Monday, March 21, 2011

Bits of Tid

1.  I'm getting sick.  I can feel it.  You don't wanna know the details, but you trust me, dudes, it's getting there.  Both the little dudes got it, and here it effing comes.  Straight outta Compton, yo.

2.  The Big Man gave me this little GEM today: "Good thing we have washing machines and don't have to wash our clothes in the creek the way they used to have back when you were a kid."  How old does he think I am, anyway?  Ancient is the answer to that inquiry.  Between this and the Little Man telling me a few days ago to take a shower because I smell like a foot, I'm pretty sure the little dudes have decided that I'm a fish from biblical times.

3.  Also, I was thinking about middle school the other day, because I am awesome, and I recalled my clothing choices.  They weren't good.  I refused to wear jeans until I was about a sophomore in high school.  Here is the reason.  The texture of the denim hurt my legs.  This was the early 90s we're talking about, here.  Jeans were super tight, and then to add insult to injury, you had to do something called "tight roll" them at the bottom.  Adding more tight to the tightiest tight that ever tighted.  As such, when you sit down in jeans, your jeans rub on your knees, and I just could not handle the sensation.  Therefore, I had sweatsuits.  Matching ones.  Fuscia, black and teal.  Elastic around the wrists and ankles.  I dressed in what the modern fashion world calls "a column of color in a monochrome palate."  My middle school classmates called it "ugly ass clothes on an ugly ass girl".  One girl in particular, let's call her Michelle, because that was her name, berated me for my clothing choices on a daily basis.  Her favorite line was, "oooooh, Karen, where did you possibly get such different clothes?  Must be some new place at the mall.  They look soooo expensive."  Sarcasm and hangers-on dripping from her very being.  Every day, my answer was honest.  "My mom got them at K-mart."  This was always followed by tons of laughter.  Some sort of sick routine.  I remember always thinking, "This is so weird.  Why does Michelle care what I am wearing?  How does my sweatsuit affect her in any way?"  I didn't much comprehend that making fun of people can make someone else feel good about themselves.

My clothes were pretty easy to pick out for my mom, I think.  I'd wear pretty much anything, as long as it wasn't jeans.  Anything neon green was totally go.  Also, my granny got me this hideous...thing at Once Upon a Child when I was around second grade or so.  It was a 2-piece matching set, green with purple polka dots.  The pants were capri length, with ruffles around the bottoms.  Cute for a 7-year-old, yeah.  It was the top, dudes, the TOP.  The top was a bra, basically.  It was a strip of fabric about 6 inches wide with OFF-THE-SHOULDER ruffles for straps.  WHY did they even create such an article of clothing in a size 6X?  Also, THANKS, GRANNY!  I wore that thing a couple of times, or I should say I whore that thing.  Christ.

Once in the 6th grade, I was taking a home ec class and learning "sewing", so my friend and I got into my mom's fabric chest in her sewing room and decided to make a shirt for me out of this red fabric with black ducks on it.  What we did was fold it in half, and then I laid down on the fabric, and my friend got the scissors and traced my torso in fabric.  We then sewed the fabric into a "shirt".  I showed my mother, and she was LIVID.  As she should have been.  I'd not asked permission from her to use a fabric that had special meaning to her and was meant for a special project in honor of a friend of hers that had passed.  I had cut it up into a "shirt".  As such, my mother let me wear this thing to school.  I was so proud of it.  It took 20 minutes to put it on because, well, when you just trace yourself, you don't really leave much room to sew seams; therefore, the shirt is about 6 sizes too small.  I was trying to impress my home ec teacher with my superior shirt-sewing skills.  What I ended up with was a lot of name calling, a dress code violation because the shirt showed my midriff, and cut off circulation in both of my arms.  The "shirt" had to be cut off of me when I got home.

I started wearing jeans around sophomore year since JNCO came out, and those suckers were ENORMOUS.  No rubbing on the knees.  Do y'all remember these things?  They had ones called "mammoth" and the cuffs were a whopping FIFTY inches around.  My brother and I had a pair.  We both fit in one leg of them.  I wish I could say that was the only time there were multiple people that fit into my pants.  Read that how you'd like.

As such...I overcompensate now.  A LOT.  I'm obsessed with fashion.  I watch all of the collections and mark my favorites that I'll buy to wear nowhere if we win the lottery.  I'm the girlfriend you see in the grocery with a screaming 4-year-old and a cart full of Pop-Tarts in bulk and a 55-gallon drum of apple juice sporting 5-inch heels and a tailored leather jacket, accessorized to the nines.

Seriously, though, if we win the lottery, I'll be at the grocery in a Versace ball gown.

This one.  At the Meijer.  I'd buy a matching coupon binder, since my pink one would clash.  At the self checkout with my 12 cans of Pillsbury crescent rolls, 55 cups of Yoplait and 26 packages of string cheese.

3 You Said What?:

Alex said...

I wish you were my step mum. dead serious xxx

andygirl said...

I loved the fashions of the '90s. Babydoll dresses and patterned tights, Doc Martens, and an inverted bob dyed pink, blonde, and black (not all at once, lol)--oh yeah. I'd wear that stuff again in a heartbeat. Loved it.

KarrieFaBuLoUs said...

Who would have known that you had bad fashion choices in your are super fabulously fashionistic now...yes, I made up words, but you do it all the time.