Cross-Aisle Shopping

thin white femme in suspenders

Rod and Justa went shopping yesterday, with my son tagging gamely along, his nose buried in my iPhone.

Justa bought some strapless bras, a sinfully short black dress, short shorts,  a drapey graphic T and some super cute shoes. Rod bought a significant-other beater, suspenders, and his first fitted!

(Also purchased in the Men’s dept: belt and wallet. The women’s versions just suck too damn much. I also almost went into the men’s changing room twice. Freudian slip?)

The fitted was the hardest for me to get. I felt extremely transgressive walking into the store. I was glad that I knew exactly what I wanted to get, but when I tried it on it didn’t look right. (It wasn’t till I got home that I realized I needed to tilt the brim up. Going into the store, I tried to act like this white girl buying a fitted was totally normal, and the sales guys played along. (Unlike the time I was buying a men’s hoodie at Tello’s and dude called his friend to tell him about it.)

Buying the shoes was fun. A super-cute, extra thick stud whose tag read “Chris” was working the register, and I exchanged huge smiles with her as I asked for some shoes in my size. Then when I needed another pair this brother helped me out. He started flirting with me…and I started flirting back! What can I say–I’m a flirt? Flirting makes things go smoother and be more fun, and I don’t have to actually like someone to flirt with them–right?

“I like your tattoo.” He said.

“Thanks” I replied, “It mean’s that I bat for Chris’s team.” (No, I just said thanks–sometimes I spit the shit that comes into my head, but usually I chicken out.) Then a customer noticed that his fly was unzipped, and he bashfully zipped his fly up while I cracked a joke about him working the floor half-naked.

Chris came back and I flirted with her some more, wishing that I had an excuse for a real convo with her, but I had to go! (All of the flirting must have done some good, because my shoes mysteriously came out to $25. rather than $45 as it said on the sticker.)

Walking out of the Mall, I was like–wait–did I really spend $20 on suspenders? How often am I really going to wear those?  But it’s for an event that I’m going to, and I have this image in my head of how I want to look and I feel compelled to play it out–even if it means buying $20 suspenders!

(Oh, and I got a negative comment about naming aspects of your personality–FYI Rod just kinda named himself. It works for me as a way of thinking about something that I’ve been struggling with since way before I started this blog. It helps, but I don’t take it too seriously.)

Femme Packing Part 2

Prety light brown femme in lingerie

If You're Not Into Shopping--Just Look At The Pictures!

Start at the beginning with Part 1–what, I mean packing for a trip–what did you think I meant?

Then today I started panicking. What would I wear to bed? Do I even own three nice pairs of underwear?

I sleep in over-sized men’s T’s and sweatpants that are slowly disintegratng into rags, and buy my panties in packages. I have one, maybe two black cotton panties for going out–but that’s it!

I was super-embarrassed when I went to Israel some years ago with a group aand forgot to pack any sleeping gear at all–I’d been sleeping in a T-shirt so long by myself, I didn’t even think about what it would be like to bunk up with a bunch of straight femmes with all their girly PJ’s.

So I raced to Marshall’s on my lunch break, hoping to find some decent PJ’s and panties. As I opened the door I caught my reflection in the mirror, and was once again struck by my own female masculinity–here I was, racing to buy all these girly things, but even with my long hair, and women’s clothes, I still saw a boi reflected in the glass. I even walk like a guy when I’m not thinking about it.

But whatever, I know I’ll feel all feminine when my boo is in the room.

Marshall’s was sadly lacking in the panties department. The only cotton panties were garishly colored monstrosities, and i can’t wear polyester panties, cause honey, the kitty needs to breathe!

I did score a cute little black dress–although who’s bright idea was it to add pockets?

I’ll just have to make do on the PJ’s and undies front–hopefully she’ll be too busy trying to take them off to care!

Femme-Packing Part 1

Disclaimer: the below is a my opinion and/or a parody of my opinion. I am not affiliated in any way with these companies, although I might have a Sears and Layne Bryant Card–I think they give those out to anybody, though..

Fucking hot volluptuous femme

I’ve been in somewhat of a frenzy getting ready for this weekend. Women of Color Weekend in P-Town! Two whole nights away from my kids and holed up in my Soft Studs rented love nest:-)

But this trip definitely required updating my wardrobe.I want to look nice. I know that there will be some fine, well-dressed women there, and my Boo will be dapper in her low-key jockish way, and I want her to be proud to have me on her arm

Plus with all of the weight I lost my old raggedy bathing suit would hang like a bag! So that called for a stolen few hours at the mall.

Since I’ve thinned down to the 14 side of 14-16, shopping has become soooooooooooooooooooo much easier! I started out with Layne Bryant out of habit.

Plus those Layne Briant models looked fucking hot in this bathing suit, and I wanted to try it on:

Fucking hot volluptuous femme in a peach, fortyie-style-almost bathing suit

Unfortunately, that bathing suit looked like crap on me! Really. It looked really, really bad! I will not burn your retinas with that view.

I fond a blue bathing suit top that looked petty good, along with a really good shaper-bottom.

Then I went to Sears, and went a little crazy. The last time I went to Sears and headed for the Fat Ghetto, that tiny little corner where women size 16 and up can choose between like 12 whole outfits that are all horribly unflattering and garish colors. I was grumbling as usual about the selection, when I noticed an Xtra Large tank top that looked like it would fit.

I tried it on, and, low-and-behold, it did! Big Mama 2x is now an extra large!

I ran out of the changing room for an orgy of choices–I was like Oprah giving out cars–I can try on this, and this, and this! All those cute clothes that had been denied to me for so man years were now there, on discount, double discount and triple discount! I loaded up me arms!

Of course, I couldn’t go crazy with the actual purchases, but I definitely found some good work clothes on that shopping trip!

On this trip, I located a really cute black bathing suit lop from Lands End:

Skinny b lond bitch in a bitchin black Tankini

It Looks Better in a D Cup

The skirt looked terrible (it really doesn’t even look good on this model–it makes her torso look even longer then is is and obscures her waist– but the Layne Briant bottoms made it work! Still, I couldn’t stop there! There’s a pool party, so I needed a cover-up, plus a nice Maxi day-dress for the Wine Tasting and maybe going out to dinner.

I wanted to get a little black dress, but, sadly, ran out of time…

Nothing Says Sexy Like Stink Bombs!

Warning, this post is not for the weak of stomach!
Sexy woman. Shirt says: "I like to fart on the first date."

Apparently something crawled up my ass and died this weekend, because I have been afflicted with a horrible ailment whose side effects include: stomach cramps, toxic fumes, fever, fatigue and insomnia.
The fact that my mom has the same thing does not make me feel any better.

After sleeping 11 hours Friday night and spending Saturday between napping on the couch and running to the bathroom, I decided to skip Machine so as not to subject my BFF Tina and the whole club to the traumatizing odors my body has been producing. But I still went to bed at 2:30, because apparently my body was pretending I went out anyways. (Either that or it was the back-to-back Lincoln Heights episodes–I love that show!)

Another apparent side effect of my sickness is zero shopping self-control.

After standing in the pouring rain for my daughters softball game (I know, getting soaked is great when you’re sick), I headed out to the Framingham Thrift Store on a mission to buy my son a rain jacket and my daughter some appropriate pants.

I can’t figure out if my daughter is a sartorial genius or total fashion mess. Who am I to tell her that red pants don’t go with a blue shirt when she somehow makes it work? With her hair and coloring, she makes anything look good.

Unfortunately, she has a habit of making leggings and a short shirt work. And she has entirely too much ass for a seven-year-old. I was complaining about our daily clothing battles at the club when I realized what a hypocrite I was–after-all, wasn’t I wearing leggings and a tank top?
Of course, there’s a huge difference between me–an adult–dressing like that for the club, and a seven year old dressing like a hootchie at school. I’m much more prepared for the kind of response those clothes are designed to elicit.

Not that they did. No one did hit on me that night. Apparently reading an explicit poem about a one night stand with a stone stud turned me into stud kryptonite–the studs around me must have thought I was on a stud-hunt the way they avoided my eyes afterwards! (And if I want the femmes smirking at me again I’m probably going to have to read some more poems about eating pussy!)

So back to shopping–I bought my son two jackets, my daughter appropriate pants and countless skorts. Then I went a little crazy and bought myself 5 pairs of shoes. Five! Two with heals! That’s right, heals! Another level of femmitude for me? Only if I actually wear them lol! We’ll see.

five pairs of shoes

Shoe Binging!

It’s true that the same shopping spree at a normal store would have approached a Grand, rather than $150 (Ralph Lauren sweater for $7 anyone?), but I still almost swooned at the cash register. I can’t afford to save so much money!

That night I stayed up till 1:30–despite feverish exhaustion. Today I’m just glad my toxic gas seem to be greatly reduced–and my cubicle-mate is out.

Hope I’m all-the way better soon!
‘Cause nothing says sexy like stink-bombs!