Thursday, December 27, 2012

"New"

I made a big commitment today.

I cut the tags off my washcloths.

Yes, this is stupid, but somehow I didn't consider the washcloths I bought, that I use to wash my face, to be mine.  Mine enough to have the right to cut off the tags, at least.  But today as I was folding the laundry, the little tags sticking out of every single washcloth in the pile seemed to taunt me.  I have scissors.  I have power.  So I cut them off.

All of them.

This might be a symptom of a larger issue I have of sensing the age of soft goods.  I've had these washcloths for months, ever since I started doing the oil cleansing method and found it disturbing to scrub my face with Pixar characters (Wall-E, get deeper into my pores!).  And recently I've realized that clothes I consider "new" are three to four years old.  I looked at my Facebook photos and saw that I'm wearing the same three jackets in all of them. 

Part of my problem with clothes is that I've been following the advice to periodically go through your clothes and get rid of everything you haven't worn in a year - but I haven't been shopping to make up for it.  So I have one drawer of public-eligible shirts ("top drawer" shirts) and one drawer of jeans, a foot of closet space of work shirts, around a foot and a half of skirts I can't wear to work because I'd splash chemicals on my legs, and those three jackets. Three other drawers are yardwork and gym t-shirts ("lower drawer" shirts), pajamas, underwear, and socks.  The rest of my minimal closet space is slacks I only wear at conferences and sweatshirts.

I've tried.  In the past few weeks I've gone to my normal stores (Target, JC Penney, Sears, Kohls) both here and in the East Bay, and I've found a few things.  An embellished t-shirt (for the top drawer), a sweatshirt jacket (simply because it was fuzzy).  Ah dang it, is that it? Didn't I buy anything else?  No no, I bought two blouses at Target.  But I did figure out I purchase around 3% of what I try on.  Or, I have to try on around 33 items to find one I want to buy.  And that doesn't even account for everything I look at in the store before even selecting those 33 things to go into the dressing room with.

I made that one clerk at Target really sad.

I should get a button that says "I'm sorry I'm doing this but it wouldn't be necessary if your store used consistent sizing."


Thursday, December 6, 2012

Unromantic

The older I get, the less I believe romantic movies.

That isn't that much of a revelation.  Romantic movies tend to be pretty ridiculous. He travels through time for her!  They had been married the whole time and didn't know it!  Jennifer Lopez is Italian!  I've read articles warning women against romances because they set "unrealistic expectations".  But we're not idiots.  We're not stupid enough to expect any of the normal romance movie tropes:

  • Secret millionaire!  If he appears down on his luck, chances are he's really rich but is just hiding that to make sure a woman loves him "for him".  Or he's outwardly rich, and needs to be brought down to earth.  Sub-category, she's the rich one!  Her riches may or may not be secret.  Played to great effect in Overboard.
  • Love overcomes death AND the space-time-continuum!  Played with less effect in Lake House, among others.
  • Romance is extravagant gifts, whirlwind trips, and rose petals everywhere!

It's not the obvious ridiculousness like that that's bothering me more as time goes on.  It's other, subtler aspects of the movies that's getting to me.

One is that sex is the ultimate expression of love.  In many movies, it seems like the end of the story doesn't matter as long as the main couple got to have sex.  Case in point, Cold Mountain.  I hate that movie.  Jude Law spends the whole time going through horrible, horrible things to get back to Nicole Kidman who I think is supposed to be portraying a young, innocent preacher's daughter which makes the whole thing less believable from the start (she's nice but she's not 18 even with soft focus).  After meeting several colorful future Academy Award nominees on his way back, he finally finds Nicole Kidman, they have sex, and then he gets killed.  I'm serious.  That's a romantic movie?  We're supposed to be impressed they finally had sex?  What if it was different.  What if Jude Law was the same grizzled Civil War deserter, went through all the same difficulties, then finally, finally found a prostitute who would take Confederacy money and he gets his jollies with her before continuing on his way?  Would that be romantic?  Or is it just because Nicole Kidman's character is clean as the wind-driven snow that it's romantic?  Also, Titanic.  How do we know Kate and Jack loved each other?  Because they had sex.  Otherwise it would have just been two people who enjoyed each other's company and one happened to die when the ship sank.  Sad, but not romantic.  It's romantic because they had sex before they croaked?  Awesome.

Another is that it's romantic when men persist in pursuing a woman long past when she has turned him down.  The woman will turn him down, turn him down, turn him down, change her mind, and him coming back the fourth time is what's romantic?  What would be romantic would be if he got some self-esteem and found someone that was less of an indecisive witch.  This cliche is perhaps more worrying because it encourages men to keep going after unattainable women in the hope they'll cave eventually.  It's not romantic.  It's stalking.

I think the real appeal of romantic movies to women is much simpler.  What I like in romantic movies is a very simple formula.

1. Man pursues woman.
2. They fall in love.
3. They get married.
4.  They live happily ever after.

And I'll sit through time traveling, extravagant gift-giving, and Jennifer Lopez to get it.