Work Trousers

Today's trousers: green, subtly herringboned, super-static-making
Today's M:

There's some days you wake up in a mire of overpowering sadness.  And there's others when you wake up and things are awesome and then work tried to kill you and suck out your soul.  Today is the latter.  Even if my trousers had been awesome they could not have saved today.  Bugger.

However, tomorrow is a brand new day.  I have spent all evening cleaning my room (it's an ongoing project- like cleaning an oil spill).  Currently I have 4 bags of clothes to go to the charity shop (my sister will be very proud!).  I'm tired, and I feel as grumpy as Grumpy Cat looks.  It's the kind of day I call "wombat".

Post script: the good news is this: "When I am attacked by gloomy thoughts, nothing helps as much as running to my books.  They quickly absorb me and banish the clouds from my mind." Michel de Montaigne
I am running to my books, and even the thought of it makes me feel better!

sans tube tops

Thanks to the Goodwill in Clarksburg, WV I have expanded my ugly shirt collection!!!

I LOVE a good butterfly collar.  LOVE THEM!

Now, I have a theory, and since I am technically a doctor I can say it's scientifically proven, though it is only scientifically proven in my own brain.... My theory is that my love of ugly clothes stems from my being a child of the 70s.  I grew up in ugly clothes.  My parents, and my parents' friends wore them.  I love them!  MORE PLAID, MORE POLYESTER!!! POUR THEM IN MY CLOSET!

 This is the combo of shirt and trousers. The trousers are green, fake wool, and subtly herringbone.  My whole ensemble today is a symphony of green, except my shoes.  Same sneakers as always, only these are brand new, and look exactly like the old ones.

Maybe there's something safe about these clothes, something comforting.  Maybe my ideas of what is beautiful were formed when I was a kid and now I can't undo them.  I remember dressing up in my friend's mom's clothes: tube tops, and sparkly gold lame, and things like that.  Her mom was so glamorous to me... and now here I am (sans tube tops) wearing things my mom may have worn.

I was not only influenced by the 70s, though.  The 80s had their input too.  And I blame Barbie.

This Barbie to be exact (source).  I had an aunt in the 80s who wore stuff like this, and to me was super glamorous and grown up and awesome.  Oh, and 80s movies! Weird Science, Pretty in Pink, all John Hughes movies, really... Is it any wonder I wear what I do?

But here is the interesting part.  Though I love ugly clothes, they are not usually what I would choose to wear, if I had a choice.  I own normal clothes, sophisticated and simple clothes, made of natural fibers.  And I love them.  I would wear them all the time if I could, they're beautiful.  but somehow I end up in the ugly clothes again and again.  Maybe it's because I am not wild about my job, and this is one way to make it more fun.

trousers can be deceiving

Today's trousers: from this photo they look awfully normal.  I look awfully normal. 
Luckily, these trousers are deceiving.  I have Helena Bonham-Carter-eqse (HBC) hair (though it is admirably tamed, sort of) today.  It is Bride of Frankenstein hair.  It is epic.

And though I have had my V8 AND all my vitamins, I have pre-caffeine face.  A lot.  Strange hair, strange face, normal trousers.  It may be a strange day.

The apparent normalness of my trousers reminded me of something I came up with this summer: the ugliness of the elastic waistband of your soul.

Oh, and in other news... I seem to have a boyfriend.  Yep.  I have reacquired my beloved Mr. Cereal.  No more excruciating first dates for the foreseeable future.  I am ecstatic.  Not over the lack of first dates, which is great, but because I genuinely love Mr. Cereal.  And he does not mind (and indeed enjoys) if I talk about genocide, Stalinworld, etc.  I am a terrifically lucky girl, even if only for a brief time.  And I am happy.

The difference between ugly and hate

I've been thinking a great deal lately about the difference between clothes that're ugly and clothes that I hate.
This is mainly because although I recently (read: sometime last month) organized my closet enough so that I could enter it, it has now become so disheveled and crammed that although I can reach into it, I can no longer get into it.  This makes it harder to chose clothes.  So I generally go with what I can see.  And this leads to some interesting choices.  Many are the days I have appeared at work looking like I got dressed in the dark.  I didn't, I just don't care if I match or not.  And many are the days I have worn things I don't particularly like, just because they are clean and within reach.

There's a difference between things that are ugly and things that I hate.  Some fit into both categories.  Sometimes it's the way things fit or feel.  They can be staggeringly uncomfortable.  Or ill-fitting.  Or just WRONG.  They can be wrong.  As I am trying on these garments I am putting them in the bag to go to the charity shop-- one monkey's trash is another's treasure, which is how I ended up with many of my lovely clothes in the first place.  And I am glad to see them go to another good home.

But as I sometimes wear these emergency clothes (read: need to clean your room, Miss!) to work, I often think about how clothes make you feel.  The subtle differences in your day when you feel better or worse just because you have the dark and guilty secret that you are wearing an elasticated waistband, or that you folded over the waist of your trousers to stop them falling down, or, as has happened to me, that your trousers DID fall down in the parking lot on the way in to work.

I'm trying.  I buy clothes too large without trying them on.  I have long felt that I am not good enough for good clothes.  I am trying to feel better.  But I do love my ugly clothes.  I am just trying to love ugly clothes which actually fit.  It will save me hours of parking lot humiliations in the long run.

Not my monkey

This is not my monkey

This, also, is not my monkey

Brilliant!  I love Polish! I love Poland! I love pierogi!
I love the fact that the phrase is "not my circus, not my monkey!"  I will be practicing saying it in Polish.

You may not know this, but as Scotland had an influx of Polish people in the early 2000s, some people learned some Polish phrases.  I was one of them.  I can say hello, how are you, thank you.  And now I can say, "not my circus, not my monkey."  Watch out, Polish bouncers, prepare to have your socks and/or trousers&pants knocked off!