Look Who Got Dressed In The Dark

Teacher, Dress Thyself

Of the many things that I agree to do, but don't really want to do, I managed to allow myself to get signed up for the state bowling tournament.

I do not love bowling, but I do love drinking, so I've bowled in a league for most of the last 6 years. While I suck tremendously at the "sport", I enjoy that fat, old, drunk, lazy people can play right along with the pros. Try that with sumo wrestling.

I also love that you can wear pretty much whatever the hell you want. Because chances are you're still going to be better looking that our local alley nut case whom we call Wiggy. See, Wiggy thinks that a wig, a string bikini top and/or short-shorts are acceptable attire. I have proof;

Oh, sorry. I should have warned you.

So, anyway, you can see that this is not a sport that "fashion" is a real concern.

Now, I know that since it's a tournament, there are rules as to what is or is not acceptable. For example, in the past denim, shorts and printed tee-shirts have all been out. Fair enough. So I called ahead to verify that my white capri's would be okay. They were, so I planned accordingly. Since my pants were white and my ass not something the world needs exposure to, I brought a long tunic-style top with a v-neck and layered a tank underneath it.

The thing about boobs, especially big boobs, is you're pretty much going to always have cleavage unless you're wearing a turtleneck. Sometimes even then. I didn't think the twins were dangling too far out so I was pretty shocked when they asked me to leave and go change.

That's right.

My boobs got me thrown out of a bowling alley.

So I had about 10 minutes to find something else to wear. Normally, I would have just worn J's spare work short, but of course he had taken it out of his truck. I couldn't run home because we were 150 miles away. At it was 7am so no where was open. Except Walgreens.

I hop in the truck, race to Walgreens and fully intend to buy a tee shirt. Because Walgreens always has piles of tee shirts, right? ALWAYS. Stacks and STACKS of them at 5/$10 or something.

Except, of course, when you need a damn tee shirt. THEN they only have a handful. In childrens sizes. I haven't worn a children's size ANYTHING in about 27 years. Frantically, I wreck pile after pile of tiny, tiny tee shirts searching frantically for an adult size. THEY HAVE TO HAVE A DAMN ADULT tee shirt in here, I mutter under my breath, flinging aside minuscule shirt after minuscule shirt. WTF. I have exactly 3 minutes to find a damn shirt, buy it, drive to the alley, put it on and line up. Finally, there at the bottom is one single solitary child's XL undershirt.

I snatch it up, sprint to the checkout, throw some cash at Methuselah's mother and race back to the bowling alley. I shove other bowlers out of my way in a mad dash for the ladies, whip off my shirts and dubiously hold up my sausage casing. What the hell? I figure and put it on.

And I'll be a monkey's uncle if I wasn't able to get that sucker on.
Who'd have thought?

As you can see, though, it was a little...um...tight. And see-through. And TIGHT. I'm pretty sure the cleavage would have been less distracting than my impression of a naughty, naughty nurse/cocktail waitress, but rules are rules, right?

(That's me, drinking beer at 8a.m., in a child's tee shirt, while surrounded by elderly people gambling their retirement and eating fried food. Which makes a good argument for America being the best country in the whole damn world.)

For Miss Lini's Birthday

iToday is Miss Lini's birthday. She's really, really old. An old maid even. Way older than me. Older than our Grandma Julie even. I know, shocking, right?

But true.

And because I am such a good older younger sister I've found some of her favorite things for her.

First, a guy with really icky toes; I mean COME ON. The ripped jeans are bad enough, the run down Birk's about throw it over the edge but the clear failure to use a pair of toe nail clippers anytime since 1997 is just too much. It's just....icky.

It's even worse when you see BOTH of his feet are that way. Look - I just threw up a little in my mouth.

Good thing there are fabulous people out there. People so, shall we say groomed? that they are an inspiration to us all. People like this guy -   Note the fabulous pose! The tight jeans! The hair! Oh lordy the hair with it's pretty pink glitter butterfly clip! (Trust me, it's there) It's people like this fine, masculine creature that I give to you, my lovely (not as lovely as me) sister on this, the anniversary of your birth.

You're welcome.

When You're Wrong, You're Very Wrong

So bowling alleys are basically an example of tragic fashion in action. This is just a fact. Have you been to a bowling alley? Okay then, you know exactly what I mean. You've got the Blue Hairs, the Beer Guts, the First Dates and the Too Many Kids bowling to your left and right and the biggest question is will that guy, the one in the plaid, pop the button out of that shirt and blind the guy with three teeth?

As horrifying as is it entertaining, they are not remarkable because they're so plentiful. Cameltoe stretch pants with a dirty white undershirt? So what? Prom dress and Old Navy rubber flip flops? Seen it.

But, then, just when you think that the bowling alley is a refuge for the poorly dressed and that you, the appropriately clad for your age and size are the freak, one person bravely steps forward to prove that you can be too tacky for the last refuge of wood paneling.

Why yes, she IS wearing elastic waist Chic denim leggings! Indeed! She is wearing a plaid seer-sucker blouse completely unbuttoned. And is her bikini top riding up on the right so that you can see her nipple? Why yes, it is! Does she have a gunt? Would I be writing if she didn't? And as the kicker, unseen are her black Velcro tennis shoes.

Oh, but my chickens, it does, get better. Or worse. Well, better if you're trying to blog about the poorly dressed.   The very next week, like a nightmare about that time in college you kissed that person you thought was of the opposite gender only to find yourself dating someone the Republican's wouldn't let your marry and unable to extricate yourself because lets be honest, who doesn't want someone to bring them breakfast in bed and then do your Econ 250 homework? Not that *I've* ever had that happen, but I can just imagine...any way, so where was I? Ah, yes, the Melvin.

Now, for those unaware, the Melvin is also known as a "Hungry Butt". Behold.                     

Yes, my Chickens, that is the same girl. I would have brought her to class, but lets be honest, we all like a good trainwreck.

Kiki

A Mutha Effin P-I-M-P is not a fashion "Do"

You know what I used to believe, a long time ago? When I was hopeful and innocent? I used to believe that men were mainly immune to many of the fashion disasters that will land you here, in Study Hall, where you are force fed a diet of Lagerfeld and forced to watch "What Not to Wear" (the British original, of course) until you agreed to no longer offend.

But, then, oh one fateful day, I saw this;

 

And, as you can see, it was enough to make a young girl cry. Or start a web site, which incidentally is why the Academy went web-wide. Because this guy? He's were manpris, shiny white loafers and a rhinestones belt that said "PIMP". Now, it may just be me, but his street cred? Zip. When you're trying do dress like a PIMP you should always ask yourself, "WW5CD"? (That's "What Would 50 Cent Do?") I think we can all safely believe that white loafers is not it.

I consoled myself, however, by believing this poor misguided soul was alone in this fashion "trend". But was he? Of course not. Which is why I drink vodka straight at 9am.  Look for yourself.

See? Even his girlfriend is horrified by them. And his clown pants. You know what? I may actually hate the clown pants more.  Why must his pants be so big? What is he hiding in there? Midgets? NAKED midgets? Naked midgets with fangs who may, at any moment, if given the command, spring forth and attack those who aren't wearing freakishly gigantic pants?

Luckily, this guy

and this guy

are safe.   Do you suppose the weird marking on the ass of their pants are some sort of communication to the naked, fanged midgets?

Personally, my ass is mostly non-communicative. I like it that way. Having survived the "Juicy" years when it seemed like every other girl you saw had a big ol' proclamation right across her heiney, I have often felt that ass communication was an under utilized billboard. As such I present you with these;

http://www.cafepress.com/cp/prod.aspx?p=pbfa.165610874

Classy, right? I know.

Axl Rose Called, He Said He Wants His Look Back

I don't even know where to start. Look for yourselves.

See what I mean? Over-grown 80's bleached out hair, mandals WITH VELCRO, bad posture, Top Gun mirrored glasses (in his mouth - SEXY) it's almost enough to make me cry. Even his friend (of whom you can only glimpse one butt-cheek and offensive mandal) is a no-no. 

As I stood there, mouth open, stammering in shock, he turned toward me and it got oh-so-much worse. For real. Look.

Oh yes. He did go there. ALL THE WAY THERE.

What, pray tell, does he smoke to be able to look at that sunken, patchy haired chest, beer belly and chicken legs and think; "HELL YES! I am SO going to get a Victoria's Secret model with this! And Slash? You can suck my balls, you mop-headed freak! I can scream AND rock velcro'd shoes! Can you? I thought not! BECAUSE THE 80's WILL NEVER DIE. NEVER!".

I bet this lady knows what he's smoking

and I bet she's hiding it in her freakishly tiny (and not pictured) leather backpack to keep it from the Pigs. Because nothing can harsh a buzz like getting 86'd.

~ Kiki

Her Colors Had Better Be "Blush" and "Bashful"

Our own dear Miss Lini went and got herself engaged. In Paris, France, of all the cliche' places.

But, being a generous sister, I have dedicated myself to helping her find only the BEST pink things with which to bedeck her bridesmaids.

As such, I present to you the following;

Obviously, this dress is PERFECT for bridesmaids. Because it is hideous. And Satin. And has poofy, see through sleeves. And bows. Sadly, there was no picture of the back, so I can only PRAY that what appears to be peeking out of the left side of the dress is big, satin, floppy ass-bow. Because my ass? It so needs attention called to it. And the color? D-E-Vine! Who doesn't look fabulous is shiny magenta? If you just said "Anyone who's not Dame Edna" you better just shut your mouth.

So ANYWAY, I'm so pitching this dress as the bridesmaid dress, but also? We need accessories here people.

So I found this stunning hat.

Not nearly as beautiful as those white straw hats you can buy at the fair and then have custom airbrushed, WITH GLITTER, PEOPLE. GLITTER. but it's a start. Granted, I mean, it doesn't have feathers or rhinestones or even a single, solitary sequin, but it's going the right direction. And I have a Bedazzler.

Of course, the most important thing to me is the shoes. I ask you, what says "wedding" more than shoes you find on eBay using the search terms "stripper shoes"? Nothing, that's what. As such, I present you the real find of the day;

Notice how they EXACTLY MATCH the dress? That's no accident. That's what we do around here, bring tasteful, dare I say classy looks to the masses.

You're welcome.

                                                                        ~Kiki

Good Feet, Bad Feet

Oh, boys.

I know we haven't talked yet about the disaster that are "mandals", but that's because I *thought* it was obvious. I *thought* I had made my position quite clear on those who expose ugly, unmaintained feet.

I mean really; there is a reason that mandals only come in styles that can be worn in the shower. That reason is because YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO WEAR THEM OUT OF YOUR HOUSE.

Then, to make matters even more dire, someone invented that style abomination know as Crocs. And sold them to people. Poor, unsuspecting, stylistically challenged people. People who shouldn't be allowed to dress themselves in anything more daring than khaki's and collared shirts. People like accountants. And men.

Observe,

On the left, we have an older gentleman in his version of "weekend" attire. Starched, ironed, stone washed jeans that are a few inches too short and paired with white sport socks and those godforsaken clogs (not Croc's, but not much better!) and on the right we have his son wearing shoes designed for the dual purpose of river rafting and making me vomit a little in my mouth. Sonny Boy has the requist pale white legs an actuary and the hairy feet that belies his descent from Hobbits.  Why couldn't they wear tennis shoes? Like boat shoes? That would have been fine. You can even skip the sock with those, you daring young rake! What young lady can help swoon at the sight of a middle aged man with a terminal case of dicky-do sauntering around in a pair of  pleated demin shorts, a pink polo shirt and boat shoes? Not this young lass, that's for darn sure! But the badly shod? Walk on, you offender of the eyes, walk on.

Now, I must make a side note here and say that as I composed this I came across a man in mandals that actually did not offend. I know, my chickens, I'm as shocked as you. But look;

See how if you just take a moment you can find shoes that are functional and yet not offensive to the eye? Shoes that both breathe and cover your hairy monkey toes? Shoes that say "I may be a manager, but dammit, I'm sporty!" with out saying "My wife is at her sister's this week and I dressed myself because I'm a Big Boy!"?

She may be trying, but that doesn't make it okay

Lovies, what have I said? JUST BECAUSE YOU CANGET IT ON, DOESN’T MEAN IN FITS.

While I appreciate that she can cram herself into the romper that she wore to her fifth birthday and while I do in fact love her black peep toe pumps, I must strongly condemn the pairing.

Fist off, jump suits (or “poopy suits” as we call them around the academy) are only acceptable attire for two people; garbage men and mechanics. Notice that neither of those people are seventeen year old girls at the movie on a date with a boy wearing basketball shorts and a sideways baseball cap.

Not to mention that this particular jump suit is a disaster. Buckled halter neck? Weirdly puckered pockets? Empire height drawstring waist? I’m only shocked that it didn’t also have a cuffed hem.

This dear misguided girl could have rocked this look if only she’d traded the romper for a denim skirt.

- Mistress Kiki

Back fat is not your friend

Love bugs, can we chat?  Here's the deal; all y'all Big Girls are going to make me cry.

I know how hard it is to look fashionable at 118*, believe me. I know too, how hard it is to find trendy clothes in something other than an extra small. But, Poodle, that doesn't make this okay.

There are times, I'm sure when you put on a shirt and look in the mirror and see that you look like a swollen tube of Life Savers and think "damn! I look HOT". I would HOPE that time would only be when you are high. Or drunk. Or possibly experiencing some kind of psychotic break. Like when Tommy Gavin see's Dead People. Because, there is no excuse for this! 

Neither, my dear students is there an excuse for this;

For real. That is in fact back fat escaping from her shirt.  We can only pray to Oprah that the shirts she's scoping out have sleeves. And maybe she can buy one for her friend

I think this crisis has reached an epidemic proportion. In fact, so widespread is the flagrant abuse of sleevelessness that I'm invoking our first dress code rule;

1. No Tube Tops. Ever.

His eyes are following me....

I wasn't able to get a photo of this offender for several reasons.  Mostly because I was mesmerized and held powerless by the beatific smile of football player Brady Quinn until the teenage boy wearing the shirt had passed me by.

I wanted to warn others about it's nefarious powers, so I googled to find out who was selling this monstrosity of a t-shirt.  The blame lies with the Pro Football Hall of Fame site apparently. 

Everyone repeat today's lesson after me: "Air-brushed photos of sports stars are neither manly nor good fashion"