- I promise to no longer use a certain Bon Jovi song no matter how relevant it feels in my post titles. I'm sorry. I overdid it. I will try better to be better. Thank you for your forgiveness and understanding as I work through this character flaw.
- I hate walking down hallways at work. When you're walking down a hallway and someone is coming towards you, where are you supposed to look? At your feet? At the wall? The ceiling? Directly into the person's eyes and, by extension, their soul? If it's a colleague you know, what is the reasonable distance to acknowledge them? When you first see them at the end of the hall? When they're close enough to touch? As you're passing them do you go for the high five?
I think, for the sake of lessening the mental load, all work spaces should be rejigged to no longer include hallways and simply have more corners and walls instead.
- Molly is getting a mouthful of teeth and woke up shortly after 5 a.m. twice this week. Never, ever has one of my children been up for the day at 5 a.m. before and she did it twice in a row. Because she loves me.
- I wore my hair in a half bun half down the other day and got a bunch of compliments on it at work. I'm not even sure I like that hairstyle because it's basically the millennial's version of a mullet. Even though I'm on the fence about it, I'm trying to let go of the full mom bun (too much business, not enough party) but am too scattered to do my hair every day when it's down, so I'll just get my validation from others and the style grow on me.
- I started watching The Let Down on Netflix. It's an Australian comedy about a new mom and her life with a baby. I was really excited about it but had to stop watching halfway through the second episode. It was too painfully accurate about some of the hard things of motherhood.
- I started watching season two of Santa Clarita Diet instead. I remember enjoying the first season of it but I watched it when Molly was in the hospital at a couple weeks old so it's all a bit of a blur.
I am loving season two. I don't remember season one being this good. Nathan Fillion only adds to the brilliance.
- We looked at a house yesterday that had vinyl plank flooring and it blew my mind how nice it looked. I'm curious if it actually lives up to the hype. Anyone know?
- The house hunt is still slowly going along, but we've officially looked at two houses with our realtor, been to one open house, and driven by two others. That's like a 500% increase in the last eight days. I'll take it.
- Skinny jeans have their place, but I bought a pair of Gap "sexy boyfriend jeans" from Value Village the other day. For $10 they're like the sweatpants of jeans that I can wear to work on Fridays. The only thing I don't like about them is that I think"sexy" in this case means that they don't go to my belly button, so I think I might need to get a belt or something.
When I was in high school I used to cut the waistbands off my VV pants and move the belt loops down to make my own low rise jeans. Now I'm wishing I could do the opposite. They call them mom jeans for a reason. My hips were not only made for birthing children, they were made to hold my pants up. Motherhood humbles you.
- It's Canada Day tomorrow. I haven't gone to the fireworks in years, but Karl and I are going to go with a friend and I feel like I'm 17 again. Ask me how I feel at 6 o'clock Monday morning when Molly wakes up. That's a problem 17 year old Anna certainly never had to deal with. Does anyone else remember when waking up at 9 felt early on a day off?
Showing posts with label clothes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label clothes. Show all posts
June 30, 2018
December 20, 2016
At this rate I'll be naked by Friday.
I've been wearing the same jeans my entire pregnancy. I got them about nine months ago from the clearance section at Reitmans. I had to order them online to get them in my size, they were $15, and girlfriend style. I've never heard of girlfriend jeans before and haven't seen them since, so they might have been a short lived failed trend, but I'm telling you they were magical. They fit my postpartum mom bod like a dream and have been perfect with a belly band this entire pregnancy. I was looking forward to wearing them after baby was born, too. They are my body's version of travelling pants. So, when I got home from work on Friday and discovered two rips in the lower butt cheek region of my jeans I was unsurprisingly distraught.
I am 33 weeks pregnant. My maternity jeans from my last pregnancy are more snug than I care to admit, and I am not interested in spending a small fortune on maternity jeans that I will only wear sporadically for a few more weeks. I did the only reasonable thing to do and dragged my extremely pregnant self to Value Village on Sunday night where I went through the entire (tiny) maternity section and two sizes of non-maternity jeans. I was there for over an hour, tried on eight pairs of jeans, and left out of breath from all the bending over and with a gravy boat for my troubles.
I had to go to Walmart on the way home, the other place where dreams go to die, and was there far longer than I planned on. On my way back to my car I noticed a lovely mustard yellow cardigan laying in the middle of the parking lot a couple spots away from my car. It was my lovely mustard yellow cardigan that I had thought was in the bottom of my purse. It had somehow liberated itself from my the bowels of my bag as I was walking into Walmart 45 minutes earlier. I'm not sure how it happened, because I hadn't been digging through my purse or anything as I was walking through the parking lot, but there it was. My runaway cardigan. Miraculously, it wasn't run over or trampled by the manic week before Christmas shoppers, so the story had a happy ending. I shoved it back in my purse and went home and ordered $300 worth of jeans online from Old Navy to make myself feel better.
When I left the office at the end of the day yesterday, I noticed a lone mitten laying in the middle of the alley I walk down to get to my car. My mitten. My handmade, run over and trampled mitten. My mitten that had been buried deep in my purse yesterday morning, which I was not even touching on my walk up to the office. I just don't understand. After a round in the washing machine the mitten will make a full recovery, and maybe its rebellious spirit will be quashed in the process.
My clothes are all abandoning me. At this rate, I'll be completely naked by Friday and not even know how it happened. Send blankets.
December 15, 2016
Bring back velvet overalls.
Sometimes I just want to ask clothing designers what kind of person they think wears a turtleneck. I guess they're kind of coming back into fashion, but I don't get it. I vividly remember wearing turtlenecks as 90's child, but I think I was fashion forward enough even then to shy more towards the mock-turtleneck. Even still, who wears a mock-turtleneck? Most of mine back then were velvet and had distinctive outfits. Like my velvet floral one that I wore with my purple velvet overalls. I also had a lime green mock-turtleneck velvet dress. My bff had one too, and we wore matching lime green hair claws with them. (What were those claw things even called? Whenever I see someone wearing one I wonder if they know it's not the 90's anymore. Then I feel mean.)
So yeah, I'm fashion savvy. Which explains why I decided it was a good idea to wear patterned maternity leggings to work today. To be fair, last time I was pregnant I wore leggings almost every day to work and this time around I only wear them once a week or so. I'm just pushing the fashion envelope again. It's too bad they aren't velvet. Or colourful.
After today, I have nine days left of work. This is hard to wrap my head around. In 16 days I will be waking up unemployed and rocking out in my sweatpants/leggings when I'm feeling fancy. Because that's what the stay at home me wears.
I've been working full time this week, so we need to get out of the house a good hour earlier than usual. This usually means waking Parker up to change him and throw him in the car, then picking him up 10 hours later. This morning he was not feeling the routine and he cried all through getting dressed and ready to go. I can relate. There's nothing worse than getting woken up to go outside into -36 weather. I almost cried in the car after I dropped him off (he was fine once he was in the car, but I got some good snuggles going into the babysitter's) but that might have had to do with not having time to eat breakfast this morning. I'm so looking forward to a lazy January at home with him.
I used to say that hot showers have healing powers. This is probably still true, but Christmas trees and lights seem to have the same affect on me. I'm looking forward to a weekend of wrapping gifts, seeing Star Wars, and cleaning out the closet in baby's room. Then, when I'm tired of it all, I'll sit in front of the tree and just soak up the goodness of it. In my sweatpants. Probably listening to this playlist.
This year I had grand aspirations of making sugar cookies and then letting chaos reign and decorating them with Parker. My cookie recipe was too crumbly to cut into shapes, though, so I ended up making bars with it instead. There's always next year. I am okay with this. Especially since it takes a fraction of the time to smoosh cookie dough into a pan than it does to use cookie cutters.
Last year Christmas cookies stressed me out, especially when my ginger snaps all turned into bricks and I gave them to the neighbours anyway. This year I pounded out three different recipes and some rum balls in three evenings, while working full time. I'm not sure what my deal was last year, but I dominated it this year. And no, I didn't eat the rum balls, but I wanted to. There's always Easter. And when I delivered the cookies to the neighbours last night I promised they were better than last year's, so please keep shoveling our sidewalk.
And, to finish things off, I thought I would share with you how busy I've been at work this week. I took a nap, watched The Crown (all ten episodes) and The Santa Clause 3 (it was better than I expected), fixed a hole in my pocket, finished a baby blanket, knit newborn booties, and made a cowl, decided I didn't like it, and ripped it all out. The joys of being a phone-answering warm body. If I were wearing my sweatpants and sitting in front of my Christmas tree it would be perfect.
So yeah, I'm fashion savvy. Which explains why I decided it was a good idea to wear patterned maternity leggings to work today. To be fair, last time I was pregnant I wore leggings almost every day to work and this time around I only wear them once a week or so. I'm just pushing the fashion envelope again. It's too bad they aren't velvet. Or colourful.
After today, I have nine days left of work. This is hard to wrap my head around. In 16 days I will be waking up unemployed and rocking out in my sweatpants/leggings when I'm feeling fancy. Because that's what the stay at home me wears.
I've been working full time this week, so we need to get out of the house a good hour earlier than usual. This usually means waking Parker up to change him and throw him in the car, then picking him up 10 hours later. This morning he was not feeling the routine and he cried all through getting dressed and ready to go. I can relate. There's nothing worse than getting woken up to go outside into -36 weather. I almost cried in the car after I dropped him off (he was fine once he was in the car, but I got some good snuggles going into the babysitter's) but that might have had to do with not having time to eat breakfast this morning. I'm so looking forward to a lazy January at home with him.
I used to say that hot showers have healing powers. This is probably still true, but Christmas trees and lights seem to have the same affect on me. I'm looking forward to a weekend of wrapping gifts, seeing Star Wars, and cleaning out the closet in baby's room. Then, when I'm tired of it all, I'll sit in front of the tree and just soak up the goodness of it. In my sweatpants. Probably listening to this playlist.
This year I had grand aspirations of making sugar cookies and then letting chaos reign and decorating them with Parker. My cookie recipe was too crumbly to cut into shapes, though, so I ended up making bars with it instead. There's always next year. I am okay with this. Especially since it takes a fraction of the time to smoosh cookie dough into a pan than it does to use cookie cutters.
Last year Christmas cookies stressed me out, especially when my ginger snaps all turned into bricks and I gave them to the neighbours anyway. This year I pounded out three different recipes and some rum balls in three evenings, while working full time. I'm not sure what my deal was last year, but I dominated it this year. And no, I didn't eat the rum balls, but I wanted to. There's always Easter. And when I delivered the cookies to the neighbours last night I promised they were better than last year's, so please keep shoveling our sidewalk.
And, to finish things off, I thought I would share with you how busy I've been at work this week. I took a nap, watched The Crown (all ten episodes) and The Santa Clause 3 (it was better than I expected), fixed a hole in my pocket, finished a baby blanket, knit newborn booties, and made a cowl, decided I didn't like it, and ripped it all out. The joys of being a phone-answering warm body. If I were wearing my sweatpants and sitting in front of my Christmas tree it would be perfect.
May 17, 2016
Lessons in self-esteem from a baby.
My mom and I took Parker to the pool the other day and it made me second guess every single calorie I have ever put in my mouth during my entire life. I am also going to start a campaign to bring back the bathing costumes from the 1800s as soon as I get back from the gym.
As hard as it is to love the "mom bod" I realized that there's a lot I can learn from Parker when it comes to self image and how I see myself.
Thighs are a sign of prosperity. Parker has some of the most thunderous thighs you've ever seen and he gets a lot of love for them. I am so infatuated with them that I'd kind of like to stuff them and mount them on my wall.
You are gorgeous. You haven't understood self-love until you've seen my son find his reflection in something. It's like he's reuniting with his best friend after years of separation. There's giggles, high-fives, and full on making out. He likes what he sees and he doesn't care who knows it.
As hard as it is to love the "mom bod" I realized that there's a lot I can learn from Parker when it comes to self image and how I see myself.
Thighs are a sign of prosperity. Parker has some of the most thunderous thighs you've ever seen and he gets a lot of love for them. I am so infatuated with them that I'd kind of like to stuff them and mount them on my wall.
It's very hard to capture this love affair on camera because it's just so passionate.
Nothing can make you unattractive. Snot caked on your face? Diaper full of toxic waste? Food smeared from head to toe? It doesn't matter, everyone loves you and you know it.
Listen up, friends. To me, you are perfect. Now get out there and free those thighs, embrace that bed head, and go make out with yourself in the mirror. You are one mighty fine looking babe today and it's time to conquer the world.
February 06, 2015
Day three.
I left work shortly after 10 a.m. on Wednesday and haven't been back since. I'm still hacking away. Last night was my worst night and we just decided that Karl would do best to just spend the whole night in the guest room instead of sticking it out for a couple hours like he did the night before. Can I just say that, even though he's incapable of opening the living room curtains without being told, I have a great husband. He got excited about the prospect of sleeping in the guest room and, even though I was the problem and he was going to work the next day, he still offered to go down there because "the humidifier's already on upstairs and there's no point moving it."
Clearly the novelty of not having to sleep on the couch hasn't worn off yet. All married couples should have a second bed, just in case.
In case you were wondering, I am an old woman, I do sleep with a humidifier when I'm sick, and no, it's not really helping. I just want to sleep with my face right over it and get all that good good whole wheat moisture in my dry throat. But that would be really uncomfortable and I'd wake up with grid marks on my face.
I have watched a record breaking amount of Netflix this week. Seriously, Netflix is going to need to start getting some new material soon.
What have a I watched? Good question. I started Z Nation. It's no Walking Dead, but it's entertaining. It's a bit more light-hearted which I can appreciate. I would take it over season two of The Walking Dead any day.
I caught up on The 100. It's one of my favourite shows right now and I'd highly recommend it.
Netflix has really been pushing Beautiful Creatures on me so I went with the recommendation. It was fine for a sick day, but was kind of like every other teenage romance since Twilight, except it had southern accents all the way through so it was more charming.
Yesterday I watched Rumors of War. It was kind of weird, didn't get a lot of stars on Netflix, and was the kind of thing Karl would hate. I like to watch poorly received post-apocalyptic movies in my spare time. I'm not sure if I just didn't pay enough attention (probably) or if it just didn't flow as well as it cold have (probably) but I didn't really get the whole thing. One thing I did like, though, was how it incorporated Christianity into it. I don't think it was a religious movie, but it was nice to see something post-apocalyptic that didn't make religion seem like the worst evil ever. (Side note, if the world is ending never ever trust a leader, religious or otherwise, that greases their hair and doesn't stop smiling.)
I fully planned on napping during Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist today but it didn't happen. Fifteen minutes in and I was in movie love. Talk about a great sick day movie. I love Michael Cera. You should probably watch this movie ASAP unless you already did when it came out seven years ago. I also really liked the soundtrack.
Aaaaand I also watched Murder on the Home Front. Three days is a long time to rest up and try to scare away a cough, okay? This is a British movie that is your typical crime show but it takes place during the London Blitz in WWII so it's totally historical and educational. Kind of. We all need a little more BBC in our lives.
I was planning on catching up on folding some laundry while watching all that TV but I've just been knitting. I finished a blanket, darned my ends in, washed it, and am contemplating blocking it (my least favourite thing ever). Curly ends are part of life, right? While I contemplate what to do there, I started another blanket. I'm hoping that by ignoring my problems they'll sort themselves out.
I've been reading, too. Since the next four months are the last I'm going to have to read without distraction ever again I figure I'd better make the most of it. I started The Wheel of Time series. It's one of those epic series that I've been meaning to try for a while. My dad gave me his used copies a couple years ago and I've been waiting for the right time to get into them. So far so good but I'm only a couple hundred pages into the first book. I've heard mixed reviews so we'll see how it goes.
Our church is encouraging us to read a chapter of the Bible a day in order to get through the New Testament and the Psalms this year. I started a couple weeks late, but I've been trying to catch up so that's been some of my reading, too. Look at me go.
I got a package from Old Navy yesterday morning that made my day. It was just some tank tops and yoga bottoms but with a little creative folding I now have my go-to bottoms for this pregnancy. And none of it was maternity so it wasn't super expensive and I didn't have to go to another store (Old Navy in Canada doesn't sell maternity wear online because they hate me). Apparently if you whine to the internet about your pants woes you sometimes get your way.
I'm going to take those new bottoms out for frozen yogurt tonight. You know what I need after three days of coughing? Some sorbet to soothe my poor old throat, time away from the television, and some female face-to-face socialisation. Even if I try not to get too face-to-face with the girls because of my germs.
Who knows? Maybe fro yo is the cure for what ails me. I recommend you have some tonight, too. Not only in solidarity, but to prevent any sickness on your part. It's okay, I'm giving you permission. It's Friday.
P.S. Who's excited for Valentine's Day? I'm going to be healthy by then and we're having a friend come over to replace our bathroom fan. I'm going to make banana bread cinnamon buns to show my gratitude. Talk about romance!
Clearly the novelty of not having to sleep on the couch hasn't worn off yet. All married couples should have a second bed, just in case.
In case you were wondering, I am an old woman, I do sleep with a humidifier when I'm sick, and no, it's not really helping. I just want to sleep with my face right over it and get all that good good whole wheat moisture in my dry throat. But that would be really uncomfortable and I'd wake up with grid marks on my face.
I have watched a record breaking amount of Netflix this week. Seriously, Netflix is going to need to start getting some new material soon.
What have a I watched? Good question. I started Z Nation. It's no Walking Dead, but it's entertaining. It's a bit more light-hearted which I can appreciate. I would take it over season two of The Walking Dead any day.
I caught up on The 100. It's one of my favourite shows right now and I'd highly recommend it.
Netflix has really been pushing Beautiful Creatures on me so I went with the recommendation. It was fine for a sick day, but was kind of like every other teenage romance since Twilight, except it had southern accents all the way through so it was more charming.
Yesterday I watched Rumors of War. It was kind of weird, didn't get a lot of stars on Netflix, and was the kind of thing Karl would hate. I like to watch poorly received post-apocalyptic movies in my spare time. I'm not sure if I just didn't pay enough attention (probably) or if it just didn't flow as well as it cold have (probably) but I didn't really get the whole thing. One thing I did like, though, was how it incorporated Christianity into it. I don't think it was a religious movie, but it was nice to see something post-apocalyptic that didn't make religion seem like the worst evil ever. (Side note, if the world is ending never ever trust a leader, religious or otherwise, that greases their hair and doesn't stop smiling.)
I fully planned on napping during Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist today but it didn't happen. Fifteen minutes in and I was in movie love. Talk about a great sick day movie. I love Michael Cera. You should probably watch this movie ASAP unless you already did when it came out seven years ago. I also really liked the soundtrack.
Aaaaand I also watched Murder on the Home Front. Three days is a long time to rest up and try to scare away a cough, okay? This is a British movie that is your typical crime show but it takes place during the London Blitz in WWII so it's totally historical and educational. Kind of. We all need a little more BBC in our lives.
I was planning on catching up on folding some laundry while watching all that TV but I've just been knitting. I finished a blanket, darned my ends in, washed it, and am contemplating blocking it (my least favourite thing ever). Curly ends are part of life, right? While I contemplate what to do there, I started another blanket. I'm hoping that by ignoring my problems they'll sort themselves out.
I've been reading, too. Since the next four months are the last I'm going to have to read without distraction ever again I figure I'd better make the most of it. I started The Wheel of Time series. It's one of those epic series that I've been meaning to try for a while. My dad gave me his used copies a couple years ago and I've been waiting for the right time to get into them. So far so good but I'm only a couple hundred pages into the first book. I've heard mixed reviews so we'll see how it goes.
Our church is encouraging us to read a chapter of the Bible a day in order to get through the New Testament and the Psalms this year. I started a couple weeks late, but I've been trying to catch up so that's been some of my reading, too. Look at me go.
I got a package from Old Navy yesterday morning that made my day. It was just some tank tops and yoga bottoms but with a little creative folding I now have my go-to bottoms for this pregnancy. And none of it was maternity so it wasn't super expensive and I didn't have to go to another store (Old Navy in Canada doesn't sell maternity wear online because they hate me). Apparently if you whine to the internet about your pants woes you sometimes get your way.
I'm going to take those new bottoms out for frozen yogurt tonight. You know what I need after three days of coughing? Some sorbet to soothe my poor old throat, time away from the television, and some female face-to-face socialisation. Even if I try not to get too face-to-face with the girls because of my germs.
Who knows? Maybe fro yo is the cure for what ails me. I recommend you have some tonight, too. Not only in solidarity, but to prevent any sickness on your part. It's okay, I'm giving you permission. It's Friday.
P.S. Who's excited for Valentine's Day? I'm going to be healthy by then and we're having a friend come over to replace our bathroom fan. I'm going to make banana bread cinnamon buns to show my gratitude. Talk about romance!
February 04, 2015
Day one.
I'm currently at home in the middle of the Wednesday work day because my coworkers asked me to leave. Not that they don't like me, they just don't like my man cough. I mean, I think they like me. I'm fun. I bring in banana bread sometimes. What's not to like? Aside from the germs.
It was my evil plan all along, getting asked to leave. I hate those people that come to work when they're sick, but I've been averaging a sick day a month since getting pregnant and I didn't want my boss to think I was faking it. It's nice to have an excuse to stay home for the next day or two. Even if it means I have a man cough. I'm also trying to save some sick days in case I become a total invalid later in my pregnancy. Fingers crossed that doesn't happen.
A friend suggested hot water, lemon, honey, and cinnamon as a sore throat soother when you're pregnant. My throat isn't really at the sore stage yet (but after some man coughing it's getting there) but when I wake up in the morning feeling like death a cup of that magic gives me whole new life. I'm telling you, it's amazing.
I'm almost at the 23 week point in this here journey of baby growing. Last week we found out we're growing a boy. We got to see his little boy bits on the ultrasound and, had the tech not pointed it (them?) out, I would never have known. It was nice, though, because we told her before that we wanted to know so she stuck the goo on me, put the thing (technical term) down, said we had a heartbeat (I never get tired of being reassured), and promptly announced it's a boy. My son, the exhibitionist. Last time he peed, this time he showed his junk. He's so obedient.
I have a feeling the next four months of my life are going to be very long. Every time I stand up I have to pee. Every. Time. Remember how I'm carrying low? I'm pretty sure he's hugging my bladder. It's not even like, oh, I've had a lot to drink (but, with having a cold, I really have been hitting the fluids), it's like, why is something sitting on my urge to urinate?
And now you know a good part of my struggle. The other part? Pants. Oh, pants.
I got a couple pairs of leggings recently, one used Old Navy pair (the best of the three), a pair off eBay that guaranteed they wouldn't be see-through (lies) and a red pair from Zulily. Baby brain is real, guys, because I'm still trying to figure out why I thought red leggings were a good idea. And yes, they sag, so I'm not even sure I'm going to wear them. The struggle is real.
I'm getting bigger and I have a couple pairs of jeans I got from Old Navy with the low bands. They were great earlier in my pregnancy, but now they're getting a little tight and can give me the weirdest, biggest front muffin top ever. I sometimes have to rock the belly band with them just to keep everything in.
I have another pair of Old Navy jeans that I got from Value Village. They fit amazingly and have the full belly panel, keeping everything in where it should be. Except they're super low riders below the panel and, since they're not sitting on my hips, I have nothing to hold them up. God did not make me in the form of a Kardashian. If you see me wearing them you'll notice that I'm constantly hiking them up, because I am a lady and act like one everywhere I go.
My favourite pants are my sweatpants because they sit below my belly and make me look like a gangster. I'm really wishing I'd jumped on that elastic waist band trend over the summer, instead of scoffing at it. I used to think elastic waist bands were for people who had given up. Now I want it to warm up 50° so that I can wear my one pair of elastic waist shorts I bought last year. Because elastic waists are for people that have given up and people that are growing other people.
So, um, I hope you enjoyed my pants rant. That's where I'm at right now. I'm really looking forward to trying to fit back into my normal clothes again because at least they make sense to me. Ask me again in five months and I'll probably be a blubbering, lactating mess. Fingers crossed I'm like my sister-in-law and end up below my pre-pregnancy weight just by breastfeeding. She's kind of my idol.
And on that note, it's Netflix time. Stay healthy out there.
It was my evil plan all along, getting asked to leave. I hate those people that come to work when they're sick, but I've been averaging a sick day a month since getting pregnant and I didn't want my boss to think I was faking it. It's nice to have an excuse to stay home for the next day or two. Even if it means I have a man cough. I'm also trying to save some sick days in case I become a total invalid later in my pregnancy. Fingers crossed that doesn't happen.
A friend suggested hot water, lemon, honey, and cinnamon as a sore throat soother when you're pregnant. My throat isn't really at the sore stage yet (but after some man coughing it's getting there) but when I wake up in the morning feeling like death a cup of that magic gives me whole new life. I'm telling you, it's amazing.
I'm almost at the 23 week point in this here journey of baby growing. Last week we found out we're growing a boy. We got to see his little boy bits on the ultrasound and, had the tech not pointed it (them?) out, I would never have known. It was nice, though, because we told her before that we wanted to know so she stuck the goo on me, put the thing (technical term) down, said we had a heartbeat (I never get tired of being reassured), and promptly announced it's a boy. My son, the exhibitionist. Last time he peed, this time he showed his junk. He's so obedient.
I have a feeling the next four months of my life are going to be very long. Every time I stand up I have to pee. Every. Time. Remember how I'm carrying low? I'm pretty sure he's hugging my bladder. It's not even like, oh, I've had a lot to drink (but, with having a cold, I really have been hitting the fluids), it's like, why is something sitting on my urge to urinate?
And now you know a good part of my struggle. The other part? Pants. Oh, pants.
I got a couple pairs of leggings recently, one used Old Navy pair (the best of the three), a pair off eBay that guaranteed they wouldn't be see-through (lies) and a red pair from Zulily. Baby brain is real, guys, because I'm still trying to figure out why I thought red leggings were a good idea. And yes, they sag, so I'm not even sure I'm going to wear them. The struggle is real.
I'm getting bigger and I have a couple pairs of jeans I got from Old Navy with the low bands. They were great earlier in my pregnancy, but now they're getting a little tight and can give me the weirdest, biggest front muffin top ever. I sometimes have to rock the belly band with them just to keep everything in.
I have another pair of Old Navy jeans that I got from Value Village. They fit amazingly and have the full belly panel, keeping everything in where it should be. Except they're super low riders below the panel and, since they're not sitting on my hips, I have nothing to hold them up. God did not make me in the form of a Kardashian. If you see me wearing them you'll notice that I'm constantly hiking them up, because I am a lady and act like one everywhere I go.
My favourite pants are my sweatpants because they sit below my belly and make me look like a gangster. I'm really wishing I'd jumped on that elastic waist band trend over the summer, instead of scoffing at it. I used to think elastic waist bands were for people who had given up. Now I want it to warm up 50° so that I can wear my one pair of elastic waist shorts I bought last year. Because elastic waists are for people that have given up and people that are growing other people.
So, um, I hope you enjoyed my pants rant. That's where I'm at right now. I'm really looking forward to trying to fit back into my normal clothes again because at least they make sense to me. Ask me again in five months and I'll probably be a blubbering, lactating mess. Fingers crossed I'm like my sister-in-law and end up below my pre-pregnancy weight just by breastfeeding. She's kind of my idol.
And on that note, it's Netflix time. Stay healthy out there.
November 16, 2012
Of clubs, running, and zombies.
Operation "Clean that Freaking House" (the working title for every single weekend of my life) is going really well. Actually, after the three day weekend it's been going splendidly indeed. If you ignore the fact that I have five loads (yes, there are only two of us...) of laundry to fold and have been completely neglecting in order to knit for myself while watching zombie shows and Glee, our house is basically clean. Clean! That means that the only goal I have for myself this weekend is to fold laundry. Once I'm done knitting my scarf, that is. That, my friends, is the secret to happiness.
I won tickets last week to seem Diamond Rings tonight at a local club. I can count the number of songs I know by him on one finger. I can also count the number of times of been to clubs on less than three fingers. Because I've been 2 1/2 times. (One wasn't really a club, it was more of a pub turned into a club for the evening. And I was wearing full out winter gear. We're talking fuzzy boots and everything. How club-tastic!)
I'm taking my lovely friend Stephanie who has, incidentally, been with me for every other club experience of my life. Go figure. She might be my awkward clubbing security blanket.
The thing is, clubs are out of my comfort zone. I have no clue what to wear. Since it's November, I am fully into the cardigan, scarf, boot, wooly sock, and occasional toque kind of clothing. Because I'm West coast like that. Last time I tried to wear a cardigan to a club I was told to coat check it. Bye bye protective shell...
I think I've got it figured out that I'm going to just wear jeans (woo! pockets!) and a tank top and deal. And by deal I mean feel like an old person. Because 24 is clearly really old. Seriously, when I found out it was an early show (doors at 7, curfew at 10) I might have wanted to click my heels together. Steph may be one of my favourite people, but I might be having a love affair with myself, my knitting, and my television. I guess Karl's around somewhere, too.
Going to bed at a reasonable time tonight is actually imperative to my weekend plans. Even though cleaning is not anywhere on the priority list (neither is making dinner, for the record. Thanks to Twitter, I now feel no guilt in eating bean dip and salsa for dinner. I am freaking addicted to my bean dip. Because I'm awesome and it is too.), tomorrow I have a massage at 11. My second, real RMT massage. Bring it. It's also 80% covered by my benefits. Before my massage, though, because I hate myself, I'm going for a run.
I didn't run on Wednesday like I planned, and haven't since Monday. I figure if I'm not feeling well, running is not going to help or go well. I need to be realistic. I'm really worried, though. I know I'll survive tomorrow's run (once I drag myself out of bed at 9), but it's my first run 5, walk 3 and repeat three times run. Three 5 minute runs. I've done two 3s and two 5s together, but I'm worried that five full days off is going to really kill me tomorrow. I'm also worried because this is the first week my running program steps it up. I stop doing repeats of the same run 3 times in a week. The next run involves two 8 minute runs (the longest I ever made it to running before. Ever. In my whole entire life) along with one 5. Then, and I cringe to think of it even though I know it's been coming for weeks, is a full 20 minute run.
So that's what's happening with me soon. Pretty much death. It's okay, though, because if I do survive my 20 minute run I will basically be ready for anything that life throws at me. You know, like a zombie apocalypse. Assuming my immune system holds out (which it should because I take a lot of Echinacea and Vitamin C) I'll be able to outrun any zombies that come my way. Even with my slow run those suckers aren't going to get anywhere fast. We also have an impressive stock of toothpaste and toilet paper in our laundry room to barter for protection.
I think I'm digressing...
To recap: I'm going out tonight and am unsure what appropriate wear is (I even thought of raiding my mom's closet for a brief moment until I realized she's even older than I am); I am going to run longer than I want to, earlier than I want to, and do it all in the name of showering before a stranger touches my naked back; I am also going to survive a zombie apocalypse because I know the rules, have laser vision, and can outrun the rotting walking dead.
That is all.
Enjoy your weekend!
I won tickets last week to seem Diamond Rings tonight at a local club. I can count the number of songs I know by him on one finger. I can also count the number of times of been to clubs on less than three fingers. Because I've been 2 1/2 times. (One wasn't really a club, it was more of a pub turned into a club for the evening. And I was wearing full out winter gear. We're talking fuzzy boots and everything. How club-tastic!)
I'm taking my lovely friend Stephanie who has, incidentally, been with me for every other club experience of my life. Go figure. She might be my awkward clubbing security blanket.
The thing is, clubs are out of my comfort zone. I have no clue what to wear. Since it's November, I am fully into the cardigan, scarf, boot, wooly sock, and occasional toque kind of clothing. Because I'm West coast like that. Last time I tried to wear a cardigan to a club I was told to coat check it. Bye bye protective shell...
I think I've got it figured out that I'm going to just wear jeans (woo! pockets!) and a tank top and deal. And by deal I mean feel like an old person. Because 24 is clearly really old. Seriously, when I found out it was an early show (doors at 7, curfew at 10) I might have wanted to click my heels together. Steph may be one of my favourite people, but I might be having a love affair with myself, my knitting, and my television. I guess Karl's around somewhere, too.
Going to bed at a reasonable time tonight is actually imperative to my weekend plans. Even though cleaning is not anywhere on the priority list (neither is making dinner, for the record. Thanks to Twitter, I now feel no guilt in eating bean dip and salsa for dinner. I am freaking addicted to my bean dip. Because I'm awesome and it is too.), tomorrow I have a massage at 11. My second, real RMT massage. Bring it. It's also 80% covered by my benefits. Before my massage, though, because I hate myself, I'm going for a run.
I didn't run on Wednesday like I planned, and haven't since Monday. I figure if I'm not feeling well, running is not going to help or go well. I need to be realistic. I'm really worried, though. I know I'll survive tomorrow's run (once I drag myself out of bed at 9), but it's my first run 5, walk 3 and repeat three times run. Three 5 minute runs. I've done two 3s and two 5s together, but I'm worried that five full days off is going to really kill me tomorrow. I'm also worried because this is the first week my running program steps it up. I stop doing repeats of the same run 3 times in a week. The next run involves two 8 minute runs (the longest I ever made it to running before. Ever. In my whole entire life) along with one 5. Then, and I cringe to think of it even though I know it's been coming for weeks, is a full 20 minute run.
So that's what's happening with me soon. Pretty much death. It's okay, though, because if I do survive my 20 minute run I will basically be ready for anything that life throws at me. You know, like a zombie apocalypse. Assuming my immune system holds out (which it should because I take a lot of Echinacea and Vitamin C) I'll be able to outrun any zombies that come my way. Even with my slow run those suckers aren't going to get anywhere fast. We also have an impressive stock of toothpaste and toilet paper in our laundry room to barter for protection.
I think I'm digressing...
To recap: I'm going out tonight and am unsure what appropriate wear is (I even thought of raiding my mom's closet for a brief moment until I realized she's even older than I am); I am going to run longer than I want to, earlier than I want to, and do it all in the name of showering before a stranger touches my naked back; I am also going to survive a zombie apocalypse because I know the rules, have laser vision, and can outrun the rotting walking dead.
That is all.
Enjoy your weekend!
October 22, 2012
My boots my boots my lovely leather boots.
Check it out.
Remember a few days ago when I was lamenting the imminent destruction of my leather boots and my chubby calves? Well the advice rolled in pretty much as soon as I hit publish. It was all stellar.
Between the suggestions of plus size shoes, getting the shafts stretched at a cobbler, and designers or websites that have worked for others, I was feeling empowered. Boot empowerment.
I went by the mall on my lunch break and tried on a couple pairs of boots. They were taller than my norm, but I figured you just never know. Well, the first pair I tried on were like heaven for my feet. It was like my feet were being hugged by clouds and angels, and maybe even baby pugs. It was, in a word, amazing. The only problem was that my calves were just a little too pudgy. If the boots had been half an inch shorter I would have adopted them right then and their. Alas, no dice.
I came back from my lunch break feeling good about the fact that out of two pairs I'd tried on, the first were almost a perfect hit. Boo yeah. There was hope! Well, as soon as I got back on the computer I read all of the lovely suggestions waiting for me and realized something. Since the boots were such a near perfect pair I'd head over there after work, after heading home to pick up Mom (she needed to get out of the house and I needed affirmation) and throwing on some jeans, try the boots on, take them to the cobbler and ask his humble opinion on whether stretching them was worthwhile and then proceed accordingly. Not worth it? Well I love me a good return policy.
So Mom and I went to the Bay after work and, lo and behold the boots... fit. They fit my calves. No stretching needed. It was a footwear miracle. And they were 20% off. 20% off $160 is no laughing matter. $160 in itself is so beyond anything I have ever spent on footwear in life that I needed to feel like I was making the best possible purchase I could. Those boots would need to last longer than I would. Or at least for the next two years.
Not only were the boots a little taller in the shaft than I was hoping, they had a wedge. A 3.5 cm wedge. Now we're talking a whole new ball game. They also weren't as comfortable as I remembered. I did it, though. I bit the bullet and even signed up for a store credit card to get an additional 15% off. We're right in the middle of Financial Peace University right now and I could feel Dave Ramsey looking down on me and shaking his head in disbelief. But... I'm good with credit cards! Paying cash wouldn't have gotten me such a good deal! And... I'm just going to cancel it as soon as I pay my bill. I swear! I won't get sucked in by the evil credit card companies. And 29.9% interest is nothing to joke about. I saved over $50 on my boots. Surely Dave Ramsey would understand?
So I adopted those bad boys and took them home. They needed some arch support so the next day I bought some appropriate insoles and wore them around the house. But then I had doubts. Saturday and Sunday I checked out the high end shoe stores downtown that I would never even look at and found nothing that even remotely suited my needs. This year it's all about the booties or the tall boots. Thanks for nothing, trend setters.
The one thing I did notice was that when I doubled my usual budget all of a sudden those higher end shoe stores didn't seem so obscene. It was a weird feeling. Is this what it's like to be successful?
Yesterday afternoon I went home empty handed and decided that, yes, my new boots were keepers. Then I wore them out into the great big world, feeling like I was making a big purchase as soon as I stepped outside our front door, and I felt great. And today, to quote Shania, I feel like a woman. And a grownup. Grownups wear tall boots with heels. Boo yeah.
I wanted so bad to have photos for this post (because clearly you want to see what it is that's got me all bothered) but I didn't get a chance. I'm going to try and get a few more photos going on my blog, but with the speed life's been going and the amount of awkwardness I feel asking someone to take photos of me in my boots it just gets challenging. I'll try and ask the hubster some time soon.
Remember a few days ago when I was lamenting the imminent destruction of my leather boots and my chubby calves? Well the advice rolled in pretty much as soon as I hit publish. It was all stellar.
Between the suggestions of plus size shoes, getting the shafts stretched at a cobbler, and designers or websites that have worked for others, I was feeling empowered. Boot empowerment.
I went by the mall on my lunch break and tried on a couple pairs of boots. They were taller than my norm, but I figured you just never know. Well, the first pair I tried on were like heaven for my feet. It was like my feet were being hugged by clouds and angels, and maybe even baby pugs. It was, in a word, amazing. The only problem was that my calves were just a little too pudgy. If the boots had been half an inch shorter I would have adopted them right then and their. Alas, no dice.
I came back from my lunch break feeling good about the fact that out of two pairs I'd tried on, the first were almost a perfect hit. Boo yeah. There was hope! Well, as soon as I got back on the computer I read all of the lovely suggestions waiting for me and realized something. Since the boots were such a near perfect pair I'd head over there after work, after heading home to pick up Mom (she needed to get out of the house and I needed affirmation) and throwing on some jeans, try the boots on, take them to the cobbler and ask his humble opinion on whether stretching them was worthwhile and then proceed accordingly. Not worth it? Well I love me a good return policy.
So Mom and I went to the Bay after work and, lo and behold the boots... fit. They fit my calves. No stretching needed. It was a footwear miracle. And they were 20% off. 20% off $160 is no laughing matter. $160 in itself is so beyond anything I have ever spent on footwear in life that I needed to feel like I was making the best possible purchase I could. Those boots would need to last longer than I would. Or at least for the next two years.
Not only were the boots a little taller in the shaft than I was hoping, they had a wedge. A 3.5 cm wedge. Now we're talking a whole new ball game. They also weren't as comfortable as I remembered. I did it, though. I bit the bullet and even signed up for a store credit card to get an additional 15% off. We're right in the middle of Financial Peace University right now and I could feel Dave Ramsey looking down on me and shaking his head in disbelief. But... I'm good with credit cards! Paying cash wouldn't have gotten me such a good deal! And... I'm just going to cancel it as soon as I pay my bill. I swear! I won't get sucked in by the evil credit card companies. And 29.9% interest is nothing to joke about. I saved over $50 on my boots. Surely Dave Ramsey would understand?
So I adopted those bad boys and took them home. They needed some arch support so the next day I bought some appropriate insoles and wore them around the house. But then I had doubts. Saturday and Sunday I checked out the high end shoe stores downtown that I would never even look at and found nothing that even remotely suited my needs. This year it's all about the booties or the tall boots. Thanks for nothing, trend setters.
The one thing I did notice was that when I doubled my usual budget all of a sudden those higher end shoe stores didn't seem so obscene. It was a weird feeling. Is this what it's like to be successful?
Yesterday afternoon I went home empty handed and decided that, yes, my new boots were keepers. Then I wore them out into the great big world, feeling like I was making a big purchase as soon as I stepped outside our front door, and I felt great. And today, to quote Shania, I feel like a woman. And a grownup. Grownups wear tall boots with heels. Boo yeah.
I wanted so bad to have photos for this post (because clearly you want to see what it is that's got me all bothered) but I didn't get a chance. I'm going to try and get a few more photos going on my blog, but with the speed life's been going and the amount of awkwardness I feel asking someone to take photos of me in my boots it just gets challenging. I'll try and ask the hubster some time soon.
October 17, 2012
Woes of a chubby calf posseser.
I'm going to be totally honest with you, today I am mourning something utterly ridiculous.
I have chubby calves. This is a fact of life that I deal with the best I can. Really what it means is that I can't wear super skinny pants because my calves don't fit in them. It also means that I can't tuck my pants into my rain boots and that I can't, as a rule, wear tall boots. Looking at my calves you probably wouldn't peg them as particularly large, but they just come in size large. Not extra large, just large. This is my lot in life and I'm okay with it.
Because tall boots are very in vogue, and have been for the past couple years, I had a heck of time finding myself a nice pair of leather boots that not only fit me well and without a heel, but didn't have to compete for air space with my calves. Last fall I did. They were gorgeous, leather, black, a little slouchy, and within my under $100 price range. Factor in the tax and they were hovering just a little over. It was a match made in boot heaven.
I was so excited about my new, gorgeous boots that I may have gushed about them to everyone I knew. I did it! I found nice boots that fit my chubster legs! And they're nice enough to wear to work and with dresses. Ah, booted bliss.
Or so I thought.
The sole of my boots is underneath the boot part. Meaning it doesn't creep up the heel or back of the boot at all. This resulted in some wear on my right heel from driving. No big thing. It's a little inconvenient, but that just means I don't drive wearing my right boot. Easy peasy.
Well, yesterday I began to notice things falling apart. Literally. The wearing on the back of the right heel is getting more and more intense and there's a tiny hole. The left boot has a much smaller version of this wearing. I stuck my hand inside to feel what was going on and I was disappointed when I realized that the lining by my heel is pretty much worn right through. I used the left boot, which seems to be faring much better, for comparison. Yep, righty is starting to die.
I'm so disappointed! I'm even a little upset. I figure I probably need to take my boots down to the cobbler to see if anything can be done (I'm doubtful) to prolong their livelihood. It took my two years to find a nice pair of boots that I thought were going to last me at least two years themselves (at least!), but it turns out they only lasted one.
Sure I packed on the kilometers in them and made sure they got good use, but the wear is in the heel, not the sole. I don't baby my soles (I don't even know if that's possible) but I sure as heck baby my heels. Apparently for no reason whatsoever. Soft leather, apparently, does not do well over time.
The ironic thing is that my mom has a pair of boots from the same store that are roughly the same age as I am. They need insoles because the bottom is doing something weird, but I wear them all the time. Because they're so old they aren't the nicest looking, as in I'm not sure I would wear them to work, but they work great. The toes are a little worn so my feet get a bit damp when walking through wet grass and they could use a good polish (no thanks...), but aside from that they're great. They even have a half inch heel that makes me feel like a giant. When you don't wear heels, anything makes you feel like you're towering.
So woe is me. I need to start the epic boot hunt of 2010/2011 all over again. Luckily this time Karl agrees with me that it's probably worth it to put out a bit more money and get something that will actually last a few years. The irony being, of course, that I have a pair of sandals I spent $25 on three years ago that are still doing great. And yes, they are poor quality. Or that my $25 flats I bought from Aldo around the same time as my boots last year are still in perfect condition. Or, even, that my checkered wanna be Vans that I bought at the ripe old age of 15 are still, more or less, in functioning condition. And they cost me $5. Sure, I wouldn't wear them on a rainy day, but they got me where I needed to be countless times. I probably had six years of hole-free wearing on those bad boys.
Oh price, why don't you dictate quality?
I have chubby calves. This is a fact of life that I deal with the best I can. Really what it means is that I can't wear super skinny pants because my calves don't fit in them. It also means that I can't tuck my pants into my rain boots and that I can't, as a rule, wear tall boots. Looking at my calves you probably wouldn't peg them as particularly large, but they just come in size large. Not extra large, just large. This is my lot in life and I'm okay with it.
Because tall boots are very in vogue, and have been for the past couple years, I had a heck of time finding myself a nice pair of leather boots that not only fit me well and without a heel, but didn't have to compete for air space with my calves. Last fall I did. They were gorgeous, leather, black, a little slouchy, and within my under $100 price range. Factor in the tax and they were hovering just a little over. It was a match made in boot heaven.
I was so excited about my new, gorgeous boots that I may have gushed about them to everyone I knew. I did it! I found nice boots that fit my chubster legs! And they're nice enough to wear to work and with dresses. Ah, booted bliss.
Or so I thought.
The sole of my boots is underneath the boot part. Meaning it doesn't creep up the heel or back of the boot at all. This resulted in some wear on my right heel from driving. No big thing. It's a little inconvenient, but that just means I don't drive wearing my right boot. Easy peasy.
Well, yesterday I began to notice things falling apart. Literally. The wearing on the back of the right heel is getting more and more intense and there's a tiny hole. The left boot has a much smaller version of this wearing. I stuck my hand inside to feel what was going on and I was disappointed when I realized that the lining by my heel is pretty much worn right through. I used the left boot, which seems to be faring much better, for comparison. Yep, righty is starting to die.
I'm so disappointed! I'm even a little upset. I figure I probably need to take my boots down to the cobbler to see if anything can be done (I'm doubtful) to prolong their livelihood. It took my two years to find a nice pair of boots that I thought were going to last me at least two years themselves (at least!), but it turns out they only lasted one.
Sure I packed on the kilometers in them and made sure they got good use, but the wear is in the heel, not the sole. I don't baby my soles (I don't even know if that's possible) but I sure as heck baby my heels. Apparently for no reason whatsoever. Soft leather, apparently, does not do well over time.
The ironic thing is that my mom has a pair of boots from the same store that are roughly the same age as I am. They need insoles because the bottom is doing something weird, but I wear them all the time. Because they're so old they aren't the nicest looking, as in I'm not sure I would wear them to work, but they work great. The toes are a little worn so my feet get a bit damp when walking through wet grass and they could use a good polish (no thanks...), but aside from that they're great. They even have a half inch heel that makes me feel like a giant. When you don't wear heels, anything makes you feel like you're towering.
So woe is me. I need to start the epic boot hunt of 2010/2011 all over again. Luckily this time Karl agrees with me that it's probably worth it to put out a bit more money and get something that will actually last a few years. The irony being, of course, that I have a pair of sandals I spent $25 on three years ago that are still doing great. And yes, they are poor quality. Or that my $25 flats I bought from Aldo around the same time as my boots last year are still in perfect condition. Or, even, that my checkered wanna be Vans that I bought at the ripe old age of 15 are still, more or less, in functioning condition. And they cost me $5. Sure, I wouldn't wear them on a rainy day, but they got me where I needed to be countless times. I probably had six years of hole-free wearing on those bad boys.
Oh price, why don't you dictate quality?
October 10, 2012
Oh, the Terror.
I have a story to tell you and it's about Forever 21.
We don't have a Forever 21 here but I've heard a lot about it. When I went to Vancouver for work in June, I met up with a friend for dinner at IHOP (another thing we don't have) and we hit up a big city mall. Since I'd heard good things about Forever 21 we decided to brave it and see what we could find.
The answer was simple: terror. We found terror.
Walking into Forever 21 was like walking into the mind of a fourteen year old girl. It was crowded, fluorescent, and shiny. Lots of leopard print, lots of shiny, lots of preteens and their moms. "Forever 21" felt like a dyslexic typo. Forever 12, maybe.
We lasted maybe a minute before we decided that it wasn't a store for us, her nine months pregnant and me in the market for business casual clothes. We left and didn't look back. You don't try to revisit traumatic things like that.
This past weekend when Mom and I visited Bellingham we came across another Forever 21. I still had a bitter taste in my mouth but the store looked so pretty, so white, so bright, and had a bunch of colourful shoes in the window with $17 price tags on them. So we took the plunge.
Forever 21 round two was a success! It turns out you don't have to be 21 (or significantly younger) to appreciate what they have to offer. In the case of Mom and I, you can be 24 or 54 and still find things you like. Not only that, you can appreciate both the clothing, accessories, and prices.
I spent just over $50 (normally my entire clothing budget but I was given a US shopping trip bonus) and got a pair of flats and two sweaters. Normally I try to do better, but at $17 for the shoes, $23 for one sweater, and less than $15 for another I felt pretty good about the results.
Mom also picked up a necklace and cardigan for less than $30. Score.
After that the only other store we ended up having buying success was at a Gao outlet. It was weird. I never buy anything at the Gap because it's generally over priced and the quality just isn't what you'd hope for with a $50 t-shirt. Not that I ever buy $50 anythings, but there you have it.
I ended up getting Karl a much needed belt, a Mustang t-shirt, and myself a top, coming in around $75. In retrospect that number seems pretty high for three things so I'll break it down for you. Both Karl's belt and shirt were about $17 each (not too shabby for Gap wear if I do say so myself...), and my top came in at a whopping $35. I know. In a store where everything is on crazy sales I had to go for the one thing that wasn't.
Normally I would never spend $35 on a shirt but I was in shirt love. I decided that, since I was wayyy under my $200 clothing allowance and we were wrapping up the shopping I could do it. Why not? I put a sweater back that was the same price (on sale) as the shirt because I didn't love it nearly as much. Sometimes, you know, you've just got to buy the $35 dollar shirt and roll with it.
Mom had some success at the Gap, too, and bought herself some capris a storm trooper shirt from the men's section. It was the same price as Karl's Mustang shirt and looks great. She got two compliments on it before lunch time. From men. Go mom!
Here is everything we got, laid out on the king size bed in the hotel. And the grand total was? Less than $180. Because we're bargain hunters and awesome.
Until next time.
We don't have a Forever 21 here but I've heard a lot about it. When I went to Vancouver for work in June, I met up with a friend for dinner at IHOP (another thing we don't have) and we hit up a big city mall. Since I'd heard good things about Forever 21 we decided to brave it and see what we could find.
The answer was simple: terror. We found terror.
Walking into Forever 21 was like walking into the mind of a fourteen year old girl. It was crowded, fluorescent, and shiny. Lots of leopard print, lots of shiny, lots of preteens and their moms. "Forever 21" felt like a dyslexic typo. Forever 12, maybe.
We lasted maybe a minute before we decided that it wasn't a store for us, her nine months pregnant and me in the market for business casual clothes. We left and didn't look back. You don't try to revisit traumatic things like that.
This past weekend when Mom and I visited Bellingham we came across another Forever 21. I still had a bitter taste in my mouth but the store looked so pretty, so white, so bright, and had a bunch of colourful shoes in the window with $17 price tags on them. So we took the plunge.
Forever 21 round two was a success! It turns out you don't have to be 21 (or significantly younger) to appreciate what they have to offer. In the case of Mom and I, you can be 24 or 54 and still find things you like. Not only that, you can appreciate both the clothing, accessories, and prices.
I spent just over $50 (normally my entire clothing budget but I was given a US shopping trip bonus) and got a pair of flats and two sweaters. Normally I try to do better, but at $17 for the shoes, $23 for one sweater, and less than $15 for another I felt pretty good about the results.
Mom also picked up a necklace and cardigan for less than $30. Score.
After that the only other store we ended up having buying success was at a Gao outlet. It was weird. I never buy anything at the Gap because it's generally over priced and the quality just isn't what you'd hope for with a $50 t-shirt. Not that I ever buy $50 anythings, but there you have it.
I ended up getting Karl a much needed belt, a Mustang t-shirt, and myself a top, coming in around $75. In retrospect that number seems pretty high for three things so I'll break it down for you. Both Karl's belt and shirt were about $17 each (not too shabby for Gap wear if I do say so myself...), and my top came in at a whopping $35. I know. In a store where everything is on crazy sales I had to go for the one thing that wasn't.
Normally I would never spend $35 on a shirt but I was in shirt love. I decided that, since I was wayyy under my $200 clothing allowance and we were wrapping up the shopping I could do it. Why not? I put a sweater back that was the same price (on sale) as the shirt because I didn't love it nearly as much. Sometimes, you know, you've just got to buy the $35 dollar shirt and roll with it.
Mom had some success at the Gap, too, and bought herself some capris a storm trooper shirt from the men's section. It was the same price as Karl's Mustang shirt and looks great. She got two compliments on it before lunch time. From men. Go mom!
Here is everything we got, laid out on the king size bed in the hotel. And the grand total was? Less than $180. Because we're bargain hunters and awesome.
Clockwise: Mom's capris and storm trooper shirt, my Forever 21 sweaters and shoes, Karls belt, Mom's Forever 21 sweater and necklace, Karl's Mustang shirt, and my Gap top.
Since most other bloggers would include a photo of themselves modelling their swag, and I'm not sure how I would feel about that, plus I'm at work and not about to ask one of the programmers to get some model shots, I give you this completely natural and not at all posed photo of Mom and I preparing Thanksgiving dinner in our new duds.
Why, yes, that is a dead bird Mom is caressing in the sink.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)