Tag: fashion

Congressional Fashion

I’m not a fan of Kristen Sinema—the Democratic Senator from Arizona who skews more to the right than the left. She’s a DINO—Democrat In Name Only, like West Virginia’s Joe Manchin.

On Tuesday night, Sinema wore a bright yellow dress to the State of the Union address. It’s a dress I wouldn’t have worn, but she did and has been attacked by Democratic pundits for her choice.

That infuriates me.

Men in her position basically have two choices: a blue suit or a black suit and a tie that says “I’m in charge or send more money.” Whereas for women there awaits a minefield. Too colorful? You’re an attention whore. Too bland? You’re outdated, boring.

Attack Sinema all day long for abandoning her constituents in favor of accepting money from conservative special interest groups, but ignore what she’s wearing, That shouldn’t matter at all.

Peace, people.

Haute Couture for the Down and Out

I’m at that stage in life where comfort overrides style every single time. Having said that, I do have a pair of shoes that make a statement, and I wear them almost daily.

The green tile beneath these classy shoes is slippery as ice when wet, and cool even during summer months. So I wanted something with a little grip and lots of warmth to wear around Doright Manor. Of course I bought them from Walmart. They only cost $4.99, and after a couple of wearings the right foot had a blowout. And I love it!

Is it a pimple popping out? A tongue? I’m not certain, but I’m positive you won’t find another pair exactly like them. And that’s how haute couture works.

Peace, people!

Blast from the Past

Studly Doright’s middle sister, Angie, sent us some old photos she found while cleaning out some boxes the other day. And when I say old, I mean OLD.

Here’s Studly and me dancing at the annual Sweethearts’ Ball in Dumas, Texas. The photo isn’t dated, but it must’ve been mid-80’s. At any rate, we were both still skinny.

When I first saw this photo I thought it was taken the same year that the one below was—after all, I’m wearing the same skirt and blouse. I’m thrifty like that. But I had that awful perm in the top photo. I think I should wear my hair like this again. All in favor, say aye.

From left: my sister-law, Angie, her husband Steve, my former brother-in-law, Don, then Studly Doright and me. My eldest sister-in-law, Lyn is seated in the middle.

The next photo cracked me up; my sense of style was a bit skewed. I have no memory of this horrid skirt, and why did I think that necklace would go well with this ensemble? And it looks as if I’m wearing a headband. I NEVER wore headbands. I know we were poor, but yikes! Maybe it was a tacky-themed party? Let’s hope I burned the whole shebang soon after.

There’s nothing like old photos to make one wince, is there?

Peace, people!

Love and Advertising

Studly Doright and I are semi-binging Mad Men on Netflix. If you haven’t watched the show, it deals with the high energy world of Madison Avenue advertising in the 60’s. I’m in love with the fashions, the hairstyles, and the business of ideas.

There was a time in my life when I wanted to go into advertising. I had a great uncle in the business and he discouraged my teenage ambitions. Women don’t really belong in the ad business, he’d told me. I know better now.

Watching Mad Men makes me wish I’d pursued my dreams. Not because of the booze and the rampant infidelity, but because of the creative give and take. I think maybe I’d have thrived in that environment.

And the clothes! Oh my goodness I want a dress like the ones the women wear in the show.

Aren’t they gorgeous?

But, back to ideas. I still have great ideas. My head is always full of images and copy for products and services. I want to work for the ad team that has the Geico account. Dammit, I want to make that little gecko say things he’s never said.

I reckon at 63 I’m too old to go into the advertising business. For one thing, I doubt I have the energy necessary for that fast paced world. Heck, I probably didn’t have the energy when I was 22, though.

Everyone, I suppose, has a dream that’s gone dormant. What did you want to be before you became what you are? Did geckos figure into the equation?

Peace and love, people.

Lessons Learned from a Snake

I do not hate snakes. That being said, I’d just as soon not encounter a venomous one in close proximity to my home, as I did one day last week.

The night following the encounter that cottonmouth occupied my dreams every time I closed my eyes to sleep. In my waking hours I mentally retraced the steps I took prior to noticing his presence next to the garage and realized I’d likely come within inches of stepping on him. It was a sobering thought.

I’ve changed some of my habits after my snake experience, and I thought the lessons learned might be worth sharing. If nothing else, they’ll help me solidify what I gained from the experience.

  1. Don’t walk and read simultaneously. The mail can wait to be sorted once you’re in the house. What a sad tale it might’ve been if I’d stepped on a viper while perusing a Talbots mailer.
  2. Not all bad guys give a warning. If my snake friend had been a rattlesnake, chances are I’d have been warned off from the start. This guy lay silently, coiled and waiting for some clueless broad walking and reading a Talbots catalog to blunder into its sharp fangs.
  3. Scan your surroundings. There’s a mnemonic acronym motorcyclists use to help avoid accidents–SIPDE. That stands for Scan (keep your eyes moving), Identify (note possible hazards), Predict (make an educated guess as to what the hazard might do), Decide (plan a course of action), and Execute (make it happen).
  4. Please note that we Executed the snake. That’ll teach him.
  5. Don’t trust your eyes, but scan anyway. He was camouflaged fairly well in his driveway matching color coordinated way. Look twice, then look again.
  6. Always carry a bazooka. (Note to self: buy a bazooka.)
  7. Don’t assume a snake is asleep just because it doesn’t respond to outside stimuli. It’s probably playing possum in hopes that you’ll be lulled into complacency. Or that you’re admiring a skirt in a fashion catalog.

I’m sure there are other lessons to be gained from my interaction with the snake, but thinking about it too much gives me the heebie jeebies.

Peace, people.

(I found the photo directly above on twitter in order to show off the cottonmouth’s cotton mouth.)

A Fuchsia Suit

When I picture my mom I usually see her as she appeared in old black and white photos, many taken at family gatherings. In some, she’s smoking a cigarette, in others shyly smiling. At a little over 5 feet and 11 inches tall, Mom was self-conscious about her height, but until she became very ill she never slumped. When her image comes to me unbidden, I see her standing straight, shoulders back.

Mom wasn’t a flashy dresser. She always looked put together, but she never wanted to attract too much attention. I always felt she was more comfortable in the background than in the spotlight, but then what does a daughter really know about her mother?

One year for her birthday Daddy brought Mom a beautifully wrapped box from a higher end department store. That in itself was a big deal. We were a Sears family. Our clothes often came packaged in “3 for $10” sets, so when Mom began unwrapping that elegant box her hands trembled.

When she peeled back the layers of tissue paper surrounding her gift, some of her enthusiasm had waned. She smiled wanly as she lifted up a bright fuchsia knit skirt and blazer. Of course I thought it was beautiful, and obviously so did Daddy, but Mom didn’t seem to share our enthusiasm.

She thanked Daddy who was beaming with pride, but later I overheard her describing the suit to a friend as gaudy. I wasn’t sure what “gaudy” meant, but by the tone of her voice I knew it wasn’t good.

Nevertheless, Mom wore that suit. At first, trepidatiously, but later with confidence. I hope I told her how gorgeous she looked. I hope she felt beautiful in her fuchsia dress.

I’m pretty sure that’s not the suit Mom was wearing in the photo above, but the time frame is about right. Weren’t we precious?

Peace, people!

It’s No Ugly Sweater, but…

I’m usually not snarky about such things. I mean everyone has a right to make their own fashion choices. However, the owner of this handbag monopolized the cashier for over fifteen minutes arguing over a 28 cent difference in what the total was and what she thought it should be. She was wrong and so is this handbag.

The Lady Wore Heels

Studly Doright and our son, Jason, spent the past three days playing in a member/guest golf tournament at Prestonwood Country Club in Dallas, Texas, while I did some shopping and spent time with the Texas grandkids. After the first day of the tournament my guys were third in their flight. On day two they took the lead, and on the third day, Jason sunk a six-foot putt to win their flight in the tournament on the first hole of a playoff. Exciting stuff!

The tournament culminated in a dinner for players and their guests at the club. Since my daughter-in-law was out of town for the weekend, I was on my own with these two chumps, er, champs for the event.

Studly had his eyes closed, but I still love this photo of these two.

Those who read my posts know I’m not a dressy kind of girl. It’s almost impossible to get me out of flips flops, but guess who wore heels on Saturday?

Yep, these are my actual feet.

We had a lovely time at the dinner. The menfolk received a great many pats on their respective backs and I basked in their reflected glory. It’s good to be queen.

Studly will leave Dallas on Sunday morning, but I’m hanging around for a few more days of fun with Jason and his family. I’ll miss this guy, though.

Peace, people!

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