This Friday's Top 5 - Fashion trends of the early 90s! I was recently reminiscing about my high school days with a friend and after our conversation I decided I had to catalogue some of the hideous fashion mistakes made by myself and my peers during the high school and early college years. Now my sister, who went to private school, denies that these trends ever existed seeing as she was ensconced in an enclave of WASPish idylity (you too, Lauren and Lindsay!), but for those of us peons forced to attain our education with the unwashed masses, we know they are real.
Note: I find these items all equally horrific so I did not place them in any specific numerical order.
Top Five Fashion Trends - circa 1990
1. Skids pants - These pants are the granddaddy of the current trend of leggings and Uggs. Want to know how it became OK to go to school dressed like you just rolled out of bed? This is how. Skids were pants made in a variety of horrible plaids, usually cotton or flannel, depending on the season. They were baggy, completely shapeless - seriously, rectangular when you laid them out flat - and, lacking buttons or a zipper, closed with the use of a drawstring . Flattering and handy for "pantsing" someone in between classes. They also had the added bonus of a yellow road sign bearing the "Slippery When Wet" logo sewn on the ass, as if your hind quarters didn't look big enough swathed in yards of ill-fitting plaid fabric.
Side bar: I love that the picture in this link is from Merry Go Round - former mecca of cheap, trendy clothing.
2. Baja shirts - Sometime my sophomore year everyone began dressing like homeless men in LA. Baja shirts were made of worn, woven cotton and, again, were completely shapeless. They came in a variety of washed out colors and the most popular one, which I was not allowed to have, bore a Corona logo on the back. First introduced by the Dead Heads in my high school (that's what we suburbanites called the derelicts who smoked pot back then, kiddies, we were the "Just Say No" generation) they quickly became popular with the rest of us posers as we started wearing yin yang earrings and listening to Edie Brickel and the New Bohemians.
3. Biker shorts* - As opposed to the last two trends which did their best to completely obscure the body, these shorts were basically a second skin. They were universal in their elastic appeal which lead to their ubiquity, even on those who should not have been wearing them - they were quite often paired with a fanny pack in the older set. For some unknown reason I, personally, only ever wore them under my field hockey kilt. I chalk this up to my mother most likely threatening me with bodily harm rather than my own good sense as everyone was wearing them, usually under some flowy top or dress.
*Sadly- I could find no link. Frankly, I think the internet is showing mercy in that department.
2. Z Cavarrici pants - Here is where my sister and I differ so completely in our high school experience. These pants were mainly worn by the Guidos in my school. "Wha?", says my sister, whose lily-white, homogenized school had been cleansed of all ethnicity. Not to sound stereotypical, I did marry an Italian after all, but it was, indeed, the boys whose last names that ended with vowels who most often wore these extremely tapered pants. It's rather a compliment to their style, actually, as these were considered more of a dress pant back in the day. They were usually paired with a button down shirt and occasionally a bolo tie. Gelled hair and a heavy application of Drakkar Noir was also a requirement.
1. Tapestry vests - Good Lord. When did it become OK to wear upholstery fabric? Around 1990. I have to confess I owned several of these atrocities, acquired from such fashion outposts as Express and Dress Barn and I usually paired them with a button down from the Gap (remember when Gap actually sold button downs for twenty bucks?). Another item that was totally figure obscuring, these vests had cross-generational appeal. It should be a giant "dork flag" to a teenager when she and her mother are wearing the same clothes and it's the teenager who looks inappropriate.
So there it is. Thankfully, I couldn't find any photographic evidence of myself actually sporting some of these gems, but I cringe at the mere memory of wearing them. I'm sure I will look back on some of the things I wear now and be equally embarassed - pointy shoes? low-rise pants? - but nothing compares to the fashion choices you made as a teenager. Unless, it's the hair, but that's a story for another day.
Friday, March 7, 2008
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Hello, Sybil
The Terrible Two's - the supposedly horrible time in a child's development when they become impossible to manage. Your once angelic child becomes willful, defiant and makes you seriously consider the cost/benefit of selling your offspring into white slavery. Imagine the smug look on my face as I watched my peers struggle with their ill-behaved brats while my daughter continued to be her sweet, placid self. Imagine that look being smacked off my face by the karmic gods as she turned the corner into what I like to call The Theatrical Three's.
Apparently, my more experienced mom friends were already aware that for some kids, most of them girls, coincidentally, it's the year between turning three and turning four that is truly parenting boot camp. So here I am with daughter #2. I now spend my days with a being so mercurial I begin to question my own sanity. Even though I have been through this once before with #1 I am still at my wits end. It's like dealing with a schizophrenic who won't take her meds. Let me give you an example of our daily interactions.
ME: What would you like for lunch?
#2: No lunch. Goldfish.
ME: It's time for lunch and Goldfish aren't lunch food. We can have them for a snack later.
#2: NOOOOO!
ME: If you talk back again you'll sit in your chair. Now what do you want for lunch? A peanut butter sandwich or peanut butter crackers ( Triscuits with PB on them)?
#2: A pumpkin sandwich.
This requires the pumpkin cookie cutter I used to make sandwiches during Halloween which has now been put away with the holiday stuff since I don't run a damn bakery. I grit my teeth preparing for battle and attempt a bait and switch.
ME: It's almost Easter, how about a bunny sandwich?
#2: No. Pumkpin.
ME: We put the pumpkin away, lets' use a new shape.
#2: NOOOO! (Now with tears for added drama)
ME: You have two choices, the bunny or the flower, you pick or I pick.
#2: (sniffling) The bunny.
I carefully cut out the bunny making sure no trace of crust is left lest I enrage the beast again. I place the sandwich in front of her on her favorite Nemo plate. She takes one look at my offering, bursts in to tears, wailing:
#2 :"I wanted peanut butter crackers!"
I swear to you, I am not making this up. What I neglected to mention is that all the while this is going on my older one is impatiently asking for juice and the baby is screaming in the high chair for his lunch swatting his arms and scattering Cheerios everywhere much to the dog's delight. This is why I have aged ten years in the last six months. I spend my whole day trying to be patient and nurturing when really I want to scream, "Are you friggin' kidding me?" Is it any wonder when my husband comments, "I'm not really feeling Mexican" on Friday night I scream back, "Well then what do you want?" Ask my older daughter where Mommy is going to end up and she'll tell you - The Loony Bin. Ask her what that is and she'll explain, "A place where mommies go to rest, read books, watch movies and drink wine." And they definitely do not serve peanut butter sandwiches.
Apparently, my more experienced mom friends were already aware that for some kids, most of them girls, coincidentally, it's the year between turning three and turning four that is truly parenting boot camp. So here I am with daughter #2. I now spend my days with a being so mercurial I begin to question my own sanity. Even though I have been through this once before with #1 I am still at my wits end. It's like dealing with a schizophrenic who won't take her meds. Let me give you an example of our daily interactions.
ME: What would you like for lunch?
#2: No lunch. Goldfish.
ME: It's time for lunch and Goldfish aren't lunch food. We can have them for a snack later.
#2: NOOOOO!
ME: If you talk back again you'll sit in your chair. Now what do you want for lunch? A peanut butter sandwich or peanut butter crackers ( Triscuits with PB on them)?
#2: A pumpkin sandwich.
This requires the pumpkin cookie cutter I used to make sandwiches during Halloween which has now been put away with the holiday stuff since I don't run a damn bakery. I grit my teeth preparing for battle and attempt a bait and switch.
ME: It's almost Easter, how about a bunny sandwich?
#2: No. Pumkpin.
ME: We put the pumpkin away, lets' use a new shape.
#2: NOOOO! (Now with tears for added drama)
ME: You have two choices, the bunny or the flower, you pick or I pick.
#2: (sniffling) The bunny.
I carefully cut out the bunny making sure no trace of crust is left lest I enrage the beast again. I place the sandwich in front of her on her favorite Nemo plate. She takes one look at my offering, bursts in to tears, wailing:
#2 :"I wanted peanut butter crackers!"
I swear to you, I am not making this up. What I neglected to mention is that all the while this is going on my older one is impatiently asking for juice and the baby is screaming in the high chair for his lunch swatting his arms and scattering Cheerios everywhere much to the dog's delight. This is why I have aged ten years in the last six months. I spend my whole day trying to be patient and nurturing when really I want to scream, "Are you friggin' kidding me?" Is it any wonder when my husband comments, "I'm not really feeling Mexican" on Friday night I scream back, "Well then what do you want?" Ask my older daughter where Mommy is going to end up and she'll tell you - The Loony Bin. Ask her what that is and she'll explain, "A place where mommies go to rest, read books, watch movies and drink wine." And they definitely do not serve peanut butter sandwiches.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
I, Mary, take you, John...
I'm back! Whew! I think I am sufficiently recovered from my brother in-law's wedding to get back to my regular life. Between all the planning, packing and primping - OK, and drinking - it's taken me three days to get back on my feet.
It was an awesome wedding and, as you will recall, my husband and I are wedding enthusiasts. We love weddings because, as my now-sister in-law commented, it reminds us of our own which was equally as amazing and fun with the added benefit of getting hitched to our best pal. This wedding was no different and we spent the majority of the evening making goo-goo eyes at each other and playing grab-ass while we slow danced. Being intimately involved in this wedding, (I was a bridesmaid and my hubby was the best man) I realized with all the rehearsing and planning what truly is the best part of any wedding - the mistakes. And while this wedding went off relatively glitch-free, I was reminded of all the goofy little things that happened the day we got married that made it memorable - and amazingly the world didn't end. In fact, I remember being oddly calm about most of them and actually laughing at some.
The first of these mishaps was a week in the making. My sister, and maid of honor, was twenty-one at the time, and shall we say, a little unorganized. One week before the wedding she still hadn't had her dress altered and fearing I might do her bodily harm, finally took it to the local dry cleaner to have a simple hem and sleeve alteration done. She picked her dress up the day before the wedding and all was well. Until it was time to get dressed. My bridal party, all eight of them, apparently I thought I was Princess Di, was getting dressed in my suite. I was busily applying eyeliner when I hear, "Oh NO." I look over and my sister is trying to put her dress on - unsuccessfully - for the first time since she picked it up. I look away before I can see the extent of the damage and say to the room at large, "I don't care what's wrong, just please fix it." Apparently, one of the arm holes had been reduced to the diameter of a paper towel roll. My fast-thinking bridal party slit the sleeve under the armpit and used safety pins to hold it together giving my sister instructions to keep her arms down during the church. The pictures are hilarious - she looks completely normal on one side and like the Incredible Hulk on the other.
Then the antique Hudson we rented for hubby and myself arrived and instead of one driver we had two. Well actually, it was the guy's wife. This was the first time he had done this kind of gig - he just had this car and we found him online. He said he'd wear a suit, we said we'd pay him two hundred bucks and we signed on the line. He didn't say his daughter was getting married and his wife wanted to tag along to do some field research. Now, this kind of car has no privacy divider so it was going to be awkward enough ignoring this guy as he drove us, never mind trying to ignore his wife who was wearing a canary yellow pants-suit, by the way. But when he pulled up and asked me, "did I mind?", what was I going to say? "Yeah, I do. Ditch Big Bird on the side of the road and step on it"? Besides, she was so nice and seemed so happy for me I didn't mind her nervous chatter taking my mind of my own nerves on the way to the church. And afterwards, my hubby and I actually had fun with them as people honked and waved at us.
The mass. Oh where do I begin? How about with the fact that my dad guilted me into having a full Catholic mass by tossing out phrases that included the words "rolling" "grave" and "your mother"? This is the same man who I would later come to find out was handing out Tic Tacs to my bridesmaids during communion. I guess he never said he wanted the mass. Also, before I even walked down the aisle hubby's middle brother comes sprinting down the side aisle waving frantically for me to STOP! Apparently, we had forgotten all about the runner which my other two brothers in-law were racing to drag down the aisle like psychotic carpet layers.
Other moments that fall under "Greatest Hits" all pretty much involve the very elderly priest who had just taken the red-eye from Israel to marry us. He married my parents and it meant a lot to us so I am going straight to hell for telling this story. First, my best friend was having an aneurysm about reading the prayer I had written for my mother without falling apart. No worries. He completely forgot about it and didn't see her doing the "Jack in the Box" trying to decide whether to go up and read without being announced or just forget it. She chose the later and I don't blame her. During the exchanging of rings he called my husband by the wrong name and I loudly corrected him. Priest: "John, take this ring." Me: "HUBBY, take this ring." Then, we think we are out of the woods and all that's left is for my sister to read "An Irish Blessing" in honor of my mom and he forgets - again! So I shoot my sister the death stare and whisper "I don't care what he does. You get up there and get on that mike!" So just as he is about to do the whole "announcing for the first time" business my sis shouts in to the mike, "AN IRISH BLESSING!" He gets a confused look on his face and then remembers through the fog of sleep deprivation and senility that this was, indeed, the plan and sits down for a little snooze.
There were also funny moments no one, but us, new about. Me trying to put my husband's ring on the wrong hand, him actively trying to pull his hand away from me, me giving him the death stare, him whispering, "Wrong hand!", me feeling like an idiot. Then the both of us whispering during Eucharist, "How long do you think we have to kneel here?" since we were the first ones served and neglected to go over this detail with Priest McGoo. And, yeah, it was a piece of the BIG wafer - I know you're jealous! It still tasted like crap. Is that bad to say about the body of Christ?
There were other little things that happened, but my point is, mistakes happen at every wedding, no matter how carefully planned. The best story I ever heard was of my own parent's wedding where my mother fell flat on her ass while being introduced at the reception. Sure, she cried out of embarrassment, but my dad picked her up as he did each time she fell until the day she died. That was their first act of marriage and I think it's incredible. The majority of my wedding went off without a hitch, but you know what? I think if it hadn't we still would have enjoyed ourselves. We were too busy being ridiculously, over the moon, elated to be married. Society, in general, promotes this ideal of the perfect wedding and we all buy into it giving ourselves ulcers trying to plan the perfect day. But there is no perfect day and it's the imperfections that, in fact, make the day your own. So enjoy the mistakes, they are the stories you will tell your children. Just make sure someone scuffs your shoes.
It was an awesome wedding and, as you will recall, my husband and I are wedding enthusiasts. We love weddings because, as my now-sister in-law commented, it reminds us of our own which was equally as amazing and fun with the added benefit of getting hitched to our best pal. This wedding was no different and we spent the majority of the evening making goo-goo eyes at each other and playing grab-ass while we slow danced. Being intimately involved in this wedding, (I was a bridesmaid and my hubby was the best man) I realized with all the rehearsing and planning what truly is the best part of any wedding - the mistakes. And while this wedding went off relatively glitch-free, I was reminded of all the goofy little things that happened the day we got married that made it memorable - and amazingly the world didn't end. In fact, I remember being oddly calm about most of them and actually laughing at some.
The first of these mishaps was a week in the making. My sister, and maid of honor, was twenty-one at the time, and shall we say, a little unorganized. One week before the wedding she still hadn't had her dress altered and fearing I might do her bodily harm, finally took it to the local dry cleaner to have a simple hem and sleeve alteration done. She picked her dress up the day before the wedding and all was well. Until it was time to get dressed. My bridal party, all eight of them, apparently I thought I was Princess Di, was getting dressed in my suite. I was busily applying eyeliner when I hear, "Oh NO." I look over and my sister is trying to put her dress on - unsuccessfully - for the first time since she picked it up. I look away before I can see the extent of the damage and say to the room at large, "I don't care what's wrong, just please fix it." Apparently, one of the arm holes had been reduced to the diameter of a paper towel roll. My fast-thinking bridal party slit the sleeve under the armpit and used safety pins to hold it together giving my sister instructions to keep her arms down during the church. The pictures are hilarious - she looks completely normal on one side and like the Incredible Hulk on the other.
Then the antique Hudson we rented for hubby and myself arrived and instead of one driver we had two. Well actually, it was the guy's wife. This was the first time he had done this kind of gig - he just had this car and we found him online. He said he'd wear a suit, we said we'd pay him two hundred bucks and we signed on the line. He didn't say his daughter was getting married and his wife wanted to tag along to do some field research. Now, this kind of car has no privacy divider so it was going to be awkward enough ignoring this guy as he drove us, never mind trying to ignore his wife who was wearing a canary yellow pants-suit, by the way. But when he pulled up and asked me, "did I mind?", what was I going to say? "Yeah, I do. Ditch Big Bird on the side of the road and step on it"? Besides, she was so nice and seemed so happy for me I didn't mind her nervous chatter taking my mind of my own nerves on the way to the church. And afterwards, my hubby and I actually had fun with them as people honked and waved at us.
The mass. Oh where do I begin? How about with the fact that my dad guilted me into having a full Catholic mass by tossing out phrases that included the words "rolling" "grave" and "your mother"? This is the same man who I would later come to find out was handing out Tic Tacs to my bridesmaids during communion. I guess he never said he wanted the mass. Also, before I even walked down the aisle hubby's middle brother comes sprinting down the side aisle waving frantically for me to STOP! Apparently, we had forgotten all about the runner which my other two brothers in-law were racing to drag down the aisle like psychotic carpet layers.
Other moments that fall under "Greatest Hits" all pretty much involve the very elderly priest who had just taken the red-eye from Israel to marry us. He married my parents and it meant a lot to us so I am going straight to hell for telling this story. First, my best friend was having an aneurysm about reading the prayer I had written for my mother without falling apart. No worries. He completely forgot about it and didn't see her doing the "Jack in the Box" trying to decide whether to go up and read without being announced or just forget it. She chose the later and I don't blame her. During the exchanging of rings he called my husband by the wrong name and I loudly corrected him. Priest: "John, take this ring." Me: "HUBBY, take this ring." Then, we think we are out of the woods and all that's left is for my sister to read "An Irish Blessing" in honor of my mom and he forgets - again! So I shoot my sister the death stare and whisper "I don't care what he does. You get up there and get on that mike!" So just as he is about to do the whole "announcing for the first time" business my sis shouts in to the mike, "AN IRISH BLESSING!" He gets a confused look on his face and then remembers through the fog of sleep deprivation and senility that this was, indeed, the plan and sits down for a little snooze.
There were also funny moments no one, but us, new about. Me trying to put my husband's ring on the wrong hand, him actively trying to pull his hand away from me, me giving him the death stare, him whispering, "Wrong hand!", me feeling like an idiot. Then the both of us whispering during Eucharist, "How long do you think we have to kneel here?" since we were the first ones served and neglected to go over this detail with Priest McGoo. And, yeah, it was a piece of the BIG wafer - I know you're jealous! It still tasted like crap. Is that bad to say about the body of Christ?
There were other little things that happened, but my point is, mistakes happen at every wedding, no matter how carefully planned. The best story I ever heard was of my own parent's wedding where my mother fell flat on her ass while being introduced at the reception. Sure, she cried out of embarrassment, but my dad picked her up as he did each time she fell until the day she died. That was their first act of marriage and I think it's incredible. The majority of my wedding went off without a hitch, but you know what? I think if it hadn't we still would have enjoyed ourselves. We were too busy being ridiculously, over the moon, elated to be married. Society, in general, promotes this ideal of the perfect wedding and we all buy into it giving ourselves ulcers trying to plan the perfect day. But there is no perfect day and it's the imperfections that, in fact, make the day your own. So enjoy the mistakes, they are the stories you will tell your children. Just make sure someone scuffs your shoes.
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