Archive for the ‘fashion’ Category

Lana Butt

Today I have Lana Butt.  Or maybe Lana Legs.  Maybe both.  I’ve always thought jeans were jeans.  The trend of the past few years has been on bell bottoms.  So a hundred years ago slim ankles were the fad.  Men drooled over a woman’s dainty ankles.  Men don’t drool anymore.  At least, not in any fashion comparable to how they did so before.  Nowadays they wolf howl and snarl and talk shit.  The girls fall for it.  No more do they make a man want for their presence. They throw themselves into the fray.  Desperation is the name of the game.  I try to avoid that.  Until this summer I’d given myself up as an old spinster.  26 and doomed to be alone forever.  Planned to get a dog eventually.  But something stopped me.  Now I’m glad.  Because buying a house makes leaving a little harder, but buying a dog makes it impossible.  Like having children.  Or a husband.  Dogs don’t move well.  Chevy went into depression when they moved.  Doggy depression.  When he came to visit me he wouldn’t even sit down for about an hour and I know he was tired.  Refused to sleep.  Didn’t have a nap the entire day. When I took him home, he passed out.  Poor pup.  They don’t relocate well.

So I’d never given into the fashion world.  Spinster women didn’t need it.  And there was this odd thing in my head.  I’m skinny, too skinny.  But all the books that we read as kids and teens told of girls who were fat and ugly.  Knowing I’m not fat, I just knew that for whatever reason, I wasn’t a cheerleader, so I must be on the edge of society, no one should like me.  That’s a big aura to carry around.  There’s this idea in my generation–some of us–that a guy should like us for who we are, not what we look like.  And rebelling against everything–to the point of rebelling against myself–I did the opposite of everyone in everything.

All the girls wore jeans that were pale down the legs and butt, which looks like they wore the material thin around their butts, and had wide wide ankles.  Fat ankles are the style?  What were they thinking?  You couldn’t find a normal pair of jeans anywhere, with straight legs.  I’m so short and skinny, I can’t buy women’s clothing.  I shop in the kid’s section.  But even the little girls only had buxomy ankles–what else can you call it?  😉  I ended up buying boy’s jeans.  Cargo pants.  They’re comfy, not stylish, and don’t show any form.  I’ve been informed since that I have nice legs, that my body is meant for skirts, not pants.  And there are reasons for that!  My ankles are just not fat enough…  And I can’t find jeans to fit.  Girls’ jeans don’t have any hips whatsoever, and women’s are too long… Boys’ fit nicely…  Oddly enough. 

So I went through all the jeans at the thrift store.  They had probably five hundred pair.  Gotta be able to find some to fit, right?  About four pair.  Yippee!  One needs a belt, two need to be rolled up.  And–egads–though I’ve avoided it–one has flaired ankles.  A size 0.  Courderoy. 

I tried them on and realized my body is very similar to that of Miss Lana Lang of Smallville.  When did that happen?  I can’t wear pants well.  I’m not… pretty?  Cute, yeah, I can do cute.  But… wow, what an odd thing these pants do to me.  How they change my form.  How they fit.  What a cut.  My butt, my legs…  Like they’re not mine.  I suddenly see myself as others can see me, but usually my AURA says, “Don’t look, perv!”  For years I’d been informed from various people that all guys are pervs, all they want is one thing, and a proper girl holds off for a guy who does not want that one thing.

Then this summer someone looked at me for the first time… as an object.  It took some getting used to.  A lot of getting used to.  But there was an epiphany in that as well.

Which caused me to go jean shopping not in the boys’ section.

And I ended up with a really nice butt.




Read Full Post »


We have an all-night doughnut shop in town, just about the only thing open after dark, except the hospitals.  Of course.  Doughnuts or hospitalization?  You decide!  And since I didn’t feel like severing a limb, I thought I’d go play Scrabble with a couple friends. 

 I used to think “alternative” people were scary.  The people “downtown”.  Oooh.  Mohawks, spiked hair, piercings.  But that was years ago, growing up in suburbia, knowing you either looked exactly like everyone else, or you had a problem.  And I didn’t have a problem, so I looked just like everyone else, to a degree.  Although I had no interest in fashion then.  I now finally have an interest in fashion!  (Cheap fashion, of course.)  And where else does one go when wearing a 1960’s dress like my grandmother wore when she had kids at home?  And a 1950’s sweater?  And a scarf in my hair like I should have been wearing my poodle skirt?  (Yes, I have one!)  You go: “Downtown!”  Sing it with me!  The great thing was, that song played on the radio last night.  Always reminds me of that great scene in Short Circuit where they’re locked in the freezer and have only a calculator and a genius. 

 We never let Steve keep score of Scrabble… but he complained, so we let him, and told him our evil secret about why he never wins… because we tamper with the math (which is untrue), and we said that if he won, we’d know he was tampering with the math!  For the second time ever, Steve won.  It was a terrible game, though!  For once, the board was spread out, lots of room between words, instead of our normal piggy-back strategy, but somehow this board had fewer choice spots than usual.

I was informed last night that a “player” is one who tells a woman one thing, waits to see her reaction, then tells her another opposite thing, waits, tells her something else… and eventually, she’ll respond favorably.  Supposedly because “women” only hear what they want to hear, and “players” only say what they think will get what they want… meaning that no matter what has been said before or hence, the woman will glom onto just one thing which she wants to hear.

It’s very interesting to see stereotypes through the eyes of the opposite sex.  Yet, I can see some truth…  I’d often wondered how some women get into terrible relationships, but then, I’d never thought of the man of those same relationships as being purposefully deceitful (or is it subconscious?).  When does one trust what the other person says?  I think it takes time, despite that song in “Zanna Don’t” which informs one that you must move quickly to cement the feeling before it fritters away, move fast!  The entire song, my being flinched away.  I guess I’m distrustful… and naive 🙂  Mine own oxymoron!

 I spent all day today waiting for the UPS man to arrive.  A confirmation call arrived yesterday and said, UPS will arrive between 8am and 7pm, and someone must be available to sign for the package.  At 4pm, I switched shifts with someone else, and at 7pm sharp, the item arrived.  Sounds like those old commercials for the cable company, you wait and wait and wait, and eleven hours later… 



Read Full Post »