my sense of fashion has never been stellar.

i've always been the Cantelope in the Metal Shop of Life.  just completely out of place.  and a bit pale and pasty.  and dimpled.  eww.

allow me to explain.

i've always had a... unique... way of dressing myself.  let me take you on a journey that follows how my concept of the "perfect outfit" has evolved over the years.

age 0-4:  my favorite way to be was just absolutely naked.  i might on occasion throw a diaper on in there, maybe a pair of my mom's pumps, perchance a bunch of those metallic colored star stickers in a geometric pattern on my bare belly.  throw in a couple of oversized gaudy plastic hair clips circa 1983 on my head and you've got a pretty accurate picture of how i spent my early years.

age 5-10: things got a tad better during this span.  i decided that the clothes were not "lava" (remember playing the game "THE FLOOR IS LAVA!!!"?)  and that with the proper sideways ponytail or french braid, that i looked pretty cute.

age 11:  ENTER DISASTER.  it all started when the boobs started growing.  suddenly i was floppy and overly aware of how cold the room was and sooooooooo freaked out about the entire ordeal. going bra shopping for the first time was possibly the most mortifying experience of my life.  it was a blur of mint green sport bras, embarassment, patrolling the store for people that i knew so i could be prepared to instantly die the moment i saw them, and nausea.  after the purchasing was over i vowed that while i now owned several bras, it didn't mean that i actually had to wear them.  haha!!  take THAT Puberty!!  every day that winter when my mom drove me to school i'd quietly slip my bra off in the back seat and stuff it into my backpack.  muah haha!!  NO STRAPPY SATINY PRISON COULD HOLD THESE MELONS!!!!

age 12-13:  the Ladies got too big to ignore so i made peace with the bra. however, other things went seriously, seriously wrong.  i owned a pair of those huge, 1985-movie-villain eyeglasses.  and i had to wear them all the time.  now add braces.  now add huge chunky platform purple skechers.  thrown in a bunch of hand-me-down tee shirts, pants that were too short on me but the perfect length in case of a flood, some homemade dresses, and an extra helping of pimples, and you'll be able to understand the hideousness that was ME in the 6th grade.  this was truly my first Ugly Phase.  my husband doesn't believe that i ever had one so when i went to Texas earlier this summer i picked up some old pictures to prove it to him.  i fear for any daughters that we may have in the future.

age 14-16:  thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis part got... better?  well, if you consider purple lip liner, pale pink shimmer lipstick, glitter, blue mascara, baby blue parachute-feeling rave pants, and whacky artsy tops better.  i'm not sure that i do.  i also had a bright orange shirt that had a turtle on a skateboard with flames coming out the back of the board that read "i've got the need for speed" at the top.  i had reached Coolness.  and it was about time.  high school had just struck and it was make-it or break it time.

age 17-21: these were my "i feel pretty, oh so pretty" years.  delicate skirts, cute jeans, fitted tops that complemented my slammin Prancer Drill/Dance Team Bod.  long curly hair... yessir i was doing alright.  and then the Army happened...

age 21-25:  i, uh, went a little nuts.  bought a dress in Hawaii that was pretty much just a large silky handkerchief and two pieces of string.  i had a pair of those loud neon plaid short shorts.  had a bunch of halter tops, a blue tube top with stars on it, and somewhere in there several pairs of Child Size Extra-Large Full Length Fuzzy Bright Pink Zip-Up Feetsie Jammies with penguins on them.  which i loved to wear.  in my barracks room.  all the time. this, ladies and gentlemen is what the new face of the Army looks like.  and it's wearing Feetsie Jammies.  kind of makes you feel all safe and secure knowing that hardened Soldiers like me are out there doesn't it?  oh and then there was The Mohawk.  this Mohawk won me the attention of the man that would later become my husband.  it was a SOLID and excellent Life Decision.

present:  ugh.  i'm in the Post Partum Ick phase which will only end once i can squeeze back into my jeans again.  i'm making progress.  they now come up over my thighs but no where near containing my new Jell-o Jigglers (registered trademark) inspired butt.  maybe if i rub my rump with crisco then try to slurp my hindquarters into them...



*note to self:   buy more crisco... maybe some Pam...*


Krista's Tip of the Day:

Beauty pageants are not cute.  even the best "trained" little girl still looks like the last flailing flops of a dying trout when she goes up to "shake her money maker" on the judging stage.  barf.  half the time the girls cry, wet their pants, their fake hair/eyelashes/teeth (my God are they robots?!?!) fall out, or they freeze up and get that weird look on their mugs like "oh dear God all of these freaky people are looking at me.. i completely forgot what to do... i want to watch Dora and BackPack.... oh look, there's glitter on the floor!"

bottom line, don't dress your ugly kid up in $700 frilly monstrosities and parade them around in the hopes that they'll win a plastic and rhinestone crown so as to boost their delicate self esteem.   what you're really doing is training these poor girls to be floosies and hussies.  what?  yes.  i am right.  and Kathy Griffin agrees with me.

that's all the validation i need.




(thanks to Mike and Regina for posting links to this blog on their Facebook pages, and an extra thank you to Regina for helping to inspire the Tip of the Day; y'all rock!)