When fun trumps fashion
04/15/2011
To buy a Wonder Woman swimsuit or not to buy a Wonder Woman swimsuit, that is the question.
I stumbled upon this rare find while browsing swimoutlet.com for a sporty Nike tankini. (Fellas, that’s a bikini minus the itsy bitsy). After nothing met my criteria…practical, classy, simple, preferably black, sans doo-dads and swimmable…I ventured into one-piece options. Poor one pieces. They’re so underrated. Personally, I’m a fan. Two pieces have their place in the universe of swimwear, but they’re predictable. Expected. That settled it. I would remain the one-piece poster girl.
And then it appeared. The Splish brand “Awesome Girl” swimsuit, complete with a lightening bolt. Images of Lynda Carter popped into my head. I had flashbacks of the Wonder Woman Underoos I adored as a 5-year old—crying when they were in the washer. I found my suit! I smiled. Wider than I should have at a computer screen.
No no no no no no no no no. This is not a suit Tara Maras would buy. This meets none of the criteria on this nicely organized list of criteria sitting next to my computer. None. This is ridiculous. Absurd. Bright. Lightening bolty. Loud. Unprofessional. Impractical. Wonder Womanish.
But I love it.
No no no no no no no no no. I don’t live in Venice Beach. I don’t perform in “O.”I don’t know how I feel about stars on my butt. I don’t have the accessories (indestructible bracelet, red boots). I’m not proficient in hand-to-hand combat and the art of tactical warfare. I don’t even have a swimming pool. Is this my mid-life crisis?
But I still love it.
So I made a deal with myself. If after 24 hours I still had the burning need to own this suit of wonder, I would buy it. Then it would be a well-thought-out, non-impulsive, practical purchase. Right? Right.
Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. The 24-hour mark arrived. I pointed, clicked and submitted my order.
But it will never fit. No way. Not a chance of ordering a swimsuit online and having it fit. No problem. I’ll just return it and the fun will be over. Whew, glad I have an out.
Of course, you can guess how the story ends. It arrived. It fit perfectly. I’m wearing it as I type. (Not really…). I’ve decided this is swimoutlet.com’s way of telling me that it’s okay to have a little fun…be a little impractical…that less doesn’t always have to be fabulous. Okay swimoutlet.com. Just this once.
Now, about that pool…
Red, white and voting blues
04/05/2011
Less is fabulous, except when it comes to the number of people sporting “I voted” stickers.
I just voted in today’s municipal primary election. The big-deal race: Las Vegas mayor. The even bigger deal: it’s the race to succeed term-limited Mayor Oscar Goodman, the self-proclaimed happiest mayor in the universe. Add to that the fact that his wife, Carolyn Goodman, is running against some other strong candidates, and you’ve got yourself interesting hometown hype.
When I walked into Arbor View High School to handle my civic responsibility, the volunteers practically high-fived me. Hooray! A customer! Being the inquisitive type, I asked if it was busy earlier. They agreed that it was a “little busier” (so three people?), but seeing page after page of empty signature lines in the roster didn’t exactly confirm things.
Pathetic is the word that came to mind. When I lived in Erie, Pennsylvania, where it snows from Labor Day to Easter, the weather was always a worthy excuse. But this is Vegas, baby. The sun blinded me as I exited. My car’s thermometer read 81 degrees. Nope. Not the weather.
I dig the stars and stripes. I like voting. It gives a person the right to applaud or condemn elected officials’ decisions. It’s a cool privilege, and being in the marketing and public relations profession, I know how much cash the candidates – even the highly unlikely hopefuls – pour into advertising. Even if I’m not passionate about platforms, I at least feel like I owe ‘em one so they can see a little ROI, win or lose. But then, I’m also the person who responds to Banana Republic and Fresh & Easy surveys because I feel sorry for the marketing director who had to convince a higher up that it was worth the bucks to conduct.
I’m not the super political type. I don’t care who you vote for just as much as you don’t care who I vote for. Everything I could possibly write about low voter turnout has been written before. It’s certainly not the first time I’ve been solo in Arbor View’s gym. But today I felt like sharing my two cents. Lucky for me, I have this blog and freedom of speech. So, before I get too preachy or keep you from getting to your polling place, I’ll sign off.
(P.S. Ladies, wouldn’t it be fantastic if they gave us those red, white and blue shoes instead of “I voted” stickers? Turnout would be through the roof.)
Me. The Wagon. Falling off.
06/26/2010
I went shopping.
It wasn’t a credit card spree of epic proportions, not that I’ve ever been that kind of gal, but my purchases definitely fell more into the “want” than the “need” category. I didn’t pack my trunk full of fancy shopping bags either. In fact, my purchases fit in my purse. Hold the plastic bags (at least I was environmentally friendly!). Nonetheless, I broke my own rule of shopping for needs only. So now here we sit, in my own online confessional. “Forgive me father, for I have sinned…”
We’ve entered the wear-as-few-clothes-as-possible season here in hot Las Vegas. Read: tank top time. My two Gap tanks have seen better days. One black, one white, they look great after they’re washed and dried. However, five minutes after being on my bod they “grow,” get annoyingly bunchy and just generally make me look and feel like a schlup. Adding a nice necklace and lipstick doesn’t help. It just makes me feel like a schlup wearing a nice necklace and lipstick.
A hard core minimalist would just deal. Frankly, life is too short to just deal in some cases, and I refuse to go through summer feeling frumpy when the problem can be handled with $20. So I got myself to T.J.Maxx and picked out two new tanks, one black, one gray, with a touch of stretch. Problem solved. The old tanks are now in the Goodwill bag. I’ve maintained the size of my wardrobe and feel great telling you about it in my new non-schlupy black top, which, by the way, looks super with a nice necklace and lipstick…
…and my new earrings.
Oh, didn’t I mention I also bought earrings?
There’s no justifying it. Nothing I type can rationalize it. Bottom line: I saw them, I loved them, I bought them.
They look great with the gray tank. With the black tank too. I’ve worn them three times already. Ummm, I think I’ll stop while I’m ahead.
Sometimes a girl’s just gotta be a girl! I’ve accepted it. I’m moving on.
Have you had weak moments this summer? What have you purchased that, let’s be honest, you could have done without. Discuss amongst yourself in the comments section. I’ll pop in to add commentary too!
Don’t you hate it when one morning, by golly, every pair of socks suddenly has holes?
Do they get together by the darkness of night and plot their revolt?
I guess when you buy a pack of cheap cotton socks and wear and wash in rotation, they’re bound to meet their fate on or around the same day. Think anyone has studied the life expectancy of athletic socks? Mine reach full maturity at six months, go on life support at nine and get re-purposed into dust rags at 10 months. It’s a vicious cycle. A cruel sock world.
Well ENOUGH I say! NO more!
In my quest to be more minimalist, I’m trying to only buy when there’s a need to replace. I don’t go sock shopping for pleasure, I go when I have more dust rags than socks. I’m avoiding replacing cheap with cheap. Instead, I’m replacing cheap with the best quality I can afford. Sticking with the sock example, my hope is that I can a.) eliminate the annoying need for an annual sock shopping spree b.) give my tootsies a more pleasant sock-wearing experience c.) possibly be buried in these bad boys.
This is why I spent $40 on four pairs of athletic socks.
That’s right. Pick your jaw up off that keyboard. Stop cursing at your monitor. Focus people, focus!
My new low tolerance for low-quality cotton socks that invite blisters, stay wet once wet and shrinky dink in the wash led me to Red Rock Running Company.
The selection was marvelous. I didn’t know such fine socks existed. Before I committed to purchasing Feetures! Performance Socks (extra small, wicking fabric, seamless toes, high-density cushioning in impact areas, mesh tops for breathability), they LET ME TRY THEM ON. Ever try on socks at Target? Without getting run down by the rent-a-cop?
I can’t remember the last time I was so happy with a purchase. These socks are all that and then some. My feet have never been so comfy in my sneakers. After several washes, these babies appear to be indestructible. They don’t stretch out. They don’t shrink. They don’t bunch up. They don’t get permanently stinky. They are perfection in a sock.
Now that is $40 well spent.
Do you ever take this approach with purchases? It’s the transaction that seems absurd for a minute, but then makes perfect sense when you consider cost per wear. Tell me about it. I live for this nerdy stuff.
We all strike out sometimes
06/17/2010
I never expected it. This blog has become a forum for sharing my deepest, darkest secrets.
I bared my armpits to you when I sang the praises of baking soda as deodorant. I admitted that I donated 795 items in one fell swoop during my Purgeapalooza. You know I waste water, hoard bananas and have a thing for cluster balloonists. It’s out there that I treasure a good granola recipe more than dust-collecting wedding day memorabilia.
We’ve discussed truck nuts.
We’ve come a long way in four months.
That’s why it’s time for you to know.
I can’t part with my bowling shoes.
My sweet, thoughtful husband gave them to me several birthdays ago so I wouldn’t have to wear the cootie-infested shoes issued by the bowling alley. They are bright white. They are cushiony. They are nerdy.
We’ve never been in a bowling league, gone with another couple or even mastered the rules. We don’t fit the “bowler” demographic. There was a time; however, when we found it novel and entertaining to head to the lanes at The Orleans, Santa Fe Station, or Red Rock Station (yep, they’re in casinos, cool, eh?) for a few laughs and some romantic rivalry. He with his Scooby Doo ball, I with my sparkly white Brunswicks. Always before dawn, when the rates were dirt cheap – after the smoke cleared from the prior night’s cosmic bowl and before the hard-core PBA tour hopefuls arrived with their suitcases full of custom bowling balls.
That was then. This is now. We’ve transitioned from bowling to gardening, cooking, being an (awesome!) aunt and uncle, playing tennis, competing in everything from 5Ks to swim meets, and a whole mess of other fun stuff.
We have no plans to go bowling. I’ve reduced my wardrobe by more than half, shoe collection too. I’d go so far as to say I now operate with a close-to-minimalist wardrobe. I had no problem parting with Coach handbags, cool jewelry and rock star jeans in the name of paring down. But those darn bowling shoes.
If I were suggesting how YOU might ditch your bowling shoes, here’s what I’d write:
- If you’re keeping them for sentimental reasons, take a photo and then donate them.
- If you’re keeping them because you might bowl someday, you will be able to buy new bowling shoes when and if that day ever comes.
- If you haven’t used them in a year, buh-bye bowling shoes.
Hmm…I think I’ll just see if hubby wants to go bowling this weekend so I can justify keeping them.
Tell me about your “bowling shoes.” It’s okay if it’s irrational. The more unjustified, the better. Let’s roll! See ya in the comments.
