Note: This post is mainly about fat girl shopping. I'm not going to make assumptions about who among you will or will not be interested in fat girl shopping - you'll know who you are. Also, it's my birthday! Woooo!
It's my birthday! I'm 33 this year and since my birthday is 03/03, I feel that it's going to be an EXTRA awesome year. That's right - no pressure, but you'd better not SUCK, 33!
I've spent much of adult life looking forward to 32. I'm not sure why - 32 just seemed to resonate with me and I'm pleased to report that it was indeed a banner year. But because of my fixation on 32, I never gave much thought as to what would come AFTER 32. Turns out it's 33. So, you know - rad.
I spent much of the last few weeks of 32 bitching about two things:
1. The sad state of my hair. It's true - every hairdresser I've seen for the last year wouldn't cut my hair as short as I wanted because they felt I should "grow it out" for the big gay wedding. The result? A layered near-mullet that I've been wearing in a ponytail since last May.
2. How I had "nothing to wear". Thirty Helens agree that I often don't take good enough care of my clothes. This is fine when I spend whole days working in my house and walking the dog, but can cause problems when I'm going out for dinner with a friend and my "good jeans" are nearly worn through from dog walking and my "good casual shirt" is pilled from being washed with my jeans and also too fucking short because I accidentally put in the dryer.
Thanks to my high school pal and local hero Kajo, I found a real hairdresser here in Vancouver with whom I immediately fell in love. Why? Because the first thing she said when she sat me in the chair was "Oh, Roro. TELL me you haven't been cutting your OWN BANGS. Please... please promise me you won't ever do it again."
She did an excellent job and I happily paid her more than $20 for my sassy new hair. Those who kindly responded to my hair poll will be pleased to note I'm sticking with the gray. I'm really against posting pictures of myself on my blog, but this cross-eyed one is already on Facebook. Descartes would be so turned on...
With regards to #2, I was very excited to visit the United States of America last week, where creampuffs have more fashion choices and where my favourite ginch reside. I didn't actually intend to get anything BUT ginch from Lane Bryant, because I am at the upper limit of size for that store. But I breathed in the general direction of a pair of jeans when I walked in and the sales girl was all over me to try their "Right Fit" jeans. I was skeptical, but allowed her to measure my waist, pick out a pair of Blue 7's and send me off to the dressing room.
That's when I put on the magic pants.
I am a pear-shaped creampuff and I effing love my effing Right Fit jeans from Lane Bryant. I love that they don't gap funny in the back. I love that they're way sturdier than my other jeans but cost the same. I love that the salesgirl said to me when I first put them on: "I'm not going to make you pull your shirt tight and show me if you have a muffin top - but if you don't have a muffin top, then these are your jeans." I love that I don't have a muffin top in these jeans. I love the term "muffin top".
The other thing I realized at the Lane Bryant is that empire-waisted babydoll tops are in. And you know whose pear-shaped figure is very flattered by empire-waisted babydoll tops? MINE. I basically bought four varying degrees of this:
Then Katr and I did some damage at Sephora, 'cause we found our favourite SugarLemon stuff from fresh and had to stock up. We didn't WANT to, gang - we HAD to.
And so, loaded down with cute duds, delicious smells and free of the mullet, we arrived in Monterey. Where I proceeded to spend the entire week PREENING.
Seriously - it was crazy. Every reflective surface was my friend. I spent hour after hour casting coy smiles at myself and anything or anyone who stood still long enough; baristas, Jamba Juice employees, bellmen, sea lions, some guy who tried me sell me a book on the street called Living with God. Guys - I was VAIN. I kept humming that Carly Simon song, pretending it was about me instead of Warren Beatty. Because last week, it WAS.
I'm a little stunned at how much a great haircut, a few nice shirts, good pants and SugarLemon perked me up. I didn't even know I needed to be perked up. I feel like I've been on What Not to Wear. Pros - I didn't have to be humiliated on TV. Cons - I had to pay for it all myself with the magical elf money I hope will appear in my bank account before my credit card bill arrives. But hey - with my kicky new look and a year of 33 before me, can ultimate riches be far behind? History will decide.
