Tag Archives: Clothing

Clarifying My Words

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Saturday, I had my parents over for dinner. In an ode to my Hawaiian roots, I cooked up an island-inspired feast of kalua pork and chicken long rice. I even whipped up Mai Tai‘s to wash everything down with, and fired up my “Aloha Mix” on the iPod. I’m nothing if not detail oriented (although, sadly, there were no hula girls to entertain us). The evening was a big hit…but then, my mom asked if she could critique the blog.

“Of course,” I said.

She – and my dad – are worried that I’m not portraying myself in the best possible light, what with the references to wearing pajama pants and drinking at odd hours of the day, not to mention my occasional corporate rant. They are worried that prospective employers may be reading, and that might be hurting my chances at finding a job.

I have, of course, considered this possibility before…and pretty much rejected it. If you Google my name, you’ll find my website/online portfolio, but that is purely professional. You’d have to do a very specific search to find this other stuff, and besides, I try to temper it all with humor, anyway. I think discussing my casual attire and sometimes portraying a slightly negative attitude is perfectly natural for somebody who is unemployed. I am not actually sitting around at 1 PM slurping Singapore Slings in my pajamas, unshowered and unshaven. That’d be a cry for help! I mean, come on…Singapore Slings aren’t very manly. I immediately went on the defensive, and loudly declared, “If anybody is offended by this, they’re not somebody I want to work for!” What can I say? I’m a Taurus, and we’re a stubborn lot.

They also thought I shouldn’t talk about any potential jobs before I receive an offer. The only reason I think this might be a decent idea is because I’d hate to jinx myself. This blog is a reflection of my life, and I want to A) be honest, and B) write about what’s going on so I’ll always remember. Being a writer, I bristle at the very idea of censorship of any sort. So I don’t plan on not writing about these events, but I suppose I could temper my tone slightly. After all, there is a link from my website to the blog, so anybody could potentially follow that. I think I’ll kill the link – I don’t really need it, and that’ll make the blog 98.7652% anonymous.

On the off chance that my folks are onto something…and, I guess in retrospect, they could be…I went back through a bunch of my old posts, and located a few passages that screamed for clarification. Because, ha-ha, turns out my words didn’t always convey my true thoughts. Oops! Sometimes you’ve gotta read between the lines. So, in the event that a would-be employer stumbled upon my blog earlier, I am here to clear the air!

  • What I Said

“I hereby resolve to make a living off my writing in 2011, or die trying (and by that I don’t mean literally, but rather, giving it all I’ve got and if it doesn’t work out succumbing to the steady paycheck of a Corporate America gig, which in many ways is kind of like a slow death anyway).”

  • What I Meant

“I hereby resolve to try to make a living off my writing in 2011, because it’s something I enjoy doing and am pretty good at (but if it doesn’t work out I will consider it an honor to find a corporate job where I would be assured of a steady paycheck and have the opportunity to show off my talents while contributing to the success of the organization before I die).”

  • What I Said

“Not that there’s anything wrong with sweats. They’re perfectly acceptable sitting-around-the-house attire. And in my case, driving-the-kids-to-school-and-back attire. As long as I don’t have to get out of the car, who cares what I’m wearing? Sweats and a t-shirt: the uniform of the unemployed.”

  • What I Meant

“It’s important to dress for success! While my closet is full of neatly ironed dress shirts and perfectly pressed slacks, occasionally in the privacy of my own home I will slip into a pair of sweats so I can feel comfortable, and focus all my attention on finding the perfect job! I especially miss wearing ties. Hopefully in the near future I can make use of my crisply professional wardrobe again.”

  • What I Said

“Working in the same building as my ex-wife is not something I would ever feel comfortable with. I can’t imagine running into her at the water cooler, or sitting across from her in a conference room, or bumping into one another on the way back from the mailroom. I would be on edge every minute of every day, waiting for the inevitable and regularly-occurring crossing of paths. That’s no way to live. Productivity would suffer, not to mention my mental state.”

  • What I Meant

“I am excited to have an opportunity to work for this dynamic company! I am even acquainted with somebody who works there, and it would be nice running into her at the water cooler occasionally. We could put our heads together and draw on our collective pasts and knowledge of one another’s abilities to figure out a way to boost sales for the company. What a great way to live. It would be a boon to productivity, for both of us!”

  • What I Said

“When I was working, on weekday mornings I was up at the crack of dawn. Even on my kid-free weeks, that meant a few minutes after 6:00. Although I’ve only been jobless for seven full days now, already that seems absurdly early to me. I shudder at the mere thought of getting out of bed anytime before 8:00. On the flip side, I’m staying up late – often until midnight now.”

  • What I Meant

“Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise. Those are words to live by! I shudder at the mere thought of getting out of bed anytime after 6:00. On the flip side, I tuck myself in well before midnight.”

  • What I Said

“I used to wait until 5:00 to pour myself a drink. Now, if 4 PM rolls around – or, I daresay, 3:45 – and I want a gin and tonic, then I’m heading straight for the liquor cabinet. And I’m probably wearing pajama pants, too.”

  • What I Meant

“I used to wait until 5:00 to pour myself a glass of water. Now, if 4 PM rolls around – or, I daresay, 3:45 – and I want water, or another beverage that is healthy and chock full of antioxidants, like green tea, then I’m heading straight for the fridge. And I’m probably dressed in my finest clothes, too, because if you want to be successful you must look successful.”

I have one more correction to make. I uploaded this photo when writing about my last interview. Unfortunately, it conveys the entirely wrong idea that I harbor some sort of prejudice against ties. This is not at all the case!

I was still adjusting my tie when the self-timer went off. Oops. Gave the wrong impression, didn't it?

Here’s the picture I meant to include, instead.

Ties are awesome! Thumbs up to ties! I was so excited to be able to wear one again, I couldn't decide which to choose!

Hopefully all grievous misconceptions have now been set straight, and any potential employer will see what an asset I’d be for their company.

Hire away, fellas!

Champagne Wishes on a Sparkling Water Budget

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With my finances suddenly dwindling, I’ve found myself cutting more corners lately. Gone are the extravagant weekly steak and lobster dinners. I no longer take the Maserati through the car wash, I scrub it with a bucket of soapy water and a sponge myself. Worst of all, I had to fire the maid (although really, she wasn’t doing that great a job – I caught her parked on the sofa watching “Days Of Our Lives” instead of washing the windows one day last week, and the writing has pretty much been on the wall since).

French maid

I had to let her go. Her dusting skills left much to be desired. (Courtesy of ideagrove.com).

And then you woke up, as a friend used to chide me whenever I’d veer off into Fairytaleland.

OK, fine, I don’t have those types of extravagances in my life. But I would if I could. I’ve always had expensive tastes and longed for the finer things in life. I like stuff. Mostly electronic or cutting-edge. It’s why I bought a DVD player when they first came out. Shelled out $500 for it, too. I cringe whenever I think about that now, but hey, at least I was the first person on my block to have one! I guess I was what you’d call an “early adopter” back then. I was also married, and there’s a lot to be said for two incomes. Not to mention high-paying jobs with nice bonus checks twice a year. My, how times have changed.

And in truth, I’ve changed, too. I joke around and say I’ve got champagne wishes and a sparkling water budget, but really…I don’t. When people ask me what my dream car is, I say a 1972 Volkswagen Bus. Which means either I’m a hippie at heart, or I’ve turned into Lester Burnham, and if the latter is the case, better lock up your daughters, I suppose. Seriously, even if I had money to spend, I wouldn’t bother with a fancy sports car or a Rolex or any of the other trappings of the rich and famous. Except the maid. She’d be a worthwhile investment. I like to think that I’ve mellowed with age and gotten more in touch with my blue-collar side.

Which is why I find myself making frequent trips to Value Village (a poor man’s Goodwill, if such a thing exists) and Grocery Outlet. I’ve been a connoisseur of garage sales for years, and no longer think twice about buying somebody else’s hand-me-downs. Half my townhouse is furnished with used goods. I had always drawn the line at clothes, however. There was something, umm, icky – for lack of a better word (and because “repulsive” sounds too crass) – about buying, and wearing, clothing that somebody else had worn previously. The last thing in the world I want is to wear a shirt that some fat guy sweated in. So imagine my surprise earlier today when my feet apparently developed a mind of their own and shuffled over to the clothing section of Value Village. I don’t know what possessed me to make my way over there, but suddenly I found myself browsing the racks and actually finding things I liked and wanted to wear. It didn’t matter that another human had once worn them and did god-knows-what in them, the $2.99 price tag on that green flannel shirt was too damn good to resist, so I quit trying and bought it.

I think this was a breakthrough moment in my life. Now that I have crossed a line I never imagined I would, the sky’s the limit, I suppose. I foresee frequent future forays for flannel and other fashions, friends. There’s no going back. I shall peruse the used clothing aisles on every trip henceforth.

I still draw the line at underwear, though. {Shudder}.

I probably wouldn’t bother with used clothes if I were still gainfully employed, so in some perverse way I’m glad I’m not raking in the dough. Humbleness is a good lesson to learn. I feel more in touch with the common man. Err…because I am the common man…anyway. You get the point.

I have a few things simmering on the burner freelance-wise. I sure hope they come to fruition, because I’ve reached the stage where I could definitely use some money. I am still working through the application process with Groupon; I’ve gotten good feedback on my write-ups but they decided to give me a fourth sample article, which is due tomorrow, to ensure that I continue to display their “voice” and style in my writing. I have to say the whole thing has been arduous, but I’m glad for that – this is a company that cares about their image and demands top-quality writing from their freelancers, so if I make it through I’ll feel confident that I’ve joined a team of creative, dedicated and hard-working writers. They’re not just handing me the job on a silver platter but making me earn it, and that’s great. Well, it’s only great if I get it, but still. I’ve also applied for a couple of other gigs, one of which pays quite well and would allow me to tap into my love for Portland, so fingers crossed.

In addition, I decided to go for broke and start e-mailing queries to every last agent in my guidebook yesterday. My novel is my baby and I feel like I’ve been neglecting her. Well, no longer. I sent out 32 in a single day. One agent already responded with some pretty helpful feedback which, unfortunately, would mean making some changes to the first chapter or two. I haven’t decided if I’m going to do this yet or which angle to take, but it’s food for thought. My dream has always been to become a published author.

A published, used clothing-wearing author, apparently.

Rule Of Thumbs

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Today marks a breakthrough.  I’m wearing pants.

I should clarify: I have not been lounging around in my boxers (or less) this past week.  I’ve been wearing sweats, but let’s face it, they don’t count.  Anything with an elastic waistband and devoid of a zipper, while comfortable, hardly qualifies as pants.  It doesn’t even take any real effort to get them on.  If you suddenly lost both your thumbs in some  pumpkin-carving incident gone awry, you could still pull on a pair of sweats easily enough (though if you wanted to hitchhike to the emergency room you’d be screwed).  Just point your feet toward the holes in the bottom and yank ‘em up.  If you wanted to wear jeans, on the other hand, manipulating the zipper and then the button would present a real challenge.  Jeans take more than eight fingers to put on, and therefore, they count as real pants.  I call that my Rule Of Thumbs.

Not that there’s anything wrong with sweats.  They’re perfectly acceptable sitting-around-the-house attire.  And in my case, driving-the-kids-to-school-and-back attire.  As long as I don’t have to get out of the car, who cares what I’m wearing?  Sweats and a t-shirt: the uniform of the unemployed.  As a matter of fact, I have made trips to the grocery store wearing sweats, but there doesn’t seem to be much of a dress code there.  I’ve seen people shopping in pajama pants before.  I think if you’ve reached the point where you don’t give a damn about going out in public in your PJs, you’ve pretty much hit rock bottom.  If I’m doing that six months from now, somebody shoot me, okay?

The reason I wore jeans today was because, I was meeting with Kid #2′s (hereafter referred to as K2, whereas Kid #1 will be called K1 – hope I haven’t confused things too much with my fancy nicknaming scheme) teacher this afternoon for a parent-teacher conference, so I figured I ought to look presentable.  Or at least like I gave somewhat of a damn.  P-T conferences always make me feel weird.  Probably because I’m forced to sit on a tiny chair that’s just the right size for a ten-year-old and pretend that this is perfectly normal and comfortable.  Also, teachers are the ultimate authority figures to me.  I still feel like if I don’t say the right thing, I’ll get sent to the principal’s office, which probably explains my nervous hand-wringing throughout the conference, and the constant nodding of my head whenever K2′s teacher brought up an important point.  Of course we study the fifty states together!  I grill her every night! I declare, so eager to please the words are tumbling from my mouth quickly and enthusiastically, when in fact I had no idea K2 was even learning about states.  And I wonder, could I even correctly identify all 50?  I’m fairly certain I’d get 46 or 47, but there are a few tricky ones in there.  Connecticut, New Hampshire, and Rhode Island, for instance.  Those suckers always throw me for a loop.  They’re too damn small, for one thing.  Why’d we carve up that section of the Northeast into little bite-sized morsels and then, when it came to Texas, just throw our hands in the air and say, “Have all this room!”?  It’s hardly fair.  If I were a Founding Father, aside from partaking in a steamy affair with Betsy Ross (she’s sew hot), I’d have made that whole area one big(ger) state.  Rhode Island isn’t even surrounded by water, for crying out loud!  But I’ve already blogged about the wackiness of the United States before, so I’ll reign in this rant before it gets out of control.  Bottom line: K2 got an awesome report.  According to her teacher, she’s sweet and works hard and listens well.  Those things are more important to me than knowing where Arkansas is.

I'd prefer a jacket that allows me to move around. (Image courtesy of chicagonow.com)

I kept my pants on because I also had another errand to run: I needed a new jacket.  If La Nina is going to hammer us this winter, as predicted, I figure I’d better be prepared.  I have a light windbreaker and about half a dozen sweatshirts, but was short a decent mid-weight jacket, something thick enough to ward off the chill but not so heavy that you end up looking like Ralphie’s little brother Randy in A Christmas Story. So it was back to Kohl’s, which I have hit twice now in one week.  Must be some kind of record.  After browsing for a little while, I found the perfect jacket.  The only problem?  It was in the Young Men’s section.  A cool-looking Tony Hawk number, stylish and urban and hip.  I tried it on, and it fit pretty well.  A little snug in the shoulders – apparently young men are a scrawny lot – but nothing that I couldn’t deal with.  Looked great, too.  However, my girlfriend teases me whenever I buy something from the Young Men’s section.  She thinks that forty year olds have no business even looking around in that part of the store.  Can I help it if I’m attracted to the fashion styles of today’s youth?!  I feel most comfortable in rock ‘n roll and/or layered t-shirts, and I scored my favorite zippered hoodie from a Young Men’s rack in Sears a couple of years back.  There’s no reason this stuff should be off limits to slightly older (yet remarkably young-looking) guys.  However, I decided I should check out the grownup’s section, too.  More out of a sense of obligation and duty than any real desire to do so.  Sure enough, most of the jackets were boring.  I did find one from Columbia Sportswear that didn’t make me retch, though.  I tried it on.  Had to admit, it felt pretty damn comfortable.  It was a water-repellent cotton/polyester blend with a nylon lining.  It wasn’t as cool-looking as the other one, though.  I had the Tony Hawk jacket in one hand, the Columbia Sportswear jacket in the other, and I kept trying them on, one and then the other, at least three times each, walking around the store and checking myself out in the mirror, trying to decide which one to buy.  I finally made a decision, and marched quickly to the cash register before I changed my mind.  I texted my girlfriend after I left.

I did not buy the Tony Hawk jacket.  I got a Columbia Sportswear older person jacket instead. I look like a dad instead of a hipster.  Sigh.

Her response?

But…you ARE a dad.

Leave it to a woman to be all rational when it comes to stuff like that!  She’s right, though.  And the truth is, I do like the jacket.  It’s exactly what I was looking for.  Come the next blustery rainstorm, I’ll be really glad I bought it.  Bring on the rain, I say!

And now that it’s after 5 and the sun is sinking toward the horizon, it’s time to lose these pants.