Cardigan, J.Crew. Blouse, Tommy. Skirt, belt, and pumps, Banana Republic. Yellow necklace, thrifted. Pearl necklace, shady little shop in Paris.News flash: I have a hidden talent. No, not the footfist thing, that's old hat. I can predict Oscar winners like it's Roger Ebert's business and last night was no different (what up, six years straight!). I can also stuff my face into a coma, complete with recurring nightmares, new nightmares, and a nightmarish bloat. The latter has decided to overstay its welcome and I am ruefully stuck indoors because nothing will (comfortably) fit at the moment. Does that happen to you? Well, it happens to me so often that I almost never wear pants (unforgiving), which usually gives people the wrong impression: that I'm fancy and overly girly. I guess it beats grumpy and gassy! I'll take it.