Today I am writing about fashion. As in, clothes, cut, color, shoes, etc. Before my tesosterone-laden friends run screaming away to look at electronics, power tools and edged weapons, here is some fashion for you:

See, that wasn’t so painful, was it? Although I can’t imagine spending $140 on a swimsuit – ouch!

Now, for those of you that are still here. I wandered into one of my favorite stores about ten days ago, and was annoyed and dismayed by what I saw on display. You see, I do like to shop, occasionally, and enjoy finding good deals on comfortable, flattering clothes. Still, sometimes I seem to have seasons, even years, when the fashion industry and I are through, professionally.

This year, I detested the colors. They were all summery, cool-toned brights, announcing, “Hello, I’m a day-glo snow-cone” to the world. See the color chart below – according to entertaining image blog You Look Fab, they are supposedly the colors for spring/summer 2010.

These are decidedly not my colors. I prefer earth tones – every shade of beige, khaki and brown, with warm reds, oranges, greens and golds.

When looking at actual clothing, I saw lots of polka dots, stripes and garish retro prints. And, not only are short shirts and excessive ruffles still the trend, now it seems that retailers are pushing one-shoulder styles and skinny jeans. (I predict they’ll also be plentiful on the clearance racks this fall!)

Below are a couple of stores’ representative assortments. I started with my favorite – Lane Bryant – the reasonably priced, relatively modern friend of the tall, curvy woman.

And when I struck out there, I went on to Nordstrom (below) and Macys, thinking I might have better luck with more classic colors there.

Nope. Eye-searing brights are, unfortunately, in.

I’m not going to be spending much on clothes this season. I may even get reacquainted with my sewing machine.

Today we have a guest post by my youngest and snarkiest, Zach. He says:

I have come to this realization…

Many years ago Hitler was on the verge of defeat. Rather than accepting death, he created Twitter. It was only an idea to be carried through the generations, but ideas are strong. This particular idea was the embodiment of Hitler’s malevolence. And so every tweet feeds the Hitler-y apocalypse. Be strong, be focused, do not tweet.

And to fight this dread evil…FACEBOOK QUIZZES. You see, Facebook quizzes were made to summon forth Anduril, Flame of the West, the blade reforged from the shards of Narsil, Sauron’s bane. And so, with every Facebook quiz taken, we are one step closer to having the weapon to finally defeat Hitler.

So I ask of you, take Facebook quizzes so that I may wield Anduril, Flame of the West.

Also, it is a dang sexy blade.

Last night I had a dream that completely drained me. I rarely have vivid or memorable ones, so this was unusual.

In my dream, I was in an airport or a train station, looking down from a mezzanine level, and I saw Bryan below. I was shocked and surprised, but my dreamtime brain told me, “He hasn’t died yet, you can save him, you can reverse it.”

As a fix-it sort of woman, I got moving and tried to get to him before he disappeared into the crowd. The escalator was broken and boarded off. The elevator didn’t come. I couldn’t find any stairs.

I watched, growing increasingly frantic, over the balcony railing as Bryan slowed, turned red, convulsed briefly, then collapsed onto the cold marble floor.

At that point I attempted the broken escalator, jumping the barricade and picking my way over the construction zone, while security men shouted at me.

By the time I made it to Bryan he was unconscious. I screamed, “Call 911″ at hurried passers-by, padded his head with my coat and elevated his feet on his backpack.

He stopped breathing and his heart stopped beating as I checked him, so I prepared to start CPR. Strangely, of all those rushing by, no one gathered around and no one offered to help, it was if, dreamlike, we were invisible.

In my dream I don’t remember actually administering CPR, just knew I’d done so, and the paramedics did not come. I just remember giving up and admitting he was gone. I laid down beside him and held him on the chilly marble as he grew colder.

I was neither able to get to him in time nor save him, after all, in my dream; so much for changing history.

Tonight, dream gods, I’d like Tahiti, a sailboat and Mai Tais, please?

Today I took part in my first formal Masters’ swimming event, the one-hour postal swim. It’s called the “postal swim” because it’s not a direct, head-to-head competition, but rather one where swimmers use their own facilities and timers and mail in individual results for regional compilation.

The goal of this particular postal swim? To swim as far as possible in one hour. The recorded distance (total yards swum) determines the order of finish.

I had to have an official counter/timer, who recorded my lap count and my cumulative split every fifty yards. Ben graciously volunteered/was dragged along in spite of his loud and frequent protests.

I completed 2,900 yards (116 laps). It wasn’t quite what I’d hoped for; my goal was 3,000-3,200 yards. It must have been all that slacking and those extra gingersnaps over Christmas break. Still, the swim felt good, very strong at the finish, and as always, I was very consistent – my 50 splits at the end were the same, maybe even a little faster, than my 50 splits at the beginning.

Of course, I have no idea what my regional results will be – that will take couple of months. I doubt I’ll place in my age group; it’s pretty competitive. That wasn’t my objective anyway,I just wanted to do it, and maybe set a baseline to improve upon next year.