Spring Showers

About ten days ago, the sun was shining and it was warm. I took stock of my spring wardrobe and decided that I was missing two crucial pieces of spring equipment. First, I needed a trench coat. No, I'm not planning a new career in flashing unsuspecting passers-by (passer-bys? passer-bies?). Instead, I've learned that the downtown area of Big City is a giant wind-tunnel. On rainy days, this means that an umbrella is completely useless. Even Rihanna's magic um-ber-el-la-a-a-a-a couldn't keep you dry on rainy days downtown.


So, I took myself shopping - and met with some success. I returned home with a classic trench, updated for today's spring shopper. OK, yes, I had my choice of the newest spring colors, including ice blue, mint green, Peptobismol pink, and some cheerful prints. I considered those choices, but none could out-shout my mother's voice in my head: "You'll get a lot more use out of khaki, won't you?" Bowing to internal pressure, I chose the classic khaki trench, hoping against hope that I wouldn't look too much like Inspector Gadget.


Now, I was all set - though I'll admit that I hoped I wouldn't need my new trench and umbrella. I don't like rainy days, especially when I'm downtown and especially when I have to teach. Rain makes my hair do strange and wonderous things - and not in a good way. And, the addition of an um-ber-el-la-a-a-a-a exponentially complicates the delicate balancing act I perform, looking more like a pack mule than a professor as I shuffle between classes.



But - as luck would have it, the gods knew that I got a new trench and voila - Rain! Rain, rain, rain, rain, rain. Rain for the past 5 days. For those unfamiliar with the concept, here's a picture. Wet ground, gray skies, mud, etc. I understand there's flooding in the nearby surrounds. My apartment sits high upon a hill, on the 3rd floor, so I'm safe from rising waters. All I need to do is close my windows and doors and I can no longer hear the cries of my wet and soggy neighbors. Today, we've been treated to the cacophony of thunder and streaks of lightening (in the opposite order, of course.)



While I recognize that we need the rain, and while I recognize that I may have contributed to the rain when I bought a raincoat, and if it's not going to start raining men, I'd humbly like to ask for a chance to enjoy my other spring purchase:

I'm also looking forward to clear skies, when we can all enjoy the newly green landscape.

Interview Fashion

On Thursday, I'll ring in the New Year by flying to the Big Apple for the Annual Historians' Hootenanny. I often call it by its other name, but that name isn't suitable for mixed company, so I won't use it here. Let's just say it begins with "cluster." I wasn't planning to gather this year, but two schools took a shine to my application materials and want to meet me face-to-face - which means I need to look presentable. No conference call in my pajamas. Rats.

After I'd sufficiently recovered from the holidays, I scoured my closet for appropriate interview attire. Last year, I bought a very serviceable black dress (I learned the concept of "serviceable" from my grandmother. I think it means "something you can wear everyday until you're buried in it." Anyway, this black dress was great - a basic sheath. It fit like a glove.

That was then - when I was stressed out about dissertations, teaching, and any number of other things. That was then - when I was working out regularly. That was then - when I wasn't eating a steady diet of pasta and chocolate. That was then - before I turned 40. This is now. Now, the perfect black dress fits like sausage casing.

Now, I need a new interview outfit. I had a couple of options already in my closet. There was the ultra-boring wool pants, black jacket, blue blouse ensemble. No, my legs aren't that short. After some consideration, I decided that even on my most enthusiastic, bubbly days, I still wouldn't be able to cheer up this outfit. I would be, "That girl in the Confederate uniform," when the interviewers returned home and reflected on their interviews. I'm proud to be southern, but I didn't want to be THAT southern. So, back to the closet.

I found my brown knit dress. It's cute and fits well, successfully camouflaging my new "curves" and cleverly stretching to make room for things that don't fit in the sheath anymore. It's much more attractive on me than it appears on this hanger. So, I settled on the dress. Now, I just needed shoes and a jacket. How hard could that be?

Determined to meet with success, my friend and I mounted our trusty steeds and headed into the shopping wilderness. A jacket and a pair of boots were our quarry. We crawled through the underbrush, leaving no stone unturned. We looked in several forests, but other small-footed and petite hunters had already been through, taking the best trophies and leaving little behind. Undaunted, we pushed on.

Finally, we spotted our quarry, cleverly concealing itself among much cheaper items on the sales rack. Before long, I had my jacket. It's more of a sweater/jacket, but it was on sale and it would match the dress. We tagged it, bagged it, and moved on. The boots proved to be more elusive, but at last, we met with success. Leather boots, dark brown, low heel, on sale - perfect. Tagged 'em, bagged 'em, brought 'em home. Decided to let the purchases ride in the vehicle, rather than tying them to the outside.

When I got home, I put the entire ensemble together. The dress and sweater/jacket looked a bit "Maria Von Trapp" in "The Sound of Music," but don't care. I'd rather be Maria than Johnny Reb. I tried the boots, and alas, they didn't work. They were too casual, too bulky, just wrong. Rats.

So, I went to my local mall and bought a different pair of brown boots. They're not ideal, but they're an improvement and they were cheaper.

I'll return the other boots and call it quits. For a brief moment this afternoon, I thought about buying an interview suit. Then I thought, "It's not like I'm applying for a job in high finance. If I can achieve 'frumpy chic,' I should be OK. At least I'll look better than all those youngsters in their ill-fitting, conservative, boring, dull suits. They'll all look like they robbed their parents' closets and I'll look somewhat stylish." That's my story and I'm sticking to it - unless I get really stressed out about this and go shopping for a suit.

More School Readiness

Yesterday, I became a real person at Big City University. I successfully used my parking tag to get into the faculty deck, I got my computer and successfully checked email, I found the key to my office, and I turned in some reading to the Reserves Desk at the Library. Ain't no stopping me now.

This morning, I continued my streak of good fortune by figuring out the university's WebCT system, on my home computer no less. Really ain't no stopping me now. I successfully posted my syllabus, thus saving my time, energy, and a bunch of trees. Unlike other faculty members, I will not be queuing up at the department copier and then shlepping across campus with hundreds of copies of my syllabus so students can lose them within the first week. Nope. Today's students are computer savvy. If I post it, they will come - or they will fail.

With that task done, I turned my attention to my wardrobe. Anxiety manifests itself in mysterious ways. I felt compelled to conduct a more thorough survey of my closet to verify that I do, in fact, have clothes that I can wear to work. I felt further compelled to confirm this hypothesis through empirical study. I am a researcher (and a dork), after all. Here's what I learned:

Yes, I do have appropriate teaching attire. And, because this is the South, I really only need clothes for three seasons. As I surveyed my choices, I judged that overall, my wardrobe is not totally frumpy, but could be much cuter. I've seen much more stylish options in all the stores. I've tried them on and been happy with the results. However, because I'm quickly developing old lady feet, I'm forced to wear the following, or some variation on this theme:

Totally frumpy? I don't think so. The pinnacle of shoe fashion? Decidedly not. It's not that I don't own cute shoes. In fact, I do. Lots of them. Shoes that scream, "Your professor is not a dork." Shoes that magically lengthen and slim my short little legs. Shoes that show off my teeny little feet. But, alas, these are also the shoes with a "standing time" limit. The same shoes that make my feet cry if I stand in them all day. It's really hard to look cute and sylish when every step is a new experience in pain. Gone are the days when I'm willing to put up with utter agony on the off chance that someone might notice how well my little torture devices coordinate with my sylish outfit. Maybe if someone was paying me thousands of dollars to wear their shoes, I'd reconsider. Since no one is stepping forward (pun intended), I'll march forward in my comfort shoes.

Who knows, maybe one day, I'll just give up entirely and go with these:

Or these:

(As an aside: I'm pretty sure my neighbors think I'm insane. Imagine looking across your apartment complex and seeing a woman arranging all of her clothes on her bed, then grabbing her camera and snapping pictures. I crouched down to snap pictures of the shoes, otherwise they'd think I was really nuts.)

Spring Shopping

Temperatures have surpassed the 70 degree mark, everything is covered in yellow dust, and I turned on the air conditioning when the temperature in my apartment hit 80 yesterday. Spring has officially arrived in the southland. To celebrate, I decided to go shopping. I've just returned and I have nothing good to report.

The pattern this spring is big and bold. Sorry - BIG AND BOLD! The bigger, the better. BIG bright flowers, BIG abstract prints, BIG tie-dye washes. BIG! And BOLD! Here's the thing - I know very few women who want to wear BIG BOLD PATTERNS. I know even fewer women who should wear BIG BOLD PATTERNS. I didn't see anything that I wanted to own, and I don't think it's a result of my generally conservative clothing taste. As a smallish person, I get completely lost in these clothes. Literally. Can't see me at all. I look like I was swallowed by a huge bouquet of really ugly flowers, or Jackson Pollock came back just to wrap me in one of his canvasses.

To make matters worse, clothing designers have completely forgotten how to construct a waistband. You know, that strip of fabric that used to define your waist. Maybe you'll know what I'm talking about if I mention that it's now used to define the line right below your breasts. That's not where my waist is, and that's not a part of my body that I'm in a hurry to draw attention to. "Hey, look, isn't the line right under my breasts really attractive?" I know that it's supposed to enhance my bust. Doesn't work for me. Instead, I just look pregnant as the fabric blossoms out from my bustline, never touching skin again. I must admit that clothing designers have accomplished the impossible - they've taken my size 2 frame and made me look fat. Thanks. Can I have a belt now?

Now, on to the cropped sweater/jacket trend. Call it what you like, but the "tent draped on my shoulders" look just doesn't work. Again, I look pregnant. I want to look sleek and chic, not like a trapezoid. And what's with all the BIG buttons? As if the proportion and color of the jacket weren't enough to draw attention to myself, I've got buttons big enough to pick up satellite TV. And, can I please have full-length sleeves? A 3/4 length sleeve is as useful as a sleeveless turtleneck.

My most disappointing moments came when I realized that I looked better from behind than from the front. This happened twice. That's when I gave up.

But not before I tried to find shoes. I've become very intolerant of uncomfortable shoes. This means that I'm now shopping in the "uncute shoes" sections of shoe stores and I don't care. However, I have a business meeting coming up in a few weeks and I need business shoes. Business shoes that can take me through an airport and back and forth from the hotel. I'm looking for the impossible. Still, I search on. Today, I tried on a pair of wedge-heel sandals. They were cute enough, but I discovered that I have very slippery feet. Like kids sledding down a hill, my feet kept sliding down the heel until my toes were hanging over the end of the shoe. Apparently, I need closed toes shoes, to insure that I don't slide right out the front of my sandals.

So, to sum up, I'm too small for Spring fashions and my feet are too slippery. Happy Spring!