Tag Archives: Fashion

Mostly Wordless Wednesday…

31 Oct

Today is Halloween. My office is having a Halloween Costume Contest but I’m not a big fan of a) dressing up in a costume and b) joining in these reindeer games at work – so I opted out of the festivities.

So instead of dressing up, I decided to dress down. Wear something casual and fun. Here’s today’s shoes.

They have a six inch heel. They put me over 6 feet tall. #intimidation *ducking my head in doorways*

E.D. It’s not just for breakfast anymore…

31 Mar

The other night, I got together with two of my crazy bitch co-workers. Damn, I love these women. WorkItGirl and HotBabyMama.

WorkItGirl asked me last week to help her “shop” for a new man in her life. What the hell did I get myself into?

So we meet up, and I ask “what are we shopping for anyway” and WorkItGirl tells me they are going to Yosemite. Immediately, I conjure imagines of hiking and whatnot. I decide the best advice I can give her is to wear some cute hiking knee socks, some cheeky panties and a hot ass bra. Yeah baby! Cuz that’s how I’d rock the hiking look. Oh yeah, and pigtails. Cuz I’m naughty (shocking yes?)

They don't REALLY have to be hiking socks. So not the point.

I ask WorkItGirl how she met him in the first place and she tells me it was through eHarmony. I’m like “wha?” and she’s like “I kno” and then she tells me and HotBabyMama the story of this guy she met once for coffee.  Who was a complete WTF and a funny story. (And not the guy she’s going to Yosemite with.)

So anyhoohaw, she meets this guy for coffee and he proceeds to tell her about his erectile dysfunction. Over coffee. Did I mention it was 10am? Do we not have propriety here? WTF?

She is goaded by her BFF for life to give him another chance. First off, there is nothing wrong with admitting you have ED. I’m lying. And mocking. If you have ED, shut the fuck up. Lie bitch. Especially on the first date. At breakfast no less.

But she decides, okay, maybe I freaked out and should give him another chance. Maybe it was misunderstood?

She meets Mr. ED for dinner.

All is well until dessert. Where he decides to spill the T.R.U.T.H. – over creme brulee no less. Apparently Mr. ED is undergoing a surgerical penile implant to help him with this little problem. He’s really selling himself to WorkItGirl with this expenditure.

Me and HotBabyMama devolve into mindless giggles. Just in time for the waitress to arrive. Whereby I spill the sad truth that we’re talking about penile implants and yes, please, may I have another martini? Three olives, shake it up I like it dirty…

I’m so glad I’m not single. And so glad I have friends who have such colorful lives and stories that allow me to feel their pain, mirth, and currently – joy.

P.S. WorkItGirl found some rockin knee high hiking socks. Schwing!

Take it off

16 Nov

My dog is OOOOLLLLDDDD. And CCCCOOOOLLLLDDD.

Buddy is now 14-1/2 years old. That’s 101 to you and me. His eyes are all cloudy and his hearing is shot. He sleeps 23-1/2 hours a day but for those few minutes he’s awake, he’s the cutest freakin puppy there is.

His nicknames are Bud, Budster, and Yard Sale. Why Yard Sale you ask? Since you asked…

You know what a baby deer looks like when he tries to get up the first time? That’s Bud every time he shakes himself. Splat.

Last winter, my little Yard Sale started shivering so hard I thought he’d finally explode – so I bought two plain sweaters for him – one red, one brown. I wanted black but apparently that’s just “not a color parents buy” according to the fashion nazi’s at Petco.

For the record, I like buying stuff. Especially shoes. But for my dogs – whom I would do almost anything for – I refuse to truss them up with silly freaking burberry inspired patterns or long capes with matching hats and matching shoes. If you do, stop it right now.

It’s probably his last winter with us, so one day, after drinking too much wine at lunch (woops, they see right through me), I found this very cute and snuggly super soft angora sweater. And one for Buddy too. No hat, no shoes. Bummer for me.

Because I make fun of idiots who dress their dogs up in silly outfits with bows, I felt like maybe I’d have to stop doing that now – then quickly tossed that thought aside.

You see, unless your dog is naturally hairless or is on his last paws, show some respect and take that stupid shit off him. WTF? Who dresses their dog like this?

Are those freaking mary-jane paw-socks? What?

Seriously? A dog-kini?

My little Yard Sale’s days are numbered and all I want for him is to feel safe, warm, and loved. If lazing around in a fuzzy angora super soft sweater will keep him warm and cozy now that it’s cold, then I’m all for it.

But I’ll still laugh at you if I see your perfectly healthy dog sporting designer duds on the trail. Just saying.

My Shitty Shoes

13 Nov

 

I definitely play favorites with my shoes. They have specific personalities and when I wear them, they evoke specific emotions from me.

Yep – my 5″ gladiator black stilettos make me feel fierce whereas my 2″ tan clogs make me feel – well, a bit sad. I mean, given the choice, wouldn’t you rather wear strappy and sexy?

So it’s with much dismay that I find myself suddenly disgusted today.

First – how dare you walk your dog in public and let Peanut take a dump on the edge of the sidewalk. What a dick. Your dog might take “wittle poo poos”  (cuz I’m sure that’s how you say that), but shit is shit. And your dog shat and you didn’t pick it up.

Peanut’s poo might be pebbles, but when stepped on, this is the only time when I can legitimately say that size doesn’t matter.

And I was wearing my 4″ black knee high boots – the ones I’ve only worn once. The ones that make me feel daring and tall. And I needed daring and tall today.

I’m in public pawing a small patch of grass trying to get the poo off. People are looking at me. I’m about to hurl cuz I don’t know what you fed Peanut, but it smelled like that dog ate belly button lint. Just gross. Thanks.

I give in and stand in line at the Starbucks to get a bottle of water and some napkins. Then I thought “aha” – and sneak into the bathroom. Now I’m sure these public bathrooms are all spotless and sanitary, but I’m not about to take my boot off and stand in my tights on that floor. Hail no. Nor am I going to pop a squat on the toilet seat to clean em up.

So I settle for wetting down a bunch of paper towels and reverting to plan A. Pawing my dirty boot on the floor. By now, I’m pissed. This job is going to require some extensive surgery to remove the poo from the grooves. I’m forced to come home.

Thanks to my handiwork with toothpicks, the boot is poo free, but now I don’t want to wear them anymore. They are now evoking disgust from me. It wasn’t their fault, but at least for today, the memory of being smeared with poo goo is just too fresh.

And now that I’m back home, I guess my fuzzy black slippers will just have to do.

Help! I’ve fallen…

12 Sep

Don't even think of picking that up...

It’s a sad sad day indeed when a 40-something gal goes shoe shopping and winds up ass down near the price check during the One-Day Sale at Macy’s.

And that’s how I spent my Saturday afternoon folks. After a humiliating early morning where I got to meet 10 or so of the hubby’s “Go Bears” posse while not so pretty (translation: disgusting and sloppy), I decided there’s nothing like a new pair of shoes or three to cheer a gal up.

So off I went armed with a 20% off coupon and high hopes. And high heels. Well, just 3″ wedges. But they were caramel suede and smart as hell.

If you’ve ever been to a department store one-day sale, you know that every woman there is in it for herself. There’s no polite “excuse me” or “I’m sorry” happening between the racks of highly discounted shoes. No, these women will step on your bare foot with 4″ spikey heels if you don’t move along fast enough. I should know – I’ve ‘accidentally’ done that. And I do mean accidentally. To the lady with the tan capri’s and floral top I swear I really am sorry. Just was so focused I didn’t notice…

Anyhoo, I found these great 4.5″ light tan wedge’s on the sale rack. I take my right shoe off, and say hello to my new little friend. It’s a bit awkward walking with one 3″ heel and one 4.5″ heel, but I’m game. I wobble between the isles and then voila, sitting all by her lonesome on the floor is a dazzling multi-color strappy 4″ beauty begging me to adopt her like a cute little puppy in the window.

I eagerly bend down to pick her up and cuddle her. She is perfect! I must try her on.

As luck would have it, it’s a left shoe – so I push off my own shoe and balancing precariously now on one 4.5″ wedge, I lift my left foot up, and just as I’m reaching down to put the new strappy puppy on…

I flippin tip over!

Right by the price check machine.

And in front of all those women who gasped and one who asked if I was OK in that voice reserved for people who clearly are not, you know, OK.

I dropped fast and hard – it’s a good thing I already broke my left wrist in a freak roller skating accident back in ’04 and as a result have a $6M bionic wrist (I joke, it’s just a 5″ titanium bar with 8{gulp} huge screws), otherwise, you can imagine the drama that would have been Lisa. Oh yeah, I’m absolutely a wuss.

So as quick as my pride would let me, I got up and looked the woman in the eye who asked if I was OK and said “that was fucking embarrassing.” To which she made that little “O” with her mouth and walked away.

Thoroughly disgraced, I blindly walked toward a table of boots. Pretended they were super duper and picked 4 of them up… Then I realized I was lopsided.  I had no shoe on my left foot but I did retain that cute 4.5″ tan wedge on my right.

And in my hand, one of my shoes. Where the hell did I lose the other shoe? I walked topsy turvy through every table, rack, seated area no less than 6 times retracing my path trying to find my shoe. It was gone. Would someone have mistook my clearly worn shoe that wasn’t marked with a Macy’s label as a freebie? Who would do that? Why would they do that? Wierdos.

I also couldn’t find that cute strappy number after that – and since my own shoe never turned up, I can only surmise that they must be part of the mystery of the missing sock in the dryer syndrome.

I was faced with really only one choice here – I had to eventually leave and to do so, I’d have to walk barefoot through the mall parking lot – or – buy a new pair of shoes. The one that was fated to me. Those cute 4.5″ light tan wedges that were on incredible sale.

The day ended happily enough, but I have aa bruise on my ass and thigh that will remind me for a while that life is very imbalanced and you must compensate sometimes with flats. Or however you compensate.

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