Tough Times Are No Excuse For Bad Fashion

I have a dirty little secret: I am a Forever 21 shopper. That's right. A 30 year old woman who buys cheap trendy knock-offs. I even have their website bookmarked and check out the new arrivals at least twice a day because all the cool stuff has a tendency to disappear in the blink of an eye. At least 50 percent of my jewelry comes from there. That cute shirt I wore at New Years? Straight off their website. I love being able to buy frivolous, irreverent trends and not break the bank. When an item goes out of style in a few months, I won't be out more than $30.

Being several years over their intended demographic, I have to use a little restraint. Sure... those shiny faux-leather leggings are kind of hot in Pat Benetar way and are quite the steal at only $22 but probably should never grace an ass over the age of 21. The glen plaid tube dress is really adorable and is a great knock-off of something I have seen Victoria Beckham wear but my tube dress days have passed.

Then there is the fashion that I just don't get:

Those weird hoodies covered with crappy 80s graphics are fugly beyond belief.

I think my grandma has a top like this one.



Then... today... I saw something that truly made my heart hurt.





The return of Hammer pants. Although they are now described as "harem" or "paper bag" pants. What a horribly unwelcome re-trend. Who wants to look like they took a dump in their pants? Fucking Hammer pants! MC Hammer went broke and can now be seen praying all over the Jeebus channel. Is this really who we want as a fashion icon during these troubled times?

Play Free Bird, Man!

Here is the latest addition to my tattoo collection. Upon hearing the news, my mom sighed heavily and started praying that her daughter wasn't headed towards circus life as the amazing tattooed lady. (In my defense, I only have 4!) Since mom is already exasperated with me, I can't post a picture of just where it is on my body since it would require me to be in my bra (right ribcage so just use your imagination).

So... what does it represent? It is my very own free bird. In honor of my 30th birthday, I decided that a bird taking flight would be indicative of me embracing this new decade. That's right... the girl who vowed to spend her 30th birthday curled up in the fetal position, drinking vodka and ignoring her "well-wishing" friends' phone calls has now turned coat and is relishing her 30s.

Mom just wishes that I had chosen a less permanent way to celebrate!

30 Things

My first social networking site wasn't Facebook or even Myspace. I used to belong to the online community 43 Things. The initial concept was simple: you listed 43 things that you wanted to do in your life. These goals could be lofty (I want to walk on the moon), frivolous (I want to get a weekly pedicure) or mundane (I want to clean out my garage). The whole concept appealed to my love of making lists while giving me time to reflect on what the hell I wanted to do in life.



Like most good things, 43 Things became too much of a good thing. Users were encouraged to give in depth explanations of their goals. Other people could comment and offer advice or encouragement. Then came all those "cheers" you could give to people. Keeping up with cheers was more intensive than keeping up with all my Facebook applications. Then came the sister sites 43 Places and 43 People... I waved the white flag.

Still, I miss having a list of things I want to do in my life. Until I realized, hey, I have a worthless blog that I can spout of my goals on! No cheers to keep up with; just the comments from my beloved readers.

And to hell with 43. Since I turned 30 this year, I am sticking with that number. Plus... it is Saturday afternoon and I am feeling lazy.

30 Things I want to do:

1. go horseback riding (how does one make it to their 30th birthday without ever doing this?)

2. have a signature dish (frozen pizza from the box doesn't count)

3. find that "sweatsuit alternative" that Tim Gunn keeps talking about

4. convince Bad Wolf, Blonde Bomb and CKD to go to Ireland for vacation (just think of those accents, ladies!)

5. find an antique cameo ring (to replace the one my shithead cousin stole after my aunt died)

6. learn how to play chess

7. find a place where everyone knows my name (a la Cheers!)

8. quit expecting the worst from people

9. visit Andrea's grave

10. learn all the lyrics to "We Didn't Start The Fire" (you never know when this might come in handy)

11. practice yoga regularly (regularly being the key word here)

12. go to a Purdue Alumni function (aka be one of those annoying people that roll around West Lafayette drunk out of their mind, reminiscing about "the old days" that really weren't that great)

13. wear my pearls more often

14. go skydiving again

15. actually keep a houseplant alive (hellooooo... cactus-killer here)

16. figure out how to wear one of those trendy scarves

17. write more bad poetry

18. take all those clothes that don't quite fit right to a tailor

19. go to the movies by myself

20. quit fighting with my snooze button

21. write thank you notes on spiffy stationary

22. turn my home office in to an actual home office instead of a junk room

23. find out if cruises are a great vacation or just floating hell on earth

24. watch the Godfather trilogy

25. score the perfect Little Black Dress

26. never be "the other woman" again

27. download audio books to my Ipod and listen to that on my work commute (instead of screaming at slow drivers)

28. find a sexy guy with a sexy motorcycle

29. send my all my friends flowers at work and sign the card as their secret admirer (because what girl doesn't like flowers at work? And, since guys never send them, friends should just pick up the slack)

30. cover up that tattoo on my back (so people can quit asking what "that big black circle" is)

Mommy, Can I Be A Porn Star For Halloween This Year?

The question of Halloween costumes came up this weekend. I have a party to go to but no idea what to go as. Since I don't know a lot of people that are going to be there, anything involving heavy make-up or masks is out. No matter how cool the costume, nobody wants to take a chance chatting up a chick whose werewolf mask might actually be a vast improvement on her day-to-day look.

Halloween used to be so easy. I spent the ages of 2 through 10 alternating between dressing up as either Cinderella, Princess Leia or Madonna. My junior and senior high years were all about the scary costumes. College was reserved for the high-brow, over-thought costumes that nobody got. "So... you're like a zombie, huh?" "Yeah, but I am carrying a briefcase. Get it? I'm a corporate zombie. Duh!" Same thing goes for the year I dressed up as a drag queen and spent the night trying to explain how funny it was to be a woman dressed up as a man dressed up as a woman.

Then my 21st birthday rolled around and I entered the bar scene. Halloween hasn't been the same since. No longer is Halloween all about creativity or scariness. Nope. Halloween is now the one holiday when other-wise respectable, educated women can get away with dressing like utter sluts and still look their co-workers in the eye the next day. Slutty cop, slutty fallen angel, slutty Greek goddess, slutty librarian... I have worn them all.





Now I am 30. After looking at a beer wench costume that would really look kick ass with a pair of Mary Jane stilettos I picked up recently, I had to stop and ask myself: When is it time to hang up the slutty Halloween costumes?

Talk amongst yourselves. I haven't hit the checkout button for that slutty Eve costume in my online shopping cart either.

Kids Say The Darndest Things (Especially When They Are 19 Year Old Marines)

Conversations between myself and one of my students today:

Him: You aren't retired military like the rest of the instructors, are you, ma'am?
Me: No. I just did one tour in the Army and have been a contractor ever since.
Him: Figures... all the pretty girls are in the Army.
Me: Make sure you put your name and information on the roster.
Him: Okay... but I don't know my unit's duty phone number.
Me: That's fine. Just put the name of your unit in that block. We'll make sure you get credit.
Him: Maybe I should just put my cell number there... for you... so... you can like call me... you know... if you wanted to... ma'am.

I am not sure if I should be flattered or horrified that a 19 year old managed to hit on me and call me ma'am in the same sentence. I think these kids have watched too many repeats of "Top Gun". Well, I am no Kelly McGillis (although the fishnets stockings she rocked in her classroom were the shit!)



Come to think of it, that kid has probably never even seen "Top Gun" since it came out before he was even born. Pardon me while I go cry in to my Bloody Mary.

Psssssst: I have to admit... it was kind of sweet and my head barely fit through the door for the rest of the day.

A Little Salt For Your Fresh Wound, Mam?

My friend Rosie rocks. We met 11 years ago when we lived in the same dorm (yay Virgin Vault!) at Purdue. She was a super shy chick who used to let her hair hang in her face and spoke in monosyllables. All I saw when I looked at her was raw potential: I just knew there was a wild bitch within waiting to break loose. She just needed someone to corrupt her a little.

Rosie didn't disappoint. We have jumped out of an airplane, hosted a radio show, danced on bars and drank our way across most of the South (New Orleans, Memphis, Pensacola, Norfolk, Richmond, Louisville and Myrtle Beach). Her sense of adventure and dry, biting humor carries us through any mayhem we get involved in.

But this...

Not funny, Rosie!!!!

Just wait... her 30th is less than a year away!

The Great Kick-Off

My dirty 30s started in a rather mundane way. I dragged my now older and wiser self out of bed at 8AM on a Saturday morning to go get my eyes checked at the optometrist. Wooo-hooo! Exciting, no?

The doc was a really cool lady. The receptionist was late so the doctor and I chatted as I filled out all the forms. Turns out she put herself through optometry school at the age of 39 and as a single mother of four after her doctor husband ran off with a younger woman (funny how you can learn so much about a person during a thirty minute appointment!) She saw from my medical forms that today was my birthday and handed me this pearl of wisdom ,"All that stuff about women aging like a fine wine is absolutely true. Sure... there were times where I felt like spoiled milk. But if you stay on track with what you want in this world, you will only get better. Always worrying about others' needs above your own will spoil you. So it is really up to you whether you want to be a fine wine or spoiled milk."

Hell yeah, sista!

As the perfect punctuation for this lesson, the girl at the front desk finally came slinking in thirty minutes late just as the doctor was walking me back up to the lobby. Bleary eyed and sullen, the girl was not a day over 22. The doctor and I exchanged a knowing look as the receptionist tried to clear the fog enough to process my insurance claim. On my way out the door, I glanced over my shoulder to witness the doc escorting the receptionist in to the back room, presumably for a come-to-Jesus meeting. Yup... we have all been there. I caught my reflection in the window and it revealed a knowing smirk that only a wiser and more self-assured woman can have. Welcome to my 30s! May they be like a fine wine rather than a glass of spoiled milk.

Operation Crazy Old Southern Lady

I love her more than my luggage!

I am done whining (for now at least) about my passage in to my thirties. Although I realize it will be awhile before I can fully attain crazy old lady status, I am taking my thirties as an opportunity to get just a little more cranky and bitter. Consider it my decade of taking baby steps towards my ultimate goal. In order to do so, I need to clearly outline what makes the little old crazy Southern lady tick.

1. She needs to be Southern - duh! I am currently living in the southern edge of the DC/Northern Virginia metro area. Below the Mason-Dixon, yes, but hardly what I would consider the south. My upcoming move to coastal North Carolina will remedy that. Onward to the land of Cheerwine, pulled pork sandwiches and being able to smoke my Virginia Slim Menthol Light 100s anywhere I damn please.
   
2. She needs to dress crazy - Crazy old ladies look like they dressed themselves in the dark. Polyester pants, wide-brimmed straw hats with heavy ornamentation, housecoats, muu-muus, overalls, plaids mixed with florals. All this madness can be traced back to the fact that they really don't give a damn anymore. While I am not ready to trade my knee-high boots in for gardening clogs just yet, I am ready to start wearing things simply because I like them. Being a slave to the fashion magazines and what my friends are wearing is for my twenties. I am going to start dressing for me now.
3. She needs to go for social outings at her church, bridge club and salon - I am pretty sure I would burst in to flames if I walked inside one, so church is out for me. Don't know how to play bridge or bunko... yet! I am down for the salon if I could ever find a stylist that I really like. I just need to find a place where I become a part of the local color. Knowing me, it will probably end up being a bar. Baby steps here, remember?
4. She needs to have a signature drink - I've seen the old ladies stick to the classics on this one (martinis or Tom Collins) but it really cracks me up when they get more exotic and order up a Pink Lady, Singapore Sling or Alabama Slammer. While I have been known to guzzle anything in the joint, my go-to drink is a Captain and Diet, with the occasional Bloody Mary. Must... find... better... signature... drink!
   
5. She needs to be cranky and share her opinions at full volume to whomever will listen - Actually, I am already halfway there on this one.
6. She needs to shop at the Piggly Wiggly - It was good enough for Miss Daisy. Check that box...there is one just down the road from my new place.

From Roaring 20s To... Dirty 30s?

I am currently staring down the barrel of my 30th birthday. And it is a short barrel. Very short. As in, 4 days from now short. As much as I'd like to hold my head high and claim that I am embracing a new decade with grace and pizazz, truthfully I am looking forward to spending this birthday curled up in the fetal position, guzzling vodka and ignoring calls from so-called friends phoning in to taunt me.

"But Maggie", you might ask, "aren't you the one who can't wait to turn in to a crazy old lady?" to which I will gleefully cackle affirmation. But 30 isn't crazy old lady territory yet. I still have another 20 years before I can bust out the hats adorned with birds and feathers or wear a fur coat over a housecoat with gardening clogs. Since I am on the subject of fashion, allow me to make a clothing related analogy: Your 30s are like a black V-neck sweater from the Gap. Sensible. Practical. Necessary. But freaking boring!

Your 30s are when you are old enough to know better. You can jump up on a bar and start dancing when the mood strikes you in your 20s... or even in your 50s, because who's going to argue with you then?

This seems to be the decade about getting your shit together. Get married (or remarried) quick... it might be your last chance. Hurry up and pop out a few kids before your eggs shrivel up. Land that promotion before some snot-nosed kid fresh out of college steals it. Quit throwing your money away on rent and buy a house. Invest your money because retirement will sneak up on you. Let some grass grow under your feet. Settle down. Grow up.

When I was 23, I worked with a woman who refused to celebrate her 42nd birthday, choosing instead to refer to it as the 13th anniversary of her 29th birthday. I thought she was being silly at the time.

Now I understand...