The Tankini-Garment or Cocktail?

"I got excited about the "tankini" until I realized it's not a drink"...... Maxine (© Hallmark Cards)

Ya gotta love Maxine....the all around, in your face, put it in perspective, crab-ass, love me or bite me, tell it like it is, Hallmark card guru! Who doesn't search out Maxine for a pick me up or a little "less than sage" advice just when we need it? I know I do. And God bless my friends for sending me a Maxine "maxim" at the most perfect times. When I was searching for a topic today, all I had to do was look through my old emails from my closest girlfriends and from each of them, yes each of them, there was a Maxine quote. I love you ladies!

It's June, and to me summer is almost over. It goes by so fast that I can hardly get everything in. There are steak fry's, graduation parties, camping trips, happy hours on the patio...I'm teaching a college course and I even signed up for a motorcycle class in July. And there's the much anticipated 50th birthday cruise. Yep 50!!!! and I'm not ashamed. I'm looking good. And even though I can't be sure that the look of shock and awe on some faces isn't feigned, I'll take what I can get. The gasp, follwed by..."girl, you don't look anywhere near 50" sounds as true as if it came from "the burning bush" on two tablets. and lie or not, this year, I'm taking it to heart. Why not, I don't feel 50, so why should I look 50? The "Lifestyle Lift" is years away, I don't need it...yet. As Maxine would say, "I'd never be young again.....unless it somehow became possible".

At this point, I'm working my fanny off to lose ten more pounds. My main goal is to wear a bikini on the cruise. I have until August and me, Weight Watchers and the Powerhouse Gym have teamed up in a frantic effort to get there. I've seen many a 50 year old in a bikini, some obviously have no friends at all, let alone a best friend, but these days, more often than not, these 50 year olds ain't got nuthin' to be ashamed of. Now, some of them have stretch marks that will make you weep, but hey, they are lines marking the roads traveled, in my eyes. So, booo-yah! In the alternative, there is the profoundly accomodating "tankini", the marraige between the bikini and the tank-top. Say what you will, but if you're brave, you can even show a bit of belly while camouflaging the oh, so stubborn remnants of the dreaded love-handle. I fully intend on showing off both my belly AND my belly ring (well, when I get one).

Now, here's the rub. How do I maneuver that? Remember the rules?! I can't buy anything and I can't accept gift cards but I can accept gifts. My serious "tight-girl", sounding board and life coach, Jody, a lawyer, knows a loop-hole when she sees one and swiftly set out a plan. This is a woman who lives by the rule, "if the shoe fits, buy it in every color". So, we are going shopping. I haven't set foot in a store that sells clothes (besides Wal-Mart) in six months. I'm getting the shakes just thinking about it. And all of my friends are pitching in to buy my gift. Now those are "best friends". They are shopping fiends and would be happy to let me live vicariously through them, if you can call it that, when I'm the recipient. But you know what I mean. I'm so excited. And boy do I need a good shopping trip. I don't think I can be disqualified for that. If so, you can take it up with my lawyer.

My close friends know this month has been busy and hectic for me and I am stressing. They are there. All around me, reaching towards me with their credit cards stretched out in one hand and the other reaching to the sky in prayer and hopes of strength and triumph. But they are pushing me to get what I need done, so I can relax and do what we do best...drink and talk lots of crap. So, they're not letting me give up, pound-wise or motivation-wise. According to another of my tight-girls emails, one of the ten rules to live by is, "when life gets you down - just put on your big girl panties and deal with it". So, if it's big girl panties or a "tankini" instead of a bikini.....I gotta deal with it. And I'm pretty okay with that rule.

To my sister, all of my sister friends, everyone I love and everyone who loves me, you are all awesome. Now, post a real recipe for a "tankini".....Remember, I'm a vodka drinker. You can use Splenda :)

So, I broke Rule #4

So I broke Rule #4...sue me. I bought new shoes. I needed to step it up a bit. Literally. And I'm about a week late in posting, I know that too. But that's why I bought the shoes. Talk about being in a funk. My funk was the funkiest. Funkadelic funky. I think I might have been depressed. Me, depressed? Say it isn't so. But yes. I could hardly move. For a few weeks, I was just working and sitting at home watching reruns of "The Game". I just couldn't get motivated to do anything meaningful after work. What does that have to do with breaking Rule#4?

Well, just between you and me, I am turning 50 this year. Yeah, yeah, I heard, "50 is the new 30"...only to the 30 year olds who wear a perfect size 8. But to us 50 year olds, 50 is just freekin 50. Sometimes I'm hot, sometimes I'm cold, sometimes I"m an angel, sometimes I'm a grizzly bear, sometimes I can remember what someone said 20 years ago but not where I put my keys 20 minutes ago, sometimes I get on the scale and it's complimentary and the next day it jeers at me...That's 50...not 30!!! So, all year long, I've been laboring under the delusion that I've been looking awesome with my daily 30 minute treadmill trod and my low-carb, no beer diet (and you know how I love my beer). I was delusional. But my scale hasn't moved one nanometer in a year. I am despondent. And my feet hurt. Why wouldn't they?

I've been running or threatening to run in the same shoes for four years. About the time when I first struck out this decade, on what has turned into a never-ending effort to finish a 5k, and not be the last one to cross the finish line...even after the walkers. I and the "just in case" and "we don't want to get sued" ambulance driver they station at the end of one annual race, have become peculiar friends. His front bumper symbolically nudges me along ever so slightly and he turns on the siren when I'm done. I love him and I hate him and I think he feels the same. "Lady, either keel over or pick up the pace!!!"

I thought by now I'd be pinning and sewing up more of my old clothes to fit that I am. And while they are getting a bit looser, I'm still in the same double-digit dress size. Did I say....despondent. And I've only got a few more months til my birthday cruise. So, I have to pick up the pace. I bought new running shoes. New Balance 460 All Terrain running shoes, to be exact. On sale! And what a rush. I was buying something. Anything besides, protein shakes, yogurt and pantyhose.

It was so thrilling to go into Sears and try on a pair of shoes. And the sales rack was brimming with bright shiny new running shoes in just about every color. To lower the intensity of the shopping buzz, I just picked the cheapest pair that fit the best. But they were NEW and I wanted to wear them home like I used to do when I was little. I'm still that little girl walking hand in hand with my mom out to the car in my new shoes...the old ones stuffed dismissively in the new box. But there was no lady to ask me if I'd like to wear them home and I'm almost 50, right? But oh, that feeling. I must have really been "jonesin". 

The good thing about breaking rules is that it can always be justified, at least in ones own mind, and in my mind, I think Rule #4 can be modified. Shoes for fashion are different from shoes for living. And I do mean living. According to a Brigham and Women's Hospital 8 year long study of women, out of the 115,886 American women age 30 to 55 in the study group, there were 605 cases of some type of heart disease or heart attack, including 83 deaths. Being even mildly overweight can increase heart attack risk dramatically, perhaps more than in men. So, I just ain't goin' out like that, at least not so soon. I'm gonna lose these last 20 lbs and wear a bikini too. Remember: I can accept garments, not gift cards as birthday gifts. We all know how to prevent a heart attack, exercising and eating right are among the most prominent preventative measures. But check out the American Heart Association's, "Go Red for Women" campaign website, it's a great resource, http://www.goredforwomen.org/

Now don't get me wrong, those New Balance 460 All Terrain running shoes didn't get sprinkled with magic dust and they don't have wings. So I have to get my sorry butt outside and over to the gym at least 5 days per week and walk/run at a brisk pace for 3 miles. I'm not gonna let myself fail at mile marker 1 at my next 5k. I'm gonna stay out of the office snacks and not lose my mind at the sight of a plate of french fries. I've eaten lots of good stuff in my life and I will eat lots more in the future, so I'm not missing out, just delaying my gratification. That's my goal.

You can set whatever goal you like. Dance, do zumba, step aerobics, bicycling, whatever blows your hair back, but move it sister. There's a lot of living to do at any age. And there's a lot of living to do after 50. It might not be the new 30 but I want to test whether 70 is the new 50. So, I broke Rule #4.

What is hip? Skinny Jeans?

What is hip? Tell me Tell me, if you think you know...?

Remember that song? Tower of Power? That was the jam. Catchy beat, straight-up righteous lyrics.It was in the language of my older cousins...solid. And my favorite verse...

So ya wanna dump out yo' trick bag.
Ease on in a hip thang,
But you ain't exactly sure what is hip.
So you started to let your hair grow.
Spent big bucks on your wardrobe.
Somehow, ya know there's much more to the trip.

That's me. Big bucks on a wardrobe. Well, probably not Paris Hilton bucks but middle income, house note, car note, still paying the last remnants of my student loan but never hesitates to reward herself for her hard work on pay day, bucks. But since I've been on my shopping hiatus, I've been perpetually looking through my full-length rear view mirror and watching re-runs of my pursuit of present day "hip-ness".

I was at a "night club" recently, getting my line-dance on with my girl friends and as 40-something (maybe even 30-something's too) are want to do, I watched what the younger women were wearing. I particularly watched them for their confidence and their utter contempt and disregard for concerns over body type. But then I wondered, when did the world abandon boot cut, for booty-poppin' skinny jeans?

Is that the new "hip thang"? From every direction, there was a different interpretation of the skinny jeans, stuffed in boots from the north, scrunched against 4-1/2 inch platform heels to the south, from east they were stretched to over plus-sized derriers and from west "end" they were stretched and cuffed over peep toe suede boots. I was reminded of.....LEGGINGS! Yes, that throw back, the skin-tightening, all-purpose staple made from every material from nylon to cotton to suede. Back again in denim.

I waxed nostagic. Back to the turn of the twentieth century. There I was, some twenty some odd years ago sitting in a place, not much different from where I was, listenening to music that was not much different than what it was then, too, loud, monotonous and full of words I couldn't understand and cared not to repeat. I remembered whispering to one of my fellow ultra cool, skinny, too sophisticated for this place but without much better to do, law school girlfriends, "Girl, look at that, just cuz they make it in your size, don't mean you have to buy it". I didn't like leggings then and I like their new millineum skinny jeans cousin, even less.

Now decades later, I am not that skinny girl anymore. Suffice it to say, like many of my 40-something sisters, I am on a diet and my "badonkadonk" is losing a donk every so often. So I wondered. Would I have bought a pair of those at 40 something now? Come to think of it, though nobody really seems to look particularly unflattering in those jeans. Nowadays, women are embracing their full-figures, their flaws, their muffin-tops, their age. They're pulling on belts and making waistlines where they can and whenever they want to and dropping it like it's hot, size 6 to 16...and beyond.

I like to think I wouldn't, because I gave up shopping but more to the point, "ya know there's much more to the trip". I have plenty in my closet to make me look good. I even came across a pair of the straightest, almost (but proudly not) leggings I've ever had in my closet. Way in the back, they are grey and kinda stretchy I think, but not nylon and I wore them out with my husband a few weeks ago and some lady said I looked HOT...giggle.

I admire all of these young women celebrating their groove-thangs.They can buy into whatever trend they want. There's time enough. I know. Some trends come back and others, like the shoulder pads stay away. That's the beauty of being young. I'm just happy to still be putting the word "groove" in something.

These days, I'm okay with just watching and remembering. Fashions back in the day were great, even leggings, bell-bottoms, platforms and granny dresses... and they all came back. New fashions that age, will always come back. By the way, the big butt is the new bustle, ya know.

I made it this far and I'm having a great time here, playing in the closet of my memory and the overstuffed closet in my bedroom. Yeah, I'm hip. Still am, always was. And I know for sure, there's way more to the trip.

The Fool In Me

"I must learn to love the fool in me...the one who feels too much, talks too much, takes too many chances, wins sometimes and loses often, lacks self-control, loves and hates, hurts and gets hurt, promises and breaks promises, laughs and cries. It alone protects me against that utterly self-controlled, masterful tyrant whom I also harbor and who would rob me of human aliveness, humility and dignity but for my fool. "....Theodore I. Rubin MD

There it is, my last new outfit. I bought it during Christmas shopping. Come on, now. That's the rule...a little something for you and a little something for me. Plus it was on sale. By the way, those of you who completed the poll last month will probably not be surprised to find that sales were the main reason for clothing purchases. Unscientific though it may be with all of it's 10 participants, the poll says a lot about why I shop and probably many others. Everyone loves a sale. 

I thought and thought this month about what pearls of wisdom I would bestow on my sisters struggling with self-control. And I kept coming up short...I have extra money though, I'll say that proudly. But I was scrounging around on Facebook and I found a wonderful quote from my sister's page. It's not her quote but she loved it enough to share it. It is a quote by Dr. Theodore Rubin and it spoke to "the fool in me". I love that girl who loves a good sale, who revels in the thought of martini's and drunk shoe shopping (where I talk too loud and laugh too loud and probably tell somebody's business that shouldn't have been told), who can't wait to promise herself that "next week", she'll have no more beer, cookies, buy no more shoes. And then promptly forgives herself for her indiscretions. I've been forgiving myself for the better part of a year which is why I've been stuck at the same 20lb weight loss for 7 months....Seriously??

So, I am looking for ways to love that girl while pushing back that "masterful tyrant". How do I feed that girl's lust for something shiny and new? How do I make her laugh without shopping? How do I let her take some chances? I get creative! I let my good friend Tyra talk me into grabbing a bottle (or two) of wine and letting her and her sister, the organizer, dig through my closet to create "coordinates". You've seen it, right? I have yet to invite her over but I'm sold on the idea, once I get over my embarrasment. But that's an idea who's time just might have come. I hear there is a Reality TV cottage industry surrounding it. In the meantime, I've turned that little two piece long jacket and dress outfit in the picture into a half-dozen more.

My shiny and new comes in the form of refurbished shoes. Everything old is new again. I've come to realize that that my shoes are and have always been decidedly fabulous. Even the ones with the heels that are worn down to the nail and are living in a plastic bag with all the other nails. I was convinced that one of my legs was shorter that the other because it was always just one shoe. But really, how can and why would you walk from the parking lot into work in your good shoes? And why did it take me 5 years to figure that out?

My epiphany....parking lot shoes and work shoes, duh?! I've also discovered that shoe repair is a dying art. But cobblers do still exist. Think, when was the last time you actually sought out a "cobbler"? Would you know where one is? And how far do you have to drive to get to one? Well, I found him. My new BFF, fifteen minutes away. A sweet little elfen looking man with a beautifully thick, fantastical Italian accent, hands covered in black shoe polish and a head of curly gray hair. Remember the story of "The Cobbler and the Elves", who's craft did not make enough money for him and his wife to live on? Well, you remember, long story short, it all worked out;

They cut. Snip, snippity, snip. Snip, snippity, snip.

They sewed. In and out. In and out. In and out. In and out.

They nailed. Tap, tappity, tap. Tap, tappity, tap.

I took a chance. For new heel taps, polish, new glue for the soles, at nine dollars per pair, I laughed at my shiny new shoes. I'm rocking two "new" pairs of boots and a 4 year old pair of Ralph Lauren, black pumps. Not to mention, a host of long shirts that only boots could give their just due.

So, thats what my fool's been doing, smiling and laughing and rocking her shoes and old skirts. Running frightfully away from the "masterful tyrant". I still get to spend a few dollars for something that warms my soul and makes me talk loud. I am human and excitable and somewhat in control and I look damned good. And that's for me. Now this week, I promise to get back to the gym....I promise?

P.S. Help out a cobbler this month!

 

Tho one who went to South Africa.

Well, it's February, 2011.....I've broken Rule #3 (the one about not buying any item of clothing as a gift for anyone else). But I had a good excuse. I just got back from South Africa. Frekkin' South Africa!!! And I'll tell you what...I didn't buy one single item of new clothing to wear there. I spent two weeks wearing "old" summer clothes. I think I looked awesome. I lost a few pounds last year so I could fit in things most comfortably. I washed. AND ironed. This isn't turning out so badly after all. We stayed at a Holiday Inn for the last week, adjacent to a mall. I was....dare I say, bored with all the shops. I spent my money on every African beer I could find (we'll tackle that addiction in another blog).

So, that brings me to my most heinous crime, rule #3. Now, you must know that my mother is very proud of me, even with my tenuous bank relationship. She says, "don't be running off to Paris and London until you set your feet down home"! Never having left the continent, she is ever more proud that I did. So proud that every resident in her little old lady building was aware of my trip. I can imagine her conversations going something like this; "Hi Claudia", Oh. hi. What are you doing today? Oh nothing. Waiting for my daughter, the one who's going to South Africa, to call. Oh, okay bye." Or...."So, Claudia, where have you been? Oh, I've been out to my daughters house, the one who's going to South Africa."

As a result, I have received orders for "one of those beautiful dresses you are bringing Claudia from South Africa".  Well, how do you refuse? So, I am back, loaded down with wine (South Africa has the most wonderful wineries), key chains, pictures and several of those beautiful dresses from South Africa. Shall I be penalized for that or shouldn't there be a special dispensation for once in a lifetime gifts for little old ladies?

I am standing in front of the Oprah Winfrey school in Henley, South Africa, just outside of Johannesburg. Here is where I proudly display an outfit that is at least three years old. The girls inside wear uniforms. That's it! Everyday, even when they visit home. They have nothing. Most of them come from the townships where poverty is an understatement. Who am I to worry about a new outfit? I'm getting a new outlook!

Why I Will Not Shop For One Year

I have two addictions; beer and shopping. A 6pk of my favorite beer cost me an extra $37.00 in overdraft fees once. That I could live with because that is rare. It's the clothes that have brought me to my bottom. When you think of being overdrawn, you think of those people who live paycheck to paycheck with menial jobs and minimal resources and high debt. I am neither or those. I am educated and make a sizeable income and minimal debt. I have several accounts with monies squirreled away and allocated according to the latest self-help, get rich guru's instruction book in my arsenal of money management tools. So why can't I keep my "mad money" account solvent?

Never-the-less, for the week of this last Christmas I found myself moving and shaking, transferring funds from account to account, analyzing credits and debits online with the skill of a Wall Street banker. Well, obviously not. It was to no avail. Why didn't I know that Christmas was coming? Where did that money go? I'm just so tired of wondering? That's just dumb because I know where it is. It's in my closet. The closet from which my husband has divorced me almost ten years ago.

I'm ashamed to admit that there are many items in my closet that I've worn once, once. You might spot one of them in the pile... on the floor. And many more items that I've never worn at all. My closet is a monument to laziness and excess. There are designer handbags, among them, Kate Spade, Coach and Prada, scarves, ugly Christmas sweaters, bridesmaids dresses, New Years Eve and Valentines Day gowns (in varying sizes), robes, sweatshirts, jeans (in varying sizes), sexy club-hopping outfits (also in varying sizes) and at last count, well over 150 pairs of shoes, boots and sandals. And while it all just sits there on/off hangers, on the floor, hanging over shelves and out of hampers, it is starting to have a effect on both my self-esteem and my wallet. I wonder what I'd save in my "mad money" account if I stopped.

With all due respect to my fairer skinned shop (beer) aholics, no proud, educated, self-respecting, African-American sista' in this day and in this economy, should be demanding that a bank teller explain the insane mathematics of overdraft fees, while also exercising the futility of begging her to take at least something off. We are well beyond that. I am unapologetic about that and my comments end there. Black, white blue, green or purple, I am 50 and enough is enough.

Here are my 5 reasons for not shopping this year 
1) Grow up and just stop it. Haven't you learned how to coordinate an outfit yet?
2) Save some money. Everything your friend has shouldn't be yours too.
3) Does shopping really mean shopping? Or does it mean drinks and appetizers after work which leads to drunk shopping, which in my opinion is worse than drunk dialing? There are many other forms of entertainment, and dare I say, emotional fulfillment.
4) There really is no "new" or "in" fashion. There is only what is neat, professional and appropriate for the occasion. Think, have those boots and jeans you've worn for the last 3 years been deemed passe'...for anything? At anytime?
5) I KNOW, this year will fly by and the money will be there or at least much better spent. And I will be stronger for it.

The Rules
1) I can accept gifts of clothing for legitimate occasions only. No gift cards.
2) I can shop for hosiery and undergarments (including "foundation" garments).
3) I cannot purchase an item of clothing for anyone else as a gift or gratuity.
4) Clothing shall include all accessories, shoes and handbags (with the exception of sunglasses or luggage)
5) I may sew my own clothing items (like that will ever happen).

We shall see......... Wish me luck!;