Shame and Depression…

… went jeans shopping on the weekend, ‘nuf said!

Sigh, if only the Australian retail market catered for everyone like the USA, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be feeling like this.  I’ve never been what you’d call a standard size when it comes to jeans, so I wear what I’ve got for as long as I can, and the point is coming where I won’t be able to go out in public!  LOL.

While I’ve apparently shrunk in size (the last time I shopped all jeans were made for statuesque super models and required anywhere from 10 – 15 cm taken off the bottom, and I’m not paying $$$ for something only to pay more to have them actually fit me).  This time, while I’m the correct height for fashion, apparently my thighs are not on spec and I’ll need to have a rib or two removed to allow the inaccurately named waistband to do up.  God help me if I wanted to digest something, that would have to wait until undressing!

So after this weekends depressing* event I’m going to try and eek out my last precious few pairs of American Eagle Outfitter jeans for a whole year until I hit the USA next October.

And as if the above is not tragic enough, in a few months Super Sammie and I are heading to Bali and that requires bathers –  Oh the horror!!  Wish me luck!

 

* I’m using the word depression tongue in cheek here, however I’d like to acknowledge that depression is a very real and serious condition that impacts a lot of people.  If you think you might be suffering, please speak to someone, there is help out there.

 

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These Slippers are Toast!

Seriously what’s the deal?  I’m not a 90 year old woman and I’d prefer not to advertise the fact that I’ve got a touch of bogan in me* to the world. So how is it that I can’t find a tasteful, stylish, hell, I’d settle for bland and boring at this point, pair of slippers to save myself?

The market seems to consist of either “fun”, read I’ve got the taste and intellect of a 12 year old and want a pair of shoes with ears or a face on them or “fugly”  ugg boots or old lady shoes.  There is simply nothing in between.  All I want is a pair of plain black slippers that don’t draw attention to themselves, I’m not asking for much am I?

For the last six years since moving to wine country I’ve been on the hunt – it gets cold out here and now I have a yard that I venture into some mornings (only to scare the birds away so the cats don’t eat them you understand, I don’t stroll around surveying my domain, well not that I’m letting on about anyway!) so socks or bare feet won’t cut it anymore.

Besides, I’ve invested a lot in nice sleepwear and being a long term fan of the correct accessories I’d rather freeze than ruin my “look” with the wrong shoe.

An extensive internet search the world over led me to Macy’s who had dull but tasteful ballet slippers that met my two major style criteria;

1. No “old lady” bow
2. Not made of velour

I joyfully ordered said slippers, and, while I was at it a new cocktail dress, to justify the postage you understand – No, I didn’t fool me with that logic either, but I ordered the dress anyway.  Two weeks later the dress showed up but no shoes, apparently there had been a run on the only acceptable footwear  I’d found (probably by frustrated, well dressed middle aged women, but I digress) and they had sold out, not to be restocked.

Frustrated I began my search again, convinced that somewhere in the world there would be an acceptable pair of black stylish slippers.  And you know what I was right, for the asking price of a mere $600 I could have a pair that almost looked the part.  Even though I was desperate by this stage my inner tight arse suggested that $600 was a touch extreme even for me when I’m annoyed  – I can be impulsive, mostly it’s charming, sometimes irrationally expensive!

So I took myself off to the nearest shopping centre and slouched my way through the various stores muttering** to myself that none of it was good enough and finally I bought the marginally acceptable “items” that you see above.

I took them home and optimistically teamed them with my lovely robe and night gown and you know what, they look dreadful!    So, these slippers are toast and my hunt goes on!

*it’s an Australian thing, we all do, we can’t help it.

**It wasn’t all doom and gloom however to cheer myself up I bought two new shirts from Cue that I’m loving.

PS: As you can tell I have so much distain for the slippers I didn’t even wipe the toaster down before taking the shot LOL.  Also, I was going to use winky faces in this post but have just discovered that giving your face a “nose” is now old fashioned, when did that happen?   I must be old  😉  … a face needs a “nose” right?

The Harsh Truth Of Pencil Skirts

It’s been a while, but I’m back baby!

Work and life have been busy and I’ve been stuck in a creative rut that there was no need to subject you to!

The work situation is still up in the air due to our Game of Thrones situation – the Iron Throne is still vacant.  The court rumour mill has it while the seat of power is attractive the gold, or lack thereof is not enough to temp an heir into the citadel.

I’m riding it out and doing as much contingency planning as I can.  I like my job but I need to accept that nothing will change in the short term.  So, I’m putting on my big girl panties, sucking it up and getting over it.

I’ve put myself on the wagon wine wise to try and get fit – ok, lose some weight, my new undies don’t fit and I had delusions of grandeur that I could wear a white pencil skirt (to go with my rashly purchased fabulous jacket that matches NOTHING I own).  Until I tried it on that is.  Why is it that white only serves to highlight cellulite? I had a long and depressing talk with myself in the change rooms at Cue a couple of weeks ago while trying to convince myself that with a bit of spanks action I could get away with the sleek white look.  Fortunately for my bank balance the realist in me won, so I don’t have yet another expensive item in my wardrobe that I can’t wear.

Another reason for the temporary wine wagon is that I’ve been reading Sober Mummy’s blog (it’s fabulous, check it out) and some other blogs in the sober sphere and thought that it would be good for me to take a break.  While I don’t drink every day, when I do I drink way more than I should.  I don’t like the path that this habit could take me down so I’m taking action.

So that’s it for me for today.  I’ll be back soon I promise!

A line in the sand and a new robe

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, that’s why I’ve not been blogging, it’s hard for me to write when I’m not happy.  So I’ve made some decisions…

#1, I set a deadline in my head about a situation that I want resolved at work and emailed off what I need done and by when to the two people who can make it happen.

I got an email back from my boss telling me that one aspect won’t happen until XYZ takes place which is a problem on a couple of fronts;

1. I’m not sure I want to be involved in XYZ and
2. There is no time frame around it happening

Unfortunately I know what will happen and I’ll be forced to take action and that will involve giving up my nice comfy telecommuting, cats on desk, sloppy clothes wearing life to get a “real” job which will suck just a bit, however I’ll get better pay as a trade off and that means retiring earlier.  I know, first world problems right?

This lead to decision #2 at some ungodly hour this morning: I got up, turned on the iPad and typed “marketing recruitment my city” into the search bar.  I scrolled through a couple and registered for job alerts with the one that looked like a good fit.

Part of me is secretly hoping that their CRM is so good that they’ll call me to see what I’m looking for. The other part is kind of terrified that they will!  LOL, I’m bad at saying no, and I’m worried that I’ll wind up in a new job before I’m sure I want to leave the old one.

After that I realised that I have another problem.  Who do I get as a referee?  I’ve been eight years in this job, everyone in my old job (which is too long ago for a proper reference anyway) has scattered to the four winds after they dismantled the newsroom. I can really ask my boss*, my colleagues for the most part are his family and it doesn’t seem right to ask my clients.  Sigh, I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.

Now I think about it referees come after the resume part!  Aw man, I haven’t had a resume in over ten years, I don’t even have an old copy kicking around.  Do I even need one these days?  Isn’t that what LinkedIn is for?  Sigh (I’m doing a bit of that today).

So while feeling thoroughly depressed about all that I decided to cheer myself up with a spot of online shopping and I’m pleased to say that after some serious web browsing my new long satin robe is winging its way from Neiman Marcus in the USA to wine country in little old Australia.

Happy days, mostly!

* I will tell him of course, once the deadline (March 30) is past. As long as I walk in with a transition plan he’ll be ok, upset, but ok.

 

Wardrobe Crisis!

What happened to generate this eye catching, dramatic headline you ask?  It started innocently enough; I was invited to the Australian Open with friends who are also business associates.  The problem is this meant “casual”.

“Casual” has always escaped me; I’m not good with casual.  Formal I nail, my work look is money no matter where you put me, but casual???

Hmmm…the tennis, right, fine: cargos, wedges, cute top, done.  But then lunch was mentioned and that threw me, lunch where? Were my cargos going to cut it? The top I was going to wear certainly wasn’t.  What now?

In my twenties this was never a problem. Lunch with the Queen, that ultra-cute white Cue outfit with the floaty skirt and short sleeved double breasted jacket would be perfect. Impromptu ski trip, no dramas; Day at the beach, sorted; Drinks with the PM, let me change my shoes and we are good to go.  I was never short of an appropriate outfit.  Now a simple trip to a slightly swankier shopping centre can throw me.

When did I go from finger on the pulse of fashion and always feeling put together to this slightly uncomfortable feeling that my shoes aren’t quite right?  Sigh.

Well, must fly, someone mentioned afternoon drinks at their place in February and I’ve got some serous planning to do!

PS: in case you are wondering I went with a good top, skinny jeans, the wedges and was boiling hot all day. My hosts showed up in shorts and thongs!  I can’t win. LOL

Winning @ The Post Christmas Sales

Is it irrational to buy a new quilt cover because it matches the top you brought?  No?  See, now that is why we are friends!

It was an impulse buy when I hit the post Christmas sales.  I was on a high after a successful gift card shopping spree:  You know that feeling you get when it all falls into place and you get exactly what you want AND it’s on sale?

I don’t shop often, but when I do I find it difficult to get exactly what I want, then I get cranky because I don’t want to compromise, so to find everything I wanted had the same effect as downing a couple of glasses of bubbly on an empty stomach. I was swanning though the shopping centre, proudly swinging my new shiny shopping bags feeling a million dollars with a dopey grin on my face.

Not only did it match my new swanky casual but smart top, it was in the colours that Crazy Cat Boy had been hinting he’d like towels in. That made this lovely quilt set at 50% off a sign from the shopping gods.  I’d been resisting the change in towels as this is a big thing for me – I carefully coordinate my bedroom so it matches all the towels, tea towels , cushion covers and napkins throughout the house (Yes I have a problem, no I won’t be working on it.  Matching stuff is just who I am.  On hearing that I had gotten a cat, the first thing Cousin Wendy asked me was “does it match the couch?”*).

So on my next washing day, think of me as I gleefully change the “red/grey” theme for the new “blue/grey**” one.  I’ll still be wearing that big dopey grin as I slip on the European pillow covers.

*For the record no he didn’t and 18 years later he’s still dropping fur on stuff he doesn’t match.

**Ikea had perfectly matching cushion covers on sale when I dropped in there this week, so naturally I’m also the proud owner of new covers as well, so it really was a sign!  😉

Help, My Thighs Have “Hail Damage”!

I stand before you (well, sit on my tubby arse before you) a 60 odd kg, cellulite sprinkled, pasty white, spotty armed Crazy Cat Lady who feels let down by her mirror.  How did this happen and how can I reverse it in three weeks?

Here is my day of woe began…

I’m working out of a client’s office today so this morning instead of just brushing my hair and pulling on jeans and a tee, I slapped on some makeup and slipped on a new dress, well, that was the plan.

The dress, purchased only 12 months ago does not fit properly.  Not only did it not “slip” as advertised, it actually “dragged” over the hip area and a very visible panty and waist line appeared where it shouldn’t have!

How did this happen (the can of Coke on my desk as I type might be a small give away)?  I thought I was still pretty fit: so I consulted the friendly mirror, the one in the ensuite, not the harsh reality mirror that lives in the main bathroom.

Gulp! The mirror has had a personality change and is throwing up some unwelcome sights under the glare of the double heat lamp.

Not only do my eyebrows need a decent pluck, but there are vast expanses of very white, very “hail damaged” thighs and buttocks that are a lot more wobbly than I’d like to admit.   Not only that, but my arms are spotty and have weird multiple tan lines from different length sleaves and bingo wings!  Bloody Nora!

However that’s not the biggest problem. In three weeks I’m catching up with friends that I haven’t seen since high school  (navigating the whole Facebook friend gauntlet reconnecting with them is a whole other post)and I want to look hot damn it!

So, I’m assessing my options:

1. Take legal action against the designer of said “slip dress” for wrongful advertising
2. Surgery – excessive?  Probably, but let’s not rule anything out
3. Expensive “smoothing” creams and gels – see how desperate I’m becoming, I’m starting to want to believe the hype!
4. Convert to any religion that needs me to cover head to toe loose clothes – extreme, maybe, but as a short term solution option, I’m game
5. Spanks – ‘nuff said!
6. More green stuff, less coke – probably a solid option for my overall health, but I loves me my coke 😉
7. Less wine – see “more green” above!  LOL
8. More moving – again see boring health stuff above
9. Find the Kettle bell – by hook or by crook I’ll deflab these arms.

I know what you are thinking, I really only have one solid option, fake my own death, but I’d really like to catch up with them all so perhaps I’ll try the “health” option…. stay tuned dear reader, I’ll post updates on my painful progress!

If I’ve got mums face, who’s has she got?

I’m not a makeup girl, never have been, but sometimes it’s called for. Sure, I slap on a bit of liner some subtle shadow and mascara before heading off to see clients, but foundation and lipstick are almost unheard of for me in a standard office visit. It’s cool, they know what I look like; so far no one has recoiled in horror when I check in at Reception, so I figure I’m ok to keep up this lax routine.

There was an important meeting last week, so I decided to step it up and “look the part” (We were up for some hardball negotiations: a girls got to feel confident and sometimes a killer pair of heels just isn’t enough **)

I realised something was wrong when the foundation brush seemed to stop half way down my face. That doesn’t look right, I know it’s been a while, but I’m sure that it shouldn’t look that dry and flaky. Perhaps the bottle has gone off. Ohhhh, that’s my face that’s dry and flaky, hmm. Extra moisturiser should do the trick. Damn, now it’s not thick enough to cover those weird brown and red spots that never used to be around the edges of my face. OMG, are they age spots and where did those blue veins that are normally hidden by my hair come from? Might be time to book in for a session of resurfacing with “Connie the Laser Lady”.

Right, that’s got the foundation sorted, I’m still not entirely happy; when I smile I have eye wrinkles. I thought makeup was supposed to hide that stuff?

Oh well, lips next.   Since when did the lip liner bounce along like that? Where did those craters come from around my lips? I don’t smoke, this can’t be right (Mental note: pay more attention to Connie when she talks about fillers next time)! Oh, well, lipstick will cover that wonky line. Lordy, that bright colour that I’ve worn for years makes my teeth look yellow! Think quick, tone it down with something duller. That’s better, crisis averted.

Then it hits me. My mind flies back to a 15 year old me taking control of my mum before a wedding and “doing” her makeup. I remember the way her eyelids moved with the brush when I put the shadow on and the how her lipstick bled up lines above the lip. OMG, somehow I’ve I got my mother’s face. How did that happen? I spend a small fortune on organic facial products, I wasn’t meant to get old makeup skin!

I look in the bathroom mirror and a painted person that I’m not sure is me looks back. I wonder who’s face mum is wearing if I’ve got hers these days? Oh hell, perhaps it grandmas! It seems that fresh horrors still await me!

PS: I checked my lipstick when I hit the office and sure enough, it was bleeding up lines that almost reached my nose, I’m doomed! 😉

** Yeah, yeah, I know, how about using your intellect and superior negotiation skills? Your appearance shouldn’t have a bearing on it. I know all that, trust me, I’ve got mad skills and I use ‘em, but still sometimes looking as fabulous as you are capable is a big confidence booster.

“The One”

I’d set out on my quest with such high hopes.  I wanted desperately to report back with a tale of triumph and joy.

You see something has been missing in my life.  Something that no woman should have to live without, that’s right, I’m missing the perfect top.

I know what you are thinking, how is that possible?  She seems so together, so on top of it all!

My life wasn’t always like this.   For the past four years (I’m not counting “seasons” that’s just depressing) I’d been blessed with “The One”.  Just the right shade of grey, three quarter length sleeve, hit just below the hip in light weight merino, sigh.   I’d confidently throw it on with my skinny jeans, ballet flats and swan out the door knowing that I looked sharp, on trend and completely in control of my wardrobe and life.

However, as with all good things it had to come to an end; Frayed ends as it turns out.  I keep “The One” in my drawer, but we don’t go out in public anymore.

For the past nine months I’ve been feeling disjointed and slightly off when I leave the house.  Yes, I know the replacement top I have is nice, and it was eye wateringly expensive, but it’s not, well… right.  It’s too heavy for a start, I won’t be able to wear it in summer and it’ll be bulky to pack when I travel.  Then there is the sneaking suspicion that the polo neck makes me look a bit old and stumpy, like I’m trying to hide a wrinkly neck*.

So this weekend I left wine country and headed into the city for a dedicated assault on the malls.  I had a list of likely targets in mind and had decided to throw budgetary considerations to the wind!

However it was to no avail.  The kindly assistant in Portmans sympathised with me… “Sorry love, they didn’t do that model this season, I don’t know why, it sold really well.  How about this one, it’s this seasons version?” She helpfully suggested.  But it was too late, I’d tried it on already, it made me look like I was wearing my 20 year old friends top in a misguided attempt to look fashionable.

I admitted defeat and headed back to wine country, stopping only to buy a bottle of red to drown my sorrows.

There is a solution to this though, I’ve decided to stay home on weekends for the foreseeable future, I think that’s easiest for all concerned!

*Disclaimer: It’s not that bad yet that I have to hide it.