oxymoron67: (Default)
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I avoided the parade and the bars.

I ended up having corned beef (yum) and cabbage (less so) with carrots and potatoes (yum). Mixing the cabbage with the carrots and potatoes worked, though.

After that, well, my spring jacket was looking worn and I really needed a new one, so I went clothes shopping.

Now, understand, I'm gay. I'm as gay as a tree full of canaries. I'm as gay as a male audience member at a Cher concert.

But clothes shopping? Not for me. I hate it.

Anyway, I get to the Big & Tall store, and I went a little crazy. I bought six shirts, a jacket, underwear and socks. I spent over $300. Oddly, I didn't get pants. I'll do that through the catalog later this week.

Then I had sushi for dinner.

La Fheile Phadraig shona doibh! (If I remember my Irish Gaelic correctly.)
oxymoron67: (Default)
Two fun mom stories!

1) At one point in her career, mom would teach the first four periods of the day, then spend the rest of the day working on federal and state programs and grants.

At about Christmastime one year, one of my mom;s students noticed that every time she gave a test or quiz, she wore black. So, he asked about it.

Mom didn't know she was doing this: she has a lot of black in her wardrobe, as she has light skin and silver hair, so she rocks black.

But, she's not going to let a teenager get the better of her. Without missing a beat, she turns to this student and says, "It's because I'm in mourning for your grades."

This stuck for the rest of mom's career.

My siblings and I went to school in the 70's and 80's. Mom, as a single parent and a teacher, didn't really have much spare money. In fact, the only thing that kept us from free school lunch programs was that my siblings and I were all on Social Security because of dad's death.

In the late 70's and early 80's, designer jeans were all the rage. My sisters wanted Gloria Vanderbilt jeans something fierce.

Mom didn't see the point. After listening to my sisters whine about this, she turned to them and said, "If you really want to have someone's name on your ass, I'll buy regular jeans and sew the name on them myself."

Scared that mom might actually do this, my sisters dropped the subject.
oxymoron67: (Default)
Every now and then, my short, fifteen minute bus trip becomes slightly more interesting.

Today for example, the cotton/poly blend of my trousers and the odd plastic-y seat cushions on the bus combined to give me a friction free ass.

You would think a friction-free ass would be a good thing, but in this instance, not so much.

Because of the friction free ass, whenever the bus driver applied the brake, I slid across the seat like a puck across the ice rink. Which still would have been fine except that I was sitting next to someone. So I smashed into him about five or six times.

This is bad: I am not a small person, so it was kind of like a boulder smashing into Wile E. Coyote.
oxymoron67: (Default)
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I was in elementary school -- 5th grade maybe?, and was performing the (ultra geeky) dance that goes with the song The Twelve Days of Christmas.*
As I was bending over during one of the dance moves, I (and the audience) heard this really, really loud ripping sound as my pants decided to split into two.

I turned neon red.

It would have been woth the embarrassment if the pants that split had been those godawful plaid pastel pants that Mom bought for me, because at least I would have been rid of them. (It was the 70's. Everyone forgot how to dress in the 70's. Compared to my sisters, I got off lucky. Some of those outfits. *shudder*) But no, those things are probably still in one piece somewhere: they could survive a nuclear blast.

I do not kid about the pastel plaid pants: the colors were mint green, a pink and a not very bright yellow. My mother said that they would go with ANYTHING.

Looking back on it, I figure that these pants were part of my mother's plans to raise children with "character": forcing a child to wear the gayest (and yet ugliest) pants imaginable in a mill town elementary school was a "growth experience."

*Well, I don't know if there really is a dance for this, it was something I learned from the family.
oxymoron67: (Default)
I hear women complain about fashion all the time.

I understand, because, you see, as a fat man in America, I apparently don't know how to dress. Or don't want to.

During the fall and winter, flannel dominates my wardrobe choices. I don't like flannel. First of all, it's plaid, and that makes me flash back to these terrifying pants my mother made me wear while I was in elementary school in the 70's. they were not merely plaid, but PASTEL plaid: yellow, pink and powder blue.

Now granted, this was the 70's, when no one knew how to dress and those pants were really more my mother's sin than mine... but still. *shudder*

Also, despite my Scottish heritage, I have yet to see a plaid pattern that I actually liked. At best, most plaid designs resemble nothing more to me than old tablecloths.

So, plaid is a big no.

I figured, now that we're into Spring and they're advertising their summer wear, that I'd be free of flannel and it's plaid-pattern Hellishness.

So, imagine my surprise when, on the front cover, the model was wearing a plaid short sleeved shirt. Not flannel, but still plaid. Plaid, plaid, plaid.

I do not want to look like a cheap tablecloth. I have no desire to look a lumberjack. Please start designing clothing for me. Hugs!


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October 2013

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