Monday, 4 July 2011

Fashion Advice For Young Ladies

First, a caveat. I realize that I am not, in any way, an authority on fashion. I dress like a slob most of the time and usually never have the right shoes for any given outfit. 

I do, however, consider myself an expert on making fun of bad looks. But, as a feminist I should tell you that you can wear whatever you want and you shouldn’t listen to me or the media or the horrible men of the world – be strong in who you are and express yourself. But really, you should listen to me and do what I say. 

So hear me young ladies. These are some things you need to know before you leave the house looking like that.

It’s March. I don’t care if spring is in the air. It’s too early for flip flops.
No flip flops until after the May long weekend, unless you’re in Winnipeg where there is still snow on the ground then.

You need to wear a slip with a white skirt.

No platform patent heels before lunch, otherwise you look like you are doing the morning after walk of shame.  Sexy secretaries are the exception.

The only kind of choker to wear is one of pearls or diamonds. Anything else looks like a dotted line or that your neck is too fat.

Uggs. Wrong. Stupid. Wrong. Just stop.




Do not wear t-shirts that makes you an obvious billboard. Printing on shirts is usually declasse unless it involves unicorns, kittens in space or TV show quotes.  Wearing a shirt that says:




well, it’s gross. And I hate it. It means you shop at that store, which means you’re a douche who has very good eyesight and a high tolerance for having air freshener blasted into your face every 10 seconds.

No one likes the smell of patchouli and if they do they aren’t the sort with whom you should associate if you are lady of good breeding.


Also, why, why, why, would you wear sweats with the word Juicy emblazoned on the butt? 



It’s never classy. I mean, what are you saying? There’s a high likelihood of diarrhea in there? I think “Warning” or “Contents Volatile” would be the better, more honest ass slogan. Really, I do.

Young ladies, why are you endorsing a brand called T-N-A? WTF!

T-N-A is the same company as the store Aritzia, the clothing store for young ladies who want to look unemployed and hungover. You need to know that even my extensive training in social work will not keep me from classifying you as pathetic trash. T N A.  For Christ’s sake, that’s stupid.

 Why are there no brands called “Super Feminist”, or “4.0 GPA.  I mean, if you have an awesome body, you don’t need to spell it out for people. We can see. You should show that you can be a wicked hottie AND be all mensa. "Intellectual Booty Jeans". "Smarty Pants". "Clever Boots".

 And Applebottoms? Really? All that is, is an invitation for men to look at you and say that “yes, she is indeed an applebottom” or “she has no right to wear that brand as she is not an Applebottom and therefore is a liar”. 



Men don’t like it when we try to pull one over on them.

I don’t mean to rag on anyone in particular. I’ve made all of these errors myself and worse ones, too. There was a brand of jeans, back when I was in Junior High, called “Fancy Ass”. I had a pair of Fancy Ass jeans.



 I was 14 and was thin-ish for a few seconds. But still, I was 14. I did NOT have a “fancy” ass. My ass had only been in puberty for a couple years. Nothing fancy about that. Plus, I am of Scottish heritage, so my ass was wide, flat and probably woolen. Not an applebottom. Maybe they should have a brand of jeans called Moderately Overweight Prairie Girl Jeans.

My pants are always floods.

I dress like someone who has basically given up. And there is freedom in that.

But still you should take my advice.


Wednesday, 29 June 2011

cranky


Ok, I am totally cranky and I’m basically going to rant about all the crap the bugs me today. I know I just posted yesterday, but I want to get this up before I get in a good mood again.

Here’s my cranky list.



1. My husband’s dog craps a lot. Sometimes in the house and then falls into it. My dog barks non-stop, unless she is scraping my shin raw with her tiny razor-like claws begging for food.















2. The guy who sells pens outside the grocery store. I know I will burn in Hell for not being eternally patient with you, but I am not Marilyn Monroe and I don’t’ want a pen and no, I don’t want to go to Hollywood with you and I will not give you a farkin’ hug. Every day with this. Sheesh.

3. Does anyone out there blog about ANYTHING but freakin’ Jesus and The Lord?



 Enough. He gets it. He likes you. You are totally in to him.  Blah blah freakin’ blah. I suppose everyone has a hobby. There is a blog out there called “My Kids’ Allergies”. Super entertaining.

4. People smoke on the street and think that this is perfectly acceptable behaviour.



 I swear to God the next person who blows smoke in my face is going to get a world of fart back at them. I mean, how rude are these people. Yes. You. Even you.


5. Everything has God-damned calories. Bloody hell.

6. Breakfast is over too soon. I want a longer breakfast.

7. I have no freakin’ idea where Brad gets the ideas for his songs. Why are you asking me? Ask him. I anticipate the answer with be “from my brain”.

8. My stupid floors do not wash themselves. Disgusting, thoughtless floors.

9. I do not want to go to your painfully boring Blues Jam. It’s in Vancouver, which is 4400 km away from where I am. I do not like The Blues. Even when I am drunk. Stop inviting me or I will fill your Facebook page with pictures of adorable kittens in baskets and teacups. And not the ones with the funny slogans, either.








10. My fat day pant are tight.







11. I can not seem to wear anything without getting a coffee stain on it. Or an apple juice stain. Who knew apples could stain? WTF.


12. SUV limos. I don’t care if it IS your grad or your wedding or your staggette. You look like a douche.


 ______________________________________________________
Later… 





I had a nap and feel better.






Bye.