Laden in Red

Platypus-transparentAhhhh… I have the red shirt on as I write this, the demise of which has been urged by 50% of the harem since prior to the Remake experience. I am wearing it with new jeans, however, so I am not a complete affront to Kat’s teachings, still I feel somewhat naughty. She’s like, “Why don’t you wear the good stuff all the time?” and I’m like, “So it will last longer for when I inflict myself upon Other People.”

This is a reason why clothing has to be livable for me: I don’t think about it. If I get the not infrequent urge to make bread, I guarantee you I’ll be wearing black and I won’t consider that until the point where flour assures I am wearing grey. Yeah, I have a chef’s jacket. It’s black. Go figure. I was forever ruining dress shirts at work by jumping in to equipment repairs without putting a lab coat on first. Greasy pole in the neighbourhood? I’ll lean against it wearing a suit or a new jacket. Guaranteed.

Kathryn asked me if I’d ever wear the old relaxed fit jeans again and was surprised when I said yes. I have to preserve the good stuff. Put it down to lack of awearness.

P.S. Dating Site Status: Among those stating an interest, the average age has dropped to 46.75. Let’s see how close to my mental age (13) this gets.

Make Twitter work for me, or convince me it’s a hoax – @shpak60

One Last Look

So the elegance with which I am now facing the world is belied by the sweat pants and tie dyed t-shirt I wear currently. Working from home has its perks, although when I get up in the morning I’m essentially at work. Good thing I love what I do.

I have to admit that doling the story of last Thursday out over a week does prolong the episode, so the glow did not fade the morning after, but it is waning a bit now. Thanks for the comments about the process. On one hand it is fun for me to be part of it. On the other hand I don’t know how to feel about being the lump of prickly Play-Doh it seems I was. Yes, prickly Play-Doh. I imagine a blob of the stuff, rolled in a lumpy, off round shape with bits of dried pine needles sticking out. It’s my metaphor and I’ll cry if I want to, cry if I want, cry if I want to…

That reminds me of a song. Not the one you’re thinking of:

Man, I could dress nicely for a Holly concert now…

Today comes one last reveal. At the start of everything, as Kathryn was describing her services in a way to help release the strangling grip I had on my chair, the phrase that I’ve been repeating to myself like a mantra when things get uncomfortable (i.e. the cowboy shirt, white clothes, manscara, et al) is “me but better, me but better…”

Not to belittle any of the previous outfits, for they are all great looks that I’m going to use. Even the suit, as great a deal as it was, as great a fit as it turned out to be, I still end up looking like me in a suit. Certainly nothing wrong with that. It has its places. However, the outfit that really resonates with me, that I go back to and say, yes, that is me, but better, is this one:ScottOver01

Now, let’s just take this in for a moment and note the Drastic, Startling Change that has been inflicted upon me. I am wearing jeans, a black t-shirt and a black jacket. And a scarf. With the exception of the scarf, I have jeans, black t-shirts and black jackets in my wardrobe, and I did prior to last Thursday. The difference? Now I have the RIGHT t-shirt and jeans (I think there’s still hope for the other black jackets).

This looks like me. In the Teach A Man To Fish sense, I know now why it not only looks like me, but why it looks like a better me. I think I am better placed for dressing myself now. Even if I still wear sweat pants and tie dye.

Published in: on December 1, 2010 at 8:38 am  Comments Off on One Last Look  
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Relaxed. My Ass.


  1. Go to Blue Chain Store
  2. Stand in front of Wall O’ Jeans
  3. Pretend to Read signs
  4. Look for cheapest price
  5. Fail to find appropriate size
  6. Look for next cheapest price
  7. Decide the word “Relaxed” is good
  8. Think about relaxing
  9. Realize you’re not
  10. Grab a pair of relaxed fit in correct(ish) size
  11. Try them on
  12. If they don’t hurt, buy them
  13. Get the hell out
  14. Wear ugly jeans until they disintegrate
  15. Repeat

And here’s what happens:



1. Shut up and put on the pants that Kathryn hands you

The result:


There was another pair of jeans. Even nicer than the ones pictured. So nice, in fact, that Kathryn could not hold the camera steady as she was incredibly moved by the glory of denim-clad Man-butt as well as her genius for discovering the right venue for showcasing. Needless to say, I have not taken those jeans off since Thursday.

The jeans are but (HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!) the beginning of the journey, not the end (HAHAHAH… oh forget it). It was odd, having my behind the subject of intense inspection. I understand, it’s a well-formed and shapely ass for a man of 50 (although not perfect – there’s a suspected issue with the right piriformis), well-worked as it is, hauling the rest of me from place to place. And really, in the grand scheme, improving my jean pool was probably the least significant of Kathryn’s accomplishments.

I’ll be back. With more pictures.