2007

(Happy New Year from the Timmermans)

This year has been ridiculously busy. I spent 3 months on my Where am I Wearing? quest, bought a house, and got married.

On the writing front, I’ve accomplished more than I could have ever imagined when I wrote this post on December 31st 2006. I’ve continued to contribute to the Christian Science Monitor’s Home Forum section as well as record pieces and do a few interviews for the World Vision Report.

Most of all, I’ll remember 2007 as the year I got my first big break. This isn’t entirely official since the small details aren’t worked out, but…y’all better save up $24.95 by November of ’08 because that is when Where am I Wearing? is going to hit book stores. Wiley & Sons will be publishing the book in hardcover. Again, my agent and I have agreed to the offer that was first presented to us and now we are just ironing out the details like who gets the dough if I become an action figure, which I don’t expect will ever happen.

Well, that’s it from ’07. Now I’m going to go snuggle up with my wife, a glass of wine, and our precious kitty, in our beautiful home and while away the last remaining hours of the year. There’s nowhere else in the world I’d rather be.

From maple mammaries to your underwear: The Top ten posts of 2007

WAIW? sprung to life in March. Since then I’ve written 323 posts and over 62,000 words.

The top ten most-viewed “Where am I Wearing?” posts of 2007:

1. The Underwear Wall of Fame

2. My All American Cambodian Blue Jeans

3. The Adventure begins

4. Happy Birthday Garfield

5. Mrs. Butterworth’s Boobs

6. Synergy Barbie

7. The Kings of Fantasy Kingdom

8. Where am I Wearing? The ultimate slideshow

9. Shoes: because going barefoot sucks

10. Can plumpy nut end world hunger?

A thousand words…

My Christmas Inventory

It’s day four post-Christmas and no one has entered the contest. Come on people. I know you are out there. I check my stats and I see that you are visiting. I tend to do all the work around here, now it’s you turn. Remember, you could win stuff and given the number of entries to this point, your chances are good.

Anyhow, I can’t complain much because I have generally been sitting on my tush playing with my Christmas toys, eating, and pretending that I have nothing else in the world to do. Even though big, big things are looming. But I’ve finally got around to completing my inventory.

A few notes:

- It may be perceived as annoying to the gift-giver if the gift-opener, upon opening a gift of clothing, ignores the style, color, and size of the clothing and goes straight for the made in label: “Sweet, this one was made in Bahrain. Where’s that?”

- Opening clothes has never been more fun. It’s like Fantasy Football, but with Christmas gifts and no not-so witty remarks about washed-up running backs.

- I received 0 items of clothing made in the USA and only one from a developed country (Italy).

Kelsey’s Christmas Inventory -

1 Columbia Sweatshirt - Made in Sri Lanka
1 Sweater - Made in China
1 TAPS t-shirt - Made in El Salvador
1 Fancy boy shirt - Made in India
1 GAP dress pants - Made in Bahrain (Score. Don’t think I’ve seen anything made from there before)
1 GAP author-ware cords - Made in Lesotho
2 Chaps shirts - Made in China
1 Fancy boy shirt - Made in China
1 Fancy boy corduroy shirt - Made in India
1 University of Illinois fleece - Made in Bangladesh
1 Gap sweater - Made in China
1 Merino wool hat - Made in Italy

Total items = 13
Total countries = 8

Something I didn’t know

Authors don’t typically get royalties on their works in Braille, large print, or any other format designed for handicap individuals.

Don’t forget the contest

A quick reminder to inventory your clothes for The First Annual Where are YOU Wearing Contest of Destiny.

After another Christmas last night my inventory stands as follows:

Kelsey’s Christmas Inventory -

Columbia Sweatshirt - Made in Sri Lanka
Sweater - Made in China
TAPS t-shirt - Made in El Salvador
Fancy boy shirt - Made in India
GAP dress pants - Made in Bahrain (Score. Don’t think I’ve seen anything made from there before)
GAP author-ware cords - Made in Lesotho

Victoria’s Secret: a non-pervs quest to buy his girlfriend underwear

I wrote this piece last year and read it for Annie before I gave her the gift I bought. It’s about the lengths we’ll go to buy a gift for loved ones. It’s about not being a perv. It’s about shopping for the most comfortable and non-sexy bra and panties in the World at Victoria’s Secret.

Merry Christmas,

Kelsey

VICTORIA’S SECRET
by Kelsey Timmerman

For most of my life I’ve pretended that Victoria didn’t exist and that her secret meant nothing to me.

Countless times I passed her store, without so much as a look. Even if I wasn’t shopping with my mom or my girlfriend Annie, I vowed not to scan her windows. Why? Because, I wasn’t a perve.

It’s surprising how developed ones peripheral vision can become. Through mine I saw a pink palace of plush carpet. Everything seemed as soft as a cloud – the lace, the fabric, the cleavage. Inside, leggy, buxom young ladies spoke with accents as they advised hot young co-eds on the wonders of the Wonder Bra. And, oh, the changing rooms. What delicate little rooms of privacy they must be.

With a little imagination my peripheral vision was at least 20/20. Damn near X-ray.

It’s the Wednesday afternoon before Christmas. It happens fast, like a decision to itch your elbow. One moment I’m feigning interest in the candle store across the hall while and now I’m walking towards her. Face to face with Victoria.

I’m going in.

Table after table of underwear. Walls lined with bras. If I had died at the age of 13, this is where I would have gone. And, in turn, if I would have gone here at the age of 13, I would have died. My chest is tight and rises and falls with a shudder, each breath shorter than the last. I need help. I need to get in and get out as quickly as possible.

I find her folding underwear. She’s wearing an earpiece to get updates on urgent stock issues regarding nighties. She has dark hair, dark eyes, and an air of holiday retail disgust. She’s a little heavy, and not very leggy or buxom. I picture her in her underwear. I picture the guy who just walked in with the Yankees cap turned backwards in his underwear. In an underwater store it’s hard not to picture everybody in their underwear.

“I need help,” I say.

“What can I do for you?” She stops folding.

“I want to buy my girlfriend the most comfortable underwear you have,” I say. To be honest, I feel a little stupid saying underwear in public to a complete stranger. I ponder using undergarment or skivvies or anything that sounds more prudish.

“Here are some of our more comfortable bras.” She says as she motions to the wall of bras. Cupped and hanging perfectly as if being modeled by some invisible babes.

I nod.

“Does she wear these?” She points. Then she motions to her own chest. “They cup higher. Or these that are a little lower?”

“Whatever is the most comfortable.” I emphasize comfort too inform her that I’m not like those other guys that come in looking for a little nylon and spandex to sculpt their ladies and leave their secret treasures secret, but just barely so. The perverts.

“What size is she?”

I stare at her searching. I’ve snuck a peak or two at Annie’s bras lying on the bathroom floor. Most are faded and worn to the point where the tags are unreadable. But just yesterday I saw one of her newer ones, no less than five years old. Every guy wants to know his ladies digits.

“What color?”

“White.” White is not sexy. It’s everyday. Red or black would be selfish – like I was dressing her up for me. This isn’t about me. She buys her underwear in packs of 5 at Wal-Mart. I want to treat her to something special that she wouldn’t buy for herself.

“How much is it?” I say.

“$45.”

I act like I’m not doing any conversions. That $45 dollars does not equal hours’ worth of work. That $45 couldn’t buy me enough underwear to last three years or enough pizza to last a week. $45 Dollars!

“Okay.” I say.

She hands me the bra.

I’m holding a bra. I’ve never held a bra in the privacy of my own home and now here I am at the mall holding one.

“How about panties to match?”

“Sure.” Panties! Panties! Aren’t panties underwear. I wish she would call them underwear.

“What kind does she wear?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I guess something like those.” I point with the hand not holding the bra. The bra holding hand isn’t going anywhere. It is frozen.

“Well unless your girlfriend is an 85-year-old grandma she doesn’t wear those,” she says.

“Here, she probably wears something like this – the string bikini bottoms.”

Pardon me for not knowing my undergarments, but for a moment I think that string bikini equals thong. I am on the verge of hanging myself with the bra. And then she holds up non-thong underwear. Thank God.

“Yeah, something like that would work,” I say, hoping she will hand them to me so I can run for the counter.

She doesn’t. “Now, seamed or seamless?”

“I guess seamless. They sound more comfortable. Besides,” I point to the table of seamed bottoms, “those look like the ones she gets in Wal-Mart by the bundle. Really, is there any difference…?” I continue on down this path completely and unintentionally devaluing this woman’s position as an undergarment salesperson before I finally realize that I should just shut it.

“This table is all seamless,” she says.

She starts to look through the neatly folded piles of panties, when she is interrupted, “Excuse me. I’m about a size 6. What would that be?” The woman is in her 40’s and appears to be calm as can be, as if she spent everyday searching out the perfect pair of underwear while 27-year-old me looks on.

I picture her in her underwear. I can’t help myself. I’m completely not attracted to this lady. Actually, she’s pissing me off. Who does she think she is trying to steal my sales rep (whatever her name is – I won’t read the name tag for fear that she thinks I’m trying to check out her chest)?

They continue on to talk about sizes and cuts.

I don’t hear them. I’ve got bigger problems. The realization has set in: I have to touch panties. The search for a medium begins. Ever so gently I pick through the stack.

Minutes or days go by, when the sales rep says, “You may want to consider these boy cut panties.”

Miss Size Six says, “I always wanted to try a pair of those.”

“Are they comfortable?” I ask.

“Yep, just like the bikinis. You can barely tell they are there. The main difference is that a little bit of butt cheek hangs out the bottom.”

She motions with her hand to where they hit her butt cheek. I picture her in boy cut panties. I picture Miss Size Six in boy cut panties. Hell, I picture me in boy cut panties.

“The boys,” she nods at me, “really like that.”

“Well which ones are more comfortable?” I ask.

“They’re the same. It all depends if you want to buy them for you or her.”

The torture! Deep down I hope that the pink of my surroundings disguises the flush in my face.

“I’ll just go with those.” I point to the bikinis.

“What color?”

I hem-haw around as if it doesn’t really matter to me. Color doesn’t really matter to us guys who just want to treat their ladies to overpriced seamless undergarments. Why would we care? Only pervs care.

“Here’s a white pair to match the top.”

Now I’m holding panties and a bra. I leave the two women talking about butt-check-hanging-outage and how much is sexy and how much is just too much.

If I wanted, I could crush up both garments and shove them into my pocket. They would take up next to no room, yet the check out girl feels the need to put them in a stiff pink bag with “Victoria’s Secret” written in big, sexy cursive. As quick as I can, I stuff the bag into another bag.

I bound out of the store. I don’t look back. Once again, I pretend Victoria’s Secret doesn’t exist.

Website of the Week Kiva.org

Kiva.org is praised in Bill Clinton’s latest book Giving. Basically, it’s person-to-person microlending.

In their own words:

Kiva lets you connect with and loan money to unique small businesses in the developing world. By choosing a business on Kiva.org, you can “sponsor a business” and help the world’s working poor make great strides towards economic independence. Throughout the course of the loan (usually 6-12 months), you can receive email journal updates from the business you’ve sponsored. As loans are repaid, you get your loan money back.

“There are not too many sweatshops but there are too few”

- Jeffrey Sachs.

Here are some arguments for sweatshops and the upward mobility they provide the sweat laborer.

To me this is semantically offensive (if it is actually possible for something to be semantically offensive). While there is no agreed upon the definition of what a sweatshop is, most define them as factories, usually garment factories, in which the employees are poorly paid and treated inhumanely.

Maybe it’s just me, but I think humans should not be okay with other humans not being treated humanely.

To say we need more sweatshops might as well be saying, “the world would be a better place if we treated more people inhumanely and pay them crappy.” I see the logic in Sachs thought surrounding this quote in his book The End of Poverty, but I wish he would replace “sweatshop” with something like “overseas factories.” Because, from my experience visiting factories around the world, not every garment factory is a sweatshop and the ones that Sachs talks about don’t seem to be.

The world may need more factories that provide jobs that empower their workers by providing them with a steady, livable (in the context of their own country) wage. It doesn’t need more sweatshops.

BIG news in the works

Here’s a not so subtle hint…