Category Archives: Fashion

Santa Baby, Please Don’t Bring Me Harem Crops, or an Elf on the Shelf

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This is the view looking out my back door this morning:

Notice how difficult it is to see where the snow on the garage ends and the sky begins?  My plan this morning was to take a trip to Superstore, but the snow and the thought of pushing a giant cart through the windy, unplowed parking lot shook my resolution and so instead I have been puttering around the house, drinking copious amounts of coffee and avoiding my dog’s gaze.  We are not going for a walk, Barkley.
The kids have been taking swimming lessons at school, and they ended yesterday, just in time before the really cold weather settled in for its long winter nap.  It’s so perverse to me, taking swim lessons in the dead of winter, but fortunately it has not been too cold.  Also fortunately, none of the injury, death, and/or dismemberment that I had to waive prior to them taking part in lessons has taken place.  Those waivers will be the death of my nerves.  The half block that they walk is full of dangers, apparently, dangers that they could get run over by a car or slip and fall and crack their heads open on the sidewalk.  Then, once they are in the pool, they might slip and fall and crack their heads open on the pool deck, or drown in the pool, or some other such catastrophe.  Happily, they are still in one piece, although I have yet to hear if they passed their level or not.  I’m going to go ahead and predict not.  I have yet to hear of any child ever passing their level during school swim lessons.
The snow, despite its propensity to tempt me into sitting at home drinking coffee instead of shopping for groceries and liquor (very important, ’tis the season), is making me feel all festive and Christmassy, not that I wasn’t before, but you know, SANTA’S COMING.  We don’t do a lot of Santa-magic things around here, given that my children are abject non-believers, but of course we hang stockings and leave out cookies and talk about how Santa is kind of like a feeling, that doing something nice around the Christmas season means that you are Santa.  Just out of pure perversity, though, I feel like getting my kids one of those Elf on the Shelfs.  Have you seen them?  The concept is just plain creepy – you place the elf in different locations every day so that the elf can monitor your children’s behaviour and then report back to Santa.  Aieeeeeee.
That motherfucker is terrifying.  Can you imagine having a little spy in your house, reporting on your behaviour, then moving into different parts of the house every day?  Yikes.  If we had one of these when I was a kid I probably would have never slept again.  I would have been curled up in the fetal position on my pink bedspread, rocking back and forth.  Can’t sleep…the elf’s going to get me.  But apparently it’s a very popular idea.  I’m not sure with whom, but with someone.
Speaking of the naughty list, I think someone at Lululemon is in trouble for coming up with these:
Please Hammer, don’t hurt them.  Now, Lululemon knows I love them – no one is a bigger fan of their Wonder Unders or their Power Ys or their Smooth Moves thongs than I am – but why would anyone bring back the Hammer Pants?  You can call them Harem Crops as much as you like, but You Can’t Touch This.  The only plus side to these atrocities is that you would be guaranteed no camel toe.  They remind me of a guy I used to date named Tony.  His IQ was – and I’m speculating a bit here – probably slightly higher than Forrest Gump’s.  He was a fan of Hammer Pants and that is all I am going to say on the subject.
However, while we are on the subject of fashion, here’s a picture of my new dress that I wore to my husband’s Christmas party:
You like? 

I’m so excited! And I just can’t hide it! I’m about to lose control and I think I like it!

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I’m a whirling dervish of excitedness today because it’s my husband’s work party tonight!  Squee!  I have a new dress and everything.  I know a lot of people hate going to their spouse’s – or their own – work parties because, yawn, boring.  And don’t get me wrong, I’m sure this party will also be a bore – they are foregoing a DJ in favour of a jazz band.  How will things get started in here if they don’t play the Black Eyed Peas? – but I get to wear a new dress!  And have cocktails!  And eat food that was not prepared by me!  That’s pretty much the top of the top, you know?  I am not cooking dinner.  And I’m going to be wearing not-jeans.

So now we are in December, and all the confusion around moustaches – who is a Movember participant and who is just a misguided moustachioed man – is gone, which is nice.  In my last post I said that moustaches were the mom jeans of facial hair, but upon deeper consideration, I have decided that they are more like the camel-toe pants of facial hair.  Much skeevier. 

In my university years, I was a terrible flirt (actually, I have always been somewhat of a flirt…but let’s just say university years for illustrative purposes).  I was in the bar with some girlfriends when I noticed a guy from one of my economics classes, who had a moustache.  This was in the early 90’s, so it was NOT the style of the time – at the time all the guys were shaving their heads and growing goatees.  Anyway, I had been enjoying a few drinks with girlfriends when I decided to ask that guy why he would possibly think a moustache was a good idea.  This was my thinking, but the actual words that came out of my mouth were the following: “Why do you have that moustache?  Do you use it to tickle the ladies?”  Suffice it to say that this moustachioed fellow found my sauciness intriguing in a way that I had not bargained for.  I had to spend the remainder of the semester giving the poor guy the cold shoulder, which brings me to an important life lesson: never ask someone if their moustache tickles the ladies.  Another lesson learned during my university years: in the deeply intelligent and insightful words of Harry in my very favourite movie of all time, When Harry Met Sally, “Men and women can never be friends, because the sex part always gets in the way.”  Truer words were never spoken.  Ladies, if you have any male friends, remember those words of wisdom and it will save you much awkwardness in the future when your “pal” wants to “take things to the next level.” 

Harry: No man can be friends with a woman he finds attractive.  He always wants to sleep with her.

Sally: So what you’re saying is that they could be friends with a woman they find unattractive?

Harry: No, we pretty much want to nail them too.

Speaking of entertainment from the 80’s, I wanted an addendum to my thoughts on Magnum P.I.  I have only ever seen one episode of Magnum, and it involved Magnum being stranded in the ocean somewhere and having to tread water for a very extended period of time.  My husband, being significantly older than me, was a Magnum watcher in the 80’s; any time he hears “In The Air Tonight” he says, in a very serious and emphatic way, “Best. Magnum. Ever.”  He also does the air drums – but who doesn’t?  Really, you have to be dead and/or armless to not perform the air drums when listening to that song. 

There was a point to this, but I seem to have forgotten it.  I may have had a little too much coffee today.  But I’m going to a party tonight!  I have to NOT fall asleep at 9:00.

Oh yes, I remember now.  Apparently “In The Air Tonight” was playing while Magnum showed his badass side by shooting a guy.  Shooting him dead!  You go, Magnum!

Remember when Hawaiian shirts were popular, and not just worn by the same guys who wear “Bikini Inspector” t-shirts and/or those t-shirts that depict an outline of a very fit male specimen, in sharp and ironic contrast to the actual body type of the wearer? 

The 80’s were really responsible for many poor fashion styles.  I could just say the mullet and the Hawaiian shirt and leave it at that, but really, there are so many other terrible examples.  I am going to take a deep breath and show you how brave I am by posting my eighth-grade yearbook photo:

Ack.  Ack ack ack.  I have no idea why I am actually wearing my glasses in this photo, because I normally only wore them for board work at school and then wandered around in a myopic fog for the rest of the time.  Even then, I thought those glasses were ugly.  Until I got contacts at age 15, I stumbled around in the blurry, blurry world, squinting when necessary.  But this photo is proof that things were bad in the 80’s – those glasses were ubiquitous, as was the spiral permed, teased hair that required a bottle of Salon Selectives hairspray a week just to maintain.  But how about this:

You can say that you didn’t have that couch in the 80’s, but you would be lying.  What I love about this photo is that I am wearing a Daisy Duke styled shirt over a tank top with a long denim skirt AND I am wearing lace-up white Keds.  There are so just many fashion faux pas in this picture, and yet – AND YET – this was not unstylish in 1987. 
One last photo:
This photo is less to illustrate how Garfield horoscope sweatshirts go with Levi’s jeans, and more to illustrate the decor of the 80’s – which was probably held over from the 70’s, really.  Panelboard!  Spider plants hanging from macrame plant holders!  Lamps that had built in side tables! 
This is a very long and rambling post, and so I shall conclude.  In conclusion:
1) Moustaches are skeevy. 
2) Men and women cannot truly be friends.
3) Magnum P.I. was a badass.
4) Clothing, hair, and home decor in the 80’s was extremely misguided and should never be replicated.
If we remember these things, the world will be a greater place.

Movember Madness

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Yesterday as I was driving the kids to school, Maneater came on the radio.  You know it’s going to be a great day when Hall and Oates is on the radio! 

Oh oh here she comes.  Watch out, boys, she’ll chew you up!  Oh oh here she comes.  She’s a MANEATER.
Now THAT’s what I call a moustache.  Is it me, or is anyone else relieved that this is the last day of Movember?  Don’t get me wrong: I have a very personal connection to prostate cancer and so I am very happy at the funds and awareness that are raised every Movember, but nevertheless, I will not be unhappy to see clean shaven faces tomorrow.  All those moustaches are just so…startling.  It took me well into the month to get used to seeing men – who I see on a near-daily basis – sporting moustaches of various lengths and thicknesses.  The other day there was a news story on our hurricane-but-not-really-a-hurricane windstorm, and every single man interviewed was sporting a moustache.  I completely lost track of the story, I was so distracted by the moustaches.  I kept wondering if the interviewees were participating in Movember or if they had moustaches all the time.  I kept wondering if the moustaches were charitable, ironic, or earnest in nature.  I couldn’t concentrate at all.
What is it about moustaches?  They have the ability – with the exception of Magnum, P.I. – to make any man look extraordinarily creepy.  They make normal men’s faces into that which would bring to mind the warning “Do not approach”.  They bring to mind “70’s porn star” – although when I noted that recently, a Movember participant asked why and how I would be aware of that comparison, to which I respond get off your high horse.  There’s no porn like 70’s porn, and we all know it.  Also, regardless of porn, didn’t everyone in the 70’s have a moustache?  They were as common as gold medallions nestled in chest hair. 
Look!  Moustache, gold medallion, AND chest hair!  It’s the trifecta!
It’s funny how styles change.  These days, I associate moustaches with seedy criminals and/or a few select members of my extended family.  I’m not anti-facial hair.  I can pretty much get behind most facial hair styles, the exception being a soul patch, but moustaches?  They are the mom jeans of facial hair.

Okay, I’ll grant an exception for this guy.  I’m posting this picture for my mom, who thinks he is the bee’s knees.  What a fabulous daughter I am.  Even if I am now clinically insane from We Need A Little Christmas.

****Thanks to all the guys who participated in Movember, and thanks to all the people who donated to someone brave enough to make themselves look like a person who would make small children cry.  Prostate cancer research is important, and you’ve helped.  Thank you.****

Knowing Me, Knowing You, The Time Change Edition

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With clock-like consistency, there are two times of the year that get me excessively agitated and stabby, and those times are the “Spring Forward” and “Fall Back” atrocities known as Daylight Saving-related time changes.  I may have mentioned this before.  I’m not going to bore you with the details, but I will say that, as I age, I myself seem to be more affected by this.  For example, I woke up at 3:30 this morning thinking that it was time to head over to the yoga studio.  I think my stomach is currently in danger of digesting itself, and it’s only 11:00.  My brain is a liquidy mess.  I can’t wait until I slip into a coma at 6:30 tonight – after it’s been dark for two hours, and I certainly can’t wait for the excitement of having two highly exhausted children at that time, when we will still need to finish our home reading and tidy up our rooms.  It’s going to be great!

Just pick a fucking time and stick with it, people.  Time change is an antiquated notion.  Let’s move on.

So as my brain liquifies and I sip my fourth cup of coffee, let’s play a game of Knowing Me Knowing You, shall we?  I picked up this meme from my very good non-lesbian-life-partner-she’s-just-a-friend Allison over at Bibliomama.  Play along – it’s fun!

1. What keeps you up late at night?
Oh, ha ha, this is such a funny question!  Nothing.  I have trouble falling asleep very rarely, and when I do it’s due to something ridiculously stupid like the guy who came to one School Council/ Parent Association meeting and raved about busing fees and the school naturalization area, but who actually did not want any involvement with the Parent Association because he is way “too busy”.  That guy irritated me so much I stayed awake until AFTER TEN O’CLOCK.  Travesty.  

2. Do you collect anything?
I have a lot of books, but I’m not sure I would say I collect them.  Clothes?  Yoga wear?  Boots?  At last count I have 10 pairs of black boots, and here is a (partial) look inside my closet:

My yoga clothes – sadly, I am doing laundry right now and so this is much neater and less crammed than usual.  Also note: I have a cowboy hat on my top shelf.  This is what living in Calgary does to you, people.

My sweater “drawer”.

My “drawer” dedicated to t-shirts of the long and short sleeved variety.

So I’m not sure if I can say I have a “collection”, but my husband would say that I have issues with clothing.  Hey, you can never have enough black tops and sweaters, am I right?

3. Are you addicted to Angry Birds?
I barely know what Angry Birds IS.  I have a flip phone.  I don’t even have voice mail on it.

4. What’s your idea of a perfect evening?
At the risk of sounding VERY lame, I love spending the evening on the couch, drinking wine and eating something made with cheese, and watching reruns of NYPD Blue.  Or Jeopardy.  I am so much fun to live with!

5. Are you looking forward to winter?
I live in Calgary.  It’s winter right now.  NO.  I like to be warm.  But at least the winter gives me an excuse to procure more black sweaters and boots. 

It was a graveyard smash!

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It snowed today!  The little dusting is, I believe, positively correlated with the comment I made yesterday regarding the unbelievable fact that we had made it through September AND October with no snow.  But, dear readers, we had NOT made it through October, and so now we have snow.  It’s not much though and it is mostly melted, but I feel silly for having mentioned it. 

I also feel a bit silly for having thought – although not spoken aloud – that we have eluded illness quite successfully so far this school year.  Mark now has a very, very minor version of the sniffles which has the unfortunate yet usual side effect of THE COUGH.  This means that he is waking up to cough in the night, which gives me post-traumatic flashbacks to his bout with pneumonia and the subsequent months of nighttime coughing.  I gave him a shot of his steriod inhaler this morning and he responded by saying “Wow, my chest feels all crazy!” which led me down a spiral of worry.  But he seems fine.

He really was just fine until the morning after the Halloween Family Dance, which is, quite honestly, the highlight of his calendar year, right after Christmas.  And it was a fabulous time for all of us, although I’m happy that it’s all done.  I cleared my calendar last Thursday specifically to make these:

Ninety sugar cookies!  They are almost completely devoid of nutritional value, yet are a consistent crowd pleaser.  I was taking three dozen of them for the bake sale/ concession at the dance and was pleased to see that they sold out fairly quickly. 

Nothing sells like a choice of spooky shapes and lots of sprinkles.

The dance itself was so much fun, augmented by a flash mob performance from a local studio – teenage girls dressed as zombies, dancing to Thriller.  My kids were dressed in their finest spooky wear:

A vampire and Spider Monkey from Ben 10!  My husband and I are in the background, and we are also dressed up, although my neighbour did not realize it.  I walked over to the school early to help set up, and as I left the house with my makeup gun set to “whore” I fervently hoped I would not run into anyone I knew.  No sooner than I had thought that, my neighbour got out of his truck and started talking to me in a casual, awkward, elephant-in-the-room way.  I mentioned I was on my way to set up for the school Halloween Dance, and he said “Oh!  Halloween!  I thought you were just going out with some girlfriends!”  That was a little disheartening.

For the record, I do not look like this when I go out with my girlfriends.

Near the end of the dance, the DJ was inspired to play a number of “oldies” for the parents’ listening pleasure.  I was a little wary – after all, this was only days after the soul train – but the very last song was Don’t Stop Believing by Journey, which is pretty awesome, if you ask me.  I was belting out Hold on to that FEEEELLLLININNNNGGG for the next couple of days.

There was even – hold on to your hats! – much Grade Six Girl Drama, complete with mediation (“She’s upset because you said you didn’t want to dance?  But then she saw you dancing with Sophie?”) and crying in the bathroom.  A few years ago my niece was at a school dance and my sister-in-law asked her how many girls were crying in the bathroom and my niece was completely flabbergasted.  How did you know girls were crying in the bathroom?  Because girls have always and will always be crying in the bathroom at dances until the end of time.

There is something very comforting in that.  When my children are chaperoning their own children’s dances, and Party Rockers in the House Tonight is the golden oldie played for the parents, girls will still be huddled in a group in the bathroom, surrounding and comforting one of their sobbing compatriots.

I’m going as a witch.

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My dog almost caught ANOTHER squirrel today in the exact same spot as the other day.  Either my dog has become an overnight hunting sensation or the squirrels that frequent our backyard are extremely dim-witted.

I have been busily preparing for our school’s Halloween Family Dance.  I’m happy to assist in this endeavor for two reasons: a) the coordinator is a very good friend of mine, and b) the Halloween Family Dance is, next to Christmas, the single greatest day of Mark’s calendar year.  He talks about it all year long.  Also, it IS very fun.  Costumes, dance music, and the whole thing is over at 9:00 pm.  That’s MY kind of a good time. 

It’s so fun to dress up.  Halloween is everyone’s favourite excuse to bring out the slutty wear and heavy makeup, which is, I think, a very fun activity.  But can we all agree that Halloween costumes have become TOO slutty?  I was searching for a Top Gun costume for my husband – SAUCY – which is unfortunately unavailable in his size and also unfortunately $72, which seems excessive to me.  Fortunately he promises to wear oil up his chest and wear tight jeans and aviators, as in the volleyball scene.  He also promises to walk in slow motion and flex a lot.  But not for the Halloween Family Dance.  For the Halloween Dance, he’s dressing up as a vampire.  But not a skanky vampire.  Just a normal one. 

Once I was on the costume website, though, I became interested in the costumes for women.  Almost all of those costumes seemed a little more appropriate for a private party, if you know what I mean.  I mean, I don’t think I could show up at the Halloween Family Dance wearing this:

although it would go nicely if I did actually purchase my husband a $72 Maverick outfit.  The market for slutty costumes is really mind boggling, to be honest.  Have you ever wanted to portray a skanky Wednesday Addams?  Here’s your chance!
The details are fuzzy here, but wasn’t Wednesday just a child?  This seems a bit perverse.  But what about this one:
What a feeling!  I think I’m going to wear this to the Halloween Family Dance, grab a chair, and start pouring water on myself.  That’s an appropriate thing to do, right?  There is a disturbing number of costumes based on Strawberry Shortcake characters:
This one is called Blueberry Muffin.  I will leave it at that.  But what about a character from that not-as-loved-as-the-Flintstones-but-still-kind-of-nostalgic TV show, the Jetsons?  Not Jane, not Judy, but ROSIE:
Rosie is the maid.  The ROBOT maid.  This is actually kind of amusing.  What if you’re more into Disney themes?  Yes, there are any number of slutty Alice in Wonderland costumes, slutty Queen of Hearts costumes, slutty Tinkerbell costumes, but this one is the winner, I think:

NEMO!!!

Dully enough, I’m going as a witch, and so I will not be purchasing any of those costumes.  On a final note, I have to share this with you:

Is there a market for this?  For a NOSE AND BEARD COMBO?  I feel violated on so many levels, just looking at this.  I mean, really?  I can almost see a nipple on this sexy Osama.  This sexy Osama with a NOSE AND BEARD COMBO.  I have a feeling that anyone purchasing this outfit would be instantly eligible for the no-fly list, as well as the OMG YOU ARE COMPLETELY TACKY AND HORRIFYING list.  If there is such a list.  There should be one.

So THIS is why people love the fall.

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Happy Thanksgiving, my Canadian friends!  I hope you had a lovely long weekend.  I spent the long weekend at my in-laws’.

Pause.

I’m all about positivity, and so I will leave it at that and simply post this picture of me eating grapes.

I seem to have my mouth full in that picture, either that or I’m not willing to show my purple stained teeth that possibly have Concord skins stuck in them.

An airport is the single greatest place to people watch, I think.  We flew, rather than drove, this weekend and I amused myself by watching the world go by.  I also like to examine local fashions when I’m in a different place; I like to feel like I’m some kind of fashion anthropologist.  While I was admiring other people’s tall boots and sweaters, I noticed a woman wearing the shortest dress I had ever seen.  When she turned around I saw that it was evidently homemade from a light cotton imprinted with kittens.  Then I saw a woman who looked extremely stylish from behind, with a lovely fall jacket and long scarf.  When she turned around, her lovely jacket was unbuttoned to show a gigantic, overstuffed fanny pack.  I speak on behalf of purses everywhere when I beseech us all to ban the fanny pack. 

I woke up so exhausted this morning that I actually went back to bed rather than heading for the yoga studio; that’s something that almost never happens and so I’ve been feeling off kilter all day.  I can’t figure out my exhaustion; I’ve certainly had a lot of sleep in the past couple of days.  Either I’m fighting some sort of virus or I’m just completely burnt out from attempting to keep a pleasant demeanor in the face of passive aggressive criticisms.  I tried to regain my normal energy by taking on a number of tasks today – sorting and labelling photos, baking banana bread, cleaning the house, making salsa and kale chips.  While I had the kale happily dehydrating in the oven, I decided to rally the boys and rake the leaves.  With raking comes jumping in the leaves:

Why yes, Mark is wearing his swimming goggles in order to “swim” through the leaves, why do you ask?

We also did some ladybug rescuing:

 It’s on his hand, can you see it?

How about now?

While I’m at it, here’s some pictures of our scarecrows with our STILL BLOOMING flowers.  This has been the mildest fall I can remember.  This must be what people mean when they say they love fall.  Normally I think of fall as one week of howling winds tearing all the leaves off the trees before winter sets in, but this year has been so beautiful. 

My scarecrow is the girl.  Her name is Rosie.  My husband’s scarecrow is named Dummy Jimmy Too Tall.  I think Mark named him.

The boys’ scarecrows are named Idiot and TV.

Usually the leaves on the Mayday tree turn brown from frost and then fall off rapidly, but this year has been so mild that they are actually changing colour. 

And that, I think, is enough to be thankful for.