yo, tim gunn

Have you ever had a day where you knew that when you got dressed in the morning, you were garbing yourself in something entirely unflattering … and yet you did it anyway?

Or.  Maybe that’s just me.

Picking out something to iron this morning, I came across a pink suede-y kinda jacket that I haven’t worn in awhile.  I pulled it out of the closet, gave it a once over, and thought, ‘hey, I’ll give it a whirl.’  Sistahs, there was a reason I hadn’t worn it in awhile.  I blame my poor judgement on the fact I hadn’t yet had my Tim Horton’s coffee and clearly wasn’t thinking rationally.

Firstly, I am so not a color kinda gal.  I rarely … mark that very rarely … ever wear bright hues. It’s just not me, not my style.  Not that I even have a style.  

But.

Think blacks, browns, khakis, burgundy, gray, safari greens … and you’re talking my game.  I revel in neutral, muted, deep earthy colors.  I have a gatrillion-and-one pairs of khaki Dockers … cause y’all know you can coordinate khaki with anything.  And black shirts?  Make that a gatrillion-and-two.

Secondly, you’d think I’d know that I should never buy something off the Kohl’s discount rack that was marked down from $70 to $15.  Umm.  There is a reason they’re slashing the price 79%.  I should have listened to my inner Tim Gunn on this one. 

Oh yes indeedy.

So today I ironed and actually put on said clearance rack Pepto-Bismol-pink jacket.  With khakis, of course.   But it wasn’t until I was halfway to the office … past the point of no return … that I finally asked myself … girl, what were you thinking?

I hate it. I feel awful wearing it.  It sets a really bad tone for the whole day.

Ironically, I walked into a co-worker’s office this morning and she said, ‘Ooh I love that jacket!  I haven’t seen you wear it in awhile?’.  I kid you not.  I felt like asking her if she liked the pink jacket better than the burlap feed sack with the hemp belt I wore last week.  Truly. It’s on the same par. 

Is it 5:00 o’clock yet?

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laundry origami

At the risk of sounding like an ingrate, I have to vent.  And I’m sorry that I’m going to sound a bit whiney.  I beg forgiveness.

Okay.

Oldest son has late classes on Monday.  Therefore, before I left for work this morning, I assigned him the task of finishing up the stray laundry.  With youngest son’s two soccer games this weekend, each smack dab in the middle of both days, I managed to leave a basket … or two … of unwashed clothing as we tripped into the week.  I hate that.  I do. I like having things tidied up from one week to the next so we’re starting fresh on Monday.  Because let’s get real … Monday’s are bad enough without having to stare down last week’s leftovers.

Flash forward.

I came home this evening … after youngest son’s baseball practice … to find that oldest son actually finished the laundry and deposited the basket of folded clothes upstairs in the master bedroom.  Again, I don’t want to sound like an ingrate. 

But.

Whoever taught the boy to fold laundry oughta be bullwhipped.  I swear to y’all, the basket of clothes was about 2 feet high … by 2 inches wide.  I found my jeans folded to the size of a loaf of bread.  Youngest son has hoodies that would fit into a teacup. I asked oldest son if it was his greatest desire in life to be the first laundry origami champion.  He smiled and said, ‘At least I finished it, Mom.’  Ooooh.  Touche’.

whatta guy, i tell ya

What can I say.  Sometimes he’s awfully brilliant and you just have to say, ‘Awwww … man, I love ya.’  I do.

March 24th … tomorrow … is our 25th wedding anniversary.  I told hubby that I really wanted to go to Savannah in 2010 for the girl’s weekend. He knows that I’m very hesitant to spend that kinda cabbage on myself.  So.  He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. 

I’m terribly giddy right now.  Pardon me while I squeal. 

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

stepping out

Went shoe shopping today which is something I don’t do all that often, because … well, let’s get real.  My feet?  Not the glamorous, pointy-toe, stiletto heels shoe type … or, as my friend, Leila calls them, ‘CFM shoes’ … and if you don’t know what that means … I ain’t tellin’ y’all [ahem].

Sadly, there’s nothing I can do about the irreversible fact of less-than-perfect feet.  It being what it is, I’ve stopped losing sleep over it.   I remember as a child school shopping with my mom and driving her to utter distraction in our quest to find wide-width loafers.  Digressing … as I’m wont to do … I remember one year after having marched all over Sears, Kmart, and JCPenneys for hours … we found the most adorable pair of little deep olive green penny loafers.  Man.  When I wore those little shoes into the classroom, I felt like the cat’s meow. 

Anyway.

Flash forward a few decades and today, I decided it was getting to be that time again to break down and see what was out there for feet with the general dimensions of  scuba fins.   Now.  I’m going to pause for a moment here. If all comes to pass and I end up in Savannah in 2010, I don’t want y’all lookin’ at my feet to see if what I say is true. Promise? 

I mean it.

So.  This afternoon I’m out scouting for some cute, clunky shoes … for purposes of this mission, y’all need to envision Born-style shoes, okay? … lo and behold I stumble upon some really snappy Eastland loafer-style, cloggy-type shoes  in a nice brown leather.  Oh girls.  They’re the shazizzle.  Truly. 

But the big news of the day?  In the ever-circular world of fashion, did y’all see what’s back on the market?!  Espardilles.  ESPADARILLES.  Pardon me while I observe a moment of reverent silence.  I had an endless array of espadrilles back in the mid-80’s … along with, of course, the requisite Candies … but espadrilles, dadgum … you could buy them in every color to go with anything.  The most versatile … and comfortable … shoes ever known to (wo)man.  Ever.  And they’re back.  Oh my.

Now if we could just lobby to get back the Earth shoes of the 70’s.  Yes. I loved those too.

six degrees of separation


As cheesey as it is, I have loved the Bay City Rollers since I was 13 years old.  That’s over three decades now.  I know.  I’m scaring myself.  But today, I figured out why.  Sorta. 

While sorting through some photos and memorabilia this morning, I came across my great Auntie’s obituary.  As I read the bit from the newspaper, I was shocked that I never realized my maternal great grandmother on my mom’s mom’s side … my grandmother’s mother to be precise … got all that? … was Scottish.  And a purebreed Scots at that.  Ola Kelso.  Can you get any more Scottish than that?  Methinks not.

The Rollers and I?  Why, we’re from the same breeding pool.  Sorta.  People … ya really gotta work with me here.

what will they think of next

‘Hello God.  It’s me, Margaret.’

A friend called me the other day asking if we were going to our ‘fill-in-the-blank-Catholic-school-our-children-attend’ Reverse Raffle.  Long story short, she’d received, by mistake, an extra set of tickets in the envelope with her tickets.  Since we love this couple to squishy bits … and when I heard who the other couples in attendance would be … I asked hubby and he said, ‘why the heck not?’.  So.  For the first time ever … EVER … we committed to go to the annual function.  And then … because if nothing else … we Catholics are as honest as the day is long *cough* …  I dashed off the $60 check with a note explaining about the ‘extra’ tickets.

The next day said friend emailed me the details for the event … because y’all know I’m not very good at keeping … or in fact, actually reading … all those dadgum, tree-eatin’, here’s-what’s-happenin’ flyers they send home in youngest son’s weekly brown envelope.  She gets that about me.  And she’s very patient.  And keeps me informed.

Anyway.

In preparation for the gala, I’m checking out the entertainment.  Oh my my my.  Psychic readings.  At a Catholic event.  Hmmm.  Now, I’ll preface what I’m going to tell y’all with a little history.  Personally, I don’t necessarily put alot of stock into psychic readings.  When we lived in Central Florida in the mid-80’s, I went with a group of girls from the office to a spooky little town called Cassadaga to have our fortunes read.  The town was old Florida, moss-covered-tree kinda eerie.  The readings, unfortunately, were rather underwhelming.    Since that time, I’ve had a few readings here and there with local friends here.  I don’t read (or believe in) horoscopes or astrology.  But.  That’s just me.  I think if nothing else, they’re … well … entertaining.

However, my personal feelings aside … because no one asked me in the first place … I did think it was ironic that the Catholic Church … y’all got that, right … this is a Catholic event … in the Church gym … okay … just wanted to make sure … would hire a psychic reader as entertainment.  I guess coupled with the beer tent, it must have seemed entirely appropriate.  Yeah.  Because … other than being as honest-as-the-day-is-long … remember the tickets, see above … bottom line is we Catholics are also known to be very engaging and quite liberal when it comes to throwing a shindig.  Where’d y’all think Bingo came from?

I called said friend a few days later for a little chuckle about it.  She tells me that they’ve had this type of entertainment for a few years now and it’s the … can I quote? … ‘…biggest hit of the night!  Gosh, people stood in line for hours to get a reading.’  Hmmm.   Having said all that … I did promise her I’d stand in line with her for a reading.  Why not?  We’ll have beer while we wait and then go to Confession in the morning.

God loves us Catholics.