Where the f**k are you, Tim Gunn?

So I am an idiot. 

People like me should be able to afford to pay someone to lay out clothes for them. Why? Because people like me, when overly exhausted, just don’t give a f**k until they realize, upon walking into work, what they’ve done.

Did I notice what I was wearing this morning? Nope.

Did I notice it or give it a second thought on the three-hour-long drive home today? Of course not?

I noticed it when talking to one of my impeccably dressed bosses.

Let us go inside the mind of a one… me. (Sorry, Greg Jennings.) If you are aspiring to be like me in any way (Blessings upon you. You’ll need them.), this is how you must go about getting your ass clothed in the morning after a night of zero sleep because your husband apparently thinks it’s the optimum sleeping position for him if he planks. On top of you. (Note: the planking husband bit is essential to the state of delirium and confusion that results from being slept upon and thereby not sleeping. Did I mention he’s like a f**king space heater?)

1.       Get in shower.

2.       Wonder why your contacts are beading water and then realize that you are still wearing your glasses like the wunderkind you are.  (Note: Wunderkind is my new favorite non-English word. Eschew is my new favorite English word. Just keeping you abreast of all the deets of my life.)

3.       Forget whether or not you shampooed your hair. Shampoo.

4.       Remember that you did already shampoo your hair because you did it while singing “Someone Like You” by Adele because sometimes you just like to cry a little in the shower for no reason at all other than the fact that you have ovaries and sometimes those little f**kers make you sad. That, and that song makes you cry when you’re naked. Because you have a heart and tear ducts.

5.       Realize that curly hair, when shampooed twice, gets dry. This means it will be frizzy. FABULOUS. 

6.       Convince yourself that a headband solves all hair problems. (It doesn’t.) And that your hair will flatten out by the time you get to work. (It won’t.)

7.       Pull a pair of pants out of the laundry basket. In the dim lighting, they will look black. (They are, in fact, a bright grape color.)

8.       Grab a top from the clean clothes basket. It is black and white striped. (At least you got that one right, eh kiddo?)

9.       Grab a cardigan from the same basket. It’s a pink color, you think. Perfect. Black and white and pink will go great together.(Only it’s not pink. It’s more of a neon/purple color. And those pants ain’t black, remember?)

10.   Slip into your Dansko clogs because they are the only shoes that don’t make you cry when you walk. Be proud of yourself for putting on your black Danskos with your black pants. (But guess what, kids. They’re not your black Danskos. They’re those leopard print patent ones that you got as a gift and only wear gardening or to pick up the dog shit from the front yard.)

Ladies and gentleman, today, I realized only as I stood before my boss, who happened to be wearing an Armani suit and handmade shoes, just how I looked. (Let’s review. Purple pants. Black and white top. Neon purple cardigan. Leopard print shoes. HEADBAND. Mondo frizz. Winning.)

I look like a really, really, ridiculously frumpy pimp. 
Oh yes. It’s that bad. You’ll be happy to know that there are no remnants of dog shit or garden …things on them right now. I certainly am. 
(I assume there are Lady-Pimps. And I assume they can be frumpy. Can you prove me wrong? I never said it would be a high class brothel, now did I? No. Women like that probably run an organization where after you’ve been “serviced,” for an extra $5, you get help studying for your GED or editing your resume or are taught to knit because it helps coordination.  I can only assume.)

(Note: I do not aspire to pimphood in any capacity. Nor do I aspire to do anything involving the sex trade, unless it is to write blog posts about how I, like Liz Lemon would charge “$5,000 for cuddling, a million dollars for kissing. End of list.”  Just wanted to clear that up before y’all hit the comment section.)
Or maybe I look like one of The Raisins. I don’t know. I don’t think that makes it any better.
What could have possibly made that moment more embarrassing?

Impeccably Dressed Boss: You look…. nice, Kate.

Mother Trucker. (Only I didn’t think “truck.”)

This is why Carter and I are either:

a)      Getting twin beds so I can sleep

b)      Throwing out all of my clothes that aren’t black so that this can never happen again.

c)       Training Lola to pick out my clothes in the morning. I know she’s color blind, but could she possibly do worse than I did? Doubtful.

Here’s hoping that the rest of the week is more…. shall we say….. coordinated.

It’s effing Monday, y’all. 

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  1. too funny. I hate when that happens! guess what, at least it happened on a Monday, and that means the week can only get better!

  2. Ehehehehe….I remember doing something similar after pulling an allnighter to write my thesis and having to be in the lab at the arse crack of dawn to run experiments….I was wearing mustard coloured flared jeans, a pink t-shirt and completely ripped to hell shoes (I could see my damned toes!)…thank the gods for my white lab coat!

    • OMG I wish I could wear a lab coat. My dad was in the hospital recently and I’m not going to lie, I had some major scrub envy. Even if I could have worn a lab coat today I could have covered up half of the mess, which would have done a lot!! Glad I’m not alone!

  3. And this is why I choose my outfit every night. Because I only have enough in me to get up and go to work. I cannot make dressing decisions at 6 in the morning.

    • That’ll preach, lady. I need to start doing that. Or I could relive the glory days of elementary, middle, and high school and establish a uniform for myself. Which seems infinitely less risky. Plus, I’d be like a disney villain.

  4. why oh why isn’t there a full body shot? This is absolutely something I would do, except it would be on purpose because I have terrible style and can’t match worth my life. Which is why I am in a profession where I have to wear suits. no matching required.

    • I wish I had a uniform like a suit! I do really well with fashion boundaries. I really just need Clinton Kelly from What Not to Wear to come an assess my body type, take me shopping, and guilt me into giving more of a damn in the morning. I thought about doing the full body shot, but I couldn’t make myself do it. You don’t come back from that, haha. Thanks for reading! I hope you’ll follow along!

  5. OMG that is hysterical! LOLOLOLOL


  6. You commented on my post at Life Your Way and I am so glad you did because I HAVE NOW FOUND YOU AND MY LIFE IS COMPLETE. Do I sound like a stalker? Good news for you – my ADHD means I possess none of the organisational or administrative skills necessary for stalking worth a damn, so you’re safe.

    I love this post more than my polka-dotted slipper-socks.

    • Not at all! I love it when people think my blog completes their life! (Does that make me sound too desperate? Oh well.) I can imagine stalking would require a ridiculous amount of coordination and organization. Hmmm. Thanks for reading! I hope you’ll follow along! Heading over now to check our Chris’s article on your swap!

  7. I about fell out of my chair I was laughing so hard!
    Welcome to the world of color-blind, homeless, bag-lady fashion. *grin* We welcome you with open, mis-matched arms.

    • *bows* A-thank you! I discovered why I always look so frumpy. It’s because I have a select amount of “pudge clothes” that I never used to wear because they are, well, frumpy. But now that I am pudgy, and too broke to remedy the wardrobe, my choices are to either go to the gym more often or look frumpy. I think we all know how this story is going to end.

  8. Ha ha ha ha!!!!!! Except. I know. I do. One glorious morning – during days when I took a taxi to work (read: there is NO going back home) – I discovered I was wearing two different shoes. That’s right: two different shoes…. of different colors. To work. For the full long day…

    Of teaching middle schoolers.

    Need I say more?

    • Oh. My. Lord.
      Middle schoolers are so cruel! Yikes! I hope they weren’t too awful to you. Karma will be a bitch to them someday, as it is with all teenagers. They don’t realize the personal hell that is cleaning oneself, putting on clothes, and preparing to go out to the day job, all generally before the sun is even up. When I was a long-term sub in eighth grade one time, they asked me why I always looked so stressed all the time. “Because I’m dealing with you hormonal assholes.” …I wanted to say. I didn’t. But I wanted to. I know not all middle schoolers are like that. Some are delightful. But not this class. Not this class at all.

  9. I hate to laugh at you, but your wit and writing made me do it! Catching up on your blog is a highlight of my week, no matter how the week’s going. Thank you, always, for sharing your stories and humor.


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