So. Shopping. I copped out today…I was supposed to go and find a new pair of jeans. Jeans shopping always makes me vacillate between depressed (flub, florescent lights) giddy (today is the day I will find a pair of jeans that will last forever! Solve all my problems! Love me!), and horrified. The horror: stone-washed is in again. And someone told me that Halle Berry has a non-ironic mullet. The fuck?
I have this special problem, and I think I
I need to either gain about 30 pounds, or lose a couple of ribs. Bleah.
And then the men’s pants have no ass to them. Arrr, matey.
I totally understand the Rib Cage That Destroyed Seattle thing. I have quite dangerous curves….except that damned rib cage. I’m with you on the rib removal.
Lazy on the exercise frontier + chicken feed bag = fabulous fashion!
Not only does it hide the flab, but it says that you’re a down-to-earth kinda gal!
I’m gonna wear one tomorrow!
I’ve decided if I were pregnant I would actually be a really hot pregnant lady. But as it is, I’m just a mother of two with a bit of a pooch.
I think I might pretend I’m pregnant all the time.
I have this same problem with pants. I’m strangely shaped. At 6’4″, I only have a 32-inch inseam and a thick pelvis. So I’m always trying to find 38/34 jeans and they’re always either A) all gone, or B) they just don’t make ’em.
I got so mad last time I went clothes shopping The Girl practically had to drag me out of the store. I ended up standing in the parking lot of the Greenwood Fred Meyer having a loud conversation with an imaginary salesperson: “Who the fuck do you people make clothing for? Huh? Show me a guy with thirty-six inch legs and a thirty inch waist. Who the fuck are you fooling? Huh? Just because you’ve got a fucking eating disorder. Do I look like Brad Pitt? Does he? DOES ANYONE IN THIS FUCKING STORE LOOK LIKE BRAD PITT? …except that guy? …NO! Nobody in this store looks like Brad Pitt except that ONE guy! But do you have pants for us! Do you? No! Nooooo! What are the pants you have that I can even get into? FAT PANTS! But I’m not fat. I’m not fucking fat!”
By that point I was punching bags of fertilizer and The Girl was pretending she didn’t know me.
That’s my Fred Meyer, and I assure you that no one looks like Brad there.
Geez. Try having legs that are exactly one inch longer than “ultra tall”, which they don’t even sell at the stores anyway. Not only that, but women who are six-one and weigh under 200 pounds don’t exist in Clothes Shopping World. I walk in and the salespeople don’t know what to do with me. I tell them I have a 34-inch inseam and they run screaming to the employee lounge.
Ugh, to be short.
SJ – You have to make allowances for style and upbringing. Some of the guys who do, like, roofing for a living or work the boats down at Salmon Bay would be pretty hot if you shaved off the anemic little soup strainer, cut off the fucking mullet, and shelled out about twenty thousand for dental work.
How come all our ribcages are so freakin’ huge? i could kill a horse with this thing.
ha.