Showing posts with label Clothing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Clothing. Show all posts
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Tough
I was helping a neighbor with car troubles by driving with her to the car repair shop in a separate car and driving her back. I came in and looked around and suddenly realized I had picked the wrong shirt to wear today. I was wearing my pink shirt that said, among other things, that I am tough enough to wear pink. However the guys in that shop looked like they could snap axles with their fingers and removed faulty transmissions with their teeth. They were all lanky-haired, grizzly, and buff. It made me very uncomfortable proclaiming that I was tough enough to wear pink. I figured I would get beat up if I stayed there too long. Scary.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Aladdin
If any of you have seen Disney's Aladdin, then you'll have a pretty good idea of how Emily looked this morning. She has a vest and a pants that are both red with a cow pattern. Since she always make sure whatever she wears is a set, she put these on. Unfortunately she didn't put on an undershirt and the vest doesn't have buttons. We grabbed her and put a Walk for Life shirt on her underneath the vest. Now she can advertise and wear her matching cow pattern outfit at the same time.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Deserted
In honor of Thursday, I'm putting up a poll. Here's the attached scenario:
If you were deserted at school because your sister was taking the Classics Club out to dinner, instead of, oh say, taking you home for dinner, which of the following things would you be sure to have:
1) Food, so you won't starve while waiting for someone to just kill you already.
2) Homework, so at least you can pass otherwise useless time studying for finals! (Pansies)
3) Shorts, so you could go work out in the ARC without being chased away by interns with pitchforks
4) A Nuclear Bomb, so that when you get really bored you can cause the Nuclear Holocaust in Chattanooga (NHC)
If you were deserted at school because your sister was taking the Classics Club out to dinner, instead of, oh say, taking you home for dinner, which of the following things would you be sure to have:
1) Food, so you won't starve while waiting for someone to just kill you already.
2) Homework, so at least you can pass otherwise useless time studying for finals! (Pansies)
3) Shorts, so you could go work out in the ARC without being chased away by interns with pitchforks
4) A Nuclear Bomb, so that when you get really bored you can cause the Nuclear Holocaust in Chattanooga (NHC)
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Shirts
Sometimes as I wander around campus someone will comment on my shirt and I will only just realize that I have been wearing a statement. For example, right now I am wearing my shirt with a face of Ronald Reagan on it. Earlier in the semester a random guy in my class complimented me for it. It turned out that he was the president of the College Republicans and invited me to join it. Weird coincedences. I haven't taken him up on it and am trying to avoid talking to him because it seems kind of rude not to show up to a club when you are personally invited.
Other shirts I have include shirts with Winston Churchill quotes on the back, dozens of mildly pro-life shirts, one shirt that is rabidly pro-life: As a former fetus, I oppose abortion!, shirts with Republican logos like Don't Tread on Me! and Viva la Revolucion!, etc.
I also noticed that in class I am always acting like there are two sides to the argument. You know, keep your head down, when your teacher says something slightly controversial and some student somewhere in the back makes some sort of moron comment picking a fight with everyone in the room, just ignore them. Or if I am called upon to answer a question that I could totally pick fights on, usually questions on politics and current events, I tend to give measured answers. However my shirts betray me. No matter how measured and reasonable I act I am in truth a Rabid Republican.
Other shirts I have include shirts with Winston Churchill quotes on the back, dozens of mildly pro-life shirts, one shirt that is rabidly pro-life: As a former fetus, I oppose abortion!, shirts with Republican logos like Don't Tread on Me! and Viva la Revolucion!, etc.
I also noticed that in class I am always acting like there are two sides to the argument. You know, keep your head down, when your teacher says something slightly controversial and some student somewhere in the back makes some sort of moron comment picking a fight with everyone in the room, just ignore them. Or if I am called upon to answer a question that I could totally pick fights on, usually questions on politics and current events, I tend to give measured answers. However my shirts betray me. No matter how measured and reasonable I act I am in truth a Rabid Republican.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Jeans
Alright, yesterday I put on the 14-dollar jeans I bought several weeks ago with Dad for the first time. I've been wearing the 8-dollar jeans this entire time alternating with shorts since it is summer. Unfortunately the 8-dollar jeans don't fit despite being cheaper. They're too wide around the waist making me look like one of those moronic apathetic gangster-wanna-be college guys who wear their pants at their knees. OK, so they're not that loose, but it is true that I have to wear a belt whenever I wear the jeans. The 14-dollar jeans however fit like a dream. They're great.
Anyways, I calculated that the amount of ice cream I would have to consume to expand my waistline to fit into the eight-dollar jeans given my demonic metabolism would actually make the cost of the jeans higher than if I simply bought the 14-dollar jeans that actually fit.
Anyways, I calculated that the amount of ice cream I would have to consume to expand my waistline to fit into the eight-dollar jeans given my demonic metabolism would actually make the cost of the jeans higher than if I simply bought the 14-dollar jeans that actually fit.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
8-dollar jeans
I'm not really good with money so I never realized before today what a good bargain $8 jeans are. Here's the story:
Alright, I'm going to my grandparents and suddenly my mother notices/cares that all my jeans have holes over the right knee. (I have no idea why it is always the right knee. It just always is.) So she tells Dad to go buy me some jeans. Dad, naturally, brings me along.
A quick side note: Mom never brings me along. She always thinks to herself "What size would Duncan be?" and then gets one size bigger. Sometimes they fit perfectly, sometimes they don't. If they don't, she just shrugs and tells me I'll grow into them. Anyways, it has worked for sixteen years and I kind of liked that system.
Back to the present. Dad is drawn to an 8-dollar jeans sale sign like a fly to a lantern. He is so happy. He is in a state of euphoria. He picks up about five pairs of jeans and tells me to go figure out which one fits the best. I try them all on which takes a long long time because new jeans always have buttons that don't yet fit the clasp. Anyways, I finally figure out that I'm a 31x32 whatever that means. We waltz over to the cash register and ding! Up pops "14.92" on the screen.
"Um, um, um, excuse me," says my dad, "This isn't the right cost. They were on sale for eight dollars." The cashier smiles politely and then calls someone on her Wal-mart phone.
"They said that was the right price," said the cashier.
"Come with me," says me dad. The cashier is obviously not being paid enough for this. "Wait here, Duncan." Off they go. A short while later the cashier comes back noticably lacking my dad. I go through all the possible options quickly ruling out natural disaster, sudden plague, earth swallowing up my dad, etc., leaving "murdered by cashier" as a reasonable choice, given the circumstances.
"He wants you to go back there," said the cashier. Processing... "Um, hello? He wants you to go back there."
"Ah," I say blankly and walk robotically back to the young mens' clothing aisle. When I spot Dad and notice how extremely deep in thought he is (and noticably alive) and that his attention is fixed on the price tag I realize in a flash what happened.
"Oh no!" I cry. Dad, realizing I'm there, begins explaining to me that the jeans I've been trying on for the past half hour are NOT included in the sale. You see, if you had simply removed a metal rail saying and I quote "JEANS JEANS JEANS," you would have seen the price tag very clearly stating "14.95." So after a brief argument I go back to the dressing rooms to try on two more pairs of pants, one 30x32 and one 32x32. You see, odd numbers are never included in sales. It's one of Walmart's rules.
In the end we decided to go with the one that was too big, saying with a shrug that I'll grow into them. (If we had let Mom do the shopping we'd have reached the same conclusion in less time.) All for the sake of six dollars.
Alright, I'm going to my grandparents and suddenly my mother notices/cares that all my jeans have holes over the right knee. (I have no idea why it is always the right knee. It just always is.) So she tells Dad to go buy me some jeans. Dad, naturally, brings me along.
A quick side note: Mom never brings me along. She always thinks to herself "What size would Duncan be?" and then gets one size bigger. Sometimes they fit perfectly, sometimes they don't. If they don't, she just shrugs and tells me I'll grow into them. Anyways, it has worked for sixteen years and I kind of liked that system.
Back to the present. Dad is drawn to an 8-dollar jeans sale sign like a fly to a lantern. He is so happy. He is in a state of euphoria. He picks up about five pairs of jeans and tells me to go figure out which one fits the best. I try them all on which takes a long long time because new jeans always have buttons that don't yet fit the clasp. Anyways, I finally figure out that I'm a 31x32 whatever that means. We waltz over to the cash register and ding! Up pops "14.92" on the screen.
"Um, um, um, excuse me," says my dad, "This isn't the right cost. They were on sale for eight dollars." The cashier smiles politely and then calls someone on her Wal-mart phone.
"They said that was the right price," said the cashier.
"Come with me," says me dad. The cashier is obviously not being paid enough for this. "Wait here, Duncan." Off they go. A short while later the cashier comes back noticably lacking my dad. I go through all the possible options quickly ruling out natural disaster, sudden plague, earth swallowing up my dad, etc., leaving "murdered by cashier" as a reasonable choice, given the circumstances.
"He wants you to go back there," said the cashier. Processing... "Um, hello? He wants you to go back there."
"Ah," I say blankly and walk robotically back to the young mens' clothing aisle. When I spot Dad and notice how extremely deep in thought he is (and noticably alive) and that his attention is fixed on the price tag I realize in a flash what happened.
"Oh no!" I cry. Dad, realizing I'm there, begins explaining to me that the jeans I've been trying on for the past half hour are NOT included in the sale. You see, if you had simply removed a metal rail saying and I quote "JEANS JEANS JEANS," you would have seen the price tag very clearly stating "14.95." So after a brief argument I go back to the dressing rooms to try on two more pairs of pants, one 30x32 and one 32x32. You see, odd numbers are never included in sales. It's one of Walmart's rules.
In the end we decided to go with the one that was too big, saying with a shrug that I'll grow into them. (If we had let Mom do the shopping we'd have reached the same conclusion in less time.) All for the sake of six dollars.
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