Again with the Slippers???

I can remember being mortified as a teenager when I would go to the grocery store with my Dad and notice once we were already there that he was wearing slippers.  "Dad, why didn't you change into shoes?  This is sooooo embarassing," I would wail.  He would just shrug his shoulders and respond with "What's the big deal, Jennifer?  At least these look like shoes....sort of...".  Looking back, he was right, his slippers did pretty much look like shoes, and they were hard-soled, so fairly appropriate for walking out of the house.  The slippers I see people walking around in now?  Not so much appropriate.  They are fuzzy, often-times in the shapes of animals, and definitely don't have hard soles (which just seems gross, especially in this town where it's so often damp).  Now this trend often goes hand in hand with the people who are also apparently just wearing their pajama bottoms out and about (see previous posts) but I've also witnessed this phenomena where people are wearing a fairly typical outfit and then have topped it off with slippers.  Don't get me wrong, I like to wear slippers, they're very comfy and snuggly...when you are at home!  Out in public?  That seems very strange to me, particularly when you think that most of them don't have soles so I would think they would become very uncomfortable after a fairly short amount of time.  Oh well, I'm sure there's more to come in the world of slipper-wear...perhaps stiletto slippers?  Or hiking boot slippers?
And Happy Father's Day, Dad...I miss you every day.

Springtime,and the Weather is not Fine

I think I have finally succumbed to the crappy weather blues.  As a native of Seattle, I thought I was immune, but I think it's taking hold.  I am tired of carrying an umbrella everyday, I am tired of seeing people in rubber boots (even though some of them are very stylish and I know I for one am getting new rain boots next year!).  I was hoping that that few days here and there that we have had of really nice weather would shake me out of it (and riding my bike to work does help, I feel like I'm really getting a chance to experience and enjoy the nice weather when I'm on my bike), but I just feel blah.  Someone on the bus this morning had moccasins on; I hope she isn't somehow, inadvertently, doing a rain-dance in them as she walks to the bus in the morning.  Is there a dance for good weather?  The Hustle?  The Samba?  The Twist?

Seattle Style Snark: When I am Old I will not Wear Purple

Seattle Style Snark: When I am Old I will not Wear Purple: "Or at least I don't plan to. After observing an older gal the other day in Costco who was attired head to toe in various shades of purple, ..."

When I am Old I will not Wear Purple

Or at least I don't plan to.  After observing an older gal the other day in Costco who was attired head to toe in various shades of purple, I think I will plan to leave this one at the door when I hit my Golden Girl stage. What first caught my eye was her purple purse...I had a similar one when I was eight.  I was actually very proud of that purse...purple leather and I think it was the first one that I ever bought for myself.  She had what I would refer to as lilac-colored pants and a darker purple top.  In addition to her top was a cardigan in yet another shade of purplish magenta.  And of course, not to be forgotten, was her hair: silver with just a tinge of lavender (almost like a purple halo around her head).  It was a bit much overall.  Now, I'll admit, that I love the color purple, particularly in nature: flowers, tropical fish and birds....there is something about purple that tends to make things seem more exotic.  And, purple has played a hefty role in history, being the color signifying royalty (think King Henry VIII draped in purple velvet, or George Costanza on Seinfeld when they dressed him up as Henry VIII).  I don't think, though, that it does anyone justice to be dressed completely in any one color, no matter how many different shades are combined....unless it's black....isn't gray a shade of black?

I Hope you Weren't in a Fight with a Tiger

Some of the most interesting fashion I see is when I'm waiting for my bus in downtown Seattle.  Lately I've been seeing a lot of ripped up stockings...and I don't just mean a runner in a pair of pantyhose but full-on shredded, torn, slashed stockings.  My first thought was that she'd been dragged behind a bus, but then I realized she wasn't nearly dirty enough to warrant that (she was dirty, but in a 'hey look at me I don't care if I'm kind of raunchy way').  Seriously though, if she had been bruised or bloodied, it would have been pretty easy to think that she had been mauled by a tiger or runaway wildebeest (wouldn't that be interesting to see tearing through the streets of downtown...).  Bottom line: fine, wear your ripped up tights, stockings, whatever, but can you wear a little sign that says "I'm OK, I wasn't beat up, taken away and held for ransom, I'm just being fashionable".
Bravo if you know what song part of that last sentence is from.

I Love Kids, But...

I don't really like the kids I see out in public.  As an employee at a public venue, I get the opportunity to observe all kinds of kids, some visiting with their parents, some visiting with chaperons/caregivers.  There aren't that many that seem to be behaving themselves, and while that's probably not that surprising, what is surprising is how the parents/chaperon/caregiver reacts to the unruly/out-of-control behavior.  More often than not, there's no reaction at all, and a blind eye is turned toward the child.  Other times it's laughed at and even, perhaps unintentionally, encouraged.  Yesterday I was at the exhibit that features the Sloth Bear (one of my favorites) and a group of 5 or 6 boys and their 'adults' (these guys looked to be in their early 20's) came running up to the exhibit, screaming and yelling.  While I understand that kids will yell and scream when they're excited and having fun, I think it's important for their 'adults' to remind them that not every place is OK to scream in.  The zoo is one of those places, as the animals are sensitive to noise.  The kids all took a look at the bear, and then headed out...but not before one of the boys THREW something into the exhibit...at the bear.  I was so appalled, both at the child's actions but also at the lack of concern shown by the caregiver...I think he was more concerned that the kid was wasting whatever he'd thrown into the exhibit, rather than concern that the boy had thrown something at the bear.  It is going to be really interesting to see what this generation grows up to be..I, for one, am more than a little nervous.

Open Letter to the Gentleman in the Sweaty Wifebeater at Yoga

If you've been reading my blog, you know that I love my hot yoga classes, and at times I feel the need to vent about manners/style (or lack thereof) at yoga classes.  This is one of those times.
Dear 30-something in the Sweaty Wifebeater:
I'm not sure if this was your first time at hot yoga class or not (you didn't look familiar to me but I don't always go to the same classes each week), but I need to let you know that your tank-top undershirt, which I would assume you'd been wearing all day as a first layer under your clothes, isn't appropriate for yoga class.  You may be surprised at my lack of appreciate for your choice in athletic wear, but it's a pretty clear-cut case to me of mistakenly wearing one's underwear to exercise in.
1.  Wifebeaters, when they get sweaty, tend to become see-through, if not almost completely transparent...no one wants to see that unless your are in absolutely fantastic shape...and even then, it's a maybe.
2.  A garment that you've been wearing all day next to your skin tends to take on a certain aroma; combine that with a room heated to 114 degrees filled with other sweaty people, and you become a complete stink bomb.
The fact that the gentleman in question was right behind me for 90 minutes, heavily mouth-breathing and groaning with pain didn't help either.  But, the relaxing benefits of my yoga class are still with me, so I shall just say, Namaste.