March 17, 2008
Trashy-Whorey
Like most of us, Heather is many things to many people. Sister, daughter, wife, BFF, confidant, fag hag. But my personal favorite side of her is The Trashy Whore.
Now, I can't tell you where she works (she has sworn me to secrecy!), but I can tell you that it fits her trashy-whorey-ness just perfectly.
For example, this is what she brought home from work the other day:
Curious to see what they look like on? I'll bet you are! Especially you foot fetishists...
No, that's no my grandpa wearing black patent leather hooker shoes. That's Egrau and her sexy black socks. Heather was pretty damn impressed at how well Egrau rocked those things like she was merely wearing gym shoes. But Egrau is a flight attendant and has developed Feet Of Steel. I don't think she can feel a damn thing below her knees anymore.
How hott is Billi?! Seconds after this photo was taken, Billi flipped her plastic-encased feet behind her ears and exclaimed, "Yup -- they work!" And then she got up and danced like a stripper.
I really need to get a pole installed in my kitchen. I feel I should note that this all happened after Billi had consumed two wine coolers and a beer. In the space of an hour. (Ha ha, Billi -- now Mom's writing YOU out of her will, too!)
No, this is not my tranny friend -- although I could see how the man-hands and size 10 feet would lead you to believe so. It's just Heather. She's so awesome at pulling together a look, it's hard to believe she's not a drag queen!
Of course, Sue was wearing her shamrock socks. Or sham-socks, if you will. But she wouldn't show me her panties, so I can't confirm whether or not they were green. Or... present.
And because my Irish friends will pop a blood vessel if I don't acknowledge this National Day of Drinking in some way...
There ya go. Happy St. Pat's.
Posted at 08:02 AM | Comments (4)February 01, 2008
Wenchie vs. Nylons
As I watched the White Scourge of the Midwest fall outside my cubicle window yesterday afternoon, I had this conversation with Heather via I.M.:
[By the way, Meebo lets you chat without having to download software onto your work computer -- check it out!]
PW: It's a bitch outside.
PW: I'm really hoping they close the building early, and then just LEAVE it closed until Monday!
H: yeah. liek that'll happe.
H: n
H: sorry. trying to type and hold a pen at the same time...
PW: don't worry - I speak Heather
PW: last time it snowed 5 in., they closed early and didn't open until, like, 10:00 or so the next morning. which was awesome
PW: and tonight we're expecting EIGHT
H: damn. sweet.
PW: I know!
PW: The person who makes the decision must live far away or something
H: that is genious.
H: it takes me an hour to get home no matter what, and they don't seem to mind if I come in late, or early, or on time, or whatever.
PW: at my old work, the guy making that call lived 5 min. away, so he didn't give a crap
H: I hate that
H: my last job, at IEC, they NEVER EVER cared about weather.
H: because the guy lived walking distance away.
H: fucker.
PW: fucker
H: ha!
PW: oh, tomorrow, I have to attend a staff-only-plus-spouses/partners dinner for Husband's work at the Bumblefuck Country Club
H:
PW: 28 miles away
PW: and I have to be there by 6:30, in rush hour traffic, so if Google says it takes 42 min. I'm gonna have to leave at 5:00 or something
PW: and drive to fucking Bumblefuck in the snow, in rush hour traffic
PW: to have dinner with strangers
PW: in a skirt
H: wear pants. and a low-cut top, or no top, just a bra and jacket.
PW: and I'm not even sure I OWN nylons, and I'm not going shopping in this weather
PW: Husband said that one lady's partner hates these functions, too
PW: I'm like, "Partner as in lesbian?" He goes, "Yes." I said, "Awesome. We're sitting with the crabby lesbians."
H: nylons? in this century? what happened to good old fashioned tights?
PW: don't have any of those either
PW: Yeah, I may do pants
PW: with black sheer blouse and black shelf-bra tank
PW: and my sword necklace
PW: so everyone gets the right impression of me right off the bat
PW: "Yes, I'm a bitchy, pirate hooker who'd rather fall on her sword than be here. Nice to meet you. Where's the bar?"
H: the perfect dinner date!
PW: exactly
You know, I live my live in a specific manner that ensures that I never have to wear nylons/tights/pantyhose/whatever you want to call those demonic strangulation devices. So thank God that He intervened and dumped a Rhode-Island-sized load of snow on Chicago.
(Sure, the one prayer of mine that He answers is about snow. Figures.)
Since my conversation with Heather, my work building has announced its complete closure for the day, and Husband has decreed that it's too dangerous for his precious, delicate angel to be driving to Bumblefuck this evening.
Nylons: "You got away this time, Wenchie! But I will return! Mark my words! I WILL RETURN!!!"
Posted at 10:59 AM | Comments (4)January 23, 2008
Again with the Eyeshadow
Instead of buying each other presents for birthdays and Christmas, Jerry's Mom K and I go do something with each other. Something like shopping or facials or pedicures -- you know, girlie crap. And that way, I'm guaranteed to see her at least three times a year. (She travels a lot.)
On Tuesday, for our belated Christmas (for which we made plans in November because that's how far in advance she has to plan), we went shopping at Woodfield and specifically, to Sephora for a "consultation," which is what you have to call it when you want them to do your make-up.
A little Sephora etiquette tip from me to you:
Sephora is not a salon, so if it's May or June, and you show up there with your hair in an up-do on a weekend and tell them you want someone to show you how to do your make-up, they're gonna tell you to go scratch.
But if you're an old lady in a hoodie and a ponytail on a Tuesday afternoon wanting to learn how to do a "smokey eye," well, they're bored and will show you. And then laugh at you.
So I sat down in the highchair, and the 20-year old Mascara Monster went to choose some eyeshadows for me.
PW: Um, I usually use brown or eggplant. I love the idea of grey, but I've never found a shade that looks good on me.
MM: Uh-huh.
PW: My eyes are a really weird color. They're like green-grey-blue. Grey eyeshadow tends to look blue on me.
MM: Well, I'm gonna use these. [brings over three shades of grey] They're a really true grey.
PW: You're the professional!
Five minutes and obscene amounts of eyeshadow later...
Other Sephora Chick: Oh, cool! Are you using teal?!
MM: What? NO! It's grey.
PW: Hand me the mirror.
You know, I've been the owner of my face for quite some time now, and I know what works. Grey doesn't work. Ever.
So I walked around the rest of the mall cleverly disguised as The Teal Whore Who Whore-ily Whored Her Way Through Teal Town. Thank God I didn't see anyone I knew.
Posted at 05:48 PM | Comments (2)October 24, 2007
Rockin' the Ruffles
If you live anywhere in northern Illinois, you probably know this by now. But for my out-of-state friends...
I bought ruffled pirate underwear this weekend in Door County.
SEEEEEEEEEEEEE, Heatherrrrrrrrrrr! There IS something good in The Door!
Billi and Terri (Billi's neighbor and friend, and now my friend, too) dragged me into this boutique where the jeans were $168. And I was like, "A hundred and sixty-eight! These better make my ass look edible for that price!"
(Said the crazy lady who just spent $60 on a pair of sunglasses when Target sells perfectly good shades for $9.99.)
Remember that scene in "Grease" where Rizzo is in the bathroom at the drive-in with Marty, and she admits that she skipped a period? And then Marty blabs, and as they're walking back to the car, the gossip that Rizzo is preggo travels from car to car, so that by the time Rizzo gets back to Kenickie's car, he already knows?
That's not just cute movie shenanigans, people. It REALLY HAPPENS.
I was ready to leave the Door County House of $168 Jeans well before Billi and Terri, so I just stood by the door and tapped my foot. Until I noticed the display of ruffled panties. You know -- like the kind little girls wear under their Sunday dresses that provoke them to lift their dresses over their heads? Those panties!
I have been looking for those panties ever since I saw some hottie wearing them in Playboy. I think it was Drew Barrymore or Charisma Carpenter.
The ones I bought are black with little, white skull-n-crossbones on them. Hee! Soooooooooo cute!
At night in The Door, after they roll the sidewalks up, we basically just sat in our room watching non-cable t.v., doing our nails, eating fudge and thumbing through trashy magazines. We all called our husbands to say good-night, but whereas Billi and I were on the phone all of 2 minutes, Terri was on for like half an hour!
Her husband is very chatty, and he wanted to know what she bought. She was toying with the idea of going back and getting a pair of the same panties, so she told him that I bought them.
When she got off the phone, Billi called Brad, and the first thing he said was, "So I hear Wenchie bought some pirate panties."
People? No more than thirty seconds had lapsed since Terri hung up her phone and Billi dialed hers. Did Terri's husband lean out his window with a bullhorn or something?!
So, yeah, ruffled pirate panties. So cute on my ass that Terri and Billi each bought a pair. In different patterns, of course. Because no one's ass can rock pirate ruffles like the Wench's ass.
Posted at 01:05 PM | Comments (2)October 18, 2007
I Am the Plaything of Passion
This is the first part of my horoscope today:
It's all about the finishing touches today. Pay careful attention to grooming in the morning, and make sure you're stepping out the door dressed in the perfect look.
And now that my Sephora-employed Older Step Daughter has turned me on to all kinds of fabulous products -- and, in essence, made me as much of a make-up whore as I am a purse whore -- grooming is one of my favorite things to do.
For Christmas last year, Heather bought me a cute, little palette by Two Faced called The Plaything of Passion. It has two lip glosses, two eyeshadows and a blush. I've used all but the teal eyeshadow.
Until this morning.
I'm wearing a shirt with all different blues and greens, with a matching earring and necklace set in silver and turquoise. So I thought today would be the perfect day to audition my teal eyeshadow.
Okay, I'm turning 38 in a week and a half, but that's not too old to occasionally be hip and trendy, right?
Right?!
After applying the eyeshadow, I couldn't decide if I looky kicky or whorey. But since whorey has never been a look I've actively shyed away from, I decided that either was fine, and I went to work.
Two hours later, I went to the bathroom and decided that I look like Mimi from "The Drew Carey Show." So I wiped most of it off.
That's what I get for letting Yahoo! make grooming decisions for me.
Then I told this story to the gal in the cube next to me, to try out the material and see if it was blog-worthy. And she's like, "No, it looks really natural!"
Proving that she is the kindest human being on the planet. And very likely color blind.
Tonight, Spikette is dropping off my latest Avon order, which includes some on-sale $3 navy blue eyeshadow because I want to try the color without investing a lot of money into it.
Although, since the teal was such a disaster, am I right to be a wee bit wary about the navy blue?
Posted at 05:15 PM | Comments (4)October 02, 2007
Learning from the Master: Part I
Last week, I had the honor and priviledge of witnessing, firsthand, the wonder that is Aunt Doreen's Purse Collection. Not merely a smattering of trendy, brand name bags; her collection is, indeed, the story of her life.
Some purses date back to her college years, and one was purchased specifically because it so strongly resembled the purse she longed for in grade school. Yes, grade school. While the rest of us were drawing horses on the sidewalk with chalk, she was thinking, "Gosh, that purse would look just swell with my Maryjanes!"
It was like going to a gallery where you actually understand the art. Like going to a museum that's not boring! Every purse had a story -- where she got it, what event she specifically bought it for, when it was lost and found again -- I think I learned more about my Aunt in that afternoon than I have in all my 37 years.
Which pretty much makes me Worst Niece In The World, I know. What do you want -- I'm a slow learner.
Now, Aunt Doreen is a purse connesseur, but she's not a purse snob. There's a distinction. Sure, she has some Coach and some Dooney & Bourke, and some other brands that I'm not nearly classy enough to have ever heard of before. She has an antique purse with a hand-worked silver handle. Beautiful!
But she also has some twenty dollar tote bags and cheap-o, plastic handbags. Stuff that's cute and she bought for a specific purpose, you know. I certainly wouldn't bring my Dooney on a flight to Japan.
And you know how cool she is? She's like, "If you ever need a purse for some fancy occassion, just let me know and you can borrow whatever you'd like."
Awwwwwwwwwww. She thinks I get invited to fancy occassions. She's so sweet.
(to be continued... because it's after 7:30, and I still have to pack up some eBay crap to ship tomorrow, and write a letter to my cousin in the Marines, and paint the nails on my right hand. Photos tomorrow, I promise...)
Posted at 07:40 PM | Comments (1)September 26, 2007
Big, Black Pants
We did two bottle band gigs over the weekend, which makes for a very long weekend. The first gig was for someone's 50th wedding anniversary, so there were lots of people there over the age of 70. The Saturday gig was for the residents of a large local retirement community, so there were lots of people there over the age of 80.
Surprisingly, the octogenarians were a much better audience. I guess, when you're that close to death, you appreciate anything that'll distract The Reaper for just a little while longer.
The retirement community had a really nice performance space. When we were done setting up and went to get dressed, it hit me that I had forgotten my dress.
My long, clingy, black dress.
How could I forget my dress?! It's the centerpiece around which my entire outfit is created! It's the canvas for the work of art that is moi!
I could forget my shoes, or my opera gloves, or even my earrings. But my dress?! GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
With my veiled pillbox hat on my head, and my huge-ass rhinestone earrings on my lobes, I approached the director still wearing my jeans and long-sleeved t-shirt.
"Dude. I'm so sorry. I forgot my dress."
"Wenchie. Have you seen our audience? It's not going to register. Don't worry about it."
Phew! At least he wasn't mad at me. And if Nicki has taught me anything, it's that any t-shirt can be dressed up with a necklace. And I had four strands of pearls! I was halfway to performance-ready!
A few women from the band started to offer me... something. But then they realized that they're all SIZE FOURS, and the laws of the universe wouldn't allow me to wear their stuff.
So, in a poetic, circle-of-life moment, it was WG who came to the rescue. With his black pants.
Now, who among us hasn't gained a few pounds as high school has retreated into the distance and our metabolisms slowed? WG is no exception. And -- how shall I say this -- he is much less of an exception than I.
Those pants were big.
Luckily, A is about my size (yes, he's in the Bottle Band, too) and offered me his belt.
Do you remember that skit on "Saturday Night Live," where Adam Sandler and the late and great Chris Farley were chicks working at The Gap? And when people tried on pants that were too big, they were all, "Well, you're supposed to cinch it!" (You can see the characters here, but I was unable to find the actual skit I'm referring to.)
I felt like that. Like I was wearing baggy, cinched Gap pants. I haven't worn my pants that high in 20 years. And I won't be wearing them that high again for another 40!
Once I pulled the whole look together with the hat and gloves and everything, I turned my back to everyone near me and said the only thing that I could, "Do these pants make my butt look big?"
Posted at 04:05 PM | Comments (0)August 20, 2007
Teal Is a Four-Letter Word
I was looking through my computer for a photo -- because I want to take a nap in fifteen minutes, so an easy photo blog seems the way to go -- when I came across this little gem. I can't believe it has taken me this long to share it with y'all!
You long-time readers may remember J of golf sweater fame, from my previous place of employment. He is the loooooooong-time owner of this sweater:
I have blogged a description of it once, and I got a photo of his other golf sweater. But it wasn't until my last day of work that he granted my wish and opened himself up to more ridicule by wearing this particular monstrosity. Rumor has it he had to get special permission from his wife.
Yes, that is an aqua and burgundy plaid elbow patch you see on the left there. And yes, he bought a teal mock turtleneck to match it.
He offered to let me have it when I left -- probably at the urging of his wife -- but then we'd be going steady, and I'm not really into dating football players. Besides, he wears quite a bit of aftershave, and I just didn't feel like fielding those kind of questions from Husband.
But now I'm kicking myself for not taking it. I want to have an 80's party when I turn 40, and this sweater would have been the PERFECT outfit! Tuck my jeans into my pants and do that rooster thing with my bangs, and I'd be a vision indeed!
Alright, off to sleep and dream of Simon LeBon.
Posted at 01:09 PM | Comments (3)August 15, 2007
The Dress Code
What's more awkward than having to attend your husband's ex-wife's aunt's 92nd birthday and ending up sitting at the kiddie table?
Nothing.
Not one damn thing.
Oh, wait! Yes, there is! Showing up in pants and loafers (because Husband said it was FINE) when the size 2 ex-wife and your pocket-sized step daughters are all wearing black cocktail dresses and strappy sandals. And all have long, flowing hair.
WANTED. TO. DIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!
Oh, how I wish I were willowy and petite and demure. Instead, I'm "statuesque" and "Rubenesque." Call it what you want, people -- I'm a friggin' amazon.
And even if I stopped eating solid food today, I'd never be petite. I've got the shoulders of a linebacker. I'm just big-boned! screams my inner-Cartman.
Oh, sure, small women have their insecurities, too. The darling Audrey Hepburn, it is said, used to bemoan her too-long neck.
"Oh, woe is me and my slender, graceful, gazelle-like neck!"
Yeah, BOO-FUCKING-HOO, Audrey, you goddamn adorable pixie!
Tonight, the 92nd birthday celebration continues with a dinner cruise on Lake Michigan. Starting at 7:00 p.m. Which means another late night because I'll be stuck on a boat, and my dream of turning into a mermaid has yet to come true.
Well, I don't want to be under-dressed again, so I emailed Ex and asked her about the dress code. She hasn't decided what she's wearing, yet. I'm sure it's hard to narrow it down from the forty things she must have in her closet because she's been the same damn size 2 since high school. But she said "dressy."
And we all know what "dressy" means, don't we, boys and girls? It means Wenchie has to go shopping because Wenchie thinks career clothes are yoga pants and t-shirts with a necklace, and holiday clothes are yoga pants and hoodies. "Dressy" is something that I've structured my life around carefully avoiding.
Not wanting to stick out like a nasty toe that has its nail coming off, I found a black, A-line skirt, which I will pair with my white, cashmere twinset and some black, wedge slip-ons. Can't go wrong with black and white, right?
Of course, this probably means The Petite Triplets will probably all wear pink, but whatever. Heather approves of my outfit, and that's what really matters. That and an open bar.
Heather my Personal Stylist made sure that I will not be embarassing myself.
H: what purse are you using?
PW: Oh, yeah, I guess I can't use my current aqua blue leather with brown strap, can I?
H: no. do you have a black one?
PW: I have my small, black Coach one!
H: perfect. now what about a splash of color?
PW: Hadn't even thought of that. Um, I have a silver necklace with a big, red stone? Or should I use my pink Coach purse instead?
H: black purse, big red stone
PW: Thank God for you, Heather.
But then Ex emailed me to say that the coordinator of the party, auntie's favorite nephew-in-law, will be wearing khakis and a polo, so she's wearing a casual summer skirt.
PEOPLE! I don't HAVE a "casual summer skirt!" For the love of God, I just get my shit together, and they change the dress code! What is this?!
Screw it. I'm sticking to my original plan. Better to be over-dressed than have to shop for a summer skirt when the only thing on the racks is fall clothes.
I'm so glad that I'm related to a bunch of slobs. These issues just don't come up when we gather with my family. Jeans are perfectly acceptable apparell to everything but weddings and funerals.
I have a cousin who thinks that the overalls-and-no-shirt look is okay to wear to someone's house for dinner. Think I'm kidding? Ask Billi.
Now, there's just one appearance-related decision to make. Do I shave my legs, or just continue to milk the shave job I did on Saturday?
Posted at 11:48 AM | Comments (6)August 07, 2007
Purses: Wooley Not-So-Mammoths
Had to reach way back into the closet for these purses. They're all wool, so they only come out during the winter months.
This one is Apt. 9, which is probably some Kohl's brand, but I don't care because I think it's so cute. Pinstripes! They're slimming!
You know those pug dogs that are so ugly that they're cute? This purse is the pug of handbags. It's a handpug. Seriously. Blue plaid? But it's Fossil, and they know much better than I do what's hip and cool, so I'm going with it.
This nubbly, little Coach number is one of the purses that sparked this whole self-indulgent debacle. I won my sky-blue Dooney for $75, and then, for no apparent reason, clicked the little link below the seller's name that says View Seller's Other Items. This purse was ending in 8 min., so I waited. And watched. And sniped. Got it for $20! YEA, BABY!
All the purses in today's post are brought to you by eBay and the letter W.
Posted at 03:10 PM | Comments (2)August 01, 2007
Purses: The Fabric of My Life
Have you ever wondered where I get my amazing, gripping and socially relevent ideas for blogs? It goes a little something like this, via I.M...
Heather: so, what else is up, these days?
PW: I got a dooney purse and a coach purse off eBay for about $100 total!
H: ooh! sweet!
PW: I should really do a purse blog, like a bad catalogue
H: have barbies in each of them. in matching outfits.
PW: I love you.
H: and I ruv you!
PW: seriously, I have a lot of purses. I have to get started!
H: I have a bunch, most are boring. althoug I just found out that my favorite, a sort of bowlling ball looking bag, is just big enough to hold a bottle of champagne.
PW: you're a drunken whore
H: but I'm YOUR drunken whore.
And then Heather put down the crack pipe and went back to work, leaving me to scamper around my house, cackling maniacally, rounding up accessories and checking the light in each room.
I just... I'm such a huge gayrod, I don't even know how to verbalize it.
But aren't these little ladies the cutest? They're like twins whose mother had the good sense not to dress identically.
They're faux, of course. But I'm contemplating replacing them with the real things. I'll get 'round to it on eBay, but right now, I'm working on an eBay list that includes the following must-haves: a mousepad with a wrist rest, The Virgin's Lover by Philippa Gregory, and a really cheap 2007 wall calendar to hang in my new work cubicle.
Is this not the quintessential summer purse? I ask you! Is it not?! This was the purse I used during July. (Yes, I rotate my purses monthly. Shut up. And I keep a list so I don't repeat too often. Shut up.)
It's vibrant! It's warm! It's... in the crook of a tree! You can't get more summery than green foliage!
I want to sleep with this Dooney & Bourke Quilted Sac.
Not only does it allow me to say "sac" in polite company, but it's blue, which is my favorite color.
I will use my sac in September. But for now, I'm toting this kicky little Fake Spade number I borrowed from Billi.
Swapped her for a faux-Prada. I totally got the better end of the deal.
Posted at 01:53 PM | Comments (3)October 12, 2006
Princess Charming
There had better be some tiny goddamn packages waiting for me when I get home today.
Yes, I've been eBaying again, my friends. I currently have 620 individual Feedbacks. I'm so eGay.
Lucky for me, The Girl Child has always been quite the little fashion plate, so her outgrown clothes are selling very well. And my 20% commission of very well is nothing to sneeze at!
(Yes, I'm charging my own sister commission. Dude, she gave me SIXTEEN BOXES of clothes to sell! Do you know how many articles of clothing can fit into one box when they're size 3T ???)
Recently, I have become obsessed with charm bracelets. And not just any charm bracelets -- those vintage, silver charm bracelets with the travel charms and such that were so popular in the 40's through the 70's.
I think it's the tininess that fixates me, much like my fondness for little chairs. The tiny windmills and bicycles and trolley cars -- DYYYYY-ing of the cuteness!
And I would love to blame Heather's Mom's vintage charm bracelet for it all because, really, I enjoy blaming Heather's family for anything. Childproof medicine bottles? Heather's brother. Hate crime laws? Heather's Dad.
But, although Heather's Mom's bracelet is really cool, I think it was a conversation with Older Sister that planted the charm seed. I was ragging at her for not wearing the Tiffany bracelet I gave her for standing up in my wedding because -- IT'S A TIFFANY BRACELET! It's needs air and love and sunshine and attention!
And she's like, "Oh, yeah! I have to wear that sometime! I just... it's in my jewelry box, which is really packed, and if I don't see it, then I forget I have it."
And as much as I'd love to mock her for that, I can't because I, too, was born with The Ditzy Gene. (Thanks, Mom.) My maternal grandmother will forever be remembered by the phrase, "Now where did I put my purse...?"
For whatever reason, talking about her jewelry box sparked a really, really old memory for me. Older Sister has an old, silver charm bracelet that I used to LOVE looking at and playing with. I just remember it has a little bulldog charm, which is weird because I don't even know if she's ever even seen a bulldog in person.
I am obsessed with charm bracelets, and it's all her fault. I am giving her full credit on this one because it doesn't happen very often that she influences my life. She leads a life of virtue and charity and serving others and... well, you see my problem.
So I sold a ton of Girl Child's clothes and made a truckload of money, and I started searching eBay for vintage bracelets and charms. Seriously, I probably spent twenty hours a day for two weeks on eBay.
What? There are a lot of silver charms out there! And I'm very particular.
After much searching (and wringing of the hands, since most of the really good sellers are in England, and shipping costs are a bitch!), I found a charm I couldn't live without and bought a bracelet from the same seller (to save on shipping).
I introduce to you, the only damn charm of it's kind ever to be found on eBay...
Wenchie's Viking Longboat Charm
Isn't it beautiful?! I love it so, so very much. Every five minutes, I dangle it in front of my eyes and coo and fawn and sigh, so enamored am I with my viking longboat charm.
And now, I will be Completely Insufferable. I will wear my charm bracelets everywhere and jangle them incessantly, and everyone in a 50 yard radius will be required to inspect them and remark upon them. Each and every time I see you.
Consider yourself warned.
TINY HOUSES! Oh, gawd, little, tiny houses! That open and have things inside them! Things!!!
Posted at 12:52 PM | Comments (3)June 23, 2006
Being a Woman Is Hard
It's the answer you've all been waiting for -- YES, I finally have an outfit for the two weddings!
Losin' sleep, werentcha?
One night last week, I drove all the way home to pick-up Heather (who is carless, which, to me, she might as well be homeless, it's so unfathomable). Then I drove all the way back where I came from because my office is literally right across the street from The Big Huge Awesome Mall.
Stupid Heather and her stupid carlessness.
We arrived around 7:00 and immediately headed into Nordstrom's because that's Where You Go when you have to be Ultimate Arm Candy.
Nuthin'. Got a little excited about a Carmen Miranda-esque skirt but couldn't find anything to go with it. Imagine that.
Next up -- J. Jill. Found an ADORABLE skirt but, again, nothing to go with it.
(Riveting storytelling, I know.)
Banana Republic (or BanRep, as I like to call it -- I'm hoping it catches on) yielded yet another fabulous skirt, like this one but in sky blue so gorgeous it's edible.
By then I was sick of finding amazing skirts and nothing to match them. Sick of standing naked in a dressing room while Heather brought me armfulls of clothes. Sick of looking at myself under fluorescent lights.
So I wimped out and got this little twinset in white. A cop-out, I know, but it was 8:55, the stores were closing, and I was groggy and crabby from lack of food.
But I have the perfect jewelry to tie it all together: borrowed a multi-blue Brighton necklace from Billi, and I got the matching bracelet on eBay. They so nicely highlight my grey-blue eyes, if I do say so myself. But I don't like the matching earrings, so I just got some grey pearl studs, also on eBay. Ah, eBay -- is there anything you can't do?
But even with adorable, Stepford outfit and eye-enhancing jewelry, I was still only partway to my goal of Ultimate Arm Candy.
Yesterday at lunch, I took a team of very well-dressed salaried staff women to DSW to find me some sandals that don't make me cry. I basically went fetal in the loafer aisle while they shopped within my parameters:
1) No really high heels.
2) Nothing between my toes.
The result is a pair of simple, white slingbacks with a kitten heel. (The met just heard "The result is blah blah white kitten blah blah," and are now totally confused.) I didn't trip on the practice walk, so I'm greatly encouraged.
Awesome, awesome me! Fabulous skirt? Check! Adorable twinset? Check! Stunning jewelry? Check! Strappy sandals? Check! Matching purse?
Purse?
Purse?!?!
FUCK!
No, I don't have a white purse! Why would I own a white purse? I never wear white!
Deep cleansing breaths, Wenchie. You'll get through this.
Okay.
I'll forgo the purse for the wedding I'm singing at tomorrow cuz I'm not even going to the reception. (Have cousins coming in from Norway on Sunday I must prepare for. And not be hung-over for. They are sure to yeild at least a couple humorous posts, I'm sure. Because foreign = funny!)
I'm currently watching several white leather Coach wristlets on eBay. I'm sure to get one before the July 8 wedding, right? Right?!
Posted at 02:36 PM | Comments (7)June 13, 2006
My Hate For All Things Strappy
I am morose and limp with apathy today. No inclination to blog. I shall go home, flop on the futon and drink beer from a coffee mug.
Why? ask my beloved readers (both of you), ever concerned for my health and well-being.
Because I have TWO weddings coming up, and nothing to wear.
Yes, nothing to wear. Men, these three words may elicit weary eye-rolling from you, but from us women, it falls nothing short of SHEER TERROR.
I literally have nothing to wear to a summer wedding, as the last one I attended was my own. You men have it soooooo easy, and I say that with so much derision that I had to wipe spittle off my monitor. Suit, shirt, tie, whatever. It never changes, it can be worn anywhere, any time, any place.
I envy you.
Last wedding I went to, I wore black skirt, black shoes, colorful top. But I know that's a look that says, "I didn't know what to wear, and I waited until the last minute, and this was my fallback position." Booooooooooooor-iiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!
Oh, and the other factors? The chilling, mind-exploding factors? It's not like this is just Heather's wedding (to which I am dressing like a pirate -- for reals).
The first wedding? I'm singing for it.
The second wedding? Is one of Husband's employees, so I have to be Stepford Arm Candy that night. I have to look classy. I have to act classy. I have to smell classy.
And dudes? I ain't classy.
Here's my entire wardrobe:
Work:
* Jersey-knit pants in black, brown and grey.
* V-neck shirts and sweaters in various colors, never tucked in.
* Medium-heeled loafers in black, brown and grey.
* Silver jewelry, so it's not too obvious that my outfit is just one step above pajamas.
Going out:
* Levi's 515 jeans, low-rise, bootleg, in blue, grey or tan.
* V-neck shirts and sweaters in various colors, never tucked in.
* Medium-heeled boots in black or brown.
* Silver jewelry.
Staying home:
* Hello Kitty! pajamas.
* Pink slippers.
Was I wrong? NOTHING TO WEAR.
I just spend the past two hours looking at Special Occasion Dresses and Strappy Sandals on Nordstrom's website. Everything formal is strapless or spaghetti straps, and with shoulders like a linebacker, I just don't do bare shoulders. Or bralessness. Plus, there's the tattoo to contend with...
I just went and got me a pack o' Ho-Hos. Dinner tonight? A brick of cream cheese.
Posted at 12:24 PM | Comments (8)April 06, 2006
Making Baby Jesus Cry
[Today's post is by guest-blogger, Nicholle. The photo was taken on Christmas morning, 2005. Nicholle has been busy, so cut her a little slack, will ya? I will be back tomorrow with TWO "America's Next Top Model" reviews.]
Norman Rockwell would have painted a St. Bernard where she was standing. As suggested to the artist easily by the drooping piles of ruddy hair.
This is Christmas morning, people. De rigeur: comfy robes for the residents, footie jammies for the little ones, cable knit sweaters and jeans for the guests. Not this. Never this.
To start at the bottom or the top? The top, to emphasize the descent into fashion hell.
Thirty-three year old women must have all purchase attempts of butterfly clips thwarted at the Walgreens counter. No longer must they be allowed to disguise them in piles of sanitary products and butterfingers!
Long-sleeve Hello Kitty t-shirt with ruffled shoulders in sanitarium pink. Ruffled shoulders = nineteen eighty-two. There. I spelled it out for ya. Now pink generally rocks, as do wee and/or ironic representations of Miss Kitty.
Case in point: Hello Kitty graphic no more than three inches high wearing a black bow, with a skull in the center and a plaid skirt, can say, “I know mute Japanese cats can be a little fifth grade, but I am cognizant and wear it with a little edge.” And NOT to celebrate the birth of Christ. Unless you are THAT family member, and then we hope you come up with something so bleeding inappropriate that you make your mother cry at the thought of a family photo.
Also –- pink on the ginger-coiffed? Only if you’re Strawberry Shortcake, and even she toned it down. Which brings us to the pants.
Now, since the subject wasn’t really cooperating, the photo is missing the fab details of calligraphy graffiti randomly splashed about the tush. It really puts the lash in splash. As in forty lashes. But you can make out the embroidery. So kitschy. So ethnic. So visually competitive with Sanrio.
The extra fabric bunching about the ankles would have been so helpful to the fabric at the hips -– fabric that never thought, in its early days on the loom, that it would be required to withstand forces equivalent to a tsunami on its little, cotton arms. It’s okay to buy the right size! C’mon, they've invented vanity sizing!
Oh wait, that’s right –- you assembled this ensemble in the dark, mirrorless room in the basement behind the furnace, where you held your breath against the black mold, and they did fit down there.
The gift of Ugg slippers pushed it to the edge, man. Or brought it all together. Whichever.
December 14, 2005
The Most Profane Man Husband Has Ever Met, a.k.a. My New BFF
Black Suede Paolo Come-Fuck-Me Shoes $85
1 Pair Victoria's Secret Black Thigh-Hi Stockings $14
Black Floor-Length Velvet skirt $100
Black Velvet Tank Top $38
Black Lace Pirate Shirt $48
Seeing Husband's jaw drop and land on his instantaneous erection:
PRICELESS
And wouldn't you know? What with the open bar and trays of food, I forgot to have someone take a photo of me, so you're gonna have to settle for more of my crappy self-photography.
Here's the top:
And here's the very bottom:
Then just imagine a long, velvet skirt in between, and you get the idea. And I know I looked good because I was getting checked out left and right by hot, young white-collar professionals! Dudes, I barely even made it to the bar before one of 'em started hitting on me.
He's all, "Oh, I forgot was I was going to order, I got so distracted by you!"
So Husband whips it out, pees on me and says, "John, have you met my wife, Wenchie?"
And John's all, "Wife? I'm sorry -- I thought she was your daughter!"
BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!
So we didn't stay and talk to John. Instead, Husband introduced me to Bob -- and I quote, "The most profane man I know." So naturally, he's absolutely my New Favorite Person, and we're BFFs and gonna try out for cheerleading together and if one of us doesn't make it then the other one won't be in it because that's how much we <3 each other.
He won my heart when he looked at the string group hired to play at the party and said, "Look, it's everyone who didn't make the football team."
Bob and Husband apparently have lunch together about twice a month, and Bob told Husband that he has to bring me to lunch sometime. So at least I managed to impress The Most Profane Man Ever. That's good Arm Candy, right?
Know what else I did? Drove down to the Loop MYSELF. Parked in an underground parking garage MYSELF. And walked to the correct building MYSELF. Rainman says I'm almost ready to drive to the K-Mart myself!
Once I left the party and got back in the car AND TOOK MY SHOES OFF, the first thing I did was call Heather. I'm like, "You'll be so proud of me! I didn't fall or anything!"
Also? I now understand that concept that is exclusively female -- suffering for beauty, which made Heather doubly proud. I feel like I'm finally a real woman. Are you there, God? It's me, Wenchie.
Posted at 02:54 PM | Comments (6)June 03, 2005
Truly a Bold Statement
One of the VPs here has an outfit that just kills me every time he wears it. And it's not like he ever wears the pants with a different shirt, or the shirt with different pants. No, this is an outfit, for sure.
Finally, I worked up the nerve to say, “Dude, I’ve gotta get a picture of that outfit.”
“Is it really bad?”
“No, no, no! It’s bold!”
“Do I look gay?” (He's definately a good ol' boy and, therefore, a homophobe.)
“No, a gay man would have better shoes.”
“Okay, good. Cuz my wife and kids were making fun of some outfits I bought and telling me I look gay.”
Oh, I cannot wait to see the new outfits!
And lest I give you the wrong impression, I have absolutely no business whatsoever critiquing peoples' appearances. I can barely dress myself, which is why my wardrobe is half black, half all-the-same-style-shirt-in-different-colors.
Yes, I have the long, golden tresses and the round, ample melons going on, but those things aside, I'm a wreck. Especially in the summer.
You see, summer and I don't get along. It makes my silky hair fuzzy and fluffy, and not in the adorable-cuddly-kitten kind of way. I brought my skirts out of hibernation for the first time yesterday and blinded two of my co-workers when I got outta my car and the sun glinted off the fish-belly skin of my legs.
Today, I wore some cute, strappy sandals to work, and by 10am I was ready to amputate my feet because strappy = cutty-into-my-footy, and walking around on bloody stumps would be more comfortable. I'm now in white gym shoes, which really go well with my all-black ensemble. I'm wearing a black Eddie Bauer v-neck t-shirt and black pajama pants. To which I added a necklace because that makes it "dressy" and, therefore, "work appropriate."
No fashionista I. I'm just a bitch with a camera who likes making fun of people.
Posted at 08:55 AM | Comments (9)May 23, 2005
This Is a Public Service Announcement
Gentlemen. Please. For the love of all things holy.
Is anyone fooled by this? Besides the wearer?
I wasn't fooled, and yet, I was entranced. So much so that I almost missed my stop.
Do you see how the part starts on the bottom of the back of his head? And never gets higher than two inches over his left ear? He literally has to comb half of it UP.
Now, guys, I feel for ya. I really do. I know it must be hard to loose your hair. God knows, if I lost mine, I'd become a hermit and launch bottle rockets at anyone who approached my house. But I wouldn't comb my hair up. No matter how desperate I became.
But this? This fools no one into thinking you have a lush, Fabio-esque head of hair.
But actually, I don't blame the men. No, I blame their barbers! What shitty barber college did they go to that taught them it was okay to do this to their clients?! This poor man paid good money to look like this!
I'm so upset, I have to return to My Happy Place by thinking of sexy bald/balding men.
Patrick Stewart, better known as Jean Luc Picard
Bruce Willis, better known as Ashton Sr.
Vin Diesel
Samuel L. Jackson
Billy Zane
Ving Rhames
My Hott Boss
Bruce Campbell
Okay, Bruce Campbell isn't really balding, but he's a permanant resident in My Happy Place, and I'm sure his shiney scalp would be every bit as lucious as the rest of him.
But I digest.
ALSO bad: The Skullet. That's where you're going bald in front, so you grow a ponytail in back to compensate, but it really just looks like your hair slipped or something.
In short, gentlemen, aging gracefully and confidently is sexier than any combover or toupee. And a big, fat wallet doesn't hurt.
You may now return to your regularly scheduled... whatever.
[Photo courtesy of Heather's camera-phone]
Posted at 02:20 PM | Comments (6)April 13, 2005
Some Colors Are Just For Girls
Last summer, Hot Boss made the mistake of wearing a pastel pink oxford to work. Being the caring, all-purpose secretary that I am, I staged an intervention, and he hasn't worn it since.
A few months ago, DB wore this little number to work.
I told him to go ask Hot Boss what I'd told him about pink shirts on men. "It was a stupid idea in the 80's, and nothing has changed!"
Well, sadly, DB has no woman at home to check him before he leaves the house, so he wore the pink polo AGAIN.
"Tsk tsk, DB. I've talked to you about this shirt. Now you're forcing me to post it on my website as a warning to all."
You can clearly see in the photo above how DB felt about that.
And not long after that photo was taken, DB pushed the limits of accepted male apparell again and wore these.
Now, unless he was rushing directly to the golf course after work, there's just no excuse for sky blue pants on a man.
You Men get heather grey and olive drab camo; we Women get hot pink and sky blue. Do not upset the balance of the universe by disobeying this simple rule! It's for your own good, I promise.
Posted at 01:47 PM | Comments (4)March 25, 2005
When Doves Cry, It's Because of This Sweater
I would totally wear this exact sweater, size men's XL...
... if it were 1986, and I was also wearing it over a white t-shirt, with my acid-washed Guess? jeans that zippered at the ankles, with cobalt blue socks and white canvas Keds. And of course, big-ass blue triangle earrings.
This sweater is older than J's children.
Posted at 01:10 PM | Comments (3)March 16, 2005
No, This Is His OTHER Golf Sweater
Okay, here's the man who started it all. And by started it all, I mean -- made me realize that it's my civic duty to post these sweaters as a warning to others. (I have to protect his identity because, other than the sweaters, he's a fairly cool guy. Hard to believe, I know, but I've met his wife, and she's totally hot, so he must be doing something right.)
And this is the entry that started it all. For the lazy, an excerpt:
And then there's J. Oh dear God, the Golf sweater. I laughed all fucking day when he wore that one. To his face. Okay, let's see if my description can do it justice. It was a v-neck cardigan, first of all. The back was solid, um... I don't know... maroon? And the front had big blocks of maroon, teal and cream.On one side of the front, there were four letter appliqués that spelled out the word "GOLF." On the other side, was a big appliqué... of a golf club. Appliqués -- ON A GROWN MAN'S SWEATER. And then the plaid elbow patches were just the icing on the cake of the damned.
I laughed at him all day, and he was like, "If you like this, I've got another one I'll wear for ya!"
Yup. Same guy, different golf sweater. Different, as in -- he has TWO golf sweaters. That I know of.
Now, a few years back, when I said to Nicholle's boss, "Hey, Bill Cosby called and wants his sweater back," he had the good sense to be deeply ashamed, and he never wore the offending sweater again.
But not J. Noooo, J is undaunted by mockery because he has a message he wants to share with the world.
"Why, yes, I do golf! Do you golf? We should go golfing together sometime! Golfing is fun! I know some great places to golf! Let's golf this weekend, and I can wear my snappy cap, just like this fellow!"
Now that I'm fully armed with digital camera and fully-functional blog, I keep begging him to wear the appliquéd sweater again. And I won't rest until I've tacked it to the side of my barn.
Posted at 09:00 AM | Comments (0)March 14, 2005
Today's Guest Blogger: A Very Disgusted Nicholle
Props to my mother-in-law for the Gay Pride Birthday Sweater. I am not gay, or a petite, or a 2x.
In the parking lot of the birthday dinner restaurant the box is thrust at me. Why am I getting this now? Why wasn't it brought in?
After a post-family-party drink, I am pressured by my sister-in-law to open it. The alcohol prohibits me from controlling my face muscles, which twitch in horror as she screeches, "It's a sweater! It's a sweater!"
My bro-in-law -- actual blood kin of the mother-in-law -- after the tense must-protect-my-mother vibe, practically spits on it and proclaims it horrid.
Husband says, "She tried to get it in your size." I'm sorry, let me moo and squat. No mother should buy any adult more than three years younger than her any clothing.
I avoid calling or writing mother-in-law for one week.
M.I.L. then calls and says, "I hear I got you an ugly sweater."
"Where'd ya hear that?"
My bro-in-law told her that not even a teacher who wears ugly sweaters would wear that.
I say, "Well, that solves the thank-you note problem!"
She gives her blessing to donate sweater. I go one further and donate image to Pirate Wench's ugly sweater collection.
[Note from Pirate Wench: My original idea for a category was "My Boss' Ugly Sweaters," which became "Unfortunate Clothing Choices," and is now simply "Couture." The whole thing was inspired by the unspeakably evil sweater worn by one of my bosses, but I wasn't incorporating photos at the time. Well, I am now! And there will be more repugnancy to come, I promise!]
Posted at 11:05 AM | Comments (0)March 01, 2005
Take That Back!
"Pirate-wench couture"? I'm sorry, but no pirate wench I know would be caught dead in anything shiney. Black plunging v-neck, yes. Shiney Flashdance top, no.
I just felt the need to clear that up. This had been a public service announcement. You may now return to your regularly scheduled... whatever.
February 28, 2005
Are You Sitting Down?
I bought Girl Clothes on Saturday.
No black hoodies. In fact, nothing with a hood or a zipper! Although, yes, it’s all v-necked. But when you have large melons and shoulders like a linebacker, v-neck is really the only way to go. Plus, it makes it easier for people to look down my shirt! Bonus!
A was with me, and after I’d tried on my usual heap of Anything Black In An XL, she wouldn’t let me out of the dressing room. Seriouly, she may be little, but she's scary, man. She held me hostage and just kept bringing me stuff I never would have picked out myself. Some of it in size L! And it fit! And there were colors! Oh dear God, the colors!
And you know what? Some of it looked damn cute on me. I'm sure my mother heard angels singing.
I was scared at first. Hey, this is pink! And this one has flowers! Are you trying to get me beaten up? Cuz Anne will totally beat me up for wearing flowers!
But it became kinda fun as I realized that A and I were both living out our dreams, right there in that little dressing room.
No, there was no hot lesbian sex, sorry.
But A was clever and helpful, a la her favorite t.v. show, "What Not to Wear." And I was a living, breathing Barbie doll. It rocked.
I ended up with three shirts and a sweater. Aqua, violet, periwinkle and lavender. (Don't panic -- I didn't let her talk me into the shirt with the sparkles.) I hung them up, but my other clothes don’t know what to do and are scooting away from them.
Don’t worry, black hoodies, this is not a new trend! You will always be my first love!
2 Good 2 B 4 Gotten 4 Evah!
February 24, 2005
Popcorn! Peanuts! Cotton Candy!
I work with some real snazzy dressers who definately deserve to be immortalized on a cheesy website, so I created the "Cosby Sweaters & More" category.
This is just a test post, so me 'n' Heather can see what we're doing and tweak things. It's all about the tweaking with us. Hee.
Eventually, I'll show you some of the truly amazing fashion choices I've seen around here. Well, at least the ones I was allowed to take photos of.
This, however, is not a co-worker. This is Heather, doing a little modeling for the Barnum & Bailey catalogue. Hey, she was young and needed the money! For cream pies. And a little, tiny car.
Seriously, she's a techno-goddess and a model. I hate her.
Posted at 07:59 PM | Comments (0)February 07, 2005
I *Heart* Midwestgrrl
I love Midwestgrrl almost as much as I love Dooce, partly because I, too, am a Midwesterner. And partly because she's so funny I often laugh out loud, causing my coworkers to eyeball me, and that's awesome. Cuz if they think I'm crazy, they stay away!
Anyhoo, I was reading some of her archives, and I found this post, which kind of, in my interpretation, gives a big ol' FUCK YOU to those on the coasts who call our home "flyover country." Uppity bastards.
Okay, I'll reprint her post here, in case you're too lazy or inept to use the link. It's short enough. And I cannot make this clear enough: THE FOLLOWING WAS NOT WRITTEN BY ME. IT BELONGS TO MIDWESTGRRL (from Nov. 26, 2003).
"Caught a repeat episode of Rich Girls on MTV last night and am positive I heard the following from our Jaime: "People in the Midwest don't buy cargo pants to go with a sexy top and stilettos, like I would... they buy them because they have lots of pockets, and they work in the fields, and they need them.""That is so stupid. I mean, particularly if you work in a corn field. Because corn is like, very big. And so you carry it in a backpack or something. Pockets are more for carrying like, beads to trade with Indians for land, or maybe carrots to give the horses when they tire of pulling the wagon. I would have a lot more to say about this but the candle-dipping racks are all set up in the keeping room and I have to go."
And of course, I had to show Heather, because we so envy people who are funny, and because we were talking about our loathing of coastal folk earlier that very day.
H: and, the only thing I wear when detasselling corn, in the fields? sexy stillettos.
Me: I prefer thigh-hi boots and a spandex mini, but I'm old-fashioned
H: I've noticed that about you. and your sensitive skin and all.
Me: and really, stillettos? with cargo pants? clearly you should be wearing overalls with any heel over 1 inch. puh-LEEZ. it's almost like they've never even BEEN to a barn raising!
H: OBVIOUSLY. now she's going to say she wears flip flops with cutoffs. tacky!
Me: cutoffs are for HIKING BOOTS!
H: heh. or t-straps with 3" heels!
Me: or moccassins with argyle socks, depending on the event
H: I've been to several barn raisings. Seriously. but I think I got to wear a tube top to one, so I am at least somewhat fashion-aware...
Me: oooh tube top. so it was an after-five barn raising?
H: eventually, yes. and I REALLY DID. have a tube top. it was awesome.
Me: I'll bet you looked so hot, old Jebediah went home and "knew" his mule that night.
H: NO idea how it stayed up, but I was 5, so...whatevah.
Me: oh, you were 5, sorry. did you really go to a barn raising? cuz I'll be so jealous
H: well, every October until I was in high school, we stayed at my cousin's farm in Door County. and we had several barn raisin's that I can recall. one on our property, and the others with neighbors.
Me: ohmigod! That's so cool!
Oh, it's no wonder they mock us.
Posted at 09:46 AM | Comments (0)January 07, 2005
Novelties Are Not for Wearing
As much as I rejoice that I came to work here after the switch to "business casual", meaning I don't have to wear skirts, nylons (apparel of the devil) and heels everyday, and as much as I love that today's khakis and hoodie actually pass for office-wear, perhaps... and I don't say this lightly... perhaps we should rethink.
Case in point: turtlenecks. Meant to be worn under things, like sweaters, preferably. But there are women here who insist upon wearing them alone -- the novelty ones from Kohl's with snowflakes or bears or whatever on them. It's just... gah! And as much as I'd love to see a couple of the guys here in a fitted, black, silk turtleneck, I'm going to have to outlaw them all completely, just so I'm not bombarded with an entire female torso covered in tiny shamrocks.
And more shameful than the novelty turtlenecks -- novelty socks. Socks should match your shoes and/or your pants. They should not have cows, flamingos or kitties on them. (If you're now going to argue that your shoes and/or pants have cow, flamingos or kitties on them, I'm going to have to ask you to assume the position.)
At Christmas, a woman actually wore Christmas socks with jingle bells on them. Not pictures of bells, mind you -- actual bells than jingled with every step! And in order to further share the joy of our lord savior's birth and the whimsy of her socks, she wore floods so that all could see them.
Now we get to mens' fashions and, in particular, my bosses, who are from downstate Illinois and, according to my female boss, dress like hicks. I've already had to forbid T from wearing anything pink. It wasn't a good idea in the 80's, and nothing has changed. Nothing.
And then there's J. Oh dear God, the Golf sweater. I laughed all fucking day when he wore that one. To his face. Okay, let's see if my description can do it justice. It was a v-neck cardigan, first of all. The back was solid, um... I don't know... maroon? And the front had big blocks of maroon, teal and cream.
On one side of the front, there were four letter appliqués that spelled out the word "GOLF." On the other side, was a big appliqué... of a golf club. Appliqués -- ON A GROWN MAN'S SWEATER. And then the plaid elbow patches were just the icing on the cake of the damned.
And this whole rant is totally hypocritical, I know, because I'm no fashionista. I've already admitted to pink, faux-fur-lined clogs, and I make no bold fashion statements, I don't keep up with trends. In general, I'm completely and utterly unimaginative when I dress myself. BUT. Boring is better than embarrassing oneself.
I only wear my Hello Kitty socks, undies and barrette when I'm going to see The Girl Child, because she thinks that's "cool," and I haven't the heart to tell her otherwise. Partly because I don't want to ruin that part of her girlish innocence, but mainly because I'm a whore for the "cool" points.
Posted at 02:24 PM | Comments (0)September 30, 2004
Stands with Pashmina
Okay, I'm a chick, so it was bound to happen. I have to talk a bit about "fashion." Which is a bit like Paris Hilton talking about Linux, but bear with me. (And, yes, I did have to make quote marks in the air when saying "fashion," like "art" and "self-control," because I just don't fucking get it.)
And no, I'm not going to mention Ugg boots or what the fuck was Tyra wearing last night on "America's Next Top Model".
I was just at Woodfield mall on my lunch break, buying a really expensive outfit that The Girl Child apparently could not make it to her fourth birthday without. This is what my life has been reduced to. I'm a sherpa. But she's ridiculously adorable, and if you saw her, you would do anything she wanted, so get off me.
And in the window at Nordstrom's is a mannequin wearing high-heeled moccasins (yes, yes, we'll get to that in a moment), argyle knee-socks and fishnets. Apparently because they couldn't get a real person to wear those three items at the same time.
Okay, first of all -- high-heeled moccasins? Doesn't that defeat the purpose of moccasins, which is to feel as if one isn't wearing shoes at all? Much like the high-heeled hiking boots of two years ago, they are even more fuckin' ugly than they are pointless. If Stands With Fist had to wear these things, she would have attempted suicide much sooner and much more successfully.
Needless to say, I will forgo the argyle socks and fishnets and stick with my jeans, clogs and hoodies. I'm a yawn, but at least I need to do a bit more than merely enter a room in order to embarrass myself... most days. Which is why I can't, for the life of me, imagine why a friend bought me a pashmina for Christmas. Yes, Christmas 2003. It's soft, a beautiful baby blue, and has remained in my drawer for nine months, neglected, like Pauly Shore's career.
I feel obligated to wear it. After all, the person who bought it for me obviously thinks I am much more colorful and sophisticated than I actually am. And for seeing me in such wonderful light, the least I could do is wear the darn thing.
But that would mean: a.) ironing it; and, b.) building an entire outfit around it. Both of which are beyond me.
Seriously, what the hell do you wear a pashmina with? I'm not even sure how to spell it, let alone coordinate it with other clothing items!
Maybe that's the problem at Nordstrom's. Maybe they have fashion-impared people like me doing their window displays, and that's why they end up with mannequins that look like Gwen Stefani and Sarah Jessica Parker's love child.