Sunday Confessional: So.Much.Stuff.

Today I was looking in our linen closet, and unearthed this shirt:





Neither Zippy nor I can remember which son owned it. I’m guessing it was Wildebeest, but am not 100% sure. Why do we still have it? Why is it taking up space in the home? For that matter, why are we holding onto half the crap in our lives?

The good news is, I haven’t come across any Napoleon Dynamite moon boots.

How much do I hate clothes shopping?

Let me count the ways:

  1. I just got home from the grocery store after buying one item: a 3-pack of cotton undies. It wasn’t until about a month ago that I discovered King Soopers sold women’s underwear. I was waiting for my dog’s prescription to be filled, and went to my favorite aisle to pass the time. After perusing the school/office supplies (notebooks! pens! sticky notes!), I walked farther down the aisle where I noticed the women’s underwear. It was 100% cotton and inexpensive, and I needed new ones, so decided to test drive a pack. And guess what? They’re great. So today I went back to buy more, getting in and out of the store in about five minutes.
  2. On any given day I might be wearing 1-2 pieces of clothing that once belonged to Zebu. I’m 5′ 10″ and he’s now 6′ 3″, but not too long ago his legs weren’t quite as long and so the jeans he outgrew fit me length-wise. As for the waists being too big, I just cinch ’em with a belt. Also, his arms are longer and he’s outgrown some shirts that are, again, pretty roomy on me but still wearable. The driving factor in all this is that I didn’t have to step foot in a store to buy any of it.

    A image that doesn't quite do justice to the agony of standing before fitting room mirrors.

    A image that hints at the agony of standing before fitting room mirrors.

  3. I buy jeans on eBay. I guessed the correct size based on how Zebu’s jeans fit me and now have some very inexpensive jeans that actually fit right. All without having to enter a triple-mirror-fitting-room / little-room-of-horrors to try them on.
  4. Years ago I went to LandsEnd online and found two shirts I liked, one long-sleeve and the other short, and bought them in four different colors. Today I’m wearing the gray one that, to be honest, probably belongs in the cleaning rag box.
  5. A couple weeks ago I bought a new sports bra for the first time in six years or so.
  6. This morning I ran in shorts I’ve owned for at least 12 years.
  7. I wear shoes that I bought when I lived in Anchorage . . . 20+ years ago.

I’d love to look a little more hip. But so far no fashion consultants/designated shoppers have come knocking. Guess I’ll stick with the Pearl Jam look.

Bras for Dummies

I’ll be brief.

  1. Are you a female runner? Yes? Invest in a good sports bra.
  2. Make sure it fits correctly. (There’s lots of good info on the intertubes re proper fit)
  3. Replace said bra more regularly than, say, every 12 years or so.
  4. Own a bra, any bra, that’s too snug? Save yourself $10 bucks and make your own extender using hooks from an old bra.
  5. Watch this video for instructions:

    6. You’re welcome.



A Meditation on Orange

Good thing I’m not planning on getting sent to prison
because if it’s true that Orange Is the New Black,
I’m in serious fashion trouble;
I look great in black and pretty close to dead in orange.
(I appear equally deadish in tan/beige which is what the inmates on the
show wear after they’ve been fully processsed into the system.)

I’m several episodes into Season 4 and am enjoying it more than
Season 3 which I thought was awful in a lot of ways.
I’ve come to the conclusion that Piper is best as a seasoning,
rather than an entree.
Most every other character is more compelling.
In fact, I can’t think of one who isn’t.

Come to think of it, maybe that’s the point.

Either way, I’m going to watch the rest of the season
and be grateful I can choose what I wear each day.
Because not all of us wear our orange as well as these poppies.

Happy poppies one day in May.

Happy poppies one day in May.



Running Fashionista

Zippy and I went for a run this morning and it wasn’t until our cool-down walk that I noticed this:
Spit trail

A spit trail down my thigh. Apparently the wind caught my saliva rocket and returned it to me.

When I got home and started my stretches, I realized I’m basically an all-around rag-tag runner gal wearing holey socks and a ripped 20+-year-old polypro long underwear shirt:
Running socks   Torn polypro sleeve

I do, however, have a fairly new Garmin watch in fashionista chartreuse:
Garmin watch

Look for me on the nearest runway. I’ll be the one rockin’ the groovy watch and sweat-stained togs. I promise not to spit.