This is goodbye: A eulogy for my black and white striped shirt

My wardrobe has a high turnover rate. I buy new things cheaply, keep them around for a year or two, get bored with them, and sell them.

With the exception of purely practical staples, like the black pants I've had since I worked at Bob Evans, and an ever-expanding but never-shrinking collection of layering tanks, nothing sticks around too long. Mainly because I have hardly anything in my closet that I'm truly in love with .

OK, I do admit I am sentimentally attached to a few gifted items that I won't give up even when they don't quite fit and I can't ever find anything to match them. And I'm keeping my high school senior T-shirt and the orange top I got in 8th grade until they fall to pieces, simply because they've lasted this long and it would be a shame to give up on them now. But for the most part, I don't have any compunctions about saying goodbye to clothes that are past their prime.

Yet yesterday was a sad day, when I was forced to do just that, to a shirt that I might even go so far as to call my favorite. The first time I wore it (not even two years ago!), I claimed I would "looooooooove" it "until the day it finally bites the dust." That day came too soon.

After I pulled it out of the dryer yesterday, I had to admit to myself that the holes were no longer "small enough to ignore." The neckline was coming apart from the body of the shirt in spots, and the waistband was doing the same. I could probably sew up some of it and get a few more wears out of it, but it would never look good, and it would just postpone the inevitable.

So I steeled myself and relegated my beloved shirt to the pajama drawer.

"What?" you're probably saying. "The pajama drawer? You'll still see it every day! That's not saying goodbye! That is not worthy of a eulogy!"

And, well, maybe you're right. It's more like a breakup. Where me and my ex (ex shirt) are still "just friends." Sure, we see each other, and we get along, but we can't go out together any more. When we do see each other, we're both (OK, let's be honest, it's just me) painfully reminded of a time when our relationship meant more. When we didn't have to hide it. When we could, oh, proudly flaunt our couple-selfies all over the Internet.

Pictures of some of our happier times together

Gosh, it's only been a day, and I miss my Black-and-White-Striped-Shirt already. I wonder if it's thinking of me...

Whitetail Resort Cookies

I don't think ski resort cafeterias are known for their delicious and affordable food, but when I found Giant Cookies at Whitetail Resort, I had to try anyway. I was not much impressed.

The chocolate chip cookie reminded me of cookies made from refrigerated Tollhouse dough (delicious to eat raw, absolutely average once baked). It was too airy and crunchy, especially around the edges. It had no distinctive flavor, but at least it wasn't stingy with the chocolate chips.

Would I pay $3.49 for one of these again? I think not.

The Bottom Line:
Taste: 3 stars
Texture: 2 stars
Price: 1 star (3¢ per gram)

The peanut butter cookie was softer, but still rather dry. Its flavor was, again, nothing to write home about. Its best feature was the presence of peanut butter chips, which are somewhat uncommon in peanut butter cookies. They added some textural variety and a burst of sweetness in each bite, but that still wasn't enough to make me want to buy them at 3¢ a gram.

The Bottom Line:
Taste: 3 stars
Texture: 3 stars
Price: 1 star

What does my sleepwear say about me?

My preferred sleepwear is shorts and a tank top—or, in winter, their warmer counterparts: lounge pants and thermal tees. According to this Who What Wear quiz (which is really not so much a quiz as a subtle nudge to consumerism), that means I put a premium on comfort.

Well, I guess that's more true than not—bed is one place where I think being comfortable is way more important than looking good. But probably my number-one reason for wearing loungewear to bed is because it's so sensible. Nothing does double-duty quite as well as my chosen sleepwear—which is, incidentally, the same as my weekend wear.

That means, on a glorious Saturday, I can roll out of bed and not bother to change for hours...and get away with it! If I were to, hypothetically, answer the door at 3pm in matched flannel PJ's, I'd give off the appearance of someone who is either sick or supremely lazy. But dressed in a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt, I simply look like someone who's having a cozy day at home! Or maybe even is athletic! I can wear those same yoga pants to the grocery store, with little risk of the sidelong glances I would surely incur if I showed up in a cotton nightgown. With minor modifications, my sleep clothes can take me straight from bed to the gym without any social repercussions.

Money is, of course, a huge deciding factor. I could, and once did, consistently look all put-together in matched sets, but those tend to cost money, and why wear those when you can just repurpose your old clothes and not spend a penny?






And then, of course, we must be realistic. Much as I love them in theory, I've given up on silky numbers before even giving them a try, considering how my dry skin and flaking fingernails snag everything that isn't built for lumberjacks. So sensible, durable fabrics are my one and only.

I may have a slight obsession with dressing to impress (or at least make a statement), but when it comes to sleep and its associated garb, I will sacrifice all sorts of fashion in the name of practicality.

What does your sleepwear say about you?

Weekend Whining

Two weeks and a weekend into this illness, I've had enough with a capital nough. The thought of never recovering is filling me with dread. Sometimes panic. And I think panic, in general, is not conducive to recovery.

I am already annoyed at how boring I've become. I've withdrawn from my skating lessons. I skipped a hockey game and two parties this weekend (narrowly escaping the Super Bowl for another year) and reluctantly attended a third, at which I sat nervously and refused all desserts and generally made myself out to be a loser. I was also doped up on meclizine, which delivered its promised drowsiness nearly 6 hours after ingestion, inconveniently right after I arrived at the party.

My hobbies have dwindled down to one—listening to Cloud Atlas on my cell phone, which is probably for the better because I borrowed this particular audiobook from the library (digitally) and I only have a few more days until I have to "return" it. Oh, and also blogging blind—thankfully this is not too difficult since my touch typing skills are prodigious, if I do say so myself (and heck, I might as well let myself feel good about something, cause otherwise I would be a negative Nancy indeed).

I have attempted numerous times to get  some sort of screen reader software so I can listen to web pages, rather than look at them, which makes my eyes go all wonky. I have learned the utmost empathy for people with visual disabilities, as what I've found thus far has been disappointing bordering on maddening. Stop reading the HTML markup! Stop telling me no text is selected when it is! Stop insisting on reading the quotation marks aloud but not the ampersands! Stop talking like a robot! Et cetera, et cetera.

All the craft projects I've been wanting to do are just sitting in a pile waiting for me to have the fortitude to attempt them. My usually impeccable (though often unfashionable) sense of style has taken a hit, as staring into my closet and trying on endless combinations of clothes is too wearing (get it?) for my brain. I turned down one freelance gig already, and I look ahead with complete unenthusiasm to the one I'm already obligated to do. I paid my bills late, because I couldn't seem to find the time for them in between sprees of sitting in the darkness, thus labyrinthitis  is already costing me pennies upon pennies in overdue fees.

Not to mention the doctor visits, of which there have already been 2, going on  a third, and the prescription, which I probably won't bother to refill.

This weekend was something of a tease, as there were huge swathes of Saturday in which I felt disconcertingly normal, only to have the dizziness come back in several annoying swoops. This morning, I am definitely back to square one. The only difference between the way I felt at the onset of this condition and the way I feel now is that now I'm additionally enjoying occasional motion sickness and headaches. Oh, and originally I would feel better if I closed my eyes; now, sometimes, that makes it feel worse! My consolation is that sometimes I feel like it is easing up, or even occasionally going away completely, so maybe I'm not doomed to a life of dizziness.