Couture Du Jour: Pajama Jeans

By now everyone in the history of owning a television has seen the fantastical commercial/infomercial thingy for Pajama Jeans: "jeans" you can wear to bed because really, who wants to be bothered with putting clean clothes on first thing in the morning when you can try to trick society into thinking last night's sweatpants are today's clean jeans? These are their story:

Friday September 16, 2001 - 10:00 am- picture arrives from SaraSara: whaaaat?
me: YES! A hop, skip and a jump away from being a shut-in!
me: OMG $40!
Sara: right?
me: $9.88 even seems a little pricey to me.
me: So tell me about pajama jeans. What do they look like in real life?
Sara: Omg. My first thought was, "Christine has to see these immediately." They're in a box, first of all.
me: IN A BOX! Love it. Please tell me some people opened the boxes to size them up.
Sara: YES! I had to dig to find one intact.
me: Do they come with the free tshirt...like on TV?
Sara: There was no free shirt!
me: RIPOFF! That free shirt is supposed to be a $60 value.
Sara: Right!?!
me: So how similar are they to jeggings? Are they more sweatpants, more jeans or in jegging territory?
Sara: If I had to categorize them, I'd put them more in the sweatpant zone
me: Ok so $40 blue sweatpants
Sara: That look like jeans....sort of.
me: $40 imitation denim sweatpants. Like imitation krab meat. Looks kind of like crab from certain angles but totally isn't.
Sara: ewww
Sara: I'm just at a loss, because how did this even come about? Who saw a need for this?
me: Clearly, according to the box, people who have a need to sleep in something that looks like jeans ?????
Sara: And it apparently has luxurious brushed interior...
me: What does that even mean?
Sara: You know these are made for the people who now will literally NEVER have to change their clothes.
me: I'm still stuck on the fact it does not come with the free tshirt. How will those people EVER manage to pick out an outfit now?
Sara: That's a valid concern.
Sara: Please reference the demonstration video

decorum.

decorum

de·co·rum
–noun
1. dignified propriety of behavior, speech, dress, etc.
2. the quality or state of being decorous; orderliness; regularity.
3. usually, decorums. an observance or requirement of polite society.

I want to be this noun when I grow up. I strive to be this noun on a daily basis... hoping one day it will simply decide that it is necessary to become one with my soul. I live, eat, breathe this noun.

Then every once in a while that whole thing goes to hell in a handcart full of rotten hot dogs and bunch of decorous antonyms show up to rain all over the sparkly parade float that I call life.

So what does one do when their decorum has a bad week and decides to abandon them for a Manhunt tryst with a twink from the Hollywood Hills?

  1. Read every Mae West quote and follow all of her advice.
  2. Invite every single one of your friends over and make them perform Mommie Dearest in your living room.
  3. Gather some fake eyelashes, white outfits and black hats, dress up like Droogs and go trick-or-treating. Who cares if it's mid-August? (you know stores are already selling Halloween candy so you might get lucky).
  4. If raves still exist, attend one.
  5. Make eye contact with a stranger and simply say "your face is fat. Your face. Is fat." and then walk away.
  6. Hide in the clothing racks at Dress Barn and make assorted farm animal noises.
  7. Create a drinking game based entirely on John Waters movies.
  8. Dress up like Richard Simmons (hello sequin shorts!), stand in front of Whole Foods with a boom box and convince shoppers that they have to participate in 5 minutes of "organic blast aerobics" before they enter to enhance their shopping experience. When the song (aka the session) ends, charge them $35 each. As soon as you collect this, immediately run your Richard Simmons ass to a bar to order shots with your organic aerobics money.
  9. Invite some random friends over, fit as many as you can in your bathtub, fill the bathtub with hot water, from this point forward only refer to it as a "hot tub" and proceed to drink champagne straight from the bottle. The following morning, pretend it never happened.
  10. Whenever anyone asks you any kind of question, refuse to answer it with anything but singing Bobby Brown's "My Prerogative."
Well, that should cover at least a small part of one weekend of decorum abandonment.

Wardrobe Professionalism: A Brief Guide to Faking It.

You can’t deny it: we’ve all had a shitty morning (or in some cases 5,284 shitty mornings) that we can blame on a number of circumstances such as: staying up too late talking to a friend on the west coast, drinking too much, general insomnia, closing down a gay bar with a karaoke rendition of Baby Got Back, accidentally sleeping with the TV and lights on, the extended release aspect of your Adderall refusing to stop releasing, forgetting to change your BlackBerry to silent mode causing it to violently vibrate on the nightstand when Saks randomly sends a late night email, deciding that listening to Britney Spears and Coldplay repeatedly at 3am is the cure for insomnia, Benadryl, staying up late because you just HAD to watch a rerun of Nancy Grace, taking the red-eye from Vegas and failing to schedule off work the day of your arrival, the alarm forgot to beep… you know the deal.


Ladies, let’s assess the situation: you have 20 minutes to look normal and don’t know where to begin. Here are some simple suggestions that will make these mornings seem less like giant case of armageddon:


Pretend the Guinness Book of World Records is timing you for the fastest shower record. I call this the ramen noodle shower (aka the 3 minute shower) - if you happen to be hungry you can actually prepare ramen noodles while multi-tasking with your ramen noodle shower. Trust me, eeverything in life is easier when you are clean. You cannot go wrong with a ponytail as long as it looks like it’s been brushed, straightened, or attended to with some other kind of minimal grooming… a 1875 watt hair dryer and a bit of product are handy at this stage of the process.


Invest: You are employed and need to appear professional at your place of employment, so one would assume that you’ve managed to attain a level of responsibility that would involve you participating in some kind investment activity such as stocks, mutual funds… Well forget about that business because we’re focusing solely on superficial looks in this brief guide. Invest in CLOTHING. If you work in an office environment and occasionally need to appear particularly professional, you absolutely must begin stockpiling blouses and dresses by Diane von Furstenberg. I don’t care if you lost every penny you own when the economy crashed or you are simply a shitty poker player. Put money in a piggy bank, wait for a sale at Nordstrom, toss some adult guilt in the direction of your parents so they pay, sell yourself on Craigslist…whatever it takes. Sure Diane von Furstenberg can sometimes be on the expensive end of the blouse industry but it’s worth the money - appropriate, classy, classic, dressy, flattering, consistent, stylish and most importantly easy. Next to your stockpile of Diane Von Furstenberg blouses there should be another stockpile of dressy, knee-length pencil skirts. I prefer BCBG bandage skirts because they don't have zippers and zippers take extra time. Also, they forgive you for eating an entire plate of nachos at 2:45am. Essential colors: dark denim (no stitched seams) and black. You need multiples of these colors because they will match every Diane Von Furstenberg blouse you own. Choosing an outfit will now only take 30 seconds of your life and will be successful regardless of your state of consciousness.


Shoes with high heels are a vital part of this occasion. Bare feet are for pedicures, flip flops are for the beach and plastic is for working the pole at a strip club. These things have nothing to do with your morning so they should also have nothing to do with your choice of footwear. Owning several pair of ‘comfortable’ black heels and ‘comfortable’ fancy heels in fun colors are imperative. The litmus test for comfortability: the ability to run in aforementioned shoes regardless of obstacles including, but not limited to, brick sidewalks, blisters, stairs, etc. These shoes should be stored in an easily accessible area of your closet….now grab a pair and put them on your feet. ...or if it's really a rough morning, wear your flip flops but put those high heels on before you enter that office.


Accessorize: Always keep a pair of earrings and matching bracelet in your purse or desk (or both) and sunglasses in your car. I recommend sunglasses of the large, dark variety. It also helps to keep accessories and perfume on a table right next to your front door. In fact, keep everything you need as close to the front door as possible. Morning people never forget to accessorize…and now neither will you.


Side Note: In case you are having a bad morning and you are also completely incompetent, do not forget normal activities such as: brushing your teeth, wearing panties and a bra under your clothes, deodorant, perfume…


In conclusion, practice makes perfect. Practice also makes for numerous late nights and stressful mornings. You can decide whether or not that’s your thing. Now if only you didn’t have 8 minutes to battle traffic in an anxiety-ridden quest to reach an office, it would be the perfect time for a bloody Mary.

Question.

Why?

That's one of my favorite questions. Quite possibly my favorite question of all time. Since I first learned this question as a young child, I would not be exaggerating if I say I've asked it several hundreds of thousands of times to just about everyone I've encountered. Sometimes I follow a why? with a why?....with a why?...and since I have little impulse control: repeat several more times. Over-analyzing isn't a deadly sin yet, right? (I like to keep track of how many deadly sins I can pull off in a single day just in case hell has big, fancy trophy for this).

Refocus: Asking "why?" is kind of my version of gambling. Placing a cheap, easy bet with one simple word. You never knows what will come out of that question. You might like it. Win! You might not. Lose! But you'll always learn something and still have money left to spend. Jackpot!

untitled.

My inner voice

The truth-teller

The non-sugar coater

Ms. tell it like it is

Perpetually talking

Endless words feeding this love/hate relationship

Brutal honesty never turning a blind eye

While I intermittently turn a deaf ear

Obstinate old me

You’re a big girl now

Mom no longer knows best

Those times forever replaced by this voice

Sanctimonious, acrimonious

My most intimate relationship

My strongest advocate

Me.


(*note: stumbled upon some old xine musings while cleaning out files on my computer - this one is circa mid-2000s and still so true. Also note: the name of the poem was originally "untitled.")

One Big Room, Full of Bad Bitches

I talk to strangers.

"Don’t talk to strangers."

I never listened to that parental advice. To me, it seemed like a bullshit statement. Isn’t everyone a stranger until you start talking to them? Perhaps life should be a little more like the Ann Grifalconi book, 'Ain’t Nobody a Stranger to Me' (minus the whole underground railroad stuff.)


I survived a whopping 31 years at this point with my MO being: talk to strangers, take rides from strangers, eat food strangers give me…and yet I never had my picture featured on the back of a milk carton. I think I would be more traumatized by my 2nd grade Catholic school picture decorating a (hopefully organic skim) milk carton in the 80’s than I would by actually being abducted by a strange man in a white van. Trust me, those uniforms were hideous. I’m a talker so I would probably tell him a few jokes and he’d drop me off at home and nobody would have to send John Walsh on a horse to try to find me. Quite frankly, after the week I had, a roofie laced lollipop from a stranger in a white van would probably make my day a lot easier. And honestly, I actually enjoyed that weird piece of rice/seaweed thing my Vietnamese manicurist fed me (literally, she stuck it in my mouth) while having my nails done. I wish I knew what it was so I could buy more.


Side note: I should definitely get some Glamour Shots taken for my “missing” poster…just in case.


Really though, how often do you talk to the people around you? I spent the past 8 years of my life shuffling between cabs and airplanes and hotels and meetings. Strangers. Random people with random stories. I’ve decided to occasionally tell some of these stories on the blog so, occasionally, you will find me blogging about my strangers. I simply cannot cover this topic in a few short paragraphs. This is a small example of people in my life who could have been strangers :


· Sakhi – my cab driver. He’s in his late 60’s…from Afghanistan, has two children in college, loves family time with his wife, travels everywhere and takes care of his elderly mother. He’s also basically a surrogate father to me. Whenever I need anything, I call Sakhi on his cell phone (we don’t even bother with the cab service number) and he’s there – he’ll jump start my car or give me the recipe of the rice his wife made me. He often texts me to make sure I’m ok or that I had a good day.

· Mo – my night valet manager at work. He lives in Alexandria to work and would drive to PA for 3-4 days a week to be with his wife and two children. His wife met someone online, moved to Vegas and abandoned the two small children who then had to move to DC in the middle of the school year. He had a built-in support system because he made sure he was never a stranger to anyone, he was always Mo.

· Edward and Edmund – The Somalian twins who are co-assistant managers/cashiers at my grocery store. Their cousin Solomon is the manager and Mr. Greg is the other cashier. Have you ever been to your grocery store cashier’s college graduations? If not, you should know them well enough to go because events like this are important to people.

I could write eternally on this subject but I’m going to abruptly end this blog about strangers because my sister was cyberbulling me to post something on the blog. So my dear sister weinerbeans, here is your half-finished blog about your fancy sister’s habit of talking (non-stop) to everyone in her visual field.