Terry has just reminded me that I haven’t yet provided my monthly breakdown of Things I Bought for February and so, because I know the world will surely end if I don’t list these items, here it is…
February was a bit of a crappy month, as you know, but unhappily this extended to shopping as well as to getting locked out of my car and growing a second head. In a way, you could see this as a good thing (Terry does) because it meant that, for the first time in ages, I was a Good Girl and didn’t spend ALL of my salary the second it hit my bank account, but you could also see it as a Bad Thing (I do) because, well, it just wasn’t much fun, really.
The main source of the Not Fun sprang from the fact that I “took a notion”, as my granny used to say, for new gym clothes. It’s a bit of a pain this “taking a notion” for something. It happens to me a lot, and it generally means that I end up spending all my money on lots of the same kind of thing. Like, one time it was pyjamas. I decided I absolutely could not live without lots of new pyjamas and other “lounge wear” items, and so THAT month I was really well dressed between the hours of about midnight – 8am, but after that, not so much.
Another time it was bed linen. I wanted new bed linen, and I didn’t just want one set: no, I wanted MORE than one set, and I also wanted some cushions and nice blankets, too. (Note: I don’t ALWAYS “take a notion” for things related to sleeping. Just a lot of the time.)
Anyway, this month I took a notion for new gym clothes, in the mistaken belief that they would cause me to leap pout of bed every morning with a smile on my face, just raring to get to that gym, by God! February’s shopping, then, consisted of:
GYM CLOTHES:
- One pair of capri-style running pants
- One pair of jogging pants
- Two tops
- One zip-up jacket thing
- One sports bra
OTHER CLOTHES
- One black dress
- One,er, bikini
- One cardigan
- One short-sleeved top.
And NO SHOES.
This month: must try harder. (Kidding! I’m kidding!)
Tagged the gym, Things I Bought
(Note: this entry has nothing at all to do with the movie of the same name. Sorry, Google searchers, nothing to see here…)
I know it’s the shortest month of the year, but seriously, February, are you STILL here? Do you need a ride to the station? Can I help you carry your bags?
This time, my frustration with The Month That Won’t End has nothing to do with being locked out of cars, or finding myself in possession of more than one head or anything like that. No, it’s all about the shopping. See, I promised myself I’d try to spend less on clothes and shoes, and actually, for the most part this month, I’ve come good on my promise. I mean, there was that bikini I suddenly needed to buy right at the start of the month, and the ill-fated work-out clothes which didn’t see the light of day until last week, but even so, people, even so. I mean, I haven’t bought a single pair of shoes this month AT ALL (thank God I bought three pairs last month, thank God, I say) and that’s saying a LOT for me.
But I can take no more. The closer it gets to pay-day, the more eaten up with the thought of shopping I become. The more I start to feel that if I don’t go forth and shop RIGHT NOW, I will surely shrivel up and die.
So I bought yet another little black dress. Of course I did. This one is very basic and versatile, though, and I will wear it all the time. Like, for lounging around the house in:
For using my stability ball in:
For washing the dishes in a really blurry way in:
And for dusting in:
So, yes, a totally versatile purchase which I will wear EVERYWHERE, and as Becky Bloomwood herself says, I will be known as The Girl in the Black Dress. Which, let’s face it, will make a change from me being known as The Girl Who Keeps Buying Black Dresses Even Although She Already Has Dozens of Them Which She Never Wears. Because that’s just nowhere near as catchy, you know?
Tagged dresses, Outfits, Things I Bought
Although I didn’t mention it on this blog (because that would have made it REAL, and, well, I didn’t really want it to be), at the start of this year I realised I’d been just a little bit “spendy” lately, so I decided to make an effort to cut back on buying clothes. (Not shoes, though. One of my New Year’s Resolutions is to “buy more shoes” after all, and by God, I will do it if it kills me! Or if Terry kills me because of it, whichever comes first.)
I DID make the mistake of telling Terry about my resolution, though, and he made a little “we’ll see about that” noise and then suggested it might be “fun” if I tried to keep track of just how many clothes I DO buy this year. By that I think he meant it would be fun for him, because it would allow Mr “Three Monitors” Man over there to feel all superior about the fact that he DOESN’T buy too many clothes, just lots of monitors and stuff.
Anyway. Because I am stupid, I decided to take him up on his suggestion and I now present the list of Things I Bought in January:
3 pairs of shoes (WIN!)
1 dress
1 skirt
4 tops
And actually, I think this may turn out to be a counter-productive exercise, because when I see it all written down like that, it doesn’t really look too bad, does it? (Maybe I should try to spend MORE? Food for thought, there…) Especially when you consider that one pair of shoes was in the sale for £10, all of the tops were cheap basics, like long-sleeve t-shirts and vest/tunic things, that are actually essential to life.
All the same, resolution for February: buy less than that.
(Let’s just ignore the fact that yesterday? I went shopping. That doesn’t really count, though, because I only bought gym clothes and I HAD to buy gym clothes because I was in danger of being mistaken for a homeless person every time I tried to exercise.)
Also: it’s been snowing here for the past 24 hours now. I feel I have to mention this because it’s been more or less the only topic of conversation on Twitter and Facebook all day today, and I’m starting to feel left out because I’m apparently the only person in the world who doesn’t get super-excited by the snow. I hate the snow. It’s cold and wet and it makes driving dangerous, and when you work from home ANYWAY, you don’t even get a snow day. Bah, humbug.
Oooh, also: Terry has been giving the blog a bit of a facelift. Isn’t it pretty? Say it is pretty.
Tagged clothes, Things I Bought
So, a few weeks ago I became ever so slightly obsessed with a coat. As soon as I laid eyes on it I was all, “That coat will be mine!”, so what I did was, I did NOTHING. And it sold out. Everywhere. I know because I, er, emailed the manufacturer to beg them ask them if they’d be getting any more of them in.
“No coat!” said the manufacturer. “Cannot have! Sucks to be you! Ner-ner-ner-ner!”
Clearly, it was just not meant to be, so I decided to forget all about the coat, but before I did, I decided to search eBay obsessively for it, praying as I did so. And I found it! Only, not really, because the coat I found was one size bigger than the size I usually take.
“Will not buy,” I told myself firmly. “Stupid to even look at coat which will be too big. That way heartache lies. Will not even add to Watch List, so cannot be tempted!”
So I added The Coat to my Watch List.
A few days later, I checked up on it and lo! The Coat had now been bid up to an astronomical price – one that was, in fact, higher than it had sold for in the store. And sure, the coat was brand new with tags, but even so! Even so, people!
“Stupid!” I said smugly. “Idiots, bidding up Coat to crazy high price! Glad I’m having no part in that! Forgetting all about it now. Right now. Want, though!”
So I continued to watch the coat like a stalker.
“Buy coat,” said Terry. “I will give you difference between retail price and crazy inflated eBay price,” said Terry. “Then you will shut up about coat, OK?”
“Nooo!” said I. “Stupid to involve husband in buying of overpriced coat which, although crazy expensive is also investment, really. And actually, not that expensive, when you come to think of it. In fact, is still way less than most people pay for coats every day! OMG, is bargain!”
So, the coat arrived today. And yeah, it’s too big. And kind of completely different from how I was expecting it to look. I was thinking I could pad it out with jumpers, though, maybe carry Rubin around inside it in manner of kangaroo. Or I could just re-sell it. One thing is for sure, though: I am totally banning myself from buying things online now, because if I do decide to sell The Coat, it will be the eleventy-first thing I’ve had to return this week month alone on account of it not fitting right, and that? Is seriously starting to get on my nerves. I mean, I seem to spend all of my time trailing to the post office and I hate it at the post office.
[photo removed because I realised it's a full moon tonight and my skin is too thin to post photos of myself on the internet when there's a full moon - d'oh!]
Oh, and the “cautionary tale” referenced in the title? Avoid the internet when buying your clothes. Seriously.
Tagged coats, ebay, Outfits, Things I Bought
So, Friday night, Terry taught Rubin how to levitate:
With that mission accomplished, on Saturday we headed into Edinburgh for our friend Claire’s 30th birthday dinner. It was a good night, and not just because Terry and I don’t get out much. Seriously, we probably won’t leave the house again until Christmas. In fact, Terry definitely won’t, because today Terry somehow managed to buy a TV that’s just slightly bigger than ME. Yes.
This was particularly amazing to me, because actually, we’d just gone out so I could buy a new dressing gown. In fact, Terry wasn’t even going to come with me, but just as I was leaving he was all, "Oh, I’ll just come with you and have a quick look in Curry’s [purveyors of electrical goods, for the benefit of those of you who don’t live here} while you’re shopping." I dunno, maybe this should’ve rung alarm bells, but it didn’t, so I bought my dressing gown, and then, OK, a sports bra and a pair of running shorts (I know! Shorts! I was in a sports store and everything!). Then I went to meet him at Curry’s and discovered that in the time it had taken me to choose between the mint green dressing gown and the pale yellow one (mint green won, natch) he had somehow bought a TV. That is HUGE.
I don’t know what happened. Because we already have a TV. That fits into the living room. This one… possibly won’t. If it does, I’m thinking it’ll have to be the ONLY thing in the room. Like, we’ll have to sit on the stairs, or get Rubin to teach us how to levitate or something so we can actually watch it.
Guess we know what Terry’s going to be doing this winter, then…
So, this Saturday is my mum’s birthday, so over the weekend I went to the shops, and this is what I bought:
Yes, platform pee-toes: the shoes of champions. So, yeah, Happy Birthday, mum! And don’t worry about these not fitting too good, because, as luck would have it, they both fit me perfectly, so whew, disaster averted there, eh?
Oh, and I also bought an entire new kitchen and new flooring for the entire house. Because, you know, that whole “re-doing the bathroom” thing worked out so well, and was just SO! MUCH! FUN! that we thought, “Hell, let’s put ourselves through another couple of months of that crap.” I mean, it’s not like we had plans, or anything…
Of course, I say I bought this brand, spanking new kitchen and flooring-for-the-entire-house: what I mean by that is we bought it, and what I mean by that is: Terry did it. I contributed financially, obviously, but in terms of actually organising the whole thing, Terry did it all the measuring and boring stuff, and I just walked around the store going, “I like that one. Let’s get that one.” I don’t really “do” buying kitchens, you see. Me, I just buy shoes…
Anyway, what all of this means is that the next couple of months, they’re not going to be so much fun for either of us, but particularly not for Terry, who will be installing the new kitchen and laminate-for-the-whole-house. Poor Terry. I will be suffering too, of course, because I am a compulsive neat freak, and this is how our living room looks right now:
That silver thing you can only just see at the top of the picture? Is the kitchen sink. And I just know that this sink is probably going to go all “bathroom radiator” on us and sit there for months now, unable to fulfill its destiny as a sink, because we’ll be just too darn lazy busy to install it. God, I love it when we do home improvements, I really do.
The worst thing about this? That’s not even half of the stuff. No, the rest of it doesn’t arrive until May 1st, so we have AT LEAST one month of living like this ahead of us. If it’s anything like the whole bathroom saga, we’ll end up camping out in one room for the duration, like savages, although, looking on the bright side, at least I won’t have to clean the house any more because seriously, what is the point? Fun times, folks, fun times. Most exciting purchase BY FAR, though: one of those trays that holds knives and forks and stuff, which is made completely out of wood. OF WOOD.
God, I’m getting boring in my old age, aren’t I? Let’s look at my shoes again:
Ah, much better!
Tagged decorating, shoes
In all the excitement of getting our bathroom back (seriously, it’s been like living in a hotel this past week, only one that you have to clean yourself), I realised that I completely forgot to mention Valentine’s Day, and, more importantly What I Got.
Well, perhaps unsurprisingly, Terry and I both opted to give each other gifts themed around the idea of "We’ve got a new bathroom and by God, we’re going to use it", so I got him a selection of stuff from Lush (Terry is actually a man, I promise, he just really likes Lush) and he got me this:
Yes, it’s a gel spa bath. It turns your bathwater into… gel. Because really, when you think about it, who wouldn’t want to sit in a tub full of gel? Well, as far as I was concerned, there was only one thing that would be better than sitting in a bath full of gel, and that one thing was blogging about a bath full of gel. Am always the professional. So I pressed Terry into action to act as my model for this quick guide on How to Have a Gel Spa Bath.
Step One: fill the bath to the halfway point
Lookit the fun he’s having already!
Step 2: Pour in the gel powder (for yes, ’tis in a powdered form)
Step 3: Stir it with your hands
I guess you could use, like, a giant wooden spoon or something for this stage, but that wouldn’t be as much fun, would it?
Step 4: Congratulations! It’s a blue bath!
You must now wait five minutes for the water to turn to gel. You must also pray to any God willing to listen that your sparkling new bathroom does not turn blue because of all of this. Because admit it, that’s totally what you think’s going to happen here, aren’t you? Well, it isn’t. Sorry.
Step 5: Enjoy your gel-filled bath!
Also enjoy: looking like a disembodied head! And no, you’re not getting pictures of his naked body, no matter how much you beg and plead.
Step 6: Find a large blob of undissolved gel on your body
Urgh!
Step 7: Pour dissolving powder into bath and mix with hands. Then shower off the blue stuff.
Note: artist’s impression only.
Now, I also tried this myself, and let me tell you, it was a pretty strange experience, and not unlike sitting in a large tub of warm slush. Not, of course, that I’ve ever sat in a large tub of hot slush, but if I did, I just bet it would be exactly like that. Those large blue blobs were everywhere – in fact, I’m still picking them out of my hair now – but it was actually strangely satisfying to squeeze them. Yes. And no, we didn’t dye the bath blue, although we certainly deserved to.
So there you have it: our Valentine’s present, 2008. Recommended.
So, I’m having a dress made. This is probably a mistake, because, as loyal readers (hi, mum and dad!) will remember dressmakers hate me. But I am doing it anyway, and unfortunately for me, a necessary part of this process has involved being measured. Which has led to the discovery that I? Am deformed. Yes.
The dressmaker, you see, provided a list of about half a million different measurements she would need in order to make this dress for me: bust, waist, hips, shoulders, distance between left buttock and back of right ear, right elbow to left little toe – that kind of thing. I knew beyond doubt that, left to my own devices, I would screw this up beyond belief, and so it was that my mum and I spent a strangely puzzling half an hour or so on Saturday night trying to work out what the hell size I am. This was made more difficult by the fact that, as we measured, we discovered that my shape was subtly, yet constantly, shifting (AM SHAPE SHIFTER! WOO!) all the time, so that no matter how many times we measured a particular part of my body, we would get a different measurement every time.
Eventually we managed to pin down a set of measurements that we believed to be accurate. We double checked these, to make sure no further shape-shifting was going on. It wasn’t, so I went home and the next day, sent off the measurements to the dressmaker, and then sat back, in happy anticipation of the arrival of my perfectly fitting dress.
It was at this point that I discovered that I was deformed.
“Are you SURE these measurements are correct?” asked the dressmaker in an email, clearly puzzled. “I mean, are you REALLY sure? Can you double check them for me, please? FREAK.” I could almost see her, staring at her computer screen and scratching her head, thinking, “Man, this chick is deformed! DEFORMED!”
So, I measured again, and discovered that, at some point in the intervening hours, I had managed to lose an inch off my waist. Yay! And also: HOW? (“Read my amazing weight loss story in next week’s Forever Amber!”) Well, I emailed the dressmaker back, and admitted that actually, my waist measurement had changed. Again. This blew her mind.
“This is definitely your WAIST you’re measuring, right?” she asked. “Like, the NARROWEST part of your waist? Are you sure you’re not measuring your hips? Because most people measure their hips. FREAK.”
Yes, I was sure I was measuring my waist and not my hips. I was sure because:
a) I have been able to tell the difference between the two for quite some time now, and
b) My hip measurement hasn’t been that size since I was in short pants. (Note: I have never actually been in short pants. But you know what I mean.)
The dressmaker, however, was convinced I was lying. And she was also convinced that I was DEFORMED.
“Do you have trouble buying jackets and tops that sit right at the waist?” she asked, still presumably scratching her head in bemusement. “Like, do they normally sit either way above your waist or way below it? Because it sounds to me like you’re deformed. FREAK.”
OK, she didn’t actually say that last bit, but she may as well have, because WHAT”S THE BIG DEAL WITH MY WAIST? And you know, I’ve thought about this, and actually, no, I don’t have problems finding jackets and tops that sit on my waist. I mean, almost everything else about them will be wrong: the sleeves are always so long that I look like I’m wearing a straight-jacket, and the necks are always so low that last time I went out wearing a scoop necked top I had to get dressed and then painstakingly sew my top TO MY BRA, otherwise I would have spent the evening, er, flashing people. But waists? Generally sit right where they’re supposed to. You know, on the waist. Such are the joys of being a “petite” person. And, actually, such are the reasons that drive me to have my clothes made, rather than buying them off the peg. Well, that and the fact that I’m way fussy.
Apparently, though, I am deformed. My waist is not where it should be. (WHERE SHOULD IT BE?!) This has thrown me for a loop, because I thought I had successfully listed each and every one of my physical defects when I was a teenager (I’m not joking, by the way – there is an actual list) and “position of waist” was not one of them. It is now, though, obviously.
I haven’t heard from the dressmaker in a few days now. I’m assuming she’s too busy laughing at my freakish shape to type. I have to say, I can’t wait to see where the waist is on the dress she sends me. In the meantime, I’m off to get my deformed ass some coffee…
I bought Ugg boots.
There, it’s out there, you can do what you will with it, but I’m begging you now, please don’t post comments telling me that OMG! THEY ARE SO UGLY! and that I must have clean LOST MY MIND, because the thing is: I KNOW. And also: I don’t even care.
While we’re admitting things, I may as well just go the whole hog and tell you that I actually bought my Uggs months ago, in Florida. Well, they were a helluva lot cheaper there (I may be mad, but not mad enough to pay UK prices, thanks very much), and even although we were basking in the rosy glow of 100 degree heat at the time, I knew the day would come when I would be back home, wearing a thermal vest under two thick sweaters, my winter coat in the house, and contemplating buying fingerless gloves to allow me to keep typing despite the deadly chill.
That day came last Thursday, and so it was that I found myself wearing a thermal vest, two sweaters, a coat… and UGGS. Why yes, I did look like an absolute freaking idiot, thank you! But here’s the thing: I did not care, and if you lived in my house, and had to walk your dog in temperatures that would freeze your nose off, you might even do the same. I mean, probably not, obviously. I AM a freakishly cold person. Terry, for instance, doesn’t find it nearly as cold as I do, but since last Thursday I’ve been so cold that I wasn’t even joking about the whole fingerless gloves thing.
I hate this time of year with a passion. Hate it. It’s at this time of year that all thoughts of fashion have to go out the window for me, such is the struggle to keep warm. See, I just can’t stand being cold, and all those cute little dresses I bought, thinking they’d be perfect for winter? Are too cold. Instead, I’ve been walking around in a fleecy thing that’s actually meant to be worn outdoors, but which has been pressed into active service indoors, plus the aforementioned boots and vest. When I go outside I add a very thick coat, a wooly hat and gloves. (Or I would if I actually knew where my gloves were. Note to self: find gloves.) It’s absolutely miserable.
So I bought Uggs. I don’t know why, but I feel like I have to keep justifying this purchase by saying that I will not be wearing them out in public (other than walking the dog), and they were very much a practical purchase, not a fashion one. It was either that or tie hot water bottles to my hands, feet and body all winter, and it’s hard to type like that. (Trust me, I know).
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to crank up the heating and iron my thermal vest…
I am done with the pool. No, that didn’t take long, did it? And actually, to be fair, it’s not so much the pool I’m done with so much as it’s The Others:
Yes, The Others have troubled me for the very last time – or I hope so, anyway – but they have gone out with a bang, driving me from the pool this afternoon after a mere 15 lengths. Bravo, Others!
See, I was swimming in the super-wide “only really for children and old people” lane. When I arrived, there was only one other person in it. By the time I left, there were five of us, all swimming en masse, and bumping into each other like tadpoles in a jar. Every time I reached the end of the pool and turned round to come back, another person would emerge from the changing room and slide into my lane. The water was so choppy from all of the frantic activity that it was like swimming on a storm-tossed sea, only with Others all around you. So no, not the most pleasant swim I’ve ever had in my life.
In the “fast lane”, which is really only wide enough for one person, there were two Others: one powering up and down at a rate of knots, and the other just floating gently on his back, because he was That Guy Who Wears a Nose Plug Just to Float Around Like a Dead Person.
In the middle lane, meanwhile? Was The Whistler.
I swam for as long as I could stand it, but when I noticed a sixth person beginning to insert himself, sardine-like, into the pool, I decided to get the hell out of Dodge and go and soak in the jacuzzi instead.
Unfortunately, The Whistler decided to come with me.
I went to the poolside showers to wash the chlorine off first, and in the time it took me to get there, The Whistler had made it to the jacuzzi. “PEEP!” he said as I pressed the button to switch on the shower. And “PEEP!” he said again as I turned the shower back off, grabbed my towel and beat my retreat.
I got dressed and went to sit in the lounge to wait for Terry. Before I sat down, though, I wandered over to the window overlooking the pool and looked in. THE POOL WAS EMPTY. EMPTY. When Terry went in, just a few minutes later, he had the whole pool to himself. Gah. Freakin’ Others.
Anyway, clearly this state of affairs cannot continue. With the pool now established as the private domain of The Others (Leader: The Whistler), I’m going to have to venture into the gym itself. GOD. If anyone would like to start placing bets on how long this will last, just let me know. I’m determined it’ll last at least a week, though, so to this end, I went shopping this afternoon to buy gym clothes, on account of I gave all my old gym clothes to the charity shop, thinking I would never need them again. This leaves me with absolutely nothing I can wear to the gym, other than an ancient pair of yoga pants which I bought when I was about 20 and some running shoes Terry bought me five years ago.
Things I Do Not Own:
- Jogging pants
- A hoodie
- Any shorts that are designed for function rather than fashion
- Any t-shirts that are designed for function rather than fashion
- Ummm, what else do people wear to exercise in?!
Things I Have No Particular Wish To Own:
So, I hit the shops and bought these:
And also: a really nice little cashmere blend cardigan with a little bow at the neck, which will be absolutely no use at the gym whatsoever.
So! Ancient pair of yoga pants and old white trainers it is then! I did try to find gym clothes. The problem was that I’m a skinny short ass, so all the pants were way too long and all the tops were way too baggy, and also: I have no idea what people wear to the gym. What do people wear to the gym? Do they wear leggings? Or do they wear… something else? Help me out here, people: what do you wear to the gym?
Tagged the gym, the others, whistlers
|
|
|
