Wednesday, March 21, 2007

Clothes Hound

A line was crossed today. I had a reason, but... no excuse. Thinking about it, now, tonight, when the world has stopped its spin, the shame is almost more than I can beer bear.

I used to mock people that did this, looked down on the sissies with nothing better to do. Did they realize how ridiculous they looked? Snicker. Again, snicker.

And now I've sunk to their level.

Yes, I bought clothing for a dog. Jake the alleged Scotty had become overly shaggy, so he had to be shaved. They left his head and tail fluffy so the poor guy ended up looking like a furry black Q-tip.What's worse than shaving a dog? Dressing him in 'bling' clothes after he's hairless and void of pride. Somehow I thought a black muscle-shirt with a rhinestone skull & crossbones on it would help his image...sigh. I just wanted to keep him warm, not get him hot under the collar.

Jake is the only dog I've ever met who will, when giggled at, attack. We take great pains not to laugh at Jake, ever, because he gets quite embarrassed and upset, which in itself is funny, which makes our giggling worse, to the point that he wants to rip our ankles off. Or make us walk the plank. Sorry, Jake, but you ARE funny. Arrrgh!

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

Clothes Call

Today I came out of the closet with my cordless drill. I had no choice. One of the shelves had collapsed and had to be fixed. Seems it couldn't hold its own against my bountiful wardrobe. This wasn't the first shelf to collapse, but it's the first I've told anyone about. I've quietly become a veritable pro handygal with a studfinder, titanium drill bit, and some rebar.

A few years ago I ran out of room in my closet, but I solved it by getting rid of my husband. That gave me a bit more space, especially once I was able to dump the body. Relax, I'm joking. I don't litter, I recycle, and I must say, the daisies have never bloomed better.

I happen to like clothes. And they like me. It's not my fault that everything I try on looks fabulous. It's a curse I've learned to live with.

Admitting there's a problem is supposed to help you solve it. I signed up for a clothes-aholics anonymous meeting, but I couldn't go- I didn't have a thing to wear. Thanks a whole bunch, stupid self-help class.

This particular shelf was for my pajamas. My mother, bless her heart, still buys me pajamas. TMI? Then stop reading. Couldn't stop, could you? Now you know how I am with clothes. So you see this is my mom's fault of course. Do I need saucy yellow pajamas with monkeys and palm trees on them? Or a bright red bunny suit? Of course I do. Because I never know when my mother might fly in and want to see how my pajama collection is doing. So I keep them and keep them...and stack them...on a shelf....that fell. If I get rid of these pajamas, she will buy more of them for me. Trust me on this, she will.

The rest of the closet is overstuffed because I've been shopping my tail off to self-medicate my mental maternal angst. So that, too, is my mother's fault.

(This is the part in the story where all the guys roll their eyes and mutter something about women having too many clothes.)

I'll tell you what, pal, I know I have a lot of clothes, but I've recently come up with a terrific solution. Jewelry doesn't take up as much space and you can spend way more on it. Keep up the eyerolling and I'll make sure your ladyfriend picks up this new habit AND your credit card. But first I've got to figure out what type of rebar to use in my jewelry box.

Saturday, March 10, 2007

If I Could Turn Back Time

If I could find a way. Daylight Saving comes early this year. I guess Father Time saw his shadow or something. Actually, the Bush Administration saw its shadow, but that's another story. If you could get your hour back, what would you do?

Why must the hour lost be in the middle of the night? Why can't it be, for instance, at work? A little 'thank-you' to the worker bees. Keep the 'fall back' hour at night, everyone needs their beauty sleep, of course. But boost morale a little and 'spring' the clocks ahead at work, perhaps during a particularly boring meeting. It would mean so much more than the Annual Employee Appreciation Potluck.

My kids can't wait to mess with the clocks. It's like time travel. Next they're gonna want to adjust the temperature in the backyard, or make it snow.

With all this hub-bub over moving Daylight Saving around, it's starting to be a pain in the coccyx. It needs a public relations makeover. I recommend a sponsor with a catchy phrase:
  • Viagra - "Spring ahead for MORE than an hour!"
  • the tv show "24" - "Bleep, bloop, bleep, bloop...bloooop, bloooop!"
  • A0L Online- "Extra hour FREE added to our 'Get 2,038,000,000 hours Free per Month.'"

I'd like to be able to donate the hour I lose to a good cause, such as the George W. Bush Library. After all, he's a slow reader.

Thursday, March 1, 2007

Getting Stoned

There is a dangerous new fashion trend out there, more embarassing than leg warmers, and possibly more painful than carpal tunnel. It's the increased sitings of large, unwieldy rocks worn as jewelry.

The pebbly growth crawling across Beyonce's gorgeous dress on Oscar night is one of many examples of stone-cold style. "Alien" meets Balenciaga. I kept expecting maggots to hatch out of those eggs.

That same night Meryl Streep was wearing a necklace the size of a hubcap. She may have been beaming back a simulcast to her home planet, but at least it took attention away from her hairstyle, or lack thereof. I've seen nicer coifs in Fontana on conjugal visit day. She should have done us all a favor and picked up a $3 do-rag at the 7-11.

And since you asked, I can't tell you how many times I've donned my Dior ballgown, Harry Winston diamonds, and forgotten to wash my hair. Cameron Diaz, if anyone should know about hair gel, it's you. And no, Origami is not the name of a new dress designer.

Anyway, back to the rocks. Fashionista that I am, I had to try out the 'ball and chain' style and wear some serious weights around my neck. Wow, what a workout. It was empowering in the same way that pain proves character.

My fashion statement? I am such a slave to style that I will wear enormous gawkish blobs about my neck and pretend to enjoy it. I'm so outlandish and unbalanced, I might even consider someday voting Republican. Nah.