippies wear:
Wooden beads
Shirts with trees on them
Birkenstocks (gag me)
T-shirts
Ripped headscarves
Cropped cargo pants
Awkwardly fitted denim skirts
Sweater tights
Peace-sign accessories

Doesn’t exactly rival the wardrobe of Audrey Hepburn, huh?

Here’s a list of things I wear:
Sheath, Shirt and Shift dresses
Diamonds
Stilettos or platform pumps
Designer shades
Collared shirts
Tailored jeans
Burberry polos
Cuffed shorts
Zebra print accessories

But occasionally, I shock everyone around me and wear an outfit that has some sort of hippie-cool undertone. That’s exactly what I did this week when I showed up to work wearing a blue cargo shirtdress with wooden bangles and giant peace sign necklace. It was chic, in an understated hippie way.

Who says two different things can’t co-mingle? Sometimes, oil and water don’t exactly mix—but it sure looks cool to swish the two around for a while. And that’s what I do when I mix up my style a little bit. I throw in a bit of modern, sophisticated cool with a little hippie-chick and the results are easy, stylish and worthy of a few compliments. It’s the harmonious integration of two styles. Proving that sometimes, it actually pays to give peace a chance.