On Monday afternoon, I asked my boss’ boss what the dress code for the User Conference would be. The words he uttered struck fear deep into my heart.
Business casual.
I own precisely zero items of clothing that fall into that category–on my day to day job, I wear jeans and t-shirts as even though sometimes I sweet-talk customers in a phone sex operator voice, I am equally as likely to be shoving machines around the dusty warehouse and my boss recognizes the futility of having me wear heels and nicely pressed pants. So I have an entire closet of jeans and t-shirts, and a lesser amount of ho-clothes. And, unfortunately, it doesn’t matter how nice your ho-clothes are, even if they were nice enough to wear to the theatre, say, to a showing of Interpretive Dance Edward Scissorhands, they’re really not appropriate in a business casual environment.
This meant I would have to go clothes shopping.
I am not of the normal female persuasion. I really, really, really hate shopping. I hate malls. Whenever I am forced to enter one, I am overwhelmed by the urge to start drop-kicking everyone in sight. I may be missing out on a promising career as an NFL punter. I’m fairly certain that a good majority of the people crowding into a mall on a Monday night could use a good punting, perhaps from one endcap store all the way down to the food court, directly into a Cinnabon vat.
My first stop was at Kohls, because I figured I could find something decent and cheap very quickly, and could then proceed to an evening more closely suited to my tastes. That was not to be, as the store contained an unusual range of sizes, namely size four and under, and size twenty-two and above. I looked in the ‘teenage ho’ section. I looked in the ‘middle aged business lady’ section. I looked in the ‘lifetime of creampuffs and chudge’ section. Every time I saw a little black jacket/white shirt combination, it was a size four and under or a twenty-two and above. I started to get desperate. I figured that if there were no cute clothes in my size, perhaps they would have ugly clothes in my size. No deal. Nada. Zip. Zilch.
This trend held consistently through the mall. I looked for clothes until they booted everyone out at 9:30 and still hadn’t found anything. It was time to start panicking. It wasn’t just my boss and my boss’ boss that would be there on Tuesday, oh no. The Director of every branch flew up on the corporate jet to attend. I was screwed.
I went home and frantically yanked things out of my closet. I was putting on outfits and rejecting them until past midnight. This did not bode well, as I needed to get up at 4am in order to be at the casino on time.
My four hours of sleep were whittled away to practically nothing, as some asshole neighbor allowed his asshole dog to bark all night long. It was during the course of these events that I realized I could never be a gun owner, because when you start messing with my sleep, not only will I fantasize about kicking you in the face (hint: if you are very tall, I may ask you to crouch down first), I eventually start thinking about whether a corpse can be identified by dental records if there are no longer any teeth, and just how long a body might stay in the Green River before being discovered.
I was still staring at the ceiling, thinking murderous thoughts, when my alarm went off. I got dressed, fed the dog, and tumbled down the stairs while taking him outside. Clearly I am a coordinated human being. Cirque du Soleil has indicated to me that if my current position ever falls through, they will always have a spot for someone of my sheer talent and athletic abilities.
Napoleon played his part by rounding a corner and immediately chomping down on something he found there. God, what is he eating? Stop it. STOP IT. DROP IT NOW. Every time I scolded him and told him to drop it, he made the ‘squinchy eyed cringe face’ like ‘nooooo, she is going to beat the hell out of me’ which always makes me look REALLY good in front of the neighbors, which is particularly unfair as even though sometimes I think he might benefit from a smacking, I’ve never hit him. It doesn’t matter. The cringe face tells everyone everything they ever need to know to judge me preemptively. Mellzah, the dog beater.
Since my dog takes direction about as well as I do, I realized I would have to engage in mortal combat with him in order to get whatever it is he was mouthing out of his pointy little face. He writhed and squirmed while I forced his mouth open and triumphantly pulled out…a crusty cat turd. My immediate reaction was to shriek and simultaneously fling it across the parking lot. Come on, dog. Seriously? I feed you. I JUST FED YOU. Chowing down on cat poop and making the ‘squinchy cringe face’ while doing so makes me the worst dog owner on the planet. Also, NEVER LICK MY FACE AGAIN.
I ran back into the apartment, nearly tripping UP the stairs in what would have been a double-whammy, boiled the top 6 layers of skin from my hands, and glared at the dog.
The user conference went quite well; I hit it off with one of the people there and slipped him my phone number in what may go down in history as my slickest move of all time. I wouldn’t have done it, but one of my coworkers informed me that either *I* would do it, or HE would embarrass me in a myriad of junior-high ways, even going as far as writing a note saying “guess who likes you…?” and threatening to pass it down a row of businessmen. I picked the path of least embarrassment.
When I finally got home, exhausted and hungry, Napoleon launched an impressive campaign of incredible efforts to lick my face. No way, sir. I saw you rolling that cat turd around in your mouth like it was some sort of flavor-bursting candy. 6/19, NEVER FORGET.
I like business casual because wearing suits and dressing formally is only something I DON’T dread when it’s a wedding or a formal dance. I blame it on the nerdy academic competition I participated in during high school, where you lost points if you didn’t look presentable enough. Rar.
As for Napoleon, I’m curious if you read the sweet potato story because your post reminded me somewhat of that and made me snicker just as much.
Business casual is easy for guys–polo shirt, nice pants, and they’re done. It’s much, much harder for ladies because they need to put an outfit together that’s nice but not TOO nice, looks attractive on them but is not whorish…there are so many places to screw up and look like a jackass. In that sense, straight business professional is a much easier look to pull off.
I had not read the sweet potato story before, but it’s fucking AWESOME.
Polo shirt? *shudder*
I’m with you. Polo shirts = no.
I’m just saying–guys can wear it and look put together. Ladies, especially ladies who are not stick thin, cannot without looking frumpy and disheveled. It doesn’t matter how neatly everything is pressed.
I just hate ’em. I prefer a button down shirt any day of the week, oh and weekends too.
It is true. Also ladies who have a figure type with no waist look like ass in polo shirts and khakis because we have to tuck them in.
I know this because we are allowed to wear jeans every Friday at my workplace, on the condition that we ALSO wear a polo shirt with the company’s name and our department on it.
The ladies in my department rebelled against tucking, so we all wear untucked polo shirts on Fridays. And yet we still look frumpy and disheveled, just as the robot says.
The mention of a sweet potato from the Rift made me laugh like a crazy man for about a minute straight.
“nooooooo, they be stealin my sweet potato!”
I feel your pain. All of my business casual clothes make me look like a pudgy soccer mom. 🙁 OR POSSIBLY FRUMPIER I see some soccer moms in some short shorts down here in the southland.
I had an interview after work yesterday and became so disgusted by how my outfit was whorish (overshirt unbuttoned) and flat-out retarded (overshirt buttoned and stretching unflatteringly over body and skirt) in turns that I snuck home at lunch to change. But I made sure to wear sneakers with my dressy pants just to stick it to the man.
I was horrified to discover that my one pair of reserve dress pants cleave to create the most incredible camel toe known to man. The worst part was wondering if I’d worn them out of the house before and not even noticed.
I’m starting to loathe overshirts as when they are a proper length in both body and sleeve, the buttons will gap most unflatteringly. Because who doesn’t want a peek at my white fishbelly? REALLY?
There have to be non-frumpy business casual clothes out there. If I ever find them, I’ll be sure to let you in on the secret.
If the shirt isn’t trying to gap down the front then it’s too big in the shoulders on me. This is why I have exactly ONE lightweight white button-down shirt that I can wear normally, because I HAVE NOT LEARNED HOW TO WIN THIS GAME. Maybe I need to abandon button shirts for blouses? BLOUSES? What the hell, people.
Someone, surely, has written a guide on how to dress up but not dress up too much AND not look like a hobo or a frumpmaster. We must find it. 🙁
Yes, the fitted buttondowns are for ladies like me with linebacker shoulders and no boobies.
Technically you are supposed to wear the kind that tuck in with mom jeans. Which… back to Frumpy McAccounting Teacher Ali Had In Freshman Year Who Was Like Eighty.
Or those art teacher dresses with the filmy jackets.
I made out like a bandit this year because those shirts with the kimono waists are in and I look AWESOME in them because they tie right below the boobs, which is AWESOME for the boobless, but makes the boobtastic look like they came down with a persistent case of baby.
Some of the kimono tops look fantastic on the boobalicious, too, because they say “HEY LOOK, BOOBIES!”; but the ones that also don’t make you look bubblegut-tacular are few and far between.
What I need are pants that go up to directly underneath my armpits. Not even Mom Jeans. I’m talking Urkel Pants. Because the smallest part of my natural waistline is certainly not an inch above my butt crack like most popular styles these days.
Also by dog logic, if you poop and they eat it, they win.
This is why many dogs will RUSH to the litter box and chow down on the cat poo, and then look at the cat all HA ha.
I am never leaving the toilet lid up ever again. Not like I ever wander away without flushing.
Just saying, is all.
great post. made me laugh out loud and spit food on my laptop. but i digress.
my workplace requires smart. i deem this to be shirt, trousers, shoes. ties can get to fuck. they’re annoying and shit. suit jackets can also fuck off, as they are stiff and make you look like a secret service twat.
off duty, t shirt, jeans, trainers. period. for eveything outside work. weddings, christenings, parties, meals out, ANYTHING.
for anyone looking and mentally Tut Huff-ing me, fuck off, i’m comfy and you look like shit.
When I make people spit food, I know I’ve written a winner of a post and it was worth the extra day I took to mull the words over. 😀
not a word wasted. unlike my dinner.
:applesauce:
It’s called Kitty-Roca.
OH gross. I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.
Good luck with the business casual thing… I get to do it every day, although I do kinda like my polo shirts. *cough*
Anyway, I feel your pain with the turd-eating thing, since my own terror (er, terrier) likes to chow down on her own little stinky piles of doom. I guess I should be thankful that she’s found a way to clean up after herself, although… still… yeah, probably not a good thing.
What we need to do is line the mouths of our dogs with plastic bags, and then they will essentially be doing cleanup patrol on our respective yards. When the bag is full, it gets changed out, just like a vacuum cleaner.
The answer to your woes is simple:
Fabulous jackets.
I have several of these bad mammer-jammers and they work with everything. Kicky skirts? Check. Jeans? Check. Khakis? Check. Sleeveless dress? Check. Black dress pants? Check. Anything you have can be given the right amount of oomf with a great jacket. Dresses anything up with a degree of smartness and you can still wear a camisole, turtleneck, sleeveless top, WHATEVER underneath.
An example, in the picture provided. Okay, so I look pretty fat in the pic, it is at a horrible angle, but look at that amazing jacket. The green says “I am a spirited, fun person” while the cut says “I am a smart, quick thinking innovator” while the sleeves say “I am versatile and well rounded!”
Jackets, robot. JACKETS.
Note to self: Invest in kicky jackets. Also, distract Nicki and steal everything from her closet. EVERYTHING.
I knew you would appreciate it. As a gal with similar structure, these tidbits are important to pass along. Anything that can make my waist look tiny, my boobs look huge and mask the belly all whilst being an amazing cut and color is okay in my book.
I figure if I sell my soul, I can afford some new outfits before I come out so you don’t completely overshadow me. I will not be outstyled!
Baby, please. Don’t say “outstyled” like this is some sort of “Stomp the Yard” type thing. Further, you could just shop… with… me?
Make sure you have some extra room in your luggage, because I am cleaning out my closet and you are welcome to anything.
Excellent on all counts! I am glad I did not purchase that tiny $10 carry-on suitcase from Target that I was considering.
Lane Bryant. They start at a size 12 or 14, I think. Watch out for the cheaply made stuff, and the rest is quite nice!
I was just ranting about Lane Bryant with a friend the other day; while I do wear a 12-14, their stuff is enormous on me and doesn’t even come close to fitting properly.
I’m totally going to start a clothing line.
Oh, that’s why you love Dead Rising so much. In that game you finally get to live out your fantasy.
Yeah, I got this with my sister’s 100 lb Alaskan Malamute (if you don’t know, think Husky, only bigger), when I grabbed her by the collar to drag her two houses over to her home. She rolled over on her back and cried out yelping as if I were beating her like, well, a dog, while the neighbors each looked at me with the unmistakable expression of, “What kind of monster would beat a magnificent animal like that”? My unconvincing verbal reply was, “She is soooo faking it”, but I still got the Villain Eye Daggers all the way home. At least they weren’t my neighbors.
Am I missing something here? Did the Business Casual Fairy / Elf / Dwarf or whatever show up while you were sleeping and provide a fabulous outfit? What did you wear to the conference?
Oh, that’s why you love Dead Rising so much. In that game you finally get to live out your fantasy.
It’s the only reason to buy an xbox 360!
Am I missing something here? Did the Business Casual Fairy / Elf / Dwarf or whatever show up while you were sleeping and provide a fabulous outfit? What did you wear to the conference?
I meant to imply that I gave up out of exhaustion and wore something awful.