Tag Archives: clothes

The Holiest Thing About Me Is My Socks

It’s no secret that I’m not actually a fashion diva–or into wearing anything other than my “good” T-shirt or yoga pants when going out in public. 

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But there are small little things that exemplify the ridiculousness of this situation. 

Scene 1: I’m walking across the tiled kitchen floor when I feel a cold spot somewhere on the bottom of my sock. I lift up my foot to make sure I didn’t step in something and notice a hole there instead.

Scene 2: I’m two minutes into a walk when my underwear either suction themselves into a killer wedgie or are too big and sag down instead.

Scene 3: I’m halfway to some ridiculous obligation that requires wearing the world’s most uncomfortable bra, which pretty much describes anything that’s not a sports bra.

In all three scenarios, the logical conclusion to each scene would show me removing said article of clothing and promptly throwing it away. After all, they are uncomfortable and/or old and falling apart. I am not a homeless person and I can afford to buy new socks and underwear and throw the old away.

But I also have a short attention span, so something usually distracts me between “remember to take off those socks and throw them away” and actually taking off the socks and throwing them away. My guess is it’s usually something shiny or that makes a cool noise…

Anyway, the bra is another story.

I have around, oh, one “big girl bra” that I can wear without feeling like a corset is wrapped around my chest.* 

*I realize I could go get fitted and get something fancy, but seeing as my concave boobs take up as much real estate as the mosquito bite on my arm, I’m really not willing to pay. Plus, I only have to wear a “real” bra every blue moon. 

With that said, I have a handful of bras and underwear in my drawer that serve no purpose. They are uncomfortable, but yet they’re still there and accidentally worn on occasion simply because I forget and, well, they’re still there.

They’re like those people you can’t stand that you haven’t seen for a while. You think, “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe they’re not that annoying and I can talk to them without wishing for a Xanax salt lick.”

But then “bam!” Two minutes in you realize you should have told them you had to go detail the cat litter box, or in the case of the underwear, you wish you had simply just thrown them away.

So let this be a cautionary tale to you.

If you have holes in your socks, if the elastic on a pair of underwear you bought in a Hanes six-pack is gone or the bra that you have is causing you to stab yourself in the leg with a butter knife, just throw them away.

Save yourself.

Learn from my mistakes.

Don’t be a hero.

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Purses and Pillows and Pumpkins, Oh My!

If there’s one person who hates shopping for clothes more than me, it’s my mom. The woman will spend hours in Home Depot or a greenhouse, but trying to get her to try on a pair of jeans is like pulling infected teeth out of a rabid badger. I’ve only been marginally successful in one of those activities, and I still have the scar to prove it.

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Damn badger.

But the fact is both her purse and her favorite sweatshirt jacket looked as if they had been attacked by a badger. She had a gift card for Kohl’s—a gift card she’s had for a year—so with the promise of a beer afterwards if she was good, I was able to convince her to go look around.

Considering I need new winter clothes anyway, I figured I could hunt while she sought out the elusive and exotic items on her list that she claimed were impossible to find—jeans, a black purse and a sweatshirt. 

We split up, and it took me .8 seconds to remember that I still hate shopping. Clothes in the juniors department said “slutty schoolgirl” while those in the women’s department screamed “stodgy schoolmarm.”

Considering I wasn’t really going for either of those looks (at that given time, mind you) I was done looking at clothes five minutes and one stuck-in-this-shirt dressing room experience later.

Don’t pretend you’ve never gotten stuck in an article of clothing in a dressing room.

Anyway, after wandering around the store and reassuring multiple sales associates that the only thing they could help me find was my mom—they declined, by the way—I texted her to ask her location.

It seems no matter what we do, I always lose her in a store, which is why I do slightly sympathize with parents who take their kids shopping. However, my mom would never agree to be pushed around in a cart or hooked up to one of those leashes, so I’m forced to hunt and seek.

When I did finally find her, I realized she didn’t answer my text because she was too busy trying on a sweatshirt jacket over her sweatshirt jacket before claiming it was too small. I tried to convince her to take off her sweatshirt, but I could tell she was also nearing the point where that suggestion was as appealing as badger molar extraction.

You pick your battles.

The good news was that despite not trying on any jeans—they don’t carry the one size and style she bought 10 years ago and hasn’t been able to find since—she did find a purse. Thank god for small miracles and big bags.

As we went to the checkout, we passed the first sweatshirt jacket we looked at upon entering the store, one dismissed due to some flaw that was now rendered invisible as it was thrown into her cart to take home.

I asked no questions.

Once we checked out and headed for the door, she remembered she wanted to look at pillows, so I agreed to go put our purchases in the truck while she sat on the bench and waited for me to come back.

When I came back approximately 2.3 minutes later, she was not on the bench. I was not surprised.

After wandering around the store and reassuring multiple sales associates that the only thing they could help me find was my mom—they declined, again, a bit more suspiciously—I looked down an aisle and found her lying on the ground trying out a pillow.

The next 10 minutes were spent with her lying on the ground, trying out pillows—unsuccessfully.

So we left and went to buy pumpkins, something much more enjoyable for all involved. 

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I like small pumpkins.

As I was putting them out on my front steps later that night, I got this text from my mom:

“Just said a quick prayer over my old purse and buried it while wearing my new sweatshirt and cradling a pumpkin. I kind of feel like a rock star.”

And that, my friends, is considered shopping success.

Dressing Up and Calming Down

There’s about a month left until Halloween, which means there’s about a month left for people to complain and flip their shit about sexy Halloween costumes and how women use the holiday to look like sluts.

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I might or might not have this costume somewhere at my house.

In the interest of full disclosure, I have to say that one of my magazines works with costume companies about five months out of the year. Some are sexy adult costumes done in a classy way, some generally questionable and others are cute costumes for children or pets.

Because of this involvement, I actually deal with costumes for the next few months that won’t be released until 2012. In other words, I see a lot of licensed characters and stilettos, and although it can get old fast, I like it more than I don’t.

Insider tip: Whereas fairy tales were trending last year, look for superhero costumes to dominate in 2012.

Anyway, let’s get something straight first—this is not about children’s costumes, as I’m not opening up that can of worms. While there might be some questionable youth costumes in stores, a more modest and “traditional” costume is much easier to find. Any parent that allows their little princess to walk around dressed like a smelly pirate a hooker for Halloween has a screw loose.

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But of course, it’s perfectly acceptable for them to dress like hookers on a TV show broadcast to millions each week, right? 

I’m much more offended by “Toddlers & Tiaras”  than I am any costume I see in a store for an adult. And while I do think Halloween is much more for the kids to dress up and eat Candy Corn (first ingredient—wax) for breakfast,  I don’t understand why so many women bring out the claws towards other women who use this one night a year to dress up like something they’re not.

You see that outfit in my blog header?

I originally wore it to a Halloween party in Chicago given by the largest party/costume company in the world. I believe it was called, “Disco Diva,” and if I had the opportunity, I would walk the runway—not the neighborhood sidewalks, mind you— at the trade shows I attend in any of the adult costumes out there.

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The shoes are my favorite. Specifically, this “Mardi Gras” model from Ellie Shoes.

These costumes aren’t meant to be worn to the PTA meeting or trick-or-treating with the kids, and with the exception of Halloween night, I doubt you would see a woman wearing one in the grocery store.

Adults who wear these costumes to adult parties are simply playing a part. It’s Halloween. It’s pretend. It’s expected. That’s why I roll my eyes and cringe a little when the stories and blog posts start rolling in about how Halloween is just a time for women to dress like sluts and corrupt the minds of our youth.

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Seriously. I’m not a kid person, but how cute is this?

And while I’ll agree that some women might use Oct. 31 to go for the slut suit, I’m pretty sure those women aren’t pillars of morality for children the other 364 days a year.

So I don’t roll my eyes and cringe when I walk into stores this time of year and see “sexy” adult costumes on a shelf. Just like half the “stylish” clothes you find at the mall that are tasteless and questionable, I don’t have to wear them if I don’t want to and neither do you.

But if an adult finds something that they like and it fits the occasion, I see nothing wrong with continuing the trend of pretend for one night of the year. After all, we all need an escape, if only for a few hours. zebradog

Especially this little guy.

I do prefer the more clever and creative costume images I have sent to me, and there are a bunch out there.

What’s been your most creative and clever costume idea? Are you going to dress up this year?

Ironing Out the Details

When I bought my house three years ago, I somehow got this idea in my head that I needed to buy an ironing board and an iron. This wasn’t predicated by the fact that I had an ironing compulsion or even ironed casually at any time before, so I’m not sure where this came from.

All I knew was that if I needed to iron something, I wouldn’t have an iron to accomplish the task. Never mind the fact that I was still in need of a couch or a bed at the time, I felt that before I moved in I needed an iron to prevent a possibly wrinkly situation.

So I bought the stuff and stored it in my linen closet, just in case I accidentally purchased something in the future that had a propensity for wrinkling when thrown in a ball on the floor (usually a deal breaker when factored into the purchasing decision, but sometimes I am fooled.)

This was the situation earlier this week when a new pair of freshly washed pants was left in the dryer too long.

Wrinkles.

I was ticked that I had purchased something with such an obvious character flaw—cracking under pressure, but also a little bit excited that I was going to be able to use my ironing supplies for the first time.

Yes, the first time in three years.

So imagine my disappointment when I went to my closet and came out with this.

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It might just look like an odd angle or that it’s low to the ground, but let me post my shoe next to my ironing board for a size comparison…

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…and now with my pants, in all their wrinkled glory.

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Is it supposed to be that small? I remembered it being much bigger.                 (Insert inappropriate joke here.)

While I’m tall, I am not an 8-foot tall amazon woman with ridiculously long legs, which means this ironing board is better suited for the clothes of Uncle June than for the clothes for yours truly.

But when you have wrinkles and OCD, you have to take action, so I spent a good 15 minutes basically lying on the floor in an attempt to iron a pair of pants on a board two feet too short and elevated approximately two inches from the floor.

I suppose I could have put it on a table, but that would have involved finding an empty space large enough to accommodate the small board. Other than my glass kitchen table, I was kind of screwed.

Not to mention the fact that I thought about that 10 minutes after I had already ironed the pants.

But it was upon completion of this task that I discovered the one truly awesome thing about this ironing board—the absolutely delightful ease at which it collapses. In fact, it collapsed while I was ironing and I didn’t even notice.

Maybe I’m just “special,” but have you ever succeeded in collapsing a regular ironing board without spewing profanity or getting a random body part stuck in one of the two metal pieces that are somehow more difficult to master than a Mensa test?

Whenever I use a normal ironing board—usually only when I travel for work—I always just leave the damn thing up and use it as a table. Somehow I don’t think this would work in my upstairs hallway. Plus, then I would have to dust around it.

The moral of the story is that I should avoid shopping to avoid fighting with inanimate objects so I can avoid blogging about diminutively-sized ironing boards and instead sip a cocktail while sitting in the sun listening to the ballgame on the radio.

Well, at least that’s what I got out of it.

Is there an appliance that you avoid using so that you don’t have to clean it/fight with it/put it away?