Get Up, Stand Up: The Night I Tried Open Mic

Cross doing stand-up off the bucket list!

First, the back story.

I've always had a secret desire to try stand-up. I thought about how for every good stand-up comic, there are about 1,400 crappy ones and I would never want to be on that list. When I thought about what it would feel like to try it, my stomach would twist into knots and I would almost feel nauseous. For a long time, I figured that if something made you feel that way, you should avoid it. But there's something about being in your 40's that changes your perception about so many things in life, so I changed my view and decided that if something makes you nervous, unless it's trying heroin or jumping off a building without a rope, maybe that's exactly the thing you should do.

It didn't hurt that fate got in the way to give me the extra push I needed to make it happen. Several months ago, Tim was working outside when he found an employee badge in the street by our house. Most people would see it and either leave it there or throw it away, but Tim is not most people. He took the badge inside, looked up the name of the employee, investigated his email address, and reached out to reunite the badge with the proper badge holder, a guy named Manish.

Manish happens to live a few houses away, so Tim connected with him to return the badge, and during the course of the conversation, learned that he's a Ph.D. candidate living temporarily in Austin. He just so happens to be a Ph.D. candidate who does stand-up on the side.

One of Tim's many gifts is that he loves connecting people, so he told Manish that I wanted to do stand-up, and introduced us. The first time I met Manish, he was walking behind Tim, coming in from the back yard, and the scene in itself was just hilarious. Tim's a big guy in every sense of the word. He's 6'2', balding, super loud, and has a laugh you can hear 15 miles away. Manish, on the other hand, is under 5 feet tall, has a ton of hair, is seemingly serious, and rather quiet. I've always said I wanted a "little man" to be around to help me with things I don't feel like doing. When Tim came in the back door with Manish, I honestly thought he was just making my dream come true.

Manish goes by a few names - Manni, Manish, and in the comedy world, "Big Manni." Born in India, Manish has a keen sense of the world around him and his writing is really funny as a result. He strikes a great balance of being self-deprecating about his height, but to me, his most hilarious stuff is his keen observational humor.

I think the mere fact that Tim found Manni's employee badge and was so thoughtful to return it to its owner, Manni felt he owed Tim a favor back. Without realizing what he was getting into, Manni became my official comedy coach.

Manni will not let me call him my comedy coach, but I do it anyway. I'm bigger than he is so he just has to deal with it. From the first time we met, I grew an instant appreciation for how very hard comedy actually is. When your comedy coach is a Ph.D candidate, you get the added bonus of some deep analysis. I won't give away his secret sauce but there's a lot going on behind the scenes to make it work. It's a LOT of work. Manni is out there several nights a week hustling his material at Austin stand-ups. It's exhausting. I tagged along to a few shows and felt nervous for everyone going on stage and putting their material out there. The first time Tim and I went to see Manni at Capital City Comedy Club's open mic, he warned us ahead of time, "There will be a lot of dick jokes." He wasn't kidding. Every open mic I've gone to, I've tallied up the penis jokes. There are a LOT of them. For that reason alone, I wrote a vagina joke just to balance things out a little.

Through this process, I have started to envision a pie chart of comedy. It's not just walking up to a mic and talking. It's creating good material. It's timing. It's a hell of a lot of preparation. It's stage presence. It's confidence. It's not easy, and it's a LOT of work.

Manni patiently worked with me as I read him my material. I was so nervous I would have to leave our house and meet Manni at a coffee shop for fear of my family hearing me and telling me I was awful at it. After several months of writing material, crossing out entire bits and starting over, Manni got pushy.

"You have to do this," he said. "If you don't get up and just do it, this is never going to happen."

He was right. I was finding excuse after excuse not to just give it a go. Every single time I thought about approaching an open mic, I would feel nauseous.

So we set a date. June 17. 17 is my lucky number, and since Manni will be returning back to San Diego by the fall,  I needed him to be my safety net.

I've always been big about imagining what a moment will be like. That can be good and bad, because the vision of a future moment is often much better than what actually happens. When I imagined what it would be like to try stand-up for the first time, I was going to be on a dark stage indoors at a small comedy club. There would be more than 12 people present, and I wouldn't be perfect, but there would be enough laughs so that I would survive it, and it would be fun.

This entire time, I've been telling Manni and anyone who knew I was going to do this that I wasn't going to do it more than once. One time. One and done. I wasn't posting an announcement to invite friends, and the only other person who would be invited was Tim because Tim has the biggest laugh on the planet and that's a really good asset when you're going up for the first time.

So last night, I did it.

The venue was a cute East side restaurant/coffee shop called Cenote. Manni had warned me ahead of time that Friday night open mics in Austin are pretty bad, and that there would probably only be about 6 people there. There were 29 (not that I counted). We were outside, and the sound equipment was pretty terrible, but there was a mic and a speaker and a really fun guy announcing people who made it feel legit. I was #12 on the list. There was a giant piece of yard art in the form of a frog, and I decided he was going to help me get through it.

The open mic rules are pretty simple: You get a 4 minute set with a flashing light warning at 3 minutes. I knew going into it that if I dawdled, I would be over 4 minutes. Anyone who knows me wouldn't be surprised. I'm not exactly short-winded.

Manni went before me, which was great for calming my nerves because he has a really funny bit about a fat stripper in Vegas, and I needed the laughs.

When they called my name, I thought I might faint. I grabbed the mic and immediately wanted to smack myself for taking my note card up there with me, but it's a good thing I did because I think without it, I might have forgotten everything I practiced no less than 80 times over the past week.

I did my thing, and I heard laughter. Never mind that the laughter I heard the most was Tim's. I looked out into the faces of the people watching, and some people were laughing. A few people were on their phones, which I found to be pretty rude given that I paid 100% attention to everyone before me, but with millennials, you kind of have to expect that. Those whippersnappers!

4 minutes flew by, and it was over. The woman behind me who later got up and did a hilarious bit about peeing in front of her two sons said, "You did great!" I loved her.

I'd asked Tim to take a picture, but bless his sweet heart, he was too busy being my Main Laugh, he forgot. Manni did the honors. There is no video. You're welcome!

Okay, enough about me because wow, I just spent a LOT of time writing about myself. If you've gotten this far, I want you to ask yourself what you're afraid of and why. What makes you feel like you're going to vomit with fear, but it's also a mix of excitement? Think about when you're a little kid and you pull up to Six Flags or whatever nearby amusement park, and you are so excited to ride the roller coaster that your body fills with adrenaline. Again, if this feeling is associated with heroin or unprotected sex with a rock star or joining the Trump revolution, just run the other way.

Otherwise, think of that thing that you're afraid/excited about and go figure out how to make that happen. I want to hear about it! Tell me in the comments section what you want to do, and if I can help encourage you, I will.

As for me, I haven't decided if I will keep it up, but the feeling of fear and adrenaline is still there when I think about trying it again, so perhaps I'll let that be my guide. Manni is very bossy and insists that I'll go again next week. We'll see.

A Circus Wedding and the MOH Toast

My sister is married! The wedding was a literal circus - a vintage-themed circus where so many guests dressed up and made the night unforgettable. There were fire dancers and circus games. One little girl put her hand in ice for something like 17 minutes to win a huge stuffed bear. It was a wedding like no other wedding, and it was awesome.

Several people have asked me to share my toast because some people missed it and a few people threw back a few too many mint juleps before the toasts began.  Also, please note that since this wedding was anything but traditional, I am bucking tradition and would like to be referred to as a maid, not a matron. It's very fitting as I am extremely youthful and maid-like.

I practiced this baby a jillion times, using advice from my comedy coach to record myself. I have lots of videos of myself in a robe, towel on my head, working on timing. I will not share these videos as they only work to disprove that I am youthful and maid-like.  

When the moment came, I was a ball of nerves. Nobody believes me when I say I struggle with public speaking. I REALLY struggle, as social and extroverted as I am. So in the end, I took a little note card up on stage to calm my nerves, and I did my best. I flubbed some of the jokes and left out a few humdingers that I'm sad about, but hopefully the meaning wasn't lost on the bride and the groom, because in the end, this was all about them.

To Mr. and Mrs. Montez, I am so happy for you both! What a magical wedding for a magical couple.

_____

I’m Amy Arndt, Emily’s sister. I know about 25% of you and I have no clue in hell who the rest of you are, but I look forward to meeting you at some point tonight.

Most of us don’t know over 450 people they like, much less love enough to invite to their wedding. But Rocky and Emily are not your average people, and that is part of why we’re all here. Still, I’m keeping an eye out, expecting a clown car to pull up and piling out of it will be 16 of the failed Republican presidential hopefuls.  

If anyone spots Ted Cruz in the hot dog line, he was absolutely not invited. Please let Rocky's mom Elvia or his sister Celeste know and they’ll take care of it right away.

As you can see by this fantastic place and the transformation from a working film studio to a magical vintage circus, a lot of work went into this labor of love. Just last weekend, I watched as this gorgeous bride hovered over a some kind of a saw with a nail file thingy on it that my dad and stepmom gave her as a pre-wedding gift. As I watched in awe, Emily painstakingly cut out the elephants you see behind us. I didn’t offer to help because Em is the handy sister, and I like having fingers.

____

Last weekend, I was sitting at a coffee shop when I noticed a dad with a stroller with a baby in it. Standing beside the stroller was a little girl who was around 4. She looked up at me with a serious expression on her face.

“This is my baby sister,” she said, pointing to the baby. “I take care of her.”

The age difference between the two girls was just the same as us, and I instantly knew what the older sister was talking about. I also instantly burst into tears, scaring the kid, her father, the infant and very likely the manager of the coffee shop.

For most of Emily’s life, in my head, I was her caretaker.  We had four terrific parents, but I was her constant as we moved back and forth between houses. She was very sweet, very cute, and pretty easy to boss around. We’ve been more than sisters, we’ve been the greatest of friends. Through the years, Emily has been my default dance partner, always offering to be the boy. At our mom’s 60th birthday, we hopped on stage and sang the harmonies to “Sisters." We share a secret language based loosely on the critically acclaimed movie, Ladies Man.

She may be the younger sister, but Emily’s been taking care of me just as long as I’ve taken care of her. If you are lucky enough to have Emily in your life, she’s taken care of you at some point, too. In this room are countless recipients of her grace, love and unending generosity.  

Some examples:

1. She singlehandedly outfitted Cella Blue for at least 27 White Ghost Shivers Halloweens. One of those dresses was made out of NEWSPAPER.
2. When my mom had foot surgery, Emily handled all of the things I was super dramatic about, like reading basic medication instructions, and finding the wine opener when we needed it most.
3. I can’t count the number of handmade costumes she made for her namesake Emily Rose, including a hand-cut acrylic guitar, a suede and rhinestone cowgirl outfit, and a Mad Hatter hat so detailed and gorgeous I almost didn’t let ER wear it for Halloween.  
4. Emily helped me get motherhood off the ground when I had a rough start. Then she moved from LA to Austin and got to see my kids grow up, and she helped us raise them. She even helped me raise Tim.
5. And, lest you think she wasn’t already a superstar, she did most of these things while simultaneously holding Max and Maya, Todd and Michelle’s dogs.

It’s probably no secret that of everyone in this room, I’ve been the most guarded about letting my sister go. But what does that mean, “letting her go?” I looked up a quote about it, and I found one from Emily’s favorite philosopher, Jack Handey:

If you ever drop your keys into a river of molten lava, let' em go, because, man, they're gone.

But a wedding isn’t about letting go, it’s about letting more people in. So tonight, our family gets the honor of welcoming a huge new family, and the love expands.

In that new family, the anchor is Rocky.

Now, Rocky, I love you to death but I am not going to refer to you as my brother, because if you’re married to my sister, and we’re brother and sister, this really is a circus.

Rocky, here’s a little secret about Emily that I’ve never shared. The very first time Emily told me about you, it was clear you were the one. You make her laugh harder than anyone has ever made her laugh - her most important criteria for a good relationship. You embrace her obsession with Elvis. You make her bacon on the grill and pour her a sip of whiskey. You can dance her socks off. Together, the two of you know more show tune lyrics than any two heterosexual people have the nerve to know.

Rocky, I know you will care for Emily when she’s so tired she falls asleep standing up. Because she is Emily, she will care for you in return, and you will have a beautiful life together.  So tonight, I raise a glass to Mr. and Mrs. Montez. I love you both.  Cheers.

Memorial Day and the Travelin' Soldier

On Friday, my husband and daughter and I were waiting to board a plane for a family trip when an announcement came on the overhead that a group of WWII veterans were there, heading to DC for Memorial Day weekend. Bagpipes began playing, and the terminal aisle cleared. Men removed their hats in respect, and people rose to their feet, some applauding while heroes in wheelchairs rolled past.

Now that we walk around with a portable time capsule in our hands at all times, I felt compelled to snap a photo but after taking this one, decided to stop and be in the present moment. That's not an easy place to be these days. As a parent, I have to consciously stop myself from experiencing everything from behind the lens of my phone's camera, and I often catch myself missing a moment because I'm so busy capturing it.

If you've ever been in a car accident or driven up on one, there's an eerie silence that happens afterwards that is almost impossible to explain. It's as if the moment of impact is automatically followed by a quiet stillness that is the direct opposite of the sound of the crash. As the parade of WWII veterans came through the terminal, I thought of that silence, because while some people were applauding and others stood still, there was a feeling in the space of that kind of quiet stillness. 

Those men served their country when they were just kids. To consider what they saw and experienced is impossible for us to comprehend. In a time where it seems to be the norm to spew insults and take the low road, being in a moment where people were gathered to show appreciation and respect was a really powerful thing.

Whenever Memorial Day weekend approaches, I am riddled with internal conflict about how to best honor the holiday. I have a utopian view of the world and would prefer that we exist without war and without conflict. You may say I'm a dreamer, but that's just how I view things. However, Memorial Day makes me think long and hard about the men and women who served willingly. I also think about those who were drafted, and what in the world that must have felt like to have your number called. My dad was drafted during Vietnam, but his poor vision kept him from serving in combat. I'm so thankful for that, because had he gone, he might not have returned, or he could have returned a very changed man. Memorial Day also raises my internal conflict about how we treat our veterans, and about mental illness, and the trauma our veterans face entering society after serving our country.

During every family road trip without exception, my family listens to the Dixie Chicks version of the song, "Travelin' Soldier." We've been listening to it for many years, since my stepchildren were little.  We listen to it every Thanksgiving to visit family in Dallas or Tyler. It's the song request that comes up most when everyone is fighting and we want to just listen to music and quit bickering already. We sing it at the top of our lungs. My daughters take the melody and I jump in with my old high school and church choir harmonies, and my husband and stepson just shout the lyrics. To me, it's one of the most beautiful sounds in the world. 

It's difficult to articulate how important "Travelin' Soldier" is to me as a parent. I know the importance of the anti-war anthems of the 60's, but this song singlehandedly teaches my children such a powerful message: war has consequences. For my kids, they will associate their feelings about war and patriotism with the lyrics to this subtle, yet extremely meaningful song. It's really big stuff.

In an odd twist of fate, when my youngest daughter entered elementary school 8 years ago, one of her classmates was the daughter of country music artists Bruce Robison and Kelly Willis. The first time I met Bruce it took everything in me not to jump up and down shouting, "You wrote 'Travelin' Soldier!' We sing it every single family road trip!" But I held back. It's Austin, and we're so lucky to have so many talented musicians raising families here. Please pardon me while I humble brag, but I've had the good fortune of meeting a nice little handful of Austin's music royalty, and I like to think those people want to feel normal when they're taking their kids to school. I also figure its best not to tackle a musician in the school hallway with questions about their songs because that's just weird.

In all of the years I've known Bruce and Kelly, I have never been able to dig up the courage to ask Bruce about what was in his head when he wrote "Travelin' Soldier." I want to ask him about the writing process, and what inspired him to come up with the imagery of the young girl, tucked under the bleachers, crying when the solider's name was read. As a writer myself, I can't imagine creating something so pure and so meaningful. I'm afraid if I got Bruce to open up about the writing process, I would start sobbing, because he wrote a song that means so much to my family. But mainly, I can't get the courage because Bruce is crazy tall and he still kind of scares me.

So this Memorial Day weekend, I'll honor the holiday by playing this song for the thousandth time, and think about those brave men we saw pass by in wheelchairs. I dedicate this to the men and women who made it home, and the ones who didn't. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x93VzHMGIzU

It's Supposed to Look Like This

My beautiful, incredible sister is getting married Saturday.

The wedding theme is vintage circus, which is very cool because my sister and her fiancé are both extremely creative people who love all things vintage, and with a huge guest list and a ton of DYI projects to complete, the wedding promises to truly be "The Greatest Show on Earth." It’s a really exciting time for our families.

The bridesmaids are wearing vintage attire, including 20’s headpieces.  Mine is supposed to look like this:

As the Maid of Honor (I’m married, but I refuse to be referred to as a matron of anything), I should have ordered this lovely headpiece months ago, but I put it off because I’m picky and forgetful, which is a really terrible combination. Now, I’ve backed myself in a corner and I’m forced to make the vintage headpiece myself.

There’s just one problem here. I am not crafty.

TBH (as the kids say): I hate crafts. When my kids were little and came home with turkeys made out of traced hands glued on popsicle sticks, I had to force myself to show appreciation before hiding them in keepsake bins under the bed. I was always the mom buying juice boxes while the other PTA moms were racing each other to the craft store to make pilgrims out of cotton balls and twine. When I see “Pinterest fails,” I don’t laugh because it hits just a little too close to home.

Last week I knew I was running out of time, so I ventured out to two of the most anxiety-provoking establishments known to non-crafty types: Jo-Ann Fabrics and Hobby Lobby. For me, the only thing worse is a trip to Pep Boys, so this was a rough mission indeed.

Stop #1 was Jo-Ann, where I set out to locate fuschia feathers, some kind of pearl/rhinestone embellishment, and a stretchy headband. I started by looking for an employee to ask for guidance, but stores don’t really have those anymore, so I grabbed a cart and began in the faux flower section and meandered through every aisle, grabbing anything that resembled a feather and tossing it into the cart while I groaned audibly and rolled my eyes at the overhead cameras. Like anyone would steal this stuff!

I learned a lot during that journey. Like, for example, there so many kinds of jewelry clasps in this world, they take up an entire aisle of real estate at Jo-Ann. I stood there dumbfounded, grabbing packages and inspecting them like Brendon Frazier in “Encino Man” when Pauly Shore introduces him to Sweet Tarts and Corn Nuts for the first time.

Overwhelmed, I followed the maze of monogrammed plastic drink cups and patriotic flip flops and made my way to the button aisle, hoping to find a vintage-looking buttony thing to glue on to the headband. The button aisle borders the area where people willingly look at pattern books. A customer was there, sitting in front of a 1987 desktop computer, talking on the phone. She was a sweet-faced woman wearing a sweatshirt with a bedazzled cross.

“I thought I’d add some lace to the bottom of it,” she said happily. Her cheeks were flushed with the excitement of the creative process. “Oh yes, honey, I’m at Jo-Ann. I’ll be here all morning!”

Fully unable to relate, I made my way to the check-out. A teenager in a smock stood by the only working register. She was talking to another smocked teen who was pretending to sweep the floor while they talked. I put my fuchsia feathers on the counter while I waited for her to greet me.

“I should have called in,” said the teenager at the register, talking to the teenager with the broom, ignoring me completely.

“You need Emergen-C,” said the teen with the broom while I stepped back and began holding my breath.

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s strep,” she said, coughing into her hand, then using the same hand to swipe my feathers over the scanner. “I’ve had a fever for like, three days.”

I thought briefly about asking to speak with the manager - partly because the kid spent more time talking to her coworker than addressing her extremely reluctant customer, but mainly because she came to work with SARS and that’s just rude. But I was already weary, so I used my elbows to pick up the feathers, and while heading to the car, it dawned on me that one of those poor girls was more than likely the manager anyway. It was all so very sad.

Stop #2 was Hobby Lobby. Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. I swore after Hobby Lobby’s shenanigans about birth control that I would never set foot inside a Hobby Lobby again (not that I set foot in there many times anyway), but desperate times call for desperate measures.

As I approached the doors, I checked out the clientele going inside. Walking up on my right was another woman with a bedazzled cross on her chest. Par for the course. Walking up to my left? A woman with a Bernie Sanders t-shirt and a sheepish expression of guilt. That made me laugh. Knowing we were all in it together, I entered in, prepared for the worst.

Confession: I got momentarily wooed by a cheap imitation of an Eames molded plastic chair lurking in a display of cheap beach-themed home fashions. I was so distracted by it that I pulled it off of the display and gave it a test sit.

It was cozy, as cheap imitation Eames chairs go, so I began looking online for a coupon, seriously considering buying it when the store manager approached me.

“That chair is just SO cute, right?” she beamed. “We sell SO many of them.”

She was a nice woman, but her overdyed red hair and lipstick-smeared teeth jarred me out of my hypnosis. I put the chair back into the fake beach scene while she watched on. She sweetly pointed me in the direction of the stretchy headbands and feathers, and I grabbed up more supplies and headed for the checkout.

The median age of the cashiers working at Hobby Lobby that particular morning was around 93. For a company that has a moral objection to birth control, I found it deliciously ironic that the women working at Hobby Lobby haven’t needed birth control for at least five decades. Guilt-ridden from spending $6.17 at a store that I promised not to patronize (or, more fittingly, matronize), I headed home with two bags of craft supplies, fully spent.

I know you’re expecting pictures, because they promise to be hysterical, but I have not yet started working on the vintage headpiece because I prefer to procrastinate and write about the activity instead. Be warned; I may never post a picture, because I’ll more than likely end up looking like a retired prostitute, or worse yet, there’s serious concern that I will glue my fingers together with the E 6000 craft glue, and I may never write again.

Either way, I hope you wish me luck, because I’m definitely going to need it.

Does Anyone Disgusted by US Politics Actually Move to Canada?

(Originally published in the Huffington Post, Feb 11, 2016).

I'm dying to know how many of you are seriously going to move to Canada when someone you don't like becomes our next president.

Are you really moving to Canada?

Over the weekend, I had a lively conversation over adult beverages with a few friends who represent a variety of political affiliations. I was curious: Just how bad is life with Obama in office? In our particular group, nobody appeared to have anything terrible happening that they could attribute to Obama. In fact, life has been pretty great, even for my most conservative Republican friends. To that I offer up a sincerely non-sarcastic, "Thanks, Obama!"

Pressing further, I wanted to know how many people actually move to Canada when their candidate doesn't win. My smart Republican friend wagered that nobody does. I came home and began some research to find out.

Thanks to a recent article in The Guardian written by Jordan G Teicher, I learned that in 2004, a staggering 179,000 people visited Canada's official immigration website. 

So it's not just all talk, eh?

Not so fast. Teicher writes that of the 179,000 people dipping their toe in the water of packing up the chuckwagon and moving to Canada, only 9,000 people a year actually do it. In fact, that number has been consistent from 2005 to 2014, so there doesn't appear to be scientific evidence associating the Canadian migration to anything politically motivated.

As a Texan who found herself extremely involved in the political process when we tried to elect a badass senator by the name of Wendy Davis, I will admit that when she lost, I seriously thought about packing up the family and moving, at the very least to a state where my reproductive rights weren't being dictated by a bunch of sour-faced old white guys who think they have the right to dictate what women do with their hoo-has. Then election day came and went. I cried some sincere tears of disappointment, then -- to borrow one of my sister's best phrases from her childhood -- I powdered my nose and got on with life.

Still, I was interested in learning just how many people move when the "wrong" candidate wins. When I began my research, I simply Googled, "Moving to Canada." The following search suggestions came up:

Unsurprisingly, "Moving to Canada from the US" is the 2nd most popular search string. However, "Moving to Canada with guns" is just below moving there with pets. Canada, if you don't already know, US citizens love their Chiweenies, but they're also very, very fond of their guns, and they are going to expect that you welcome them with -- pardon the bad pun -- open arms.

I continued poking around trying to figure out what kind of people are seriously considering leaving and are willing to put it out there on social media. I searched "Moving to Canada" on Twitter. There are a LOT of people who are moving to Canada when Trump wins, and a LOT of people who are moving there when Hillary wins. Canadian real estate agents, start your engines:

Writer Ben Kuchera is going to be "real honest," he sometimes fantasizes about moving to Canada. Since he's also pretty fired up about Canadian ketchup chips, lets assume he's just being sarcastic. Aspiring model Mike Hammontree has 106 of his closest friends who support his desire to move north, so perhaps they can set up a GoFundMe to help cover the costs (and buy him a coat). LW is so excited about moving if Trump wins, she can't even capitalize or finish her statement! Peace out, LW!

As for me, I am certainly concerned about the election results. I'm being sincere when I tell you that if Ted Cruz wins, I'm going to gag audibly every day I have to see him on a tv screen. However, no matter the election outcome, I'm sticking around. I like this country, and I know that if I volunteer and stay involved in issues that I find important, I have the ability to drive some actual change here. If nothing else, I'm staying here for the chips and queso. No ketchup chips for me, thanks.

Follow Amy Arndt on Twitter: www.twitter.com/theamysituation

Capsule Wardrobe: Winter 2016

For 2016, I've chosen to continue to live a capsule wardrobe life. For me, it started in huge part to stumbling onto the blog Un-Fancy, significant online research and a Today Show segment about living a less chaotic life by decluttering.

Ask anyone who's taken the plunge and they will tell you: getting rid of things and simplifying is life-changing stuff.  The first time I took every item of clothing I owned and piled it all on the bed and made the decision to get rid of the vast majority of my wardrobe, I was exhilarated by the experience. I was also completely freaked out, so I went shopping the very same day. Making the commitment is a work in progress for sure.

If you've been living in a cave and haven't heard about capsule wardrobes (or you've been buried alive in your clothes), I highly recommend you check out Un-Fancy. Unfortunately the author of Un-Fancy is on hiatus, but her old posts are there and she does a terrific job of guiding you through the process.

Here's the basic idea:

1. Put everything you own on your bed. Every single item in your closet. Empty that beast and see what you own. Didn't realize you had four pairs of white jeans? I know! I was the same way!
2. Grab some garbage bags and start purging. Haven't worn it in a year? Out. Has a stain you can't conquer? Buh-bye. Think you're going to squeeze into it for the company holiday party? How about you donate that dress to someone who can wear it now, and if by Christmas, you've lost enough weight to wear that size, go treat yourself to something new. Problem solved.
3. Keep what you love, what fits, and what flatters you most. For me, I tried to get rid of crazy prints, because when I see people that I admire from a fashion perspective, they rarely wear crazy prints. For my capsule, I did my best to pair down to simple things in neutral colors. But I always keep a few colorful items because I can't commit to neutrals every single day.
4. Select the number of items you want in your capsule. I selected 42, the amount of years I'd been on the earth at the time I started my first capsule. Now, I'm sticking with that number. Do what works for you! Un-Fancy will help you with a wardrobe planner if you need some help. 

I've been at this for several seasons now, and I get a lot of questions about the experience. Here are the most common questions:

Did you really stop shopping? The first season, I really did a great job about avoiding shopping almost altogether. Last season I wasn't as disciplined. I didn't plan the transition from summer 2015 to fall 2015 very well, and with Texas weather, I added boots and sweaters to the mix way too early. 

The goal is to shop only during the first part of each new season, but I didn't do a very good job of that for the fall. Here's a list of stuff I purchased in December that I am rolling into my winter 2016 mix:

• A navy v-necked sweater
• A bright cherry red sweater (I've been missing a pop of color)
• A cream cable knit sweater
• A new oatmeal-colored cardigan (my favorite one finally died)
• A black and white sweater jacket
• A new black winter coat
• New brown flat tall boots
• New bright yellow suede heels (again, I needed color)
• Nixon tortoise shell watch (I don't count accessories, but it was a coveted item and I'm so glad I bought it)

Don't you feel bored wearing the same thing over and over? Not at all. What I love about going to my closet is that I'm not throwing 25 items over the chair because I hate the way they fit or they don't work with anything else. Now, I have just enough to mix and match, and when I want to spice something up, I have a drawer full of scarves and another drawer full of accessories. I don't restrict myself on scarves or jewelry or handbags - some people do. That said, I do stick to one main handbag per season and a small cross body for nights out.

What happens if you lose weight? We'll cross that bridge when it actually happens. Oprah and I are planning on making 2016 the year of our best bodies, but I'm also a realistic lady and I'm not expecting that I'll be a size 8 any time this year. For now, I'm not keeping a stockpile of clothes that are too small for me. Everything in my closet fits the body I have now. 

Are you saving money? My husband continues to snicker every time I order something online because I know he thinks I'm shopping more than I ever did before, but I'm actually saving all kinds of money. I am embarrassed to admit it, but I was shopping almost every weekend before I started doing a capsule. The big difference is that I'm no longer sneaking in bags and shoe boxes in the house when my husband's in the back yard. I shop so much less than I did before! 

I could never do a capsule because I love shopping too much. Do you miss shopping? I still have a 12 year-old who continues to grow like a weed, so I still get my shopping urges fulfilled pretty often. The difference is that I take some time to browse through the racks, and I look at all of the things I just don't need. It's the most freeing feeling not to have to pick up some random printed top and throw it in the cart at Nordstrom Rack just because I want something new to wear. Because you know what? Most of that stuff isn't well made and isn't even a deal because it won't last anyway. Now that I'm able to edit myself, I find myself wanting to edit other people. It's all I can do not to tap a woman on the shoulder and say, "Excuse me, ma'am. Your simple black sweater and jeans are so nice. Put that cheap yet overpriced Michael Kors printed blouse back. You're welcome!"

What did you get rid of this season? Today, I pulled open all of the suitcases in search of white jeans that I'd stored away when I first started this project because I keep seeing so many cute women wearing white jeans in the winter, but after I created my winter capsule, they didn't make the cut, so they went back into the suitcase again. If I don't wear them in the spring or summer, I'm donating them. This exercise ended up forcing me to look through everything that I had placed in storage and so I started editing again. I got rid of:

• A limey green dress I kept thinking I would wear again and probably only wore once. For one, the color looks terrible on me. Secondly, it was a thick material that resembled wallpaper. I tried it on, and I look like a lumpy bathroom wall in it. Goodbye!
• Navy knit pants that I bought because I thought with boots, they looked like riding pants but they ended up looking like leggings with a zipper. I'm sorry for anyone who saw me wearing them as I walked away. I'm really, really sorry.
• An animal print cardigan that I bought during one of my Nordstrom Rack binges. I kept wanting it to be chic, but it was a misshapen, sad mess. Once, I wore it with those navy riding pants. I'm sure my coworkers wondered if I was moonlighting as a circus trainer.
• A black tank with a hole in it, a navy t-shirt with a stain, and a sleeveless striped top I wore on the 4th of July that made me look like a gray and white barn. 

Are you going to keep it up? Absolutely. Everything I worried about when I started wearing a capsule wardrobe isn't anything to worry about at all. I worried that I would lose my sense of self. Didn't happen. I felt that I would tire of the same old stuff. Instead, when I have somewhere to go or need to pack for a trip, everything is so much easier. I worried that I would feel somehow deprived. Now, if I want it bad enough (like the Nixon tortoise shell watch), I wait until the next season and I buy it.

So, here you have it. A quick pic of my Winter 2015 closet, and below, a list of what made the cut this season (the rest is stored in suitcases on the sides of my tiny closet). We have a small house so it's still crowded-looking, but there's just enough room for 42 items, my hot dog purse, my coveted photo of a foot in a high heel, and my 2016 vision board. 

Winter 2016 Capsule Wardrobe: 42 Items

Tops/ sweaters:

1. White button up shirt

2. White dressy t-shirt

3. Black dressy embellished tank

4. Grey long sleeved t-shirt

5. Cherry red sweater

6. Fuchsia long-sleeved tunic top

7. Black short-sleeved dressy top

8. Black short-sleeved t-shirt with high neck (dressy enough for work)

9. Oatmeal cardigan

10. Cream cable sweater

12. Navy v-necked sweater

13. Printed t-shirt "Do What You Love"

14. Olive long-sleeved button up

15  Grey animal print crazy lady cape (It's whacky and I love it)

16. Black tunic-length tank

17. Grey tank

18. Black and white sweater jacket

Jackets:

19. Black dress coat

20. Olive sweater coat

21.  Army green military jacket (stolen from my sister, thank you very much!)

22  Furry vest

Pants:

23. Dark wash skinny jean

24. Casual boyfriend jean for weekends

25. Polished denim skinny jeans

26. Olive jeans

27. Black dress pants

Dresses/skirts

28. Black dressy dress for weddings and funerals

29. Gray knit 3/4 sleeve dress

30. Long black tank dress

31. Grey pencil skirt

Shoes:

32. Tall flat brown boots

33. Tall flat black boots

34. Black tall heeled boots

35. Brown suede heeled boots

36. Yellow suede heels

37. Black suede wedges

38. Animal print heels

39. Navy suede heels

40. Brown flats

41. Grey suede Vans (I'm going to try them again. I keep trying to make them work on the weekends but I'm not cool enough to pull them off)

42  Black pointy flats (what I end up wearing on weekends)

Let me know if you decide to try it yourself! 

Adios, 2015

New Year's Resolution #1: Write more in 2016!

For a million reasons, I neglected this blog in 2015, but I hope to revive it in 2016. I also hope to write more, to simplify, give/donate more things (I got rid of a LOT of things this year --it is truly life-changing), use my new Fitbit to motivate more movement and less sitting, spend less time on gadgets and more time with live experiences, to cook more, to stick with my capsule wardrobe, which I've really loved and am continuing to improve upon. I'll also continue my annual tradition of writing out ten resolutions with the goal of accomplishing the ones that make the most sense. It eases the pressure and helps me focus on what I want the next year to look like.

2015 was a doozie of a year. I left a job I loved to take on a new adventure of building a customer success team at a small start-up. It's been quite an adventure, and nothing at all like I thought it would be, which is all part of professional growth. I've been out of my comfort zone more than I could ever have imagined, including driving a 15 passenger van filled with international customers with extremely specific dietary needs and many, many questions. I co-authored a 50 page training manual in a matter of 48 hours due to unforeseen circumstances that were terribly stressful but I survived in one piece. With each challenge, it's been an opportunity to grow, and that's never a bad thing.

This year, I made some wonderful new friends and walked away from some toxic situations. I worked on being more direct (I still have work to do there, but every time I get out of my comfort zone and have a direct conversation, it has the most positive results).

I had to give up walking to work, so I bought a little golf cart. Okay, it's not a golf cart, but a small used convertible that I absolutely love. If you have to drive, it might as well be a fun time. I pump up my favorite songs and sing at the top of my lungs with the wind in my hair. I'm a firm believer that everyone should have a convertible at some point in their life!

In September, my husband's mother Eileen passed away. She was an incredible woman, the epitome of grace and class, feisty and whip-smart, and never afraid to tell it like it was. We miss her terribly but are so thankful for the time Tim and his siblings had to spend with their mother in her last days, and we're eternally grateful for the legacy she left to her grandchildren.

I lost two friends in two separate tragedies this year. Both men were far too young to leave us, and were such incredible influences to so many. I'm still shocked, saddened, and mainly angry that they're gone. It seems like a cliche to tell you to hug those you hold dearest, but you just really never know, so go ahead and hug away.

My kids are growing up so quickly that suddenly, I'm the shrimp of the group. I was as tall as I am now in 7th grade, and I always felt like a giant around my cute, petite girlfriends. Now that my 12 year-old daughter has passed me up, I'm wishing I'd grown a few more inches back when it was feasible, but since I'm freaked out by human growth hormones, I guess I'll have to live with what I have. I'm so thankful to have healthy, happy kids.

New Year's is my favorite holiday. Tonight, we'll do a repeat of our annual tradition of making fondue and vision boards. Here's a piece I did for the Huffington Post in 2014 about how we ring in the new year. This year, our usual group is expanding with the addition of some new significant others and beautiful baby Serena, my dear friend Candace's new baby. We will cherish these new memories.

How do you spend your New Year's Eve?