I keep stuff.
I keep stuff long past the time it’s useful, I want it, or even remember owning it.
For example, we all know how hard it is to find a pair of navy blue strappy sandals. You have to get out there the day Easter grass appears in the supermarkets to start culling your favorite shoe haunts. Some years it, “Yes!” Others, we walk away disappointed and mentally discarding huge portions our spring/summer wardrobe. Because of this, I’ve always taken particular care of my navy blue strappies. Each Labor Day I ensure they’re clean and not showing wear, then gently wrap them in tissue and carefully repack for the winter.
I’m reorganizing my dressing room because, frankly – it’s a wreck. To that end, I decided it prudent to get all the shoes back into their boxes for inventory. After much sorting and rearranging, I ran across two identical pair of navy blue strappy sandals.
*sigh*
I’m not sure what it says about my “collection” that I had two pair of the exact shoe. Sure, in different colors that would totally make sense. I do that all the time. But these were clearly purchased separately. On the obvious hand, it says that I really must have liked them. On the other, it says I’m not always as conscientious as I should be about my stuff.
Reader’s Digest version: I slipped the first pair on; pulled my yoga pants up over my knees and strutted in front of the mirror a couple of times; then I tossed both pair into the charity pile. It occurred to me that if I owned two pair and hadn’t worn either one even once last year, there was no sense holding on to them. Sure, that means I’m down to one measly pair of navy blue strappy sandals, but why not! I can live precariously close to the shoe edge for one season.
Once I started, I was like a madwoman. I tried on, pranced around, and then discarded shoe after shoe. By the end only 63 pair remained.
*looking around*
Hmmm. What else has run its course? White blouses: check! Two suits I must’ve bought on sale: check! Handbags! Check! Brassieres, grey socks, “fat” jeans, and where did this hideous red Old Navy sweatshirt come from? Yikes!
Hanging on is never the answer if all you’re trying to do is fill the closet. I tend to fixate, mull, analyze and dissect every available inch. I’m just not sure why. After all, I create both the full and empty spaces. I don’t know why I’m not willing to just wave good-bye and skip off when something has lost its appeal or has gone out of style. I know that it’s always cathartic to finally make the decision then eliminate stuff that no longer makes me happy. And hanging on only prolongs the inevitable…
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a hoarder by any stretch. I just don’t normally have “single season” things in my life. I’m a classic, long haul gal. I go in 100% - heart and pocketbook – for things that are timeless and lasting. But you gotta know when it’s time to just stop with the crazy “what ifs.”
What if I don’t have time to get a new trouser hemmed? I’ll NEED these!
What if I’m asked to be an emergency-back-up-spare date to an outdoor afternoon wedding in the middle of August? That dress is my only option if I don’t have time to buy a new one!
What if I end up back stage at the Bret Michaels concert in September? Those are the only pair of jeans cool enough!
As the old saying goes, “don’t woulda, coulda, shoulda all over yourself.” You know when the time has come. You know there will be some separation anxiety at first, and you’ll probably go to your dressing room looking for something and wishing you still had it. But! You also know that when or if you want to replace what you gave away, the opportunity is always there. It may feel like replacing your favorite *insert here* will never be the same. But it will. I know it will. It has to be. What are the choices?
*runs to charity pile for one pair of navy blue strappies*
Just in case…
Friday, May 28, 2010
Monday, May 10, 2010
FB: Friend or Foe
Though I've discussed social networking sites before in Social Networking (men and their issues) and Random Whatnots - Part II, at the utterly disgusted request of a girlfriend in the South, I’ve taken a look at the following topic, and here are my thoughts.
Let me just say right off that I think social networking sites are fantastic. It gives us a quick way to keep up with our friends, brag about our dogs, promote our businesses or websites, send impromptu invitations for drinks, and waste valuable hours we can never get back playing games no one else wants to hear about.
Sadly, with every great technology stride forward, there comes the inevitable social backslide. We’ve now found the electronic version of “hate books,” passing notes in the cafeteria, or tossing a drink in someone’s face. Apparently this has been going on for quite some time, but we all know I live in my own little Me Bubble and rarely take notice of things that don’t directly affect my ability to eat, drink, write, or buy shoes.
This disturbing practice is, for lack of a better way to put it, “Facebook fighting.” People play out their barely suppressed immaturity by posting statuses and/or snarky comments – supposedly employing “code” or innuendo - to insult, anger, or admonish someone else within the network.
Wow...
First, these folks must think mighty highly of themselves to believe something like that will even be seen, let alone read by the intended party. But for the sake of argument, let’s just say it is. Then what? What, exactly, is the point? What is the expected course of action? Is the person the comment was directed at supposed to return the insult? Lash out wildly in retaliation? Tuck tail and run? Are their “friends” twelve years old?
I kinda get that teens and tweens do this. They have a lot of time and all those uncontrollable hormones. But it’s shocking to me that supposedly grown adults participate in this behavior. They try to be a bit more sophisticated about it, but it’s pretty much like the kid-version. And sadly, it comes as no real shock to me that it’s mostly women playing in this.
*heavy sigh*
The most entertaining Facebook fighting I've found is what I call “pissing on the tree.” This is when one part of a “couple” stalks the other’s page, reading into every comment from anyone perceived as a possible threat to the relationship, then leaving not-so-thinly-veiled salacious remarks of their own in an effort to be the Dominate Female. For example:
Random Girl: “Great running into you last night! Don’t be such a stranger!”
Girlfriend: “Can’t wait for our super-special getaway weekend! xoxo”
*gags*
*gags again*
Then there’s the *heart* pissing. That’s where the girlfriend (why, oh why, is it always the women?!?) writes on Her Man’s wall repeatedly: “i *heart* u!” after every female post. It’s pathetic. She’s the same girl who will insist he “untag” photos of himself with other women. I propose that these little chicky-monkies be banned from all social networking sites due to their innate lack of language skills, then shunned into single-dom for their sins.
For even more entertainment, catch the the girl-on-girl “cat-fighting.” These comments are always catty and always embarrassingly obvious. It begs the question, “were you trying to confirm your uselessness, or are you just not very bright?”
All of this behavior makes me hang my head in shame for my entire gender.
We know a lot more about each other than we used to, and the information is being used for evil as much as good it seems. It’s a sad commentary on our society; the discovery that instead of embracing life, finding love, or investing a week’s pay in a pair of this summer’s gorgeous strappy sandals, folks are locked down with their computers, Blackberries, and iPhones – terrified they’re going to “miss” something online.
I don’t understand the thought process behind this ridiculous carrying on, and frankly I don’t want to. From where I sit cross-legged in my twirly chair, it appears that some people have entirely too much time on their hands and no drive to do anything productive with it.
Read a newspaper!
Learn a language! (start with your native tongue since it seems to have escaped you)
Unplug and repeat, “I’m not that important!”
Go live your life!
*switches off computer*
Let me just say right off that I think social networking sites are fantastic. It gives us a quick way to keep up with our friends, brag about our dogs, promote our businesses or websites, send impromptu invitations for drinks, and waste valuable hours we can never get back playing games no one else wants to hear about.
Sadly, with every great technology stride forward, there comes the inevitable social backslide. We’ve now found the electronic version of “hate books,” passing notes in the cafeteria, or tossing a drink in someone’s face. Apparently this has been going on for quite some time, but we all know I live in my own little Me Bubble and rarely take notice of things that don’t directly affect my ability to eat, drink, write, or buy shoes.
This disturbing practice is, for lack of a better way to put it, “Facebook fighting.” People play out their barely suppressed immaturity by posting statuses and/or snarky comments – supposedly employing “code” or innuendo - to insult, anger, or admonish someone else within the network.
Wow...
First, these folks must think mighty highly of themselves to believe something like that will even be seen, let alone read by the intended party. But for the sake of argument, let’s just say it is. Then what? What, exactly, is the point? What is the expected course of action? Is the person the comment was directed at supposed to return the insult? Lash out wildly in retaliation? Tuck tail and run? Are their “friends” twelve years old?
I kinda get that teens and tweens do this. They have a lot of time and all those uncontrollable hormones. But it’s shocking to me that supposedly grown adults participate in this behavior. They try to be a bit more sophisticated about it, but it’s pretty much like the kid-version. And sadly, it comes as no real shock to me that it’s mostly women playing in this.
*heavy sigh*
The most entertaining Facebook fighting I've found is what I call “pissing on the tree.” This is when one part of a “couple” stalks the other’s page, reading into every comment from anyone perceived as a possible threat to the relationship, then leaving not-so-thinly-veiled salacious remarks of their own in an effort to be the Dominate Female. For example:
Random Girl: “Great running into you last night! Don’t be such a stranger!”
Girlfriend: “Can’t wait for our super-special getaway weekend! xoxo”
*gags*
*gags again*
Then there’s the *heart* pissing. That’s where the girlfriend (why, oh why, is it always the women?!?) writes on Her Man’s wall repeatedly: “i *heart* u!” after every female post. It’s pathetic. She’s the same girl who will insist he “untag” photos of himself with other women. I propose that these little chicky-monkies be banned from all social networking sites due to their innate lack of language skills, then shunned into single-dom for their sins.
For even more entertainment, catch the the girl-on-girl “cat-fighting.” These comments are always catty and always embarrassingly obvious. It begs the question, “were you trying to confirm your uselessness, or are you just not very bright?”
All of this behavior makes me hang my head in shame for my entire gender.
We know a lot more about each other than we used to, and the information is being used for evil as much as good it seems. It’s a sad commentary on our society; the discovery that instead of embracing life, finding love, or investing a week’s pay in a pair of this summer’s gorgeous strappy sandals, folks are locked down with their computers, Blackberries, and iPhones – terrified they’re going to “miss” something online.
I don’t understand the thought process behind this ridiculous carrying on, and frankly I don’t want to. From where I sit cross-legged in my twirly chair, it appears that some people have entirely too much time on their hands and no drive to do anything productive with it.
Read a newspaper!
Learn a language! (start with your native tongue since it seems to have escaped you)
Unplug and repeat, “I’m not that important!”
Go live your life!
*switches off computer*
Thursday, May 6, 2010
The Naked Truth 2
Oh the naked.
I’m pretty sure that the only people who think they look good naked are the beefcakes from Jersey. Wow. I just said beefcake. How disappointing…
Not, however, as disappointing as that first summer day when, knowing it’s going to be glorious outdoors, you mad-dash to the not yet unpacked boxes marked “Summer Clothes.” Oh the horror of holding up a pair of shorts and knowing, without even trying, that they’ll never fit. Sure, you can get them on… but looking into the mirror you know there’s no way you’re leaving the house.
Like everyone else, I blame the media for our sense of physical inadequacy. While on one television channel we find ourselves watching impossibly thin women living impossibly fantastic lives, on the next we’re faced with “foodies” taunting us with delicious delectables whose first ingredient is a full stick of butter.
Adding insult to injury, it’s not as though only women are watching. The men in our lives now expect us to be both trophy and chef – a feat I’ve found completely impossible... and I’m pretty sure moderation is not the answer. To achieve that kind of thin, you’d have to swear off all caloric intake outside of lettuce and sugar-free Red Bull and replace every “spare” moment of your day with aerobics and pilates. Where’s the life balance in that?
I keep reading about this “new normal” whereby a muffin top is apparently considered okay. *shudders* I just can’t believe any non-desperate man would find that acceptably attractive. That’s like saying a too tight tank top that reveals the exact location of your belly button made out of fabric so thin you could read the newspaper through it is acceptable. It’s not! This “new normal” idea was obviously mass marketed by women who are either terrified someone is going to snatch their man, or those too lazy to lose the gut.
On the upside, I’ve noticed a decided trend toward “fullness” on the male-front. The difference is that they don’t seem to care if they’re somewhat less fit than they used to be. They’re still prancing about like they have their 17-year-old forms. I would venture to say it has something to do with NOT being bombarded by unrealistic media images. That, or their attention span really is so short they forget they should be concerned about it. Either way, I’m fraught with envy.
When you get down to the nut-cuttin’, the naked truth of it all is that we’re stuck with the basics of our genetic make-up. That’s no excuse, but there are some undeniable truths here. For example, I can say with 100% certainty that I will never crest the 5’1” mark; that my “pear” shape can only be tortured into a smaller piece of the same fruit; and that these Irish eyes will always long for food with the highest amount of all things dastardly. Because of these – none of which are my own fault, but rather the curse handed down by my gene pool – it’s safe to say that I will never really think I look good naked.
So what’s the answer?
I decided someone really needed to work on this question in earnest because, after all, it affects every part of our lives, from shopping to sex.
[sidebar: Oh yes, fellas… it’s true. If we don’t feel like we look good, there’s no way you’re getting a look at the goods. I haven’t sashayed around the house in a thong since the day I discovered my ass was starting to fall. It’s been full-bottom panties since.]
Employing my standard method of problem solving - many hours of mulling over my vodka - the answer naturally came to me. I popped upstairs to my dressing room and threw a sheet over my cheval mirror. Ta da! Problem solved! If I can’t see it, then I can’t obsess over it. I figure that if the only naked I see is when I’m showering, and I can still see all of my parts without bending over, then everything is still where it’s supposed to be and I’m good!
My Nana used to say, “Eventually, every woman’s looks will fade. When that happens, you’d better have something interesting to say.” I think I’ll go obsess over that for awhile.
I’m pretty sure that the only people who think they look good naked are the beefcakes from Jersey. Wow. I just said beefcake. How disappointing…
Not, however, as disappointing as that first summer day when, knowing it’s going to be glorious outdoors, you mad-dash to the not yet unpacked boxes marked “Summer Clothes.” Oh the horror of holding up a pair of shorts and knowing, without even trying, that they’ll never fit. Sure, you can get them on… but looking into the mirror you know there’s no way you’re leaving the house.
Like everyone else, I blame the media for our sense of physical inadequacy. While on one television channel we find ourselves watching impossibly thin women living impossibly fantastic lives, on the next we’re faced with “foodies” taunting us with delicious delectables whose first ingredient is a full stick of butter.
Adding insult to injury, it’s not as though only women are watching. The men in our lives now expect us to be both trophy and chef – a feat I’ve found completely impossible... and I’m pretty sure moderation is not the answer. To achieve that kind of thin, you’d have to swear off all caloric intake outside of lettuce and sugar-free Red Bull and replace every “spare” moment of your day with aerobics and pilates. Where’s the life balance in that?
I keep reading about this “new normal” whereby a muffin top is apparently considered okay. *shudders* I just can’t believe any non-desperate man would find that acceptably attractive. That’s like saying a too tight tank top that reveals the exact location of your belly button made out of fabric so thin you could read the newspaper through it is acceptable. It’s not! This “new normal” idea was obviously mass marketed by women who are either terrified someone is going to snatch their man, or those too lazy to lose the gut.
On the upside, I’ve noticed a decided trend toward “fullness” on the male-front. The difference is that they don’t seem to care if they’re somewhat less fit than they used to be. They’re still prancing about like they have their 17-year-old forms. I would venture to say it has something to do with NOT being bombarded by unrealistic media images. That, or their attention span really is so short they forget they should be concerned about it. Either way, I’m fraught with envy.
When you get down to the nut-cuttin’, the naked truth of it all is that we’re stuck with the basics of our genetic make-up. That’s no excuse, but there are some undeniable truths here. For example, I can say with 100% certainty that I will never crest the 5’1” mark; that my “pear” shape can only be tortured into a smaller piece of the same fruit; and that these Irish eyes will always long for food with the highest amount of all things dastardly. Because of these – none of which are my own fault, but rather the curse handed down by my gene pool – it’s safe to say that I will never really think I look good naked.
So what’s the answer?
I decided someone really needed to work on this question in earnest because, after all, it affects every part of our lives, from shopping to sex.
[sidebar: Oh yes, fellas… it’s true. If we don’t feel like we look good, there’s no way you’re getting a look at the goods. I haven’t sashayed around the house in a thong since the day I discovered my ass was starting to fall. It’s been full-bottom panties since.]
Employing my standard method of problem solving - many hours of mulling over my vodka - the answer naturally came to me. I popped upstairs to my dressing room and threw a sheet over my cheval mirror. Ta da! Problem solved! If I can’t see it, then I can’t obsess over it. I figure that if the only naked I see is when I’m showering, and I can still see all of my parts without bending over, then everything is still where it’s supposed to be and I’m good!
My Nana used to say, “Eventually, every woman’s looks will fade. When that happens, you’d better have something interesting to say.” I think I’ll go obsess over that for awhile.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)