Low Rise Jeans Are For Assholes

Low rise jeans are for assholes. Yeah, that’s a pretty blunt statement, but I’ll say it again and I’m sticking by it.

Low rise jeans are for assholes.


Because your asshole is about the only part of you they are actually designed to cover.

Before, I go any further, I guess I should probably start this blog post off with a disclaimer…

I went clothes shopping today. And there’s nothing that makes me homicidal quite as efficiently as clothes shopping.

See, I’m not your typical “girl”. I don’t follow fashion trends. I don’t have a closet full of shoes to match every outfit. Hell, I don’t even really have “outfits”. I live a life of jeans and t-shirts briefly punctuated by the occasional blouse and sundress. I don’t even think I own a pair of heels anymore. Why should I? I can’t walk in them without spraining something and all they do is sit around, collecting dust, and using up valuable real estate in my closet.

Even during my teenage years when I was athletic and toned and not completely ashamed to walk around in a bathing suit in public, I still hated clothes shopping. Nothing ever fits the way it’s supposed to. A shirt and pair of pants that look perfectly adorable on the store mannequin or even hanging on the rack somehow have a way of transforming into an ugly shapeless collection of mismatched fabrics as soon as I trot into the fitting room to try them on. They pull taut at the shoulders, but hang so loose in the bust that I might be mistaken for a flat-chested pre-pubescent boy. A pair of jeans fit well through the thighs, but gape open so far in the back that someone could shoot ping pong balls into the gap from across the room. The fabric is too thin or too itchy, or the pattern reminds me of some old 1960’s wallpaper in my great-aunt’s spare bedroom.

And you can forget about actually getting any quality craftsmanship these days. One trip through the washer and you’ll see the seams begin to separate and colors fading. Hell, I remember pairs of jeans that lasted years when I was a kid, and then found new life when I cut them off and wore them as jean shorts. These days, I’m lucky if a pair of jeans lasts me more than 4 months before I find a random hole somewhere.

So yeah, I’m never a happy camper when I’m forced to actually go out and try to buy some clothes. I’ll put it off as long as I possibly can. I’ll scour the internet for sales and guesstimate my size in the hopes that I can just order something and forgo the painful experience of actually having to go to a store in person. And when it’s finally come to a point when I have no other choice but to head out shopping, it’s a good idea to steer clear, don’t make any sudden moves, and make sure you’re packing chocolate, coffee, or a good stiff drink if you’re planning on spending any quality time with me in the days immediately following the excursion.

So, for tonight, a short rant on the Top 5 Things About Shopping That Piss Me Off Most. This list is subject to change depending on the day, the location, and the reason I’m shopping in the first place. So, be warned, I’m likely to blog about this again in the future with a whole new list of complaints.

1. Low Rise Jeans – I think you already know how I feel on this subject. Low Rise Jeans are, quite possibly,  one of the worst inventions ever. No one looks good in them. No one. Not even the stick-thin waif-like models they were obviously designed for, and certainly not the regular ol’ lookin’-good-with-a-few-curves-here-and-there average American women.

I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that the original idea for Low Rise Jeans was formulated by a couple of drunk, college frat boys sitting around in a bar, guzzling beer and wondering what is the most ridiculous thing they could get a girl to wear in public. I imagine the conversations went something like this…

Mike: “Yo man, I bet you a girl would walk around with a shirt so short it barely covers her boobies!”

Joe: “Aww, man! They’ve already done that! Girls walk around wearing bikini tops these days. That ain’t nothin’! I bet you a girl would walk around in a pair of jeans so low her panties and ass cheeks would be hangin’ out!”

Mike: “Aww, no way man! You’re crazy! No way!”

Joe: “I bet you fifty bucks!”

Mike “You’re on!”

Six months later, the Low Rise Jean craze reaches a frenzy.

Joe: “Pay up sucker!”

Mike: “Aww shit.”

2. Short Shorts – Do I really need to go into an explanation here? Take the material they cut off those Low Rise Jeans, add a zipper, and you’ve got yourself the most unattractive pair of shorts ever invented. And really? What’s the point? If you want to walk around showing that much skin, you should just go right ahead and join a nudist colony. Or save yourself some money and just walk around in your underwear.

And the worst part is, these days it’s damn near impossible to find a pair of decent length shorts, even in the children’s department. Seriously people? It doesn’t concern you at all that your 8-year-old is walking around with her butt cheeks hanging out? Not my daughter. Nope. No way. Her ass will be covered if I have to buy a sewing machine and learn to sew a damn pair of pants myself!

3. Sales Racks – Let’s face it folks, who are they fooling here? Prices slashed! Door busting deals! 50% , 60%, 80% off! Clearance! Get it while you can!

What a line of bullshit.

Take all the ridiculously overpriced crap that hasn’t sold, hang it on a “sale” rack, and you’re still going to pay too much for a bunch of poor-quality clothing that doesn’t fit your body and isn’t going to last. But, we have to wear something, don’t we? And Lord knows we all can’t afford to have our very own designer, tailor, and seamstress on staff to create a custom wardrobe that is both flattering and functional. Until then, we’ll just have to make do. But I’ll be damned if I am going to buy something I hate just because it’s sitting on the clearance rack in some store.

4. The 9’s – “You ever notice how all the prices end in nine? Damn, that’s eerie.” – Dante Hicks, Clerks.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve noticed, and I hate it. First of all, I suck at math. Seriously suck. So I’m immediately on edge when I try to start adding up numbers in my head to try and estimate just how much I’m spending.

Second of all, I’m not stupid. I know that just because $19.99 is one penny shy of $20.oo, that doesn’t mean I’m raking in some incredible savings. If you want to cut the cost, why not make it an even $19.00? Oh no, that wouldn’t work, would it? Because then the store wouldn’t be able to rape the consumer out of that extra 99 cents. And let’s not forget the sales tax. Tally up the federal tax, the state tax, the city tax, and sometimes even just a let’s-see-how-much-we-can-squeeze-out-of-them tax for good measure and suddenly that rock bottom $19.99 deal isn’t such a great deal anymore.

Don’t get me wrong, as a small business owner myself, I understand that, in order to survive, a business has to do a certain amount of markup on prices in order to pay the bills and make a little profit. But, when it comes to clothes shopping, I have a really hard time justifying paying $139.00 for a pair of jeans made in a sweatshop in China where the workers are paid a pennies a day for their labor. I don’t mind forking over my hard earned money for good quality products, but let’s face it, when was the last time you bought a piece of mass-produced clothing that was worth every penny you paid for it? I certainly can’t remember. Can you?

5. The Dreaded Dressing Rooms – If I were to die today and go straight to hell, I imagine it would be a small, mirrored room strewn with mismatched clothing with bright, soul-sucking fluorescent lights.

Behold, the dressing room.

If there is one thing I hate the most about shopping, it’s actually having to try the clothing on. Nevermind the urban legends about Peeping Toms and two-way mirrors and other strange department store treachery, if you want to knock your self-esteem down a few notches, head out to any local clothing store, strip down to your skivvies and take a look at yourself in one of mirrors. I don’t know if it’s the mirror itself, the lighting, or some strange combination of the two, but there is nothing quite as humbling as getting a good look yourself in a dressing room mirror. Every blemish, crease, scar, and extra pound of fat you forgot you had is suddenly magnified and, for a moment, you’d swear you saw the Hunchback of Notre Dame peering back at you

Don’t bother trying to clean your glasses or turning to look at yourself from another angle. Just get dressed, pack up your shit, and run! Get out of there while you have a shred of self-esteem left to hold onto. If you’re lucky, you might not need to seek therapy afterward.

So, there you have it folks. I feel better now that I’ve purged my frustrations, and I look forward to waiting at least another year before I go clothes shopping again. Any sooner and it might require some prescription strength anti-anxiety medication and a tranquilizer gun just to make sure I make it out alive.

Men’s Wearhouse – You’re Going To Regret How Much You Spend. I Guarantee It.

If you watch any amount of television at all, you’ve probably seen at least one commercial for Men’s Wearhouse. The commercials are nothing extraordinary. A bunch of footage of men looking rather dapper in well-tailored suits. Then the deep baritone of founder George Zimmer stating, “You’re going to like the way you look. I guarantee it.”

You know, I always wanted to believe Mr. Zimmer. I mean, he looks like a pretty straightforward, honest guy. Well, as far as I could tell from the commercials. And there’s something about that guarantee that makes you believe Men’s Wearhouse has to be something special.

Boy were we mistaken!

See, Steven has purchased things at Men’s Wearhouse over the years–a shirt or tie here and there, and maybe even a suit once upon a time. He even used Men’s Wearhouse for the suits he and his groomsmen rented for our wedding. Overall, I think we were only moderately happy with everything. After all, the clothing is a bit overpriced (even during their big BOGO sales), and they even messed up our wedding order so badly that there was a last minute scramble to find Steven a pair of shoes that fit, and one of our groomsmen had to wear a different vest than everyone else.

The real clincher though is all the new dress shirts that Steven bought when he started his new job here in Nebraska. Working in an office where he would be wearing a suit and tie daily, he needed to beef up his wardrobe a bit. After dropping $1200 on two suits, six shirts, and six ties, were were counting on that good ol’ Zimmer guarantee and hoping we would be happy with purchases for awhile.

Not long enough folks.

See, it wasn’t long before Steven started to complain that things just weren’t fitting right. His jacket sleeves felt too short, and a few of the shirts that the Men’s Wearhouse employees assured him were the perfect fit were feeling a little too snug. And it wasn’t the It’s-the-holidays-and-I’ve-packed-on-a-few-extra-pounds sort of snug. It was more the Damn-they-sort-of-screwed-up sort of snug.

When the first shirt ripped out at the elbow, he was mildly annoyed. When the second shirt ripped out at the elbow, he started getting pissed. When the third shirt ripped out at the elbow, he dropped a couple of F-bombs and started muttering under his breath every time a Men’s Wearhouse commercial came on TV.  And today at lunch, when I noticed that the sixth and final shirt had burst open like the rest, he just took it off, tossed it aside, and decided to take it to the tailor who had made the previous five into short-sleeve shirts so he could still wear them, because we’ll be damned if we aren’t going to milk every last penny out of these poor-quality over-priced shirts.

I kept telling him he should take the shirts in to Men’s Wearhouse, all six of them ripped in the same spot, and ask for a refund. Obviously there is a problem with the shirts. It’s the same three brands, ripping in the same spot.

I mean, I know they don’t make clothes like they used to, but come on! This is ridiculous. Liking the way you look only works if the clothes are decent enough quality to last more than a couple of months. But Steven refused. He figured he might have to head in to be fitted for a tux for our buddy Gary’s wedding, and he didn’t want to get himself on some sort of Men’s Wearhouse Master Shit List by contradicting Mr. Zimmer’s good ol’ boy guarantee.

I still say we should have gone in and complained, but at this point, Steven is content to just have the last of the Men’s Wearhouse stock made into short sleeve shirts and wear them until they’re too worn to keep wearing.

And then, we’ll be heading over to JC Penney to buy some real clothes that will last.

365 Project – Day 244 – I Don’t Hate Pink…

I’m sure that statement comes as quite a shock to all of you, but it’s the truth. I don’t “hate” pink. In fact, for a brief period my sophomore year of college, I had pink hair–Atomic Pink to be exact–and it was glorious. So no, I don’t exactly hate pink. I do have issues though.

My problem with pink is really two-fold.

1. I don’t look good in pink. I don’t know if it’s just the fact that I’ve never been a girlie girl and never felt comfortable wearing it, or if I just don’t have the right skin tone to pull it off, but it’s just plain awful. Having Atomic Pink hair is one thing–really, you can’t go wrong there, especially when you’re just a crazy college kid. But actually going out and picking out dresses and outfits in patterns of pretty pink? No way man, not my cup of tea. I was always more of a red, black, purple and blue sort of girl.

2. Pink is forced down girls’ throats from birth. If you don’t believe me, head over to your local Babies ‘R Us or Target store and check out the baby clothes. Or hell, even try googling toys, clothes, bedding, blankets or any other accessories you can think of. Boys’ are blue. Girls’ are pink. And any brand trying to remain gender neutral falls back on good ol’ green or yellow. Pink stars, pink heart, pink ribbons, pink emroidery, pink shoes, pink socks, pink lace, pink blankets, pink sheets, pink sippy cups. The madness never ends. I don’t mind my daughter wearing pink or having some pink things, but I don’t want to open the door to her room or her closet and have it look like a giant Pepto Bismol bottle exploded in there. That’s where I draw the line.

When Steven and I found out we were having a baby girl, everyone I knew gave me a a hard time. Some people went out of their way to buy Cadence pink outfits and toys, thinking that it would drive me nuts. Others made a very concerted effort to avoid buying any pink for Cadence at all. Honestly, it doesn’t matter much to me. Cadence is cute, whether she’s wearing pink or not. When I’m out buying clothes for her, I’m looking at more of the style and the fit than the color.

Cadence has recently grown out of every pair of shoes she owns except the Converse sneakers we bought her last month (and guess what, they’re pink!), and I needed to make sure she had a pair of easy access velcro shoes to wear to the airport when we fly out to Phoenix on Sunday. It’s going to be a big enough pain getting the diaper bag, sippy cups of milk, stroller and all of my camera gear through the security screening. The last thing I need is to be holding up the line trying to get a stubborn pair of lace up sneakers off and on my squirming toddler. We were heading to Walmart anyway to pick up some dog treats for Electra, so I figured I would just find a cheap pair while we were there. No use dropping a large chunk of change on a pair of shoes she is likely to grow out of in two months.

All I wanted was a simple white or black pair of velcro shoes that Cadence could wear through the airport and with her Husker outfits. So, we headed over to the kids’ shoe aisle for a look, and here’s what we found…

Pink and white. White and pink. White with pink stripes and flowers. White with pink hearts and beads. Pink with white stripes.

Silver and pink. Silver, black and pink. Pink with bunny faces and bows. Brown and pink. Pink and brown. White, brown and pink. Shiny pink with silver sparkles.

Shiny silver and pink flowers. Black, blue and pink. Hot pink. Light pink. Purple and pink Hello Kitty.

Shiny pink. Sparkly pink. Pink with rhinesteones. Pink and white Dora the Explorer shoes. Black with pink flowers.

Really? I mean really??? All the way up one side of the aisle and down the other. Pink. Pink. Pink. Pink. PINK!!!

I was starting to hate pink.

So, I did the only thing I could. I bought Cadence a pair of cute black boys’ shoes.

And let me tell you, they are going to look ADORABLE with her Husker cheerleader outfit. 😉

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