tracky daks a fashion item! a world gone mad!
In a perfect world Speranza would have minions to attend to all the dreary day to day stuff we do to sustain our qualitiy of life. I imagine her (sort of a Kosh without the encounter suit being) reclining at her leisure, worshippers gathered at her feet, one communing ecstatically with a laptop as pearls beyond price drop from the divine being's lips.. Others feeding her chocolate/pizza/coffee, yet others wave the palm fronds..
Hey, I just read a new Speranza story!
My fave item of clothing at the moment is my tracky pants. Imagine grey tracky pants in your mind's eye. (Not with me in them - your mind may melt) Now picture them Hipsters. Figure hugging. 3/4 length. Flared at the calf. And, with 'Miss Perfect' inscribed in white across the bum. And a cute little puddy cat on the front left thigh.
This is a Fashion Item. It was never meant to be owned by someone so backward, so old and set in their ways that they can't cope with the concept of wearing trackies In Public. (note. In Public does not include trips to the local shops or mates' places of residence.)
Yet wearing them to the gym seems like sacrilige. Actual vigorous movement of the limbs they encase. Probable sweatiness. They might be Marred. I Dare Not.
Segueing nicely into Fashion Do's and Don't at the Health Club..
I just joined one. Fit of insanity, what can I say. I mean, *before* Christmas???
So. Having joined up last Friday, I've swum lots and used the spa lots. That was also last Friday. On Tuesday, spur of the moment, I got someone else to take over my shift and raced home to leap into exercise clothes and race off to this great sounding dance/exercise class. It was very very cool, btw, so of course it's only scheduled when I'm working. Grr.
So, the exercise attire *shakes head sadly* Fairly decent sports crop top, bought last year (not for exercise, I just like them better than bras) But what to wear with? Regular trackies? Too hot, I think. (and not my puddy cat ones, oh no) Bike shorts, I reject with loathing. Even I know that they can't still be trendy. And without the mantle of fashion there is really no excuse for their existence on this Earth. So, daggy old shorts.
I knew it was a mistake the moment i walked into the hallowed halls..er..room. Apparently, the only acceptable exercise clothing for 2003 is figurehugging black pants with a white stripe down the sides of the legs (or even 2 or 3 if you want to be an individual) and a black singlet, also with the white stripe. OR, a tiny tiny t-shirt with writing on the chest.
I soldiered on, my head held high. Had a fun time tripping over my feet in time to music.
My feet. My poor, poor feet in old dead sneakers. Necessitated trip the next day to one of those high tech performance shoe stores. The staff there are Master Technicians. I know that because their gold badges say so. So, $150 and a free pair of Nike pink sports socks later (because I also bought a gift voucher) and I have the Right Shoes for Me. That will give my muscle knots in the balls of my feet cushioning, and support my falling arches (nothing to worry about, happens to most women apparently).
So, fun dance class. Made a new friend. As people who know me can attest, I talk to people at the drop of a hat. There doesn't even have to be a hat. Just for the person not to be actively scowling at me. So I positioned myself near the only other person in the room who wasn't 18 years old/size 8/wearing the black ensemble (with stripe!)
Initiated casual conversation (during water breaks obviously: attempting conversation while attempting to learn dance moves and keep up with beat would have been suicidal)
Stayed for the next class on her reccie. Very nice. Sort of tai chi combined with Pilates.
Pilates - what the? I hear you say. It's Stretching. *nodding knowledgably* Er.. sort of new agey?
Hey, I just read a new Speranza story!
My fave item of clothing at the moment is my tracky pants. Imagine grey tracky pants in your mind's eye. (Not with me in them - your mind may melt) Now picture them Hipsters. Figure hugging. 3/4 length. Flared at the calf. And, with 'Miss Perfect' inscribed in white across the bum. And a cute little puddy cat on the front left thigh.
This is a Fashion Item. It was never meant to be owned by someone so backward, so old and set in their ways that they can't cope with the concept of wearing trackies In Public. (note. In Public does not include trips to the local shops or mates' places of residence.)
Yet wearing them to the gym seems like sacrilige. Actual vigorous movement of the limbs they encase. Probable sweatiness. They might be Marred. I Dare Not.
Segueing nicely into Fashion Do's and Don't at the Health Club..
I just joined one. Fit of insanity, what can I say. I mean, *before* Christmas???
So. Having joined up last Friday, I've swum lots and used the spa lots. That was also last Friday. On Tuesday, spur of the moment, I got someone else to take over my shift and raced home to leap into exercise clothes and race off to this great sounding dance/exercise class. It was very very cool, btw, so of course it's only scheduled when I'm working. Grr.
So, the exercise attire *shakes head sadly* Fairly decent sports crop top, bought last year (not for exercise, I just like them better than bras) But what to wear with? Regular trackies? Too hot, I think. (and not my puddy cat ones, oh no) Bike shorts, I reject with loathing. Even I know that they can't still be trendy. And without the mantle of fashion there is really no excuse for their existence on this Earth. So, daggy old shorts.
I knew it was a mistake the moment i walked into the hallowed halls..er..room. Apparently, the only acceptable exercise clothing for 2003 is figurehugging black pants with a white stripe down the sides of the legs (or even 2 or 3 if you want to be an individual) and a black singlet, also with the white stripe. OR, a tiny tiny t-shirt with writing on the chest.
I soldiered on, my head held high. Had a fun time tripping over my feet in time to music.
My feet. My poor, poor feet in old dead sneakers. Necessitated trip the next day to one of those high tech performance shoe stores. The staff there are Master Technicians. I know that because their gold badges say so. So, $150 and a free pair of Nike pink sports socks later (because I also bought a gift voucher) and I have the Right Shoes for Me. That will give my muscle knots in the balls of my feet cushioning, and support my falling arches (nothing to worry about, happens to most women apparently).
So, fun dance class. Made a new friend. As people who know me can attest, I talk to people at the drop of a hat. There doesn't even have to be a hat. Just for the person not to be actively scowling at me. So I positioned myself near the only other person in the room who wasn't 18 years old/size 8/wearing the black ensemble (with stripe!)
Initiated casual conversation (during water breaks obviously: attempting conversation while attempting to learn dance moves and keep up with beat would have been suicidal)
Stayed for the next class on her reccie. Very nice. Sort of tai chi combined with Pilates.
Pilates - what the? I hear you say. It's Stretching. *nodding knowledgably* Er.. sort of new agey?