Category: clothes

prompt 57

The prompt comes from a list generated from 642 Things to Write About. The number was picked at random by Juliette:

#57: Things I should throw away but can’t

What followed was a short text discussion on possibilities. J thought of larger, metaphorical items, like guilt. I replied, like I could ever get rid of that. It’s like old Windows applications that are no longer useful but are buried so deep in the operating system that they could never be extricated without fucking the whole thing up.

So here is my non-metaphorical list of small things I should throw away, but can’t.

  • a collection of small glass bowls I bought at the dollar store to float decorative candles in during my 40th birthday party
  • my dad’s full set of James Bond 007 novels. They are slowly disintegrating in that way that old pulp paperbacks do, and I can’t get past the sexism, mysogyny, homophobia and racism to read them through again. yes, I know they’re indicative of a time period, but it doesn’t mean I really want to visit that time period.
  • photos from wedding #1.
  • video from wedding #2
  • my journals written during bad times
  • a pair of red kid gloves from when I was very small
  • the pink gingham dress I wore on my first day of kindergarten
  • my old buckle boots that are now too narrow to fit my feet
  • a collection of cheap earrings, bracelets and pins from my bad old days
  • my mother’s old nursing cape. I wish I could wear it but I am a bit broader in the shoulders
  • a hundred or so cards sent to me by my beloved during our rocky courtship
  • old photos from working in bars and restaurants, of events and people I don’t remember
  • the black leather mini skirt that I will never fit into again
  • the expensive hand cream that makes my hand turn red and feel like they’re on fire
  • the bubble bath that makes me smell like I’ve doused myself with old lady perfume
  • 2 USB headsets that don’t work
  • several computer games on CD that won’t run on anything later than Windows 98
  • a few hundred CDs that I have already converted to mp3 files
  • a crate of stained glass panes and a tool box filled with all the necessary equipment in case I should ever decide to get back into stained glass again
  • a small bible given to me by someone when I was small. It has my full name stamped in gold on the black leather cover. It carries no significance or meaning for me whatsoever
  • books on programming languages that no one programs in any more
  • a vintage black dress with the broken zipper I’ve been meaning to fix for a decade
  • liners for motorcycle jackets that were left in Australia
  • silk ties I picked up because I liked the designs but will never wear or use in a craft project

Thoughts from laundry day

I would swear to you that I turn my clothes right-side-out when I take them off and put them in the hamper. And yet, every laundry day I find myself taking all of my inside-out clothing from the dryer and turning it right-side-out properly before putting it in the dryer. I could easily shave three minutes, maybe four, from my total laundry time if I ever in fact did what I keep thinking I do anyway.
File under mysteries of laundry.

Not only did I gap and put my bras in the washer, I also gapped and put them in the dryer. Now whatever one I put on is going to be slightly too tight for the first hour or two that I wear them, and I will subconsciously feel like I have put on slightly more weight than I think I have. That feeling will not fade, and even after it has slightly stretched back to being just-right, I will be slightly pissy and slightly depressed all day.
File under mysteries of women.

After a decade of marriage, I should either ask my beloved why it is that on any given laundry day, his portion is at most 25% of mine, or just stop wondering how he can go through a whole week using fewer pairs of socks & underwear than I.
File under mysteries of men.

I fold his shirts differently than mine. His way is slightly faster and I could easily shave three minutes, maybe four, from my total laundry time. But I like how mine get folded, showing the printing/icon/cartoon on the front of the tshirts and I secretly think his way is kind of sloppy and I hate that crease running down the middle you end up with. He likes how his gets folded for some reason that makes sense to him. So there it stands.
File under mysteries of marriage.

Where the hell is that other sock? I know I had matched pairs of socks when I put them into the washer. I checked the washer thoroughly, even that weird icky gap under the drain gasket. I checked the dryer thoroughly, even that fuzzy gap by the lint trap. And yet, I do not have matched pairs of socks now.
File under mysteries of the universe.

Monday in Toronto


We woke up to a city that had won something. It felt good.



In other good news, Toronto's buffoon of a mayor has been relieved of his duties after a conflict of interest case. Apparently he didn't think that as mayor, he really needed to know the rules of the job. He has flaunted his position, used it to get away with crap like reading while driving, commandeering public transit busses to ferry his football team while paying transit customers had to wait, and skipping council meetings to go do his volunteer coaching gig at a high school because he “made a commitment”.

Yep. A commitment to a high school football team is greater than the commitment to governing the 5th largest city in North America.

*head desk

His list of missteps is long in the short two years he's been in office. He vows to appeal, and if that fails, then to run for re-election. I will do anything possible to see that re-election does not happen; he has not proven himself to be good for my city.

Never thought I'd say this, but he makes the furniture salesman we had a while back look good by comparison.


Personal PSA:

These two things should not be done on the same day:

  • vowing to exceed 10k steps on the FitBit
  • breaking in new Doc Martens.

Send Bandaids please.

under the sexy leopard spots are blisters. Many blisters.


gettin’ my craft on

A few years ago, Keith got me this great handmade bag by Canadian crafts-person who recycles fabric. I loved it, but parts of the construction were sloppy and frayed badly after some use. I kept it anyway, thinking that *someday* I’d reverse engineer it and make another.

The stars finally aligned, and *someday* was this week.

My local Goodwill store had a sale Monday, 50%-70% off everything in the store. How could I resist? I love shopping in thrift stores for several reasons: I’m cheap, the recycling concept makes me feel noble, it appeals to my punk rock aesthetic, and I like speculating about both the anthropological past and the potential future of an item (think who the hell would buy that new?!? and hmm, I could make _____ out of this).

I wish I’d had my phone with me to take pictures of some of the stuff I found. I almost bought a ceramic Tiki mug from Hawaii (perfect for summer umbrella drinks, don’t you think?) and an original vinyl record of the von Trapp Family Sing Christmas (perfect to make a gift box or a handbag).

I did buy two suit jackets, two dress shirts for lining and two ties for the straps. Add two days to deconstruct the old bag and write instruction notes in reverse, make paper patterns, cut up the suits (my stitch ripper got a workout, let me tell you) and the dress shirts, sew the pieces, and press and finish the seams, and voilà, two bags  and the pattern to make more.

To say I’m pleased with them is an understatement.

The colours are true in the first picture. The second bag is actually black with a deep burgundy silk tie. Both bags are about 10″ x 13.5″, and will fit an iPad plus other stuff like wallet, phone, yadda yadda. I’m going to keep one and sell the other…not sure which yet though.

Things I learned:

  • I remembered more about sewing than I thought I would. Thankfully.
  • Men’s suits are made waaaaay better than I thought. Took me forever to pick apart some sections.
  • Summer suits make lighter bags, but might be too floppy in the long run.
  • Wide ties are better.
  • Extra large garments= more room to maneuver the pattern. Easier to incorporate existing pockets into back or lining of the bags for extra storage.
  • How to do a French seam.
  • I am both cleverer and stupider than I think I am at any given point. For example, as I was thinking of a different/better way to assemble the front and back, I sewed the suit and lining back pieces together without adding in the tie strap. Get out stitch ripper. Again.

Keith thinks I should make some more and put them on Etsy. It might happen. After all, Goodwill is having a 75% off sale this weekend.

May 3

Day 3: something you wore:



New hotness and old busted:



I think I need to clarify something about this picture, since I’ve received several comments and questions:

Everything you see is mine.

Those are my legs, that I’ve had for 49 years, 11 months. Not bad, eh?

Those are my tights. I’ve had those for about 20 years. They were in the lingerie memory drawer. I’m not sure why I’ve kept them, especially in view of the burn hole that was a gift on the night of my 30th birthday from the drunk bitch who was dancing with a lit cigarette, back when drunk bitches could still smoke in bars. I’m glad I held on to them though – I love the fact that they *almost* fit me again.

And those are my roller skates that I bought last Wednesday. Someone who shall remain nameless asked if they were my mid-life crisis; I said no (since I have no intention of living to be 100). I call them my return to badass-ery. I’ve been out on them twice, flailing and sliding around, and discovering that the reality of my balance and grace is somewhat different than the vision I held in my head. Luckily, a 15-year-old student who is in the Junior Toronto Roller Derby has offered to teach me to skate, so the level of balance and grace will change.

One thing that won’t change, is how furiously happy they make me.


Stayed home since I had a version of the plague today. Snot monsters > my immune system, alas.

There are things that stopped today from totally sucking:

  1. A hot water bottle at the end of the bed to keep my toes warm.
  2. The cat snuggled up against me, keeping me company while I napped and read
  3. Being wrapped up in my dad’s old hoodie, the clothing equivalent of comfort food. It’s been around forever; I don’t know what I’m going to do when it finally falls apart.



I didn’t go out yesterday with the intention of going lingerie shopping. To be honest, I rarely go out with the intention of lingerie shopping. I equate it with going to the dentist or buying shoes; aggravating, uncomfortable, a little soul-sucking but necessary. I can never find exactly what I want, and when on the rare occasion I find something close to what I want and find it in my size, well, it never fits me or looks quite the way I think it should. I tend to stick with what works with little deviation over the last decade or two. My underwear drawer is filled with black cotton thongs (don’t judge, they’re the best undies for motorcycling in as they prevent monkey-butt) and one or two black cotton bras that I replace only when the underwire has finally had enough, snaps and tries to pierce the flesh it’s supposed to support, usually in the middle of a class or a crowd for some reason.

I didn’t use to have such a utilitarian view on underthings. There’s another dresser drawer that contains memories I can’t bear to get rid of; a corset or two, garters & stockings, a leather bra from Northbound. There’s also a pink leopard print push-up bra that I bought on an impulse but have only worn twice, as it’s certainly not an everyday kind of bra according to my middle-aged WASP sensibilities.

“my middle-aged WASP sensibilities”. What the hell? I cannot believe I just wrote that. When the fuck did that happen? When did I turn into my mother? Probably around the time I let myself become bored and unhappy, I guess.

But I digress.

While walking to the car from Best Buy yesterday, I noticed that La Senza (Canada’s version of Victoria’s Secret) had big 50% off signs plastered all over its window so I ducked in on impulse while Keith went on to Home Depot. I walked out a half-hour later with a big grin on my face, clutching one of their large shopping bags filled with tissue-wrapped lovelies.

What happened between entering and leaving the store was neither aggravating or soul-sucking. I went in with no idea of what I wanted, and so was not disappointed when I didn’t find it. Everything in the store fits me now, a glorious side-effect of having to lose weight so I can walk pain-free.

I went a little nuts. I believe the word I’m looking for is binge. And there is nothing in the bag that’s black; lots of purple and blue and red and jungle prints and stripes. There’s cotton, but there’s lace and ribbons too. I did something I have never done, and went a little matchy-matchy.

I know they’re not going to look how I want them to look – I don’t inhabit anything close to a supermodel’s body after all and have about another 20lbs to go before I even get back what I think of as my body. And I know they’re not going to be as mindlessly comfortable as the black cotton. There’s no one going to see them and take delight in them but me.

But fuck it. I really like how they make me feel.