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My sartorial peeves are about to become rants. If you're not ready for it, move to the back row [F*ck the back row! Yay Back Row!] and let someone else read it.
People, women mostly, who are so proudly brand conscious drive me up the wall. One sees all these Coach bags with the C's on them, or the Tory Burch flats. You know the ones. Little ballet flats with a big brass circle on the toe with two T's top to top in the circle.
A good 60% of my purses are Coach. But here's my dirty little secret. I despise conspicuous consumption so much that I never ever buy a Coach bag with the C's and the first thing I do even before the clerk has finished ringing up the sale is to remove the little leather or brass Coach-embossed tag from the strap.
But today's encounter topped them all. While waiting to genuflect at the altar of the caffeine addicted, the sleeve of a woman's coat caught my eye. There on the cuff of the left sleeve was the label -- Calvin Klein. Seriously? Did she just forget to cut it off? Or does she think that it's supposed to be there? Like those seams that hold jacket pockets together. Or the stitch on the pleat of a skirt.
For goodness sake, who is so proud of wearing So-and-So that they want to emblazon the designer's name all over themselves? If you're going to advertise for the company, at least make them pay you for your service. Stop and think. If no one knew who designed or produced what you wear, would you still wear it?
Enough for now. I better step off my soapbox before I launch into a diatribe about men wearing the wrong size suits.
[Title taken from this.]
The following is not original material. It was plagarized from Becca. Play along on your own blog if you like.
NICKNAMES: Yes, I have two. One my husband calls me. One my father took to his grave with him.
BIRTHDAY: The anniversary of the first atomic bomb that was dropped. Yep, that pretty much describes me, too.
HEIGHT: 5'10"
EYE COLOR: Hazel
HAIR COLOR: Red, strawberry blonde, titian, I'm not really sure
HANDED: Bats left, throws right
FROM: American by birth, Southern by the grace of God!
PETS: One dog, two cats
PERSONALITY: Leo
HOBBIES: genealogy, hiking, backpacking, reading
LIKES: How long do you have?
DISLIKES: See last answer.
FAVORITE ACCENTS: Coastal Georgia, South Carolinian Low Country, Cajun, Scottish
FAVORITE COUNTRY: Other than my own, Scotland
FAVORITE DAY OF THE WEEK: Friday, Friday!
FAVORITE DRINK: Old Fashioned, Dirty Martini with bleu cheese stuffed olives, sweet iced tea, seltzer water
FAVORITE FLOWER: Orange Gerbera daisies
FAVORITE FOODS: Soft-shell crab, beets, creme brulee, gazpacho
FAVORITE GIRLS NAMES: Caroline, Rebecca
FAVORITE NUMBER: 1
FAVORITE PLACE TO HANG OUT: My own backyard
FAVORITE SHOES: Anything with a heel over 3 inches high
FAVORITE SPORT: Tennis to play, Football to watch
THREE THINGS THAT SCARE ME
1. Snakes
2. Serpents
3. Reptiles without legs
THREE THINGS I'D LIKE TO LEARN MORE OF:
1. Arabic
2. Shuttle tatting
3. Rock climbing
*See Emily Dickinson.
My hair stylist was born in the U.S. to Serbian parents who returned to Serbia when he was a toddler. When he was 20, he decided that Serbia wasn't the place to try to build a life (remember Yugoslavia?). So he headed back to the U.S. to claim his American citizenship before he turned 21 and was no longer eligible.
On one of my recent trips to have him work his magic, the conversation turned to several cities that now charge 5¢ for each shopping bag. Grocery stores were understandable since most grocery stores give a 5¢ or 10¢ per bag refund for each reusable bag. Lots of people are now filling their reusable bags with boxes of cereal, rolls of toilet paper, and gallons of milk. But what about department stores? Would they charge for a shopping bag?
Neither of us knew the answer. But it brought up a discussion of how they did things in Serbia. Every family kept their cloth bags on the back of the door. On the way out of the house, they would grab a few bags and use them everywhere they shopped. Everywhere. Grocery store, shoe store, hardware store.
On my next shoe shopping trip, if I were to ask the shoe store for a bag refund, I wonder if they'd go for it. And I wonder if it would catch on with other folks.
With my current job search bullying my dance craze to the backseat of the bus, attending ballet class has taken a nosedive. Tuesdays and Thursdays are my buckle-down-and-just-do-it days to work on applications for the entire "business day". Mondays and Wednesdays are spent doing my other full-time occupation of being a housewife. Believe me, if there were any way possible, I'd keep my current job. But it doesn't pay enough for college tuition. In fact, monetarily speaking, it doesn't pay at all. Except in the love and affection of my family.
That leaves Fridays to relax into a physically exhaustive exercise routine. My only ballet class of the week these days.
My ballet teacher is a wonderful woman. She danced professionally from age 16 onward. She was a Rockette at one time and danced in Sweden for a while. Now she teaches ballet to pre-schoolers through pre-pointe. Plus her adult class, her gal pals.
She's somewhat eccentric in certain ways. She refuses to see Western doctors until she can barely walk. She drinks Listerine before class every day. And recently she's taken to drinking water mixed with cider vinegar.
She's also gotten on the green bandwagon by buying a metal water bottle to carry her vinegar water. Apparently, she just bought it. At my last class I walked in and found her swearing about how her bottle had leaked all in her bag. Both pairs of ballet slippers were soaked.
But she had nothing else to wear and, with her gnarled feet from years of pointe shoes, she won't dance barefooted or sock footed. She just squished her way through class, leaving puddles where she stood too long while mentally choreographing each piece.
The good thing about ballet slippers is that, even after all the blood, sweat, and tears, they still smell like leather. Rule Number One in ballet is never to wear your ballet shoes anywhere but in the studio. So they're not on our feet for more than a couple of hours at a time.
Still. One has to wonder how the vinegar will affect the suppleness of the leather and thereby a dancer's ability to arch her foot. Inquiring ballerina minds (me) want to know.
My exercise clothes were laid out the night before. My before-bed routine was complete. The blanket was tucked under my neck and sleep was delicious.
Too delicious, apparently. Morning came much too soon. Deirdre was way too alive, awake, alert, enthusiastic. Today begins Spirit Week at the high school culminating with Homecoming this weekend. She rifled through my closet looking for my house shoes to wear to school. It's Pajama Day, after all. She had the look down pat, complete with a pink eye mask stretched across her forehead.
The early morning search through my closet made a mess of my shoes. Usually they're neatly placed with their mates. In a rush to make it to the (easy) Pilates class, my hands reached into the dark closet and retrieved a pair of sneakers. It wasn't until the class was on the floor removing our shoes that I even noticed the sneakers weren't from the same pair. A blue shoe on one foot and a green shoe on the other.
I feel like Little Miss Matched. When is Crazy Dressed Day?
Abercrombie and Fitch is dead; long live Abercrombie and Fitch. Did you ever stop to ask why there's a moose head hanging over the cash registers at A&F? What's with all the hockey sticks? Does anyone remember the first incarnation of A&F?
A&F's flagship store was on Madison Avenue in New York City and filled with goods for hunting, fishing, and sporting. Fashion was more of an afterthought, like what your grandparents wore. It died a dignified death befitting any store that catered to the monied elite of Bar Harbor and Nantucket. Its death was duly noted in "The Official Preppy Handbook", the parody that some people used as a Bible.
Abercrombie and Fitch is now the must-buy store for the new "Preps". Just in time for "True Prep", the sequel to the OPH. The new Preps sport Lily and Tory and Hermes and Goyard. There are still the old standbys of L.L. Bean, Ralph Lauren, and J Crew.
Raise your hand if any of these shoes ever graced the floor of your closet. Weejuns, Top Siders, Tretorns, Pappagallos, Maine hunting boots, or duck shoes? Stand up if any of these ever covered your body. Paisley, madras, Lacoste, embroidered corduroy, or monogrammed anything? True Preps of the world unite if you owned any of these! Bean field coat, Chesterfield, Skyr, Carroll Reed, Chris Craft, or anything Orvis.
All of a sudden I feel like piling the kids and the dog into the Volvo, heading out to the Vineyard, and playing a set of tennis with numerous breaks for Bloody Marys.
Frugality is something that should come naturally for a daughter of Depression-era parents. Sometimes we all need a little help.
Here she comes to save the day! Mighty Mom is on the way!
My help cometh from an online group that sends out links to coupons and offers. Most of the coupons and offers aren't for grocery items. They're for restaurants and services. Getting a good twofer at a restaurant is right up my alley.
Except that I'm a walking contradiction. I'll clip coupons and shop the ads for things like toilet paper, shampoo, and laundry detergent; but I'll buy only the grass-fed beef and free-range eggs. I'll only shop the discount rack at DSW; but I'll only buy shoes cut from one piece of leather. I'll make reservations during Restaurant Week; but I don't like chain restaurants.
So when the online coupons and offers to restaurants want me to eat at "casual dining" restaurants, I hit the delete button. Casual dining to me is sitting at an outdoor table at my favorite French bistro, or eating at the counter of my favorite home-cookin' diner. That delete button has been getting a lot more action from me recently. Dropping my subscription has been on my mind.
It's just not giving me what I want. And it keeps clogging my inbox with pleas to use its offers. My frugality gene thinks that the time spent deleting all those incoming emails is worth more than waiting for that one true hoped-for ideal offer.
My blogging is like a soap-opera writer. On almost any soap, story lines don’t always get tied up neatly. When Finola was rereading old postings of my blog, she asked the whatever-happened-to questions. Let’s start the week with an update from past blogs.
My job search is still on. It’s like playing a numbers game. If I get enough rejection letters, I’m bound to get an offer at some time. In the meantime, I’m beginning to think and work on alternatives to the office scene. So this update is like answering a question with a question. It’s “to be continued”.
But I’m still not tech-savvy enough or have the patience necessary to figure out where my photos from our summer holiday to Scotland and England filed themselves away on my hard drive. Mr. Gaelic is in the process of making a photo album after culling through over 2500 still shots and unknown hours of video. Hard copy photo album. Mr. Tech-Savvy uploaded them to a website that will produce a bound book for us.
This past weekend was a tax-holiday in my neck of the woods. But I didn’t buy any clothing. In fact, since joining the clothing diet, I bought only one pair of shoes. My reward points at a store were about to expire and coupled with a birthday bonus coupon, they were a steal. Only one slip-up on my clothing diet so far.
Now we get down to business. I was amazed after our time overseas that I came home lighter. And not just in the pocketbook. Somehow I’ve managed to keep those lost pounds from finding their way back. And to top it off, a few of their friends have gone looking for them. That’s almost ten pounds without trying.
I have a suspicion about what’s making those pounds pack their bags. But that is tomorrow’s blog. Same bat time, same bat channel.
Don't you love when your state offers a tax holiday on certain goods? My state held the annual back-to-school tax-free weekend recently. Thankfully, my fashionista teenager was out of the country and was none the wiser that while the cat's the mice will buy.About thirty miles from my house is an outlet mall; so off we went in the waning hours of the tax holiday weekend. We were on a mission: blue jeans for my youngest daughter who grows like a weed but whose slim frame makes it nearly impossible to buy ready-to-wear that's not cut for the ever expanding waist lines of America's children.Horror of horrors awaited the 11-year-old. I dragged her into a store for me! Bad Mommy! Buying something for the child then expecting the child to reciprocate and wait patiently for Mommy!Come close and I'll tell you a secret. I'm a shoe snob. I will only buy really well made shoes. Ladies, check your shoes. If you see a vertical seam on the instep side of the shoe, the manufacturer cut corners by using two pieces of leather to make the shoes. If there's no seam, they used one piece, which takes up more leather, and is therefore more expensive to make. My shoe snobbery leads to a closet full of mostly designer shoes. But realizing that I could be the next Imelda, I only buy my shoes at outlets or places like DSW. Having decided on a pair of the baddest, blackest, pointy-toe patent heels to cross my path in years, I resigned myself to paying tax on them since, even at their deeply discounted price, they were over the $100 per item limit for tax free. (I also had a replacement pair of black sandals under my arm.) As the cashier rung up the total, she said if I bought two regularly priced items I could get another thirty percent off the shoes. Any two items. Even two dark chocolate bars of chocolate.My haul of two pairs of designer shoes, regularly priced at $379.99 and $249.99, plus two bars of Godiva dark chocolate, came to a whopping total of $132. No taxes paid!
Police officer. Nurse. Chef. Lobbyist. What do all of those have in common?
We had a substitute mail carrier yesterday. At least, I think so. I saw some strange man walking down the street carrying a mail bag and stopping at each house to put some things in the mailboxes. He was wearing blue jeans, an untucked white shirt, a baseball cap and white tennis shoes. His boxers’ waistband was visible over his jeans’ waistband.
It’s much easier to identify people by what they wear. For years now, however, business dress has been trending toward the casual side until it’s hard to tell by looking at them who work in the buildings and who are just trying to get to the museum. For a while, the easiest way to tell the tourists from the natives was by their ubiquitous tennis shoes. Tourists wear tennis shoes everywhere. Most natives wear some other sort of office shoes.
Causal Friday evolved into Casual Summer wear. Casual Summer somehow got strung out into Casual Autumn and even Casual Winter and Casual Spring. My husband’s suits would see the light of day only on Sundays. Until our church went to Casual Summer.
But he’s taken a new tack at work. Suits are back at the front of his closet. Even when he rides his motorcycle to work, he’ll wear a suit or slacks and a sports coat. He’ll lay the jacket in the top rack. He looks more professional. This in today’s economy can help him keep a leg up.
Just like the police officer and the nurse and the chef, wearing a uniform to work can help identify who you are and what you do. Whether it’s the black suit or the camelhair jacket, he looks like a lobbyist in his lobbyist uniform. And I just love a man in uniform.
Freecycle is a great way of recycling items. If you haven’t heard for Freecycle, check it out here.
It’s amazing some of the things you can get through Freecycle. Over the years, we’ve gotten almost-new Lucky Brand jeans, a slightly used desk chair, a bicycle, snow skis, a cat carrier, bricks, piano music books, and an assortment of other items. Our last haul was a box of women’s clothing and shoes.
As my teenage daughters and I were going through the box and trying on clothes, I was in charge of digging into the bottom of the box. Good thing it was me. Lo and behold, at the very bottom of the box lay a woman’s “little friend”. Your good old basic vibrator.
It’s amazing what you can stumble across when you Freecycle.
