Stains McGee

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Hooray! It is now acceptable to wear white! Everyone rejoice!

Psyche. If you still believe in that dusty old rule of not wearing white until Memorial Day, well, let me take a minute to shake my shame stick at you. Come now … it’s 2014.

So yeah, I loathe color. In small doses, fine, but you will never catch me in a ROYGBIV anything. I praise the book of Kardashian (yes, I just said that), wearing mostly neutrals. White, black (mostly black), grey, nude … and then, you know, I’ll spice it up with some colorful accessories. It’s not because I’m boring or “basic,” it is just because I find neutrals to be extraordinarily chic and leave endless options for accessorizing. Word.

As much as I wish I could rock an entire white outfit, I unfortunately am not gifted with those abilities. Because I’m what you would call a “magnet for stains.” People say it is all in my head, but I find it to be 100% accurate. So much so that it pains me to buy light colors because I know said garment will be destroyed in the matter of minutes. Stains just find me. If I’m sitting sipping club soda and a woman across the restaurant is eating a hamburger with ketchup, that ketchup will find its way to my blouse. I can’t win.

The worst part is taking my stained articles of clothing to the dry cleaners. The looks of judgement and confusion I get are slightly painful.

Dry cleaner: ::::Inspecting::: but what is it?
Me: I don’t know :::starts to sweat:::
Dry cleaner: :::Still inspecting::: dirt? Soda? Grease?
Me: Seriously, I just don’t know, can you save it?
Dry cleaner: Oooohh this will be tough, but I’ll try. You need to be more careful!
Me: :::Sulking away:::


Stain-wise, the strangest things happen to me. For example, this past weekend I had a bottle of hot sauce in my hand bag (I mean … don’t ask), which happened to be light jean colored and to DIE for, and said bottle of hot sauce opened in my bag and destroyed everything in its path. I’m calling it the “hot sauce massacre.” It actually isn’t easy for me to discuss as I will be begging dry cleaners on my hands and knees to salvage my bag over my lunch break. Not to mention I’m never touching hot sauce again as the smell is making me want to vom. Literally. I can’t. But somehow the hot sauce, which  ground zero of the hot sauce massacre was strictly centered inside my handbag, ended up on my duvet cover, a t-shirt, and a pair of shorts. I just don’t get it. :::Sigh:::

What I’m saying is, I hope you are all enjoying your light colored clothes … all day errday. And most importantly, not carrying around bottles of hot sauce in your hand bags. And if you aren’t, think of people like myself who when they wear white, the tops of Starbucks cups magically fall off whilst drinking tea, leaving light-colored shirts covered in abstract tea art. Yeah … that happened, too.


Bringing Buttons Back

You know when you wake up in the morning and you are like shit out of luck when it comes to thinking up outfits to wear to work? Usually I’ll brainstorm the night before or when I’m continuously hitting snooze and pretending the clock isn’t really telling me it is time to start my day … but today, I wasn’t getting any “outfit magic” if you will. So luckily while I was applying mascara I realized, “hey … my favorite sheer green shirt! That guy hasn’t made an appearance in a while … SOLD!” So I dug into my closet, threw on my shirt, a pair of skinny jeans, leopard flats … and went on my way.

I thought I was looking good … in a lazy, comfy kind of way. It wasn’t until I was talking to a co-worker that I noticed, oh yeah … evidence that I actually brushed my teeth that day … and I’m not talking about giving off minty fresh breath. Oh no … I looked down to find a big white tooth paste stain on the front of my sheer shirt. Shit.  You would think stains come out of sheer shirts easily … but wrong. Especially tooth paste. Tooth paste is like cement on fabric … any fabric. I ran to the bathroom to try to remedy the stain with dabbing water, which only made it worse and more noticeable … and now with bits of paper towel stuck it to. Faaaaaaan-tastic.

I walked back to my desk defeated, embarrassed even feeling like this white stain was doing the God damn Macarena  on the front of my shirt. Hmph … so what to do, what to do. True, my hair covered a part of it … just a part, but what were the odds my hair would stay in the same place all day. I take my daily stress out on my hair … flipping it, running my hands through it, tucking it behind my ears, trying to pull it out … you know, the usual.

And then I had a stroke of genius … FLAIR. Mama needed some flair to cover up the embarrassment. I had to have something in my cave of wonders, also known as my desk, that I could stick on myself to regain some normalcy. But alas, I was S-O-L. I started making my rounds to my co-workers, asking for flair … stickers, pins, a scarf, a flower … some-thang. And finally … someone happened to have some SWEET neon buttons. They were tiny, but my saving grace. So I took two to cover up my Macarena-ing stain. Silly? Yes. Awesome? For sure. Innovative? My God … absolutely.

I learned a valuable lesson today. You can try all you want to look absolutely fab and stylish. But stains happen to the best of us. And if they don’t happen to you then I hate you. Seriously. But no, when stains happen, you need to roll with the punches. The style goes out the window a bit, and the need for fantastic flair takes over … because you immediately go into style-survivor mode. You can cry and blush when someone makes an inappropriate comment about the after Macarena-ing stain … or you can cover it up with something funny slash awesome and walk around with pride and a sense of humor. A sense of humor on a chick is one of the sexiest things you can have … trust me. Well don’t trust me because at the end of the day I have no idea what men find sexy … but I find anyone having an amazing sense of humor kinda hot. Truth.

Also … buttons? They rock … we should totally bring them back. Yep. I’m bringing buttons back. Decision made.