Item 1 – Alligator Pumps
Gorgeous, in a wearable size - 7 1/2 B. Joan Holloway probably couldn't have afforded these
They are the bargain of the year at $14.99. E-mail me for location.
I see pumps like these every so often, but NEVER in a wearable size – 7 1/2 B. Usually it’s 6 1/2 AAAAA — ladies sometimes had their pinkie toes amputated to fit into shoes like these. If anyone on Mad Men would have worn these, it would have been Rachel Menken in Season 1.
Next item – Mink Collar Cashmere Sweater
So here’s a little example of my thrift-store mojo. I had a pretty good visit at the first one I visited yesterday — a hilarious Welsh woolen 70s maxi skirt. Too small, but avocado and green plaid. This is one of those things that I say I’m going to shorten into a skirt I can wear. It’s a wrap skirt (hilarious!) so maybe I’ll use it as a throw, or a cape. Anyway, after that visit, I stopped by my boyfriend’s house to feed his cat. He’s in NYC. It was only about three, so I headed back out on the road to the other side of town and another good thrift store. I’ve found actual, wearable vintage dresses in plus sizes there. That never happens anymore. Well, hardly ever. I thought, hmm, I like my boyfriend, maybe I will find him a vintage cashmere sweater, maybe a Pringle of Scotland. I used to see these all the time, but since Pringle has revamped themselves as a luxury brand, they’ve become scarcer than Britney Spears’ underpants.
Trala, found a pair of purple tweed pants from Bloomingdales, lined, in my size, not freakishly long. THEN I find this:
A few moth holes, but wow!!
Oh yes:
Pringle Label
$6.99. Size 42. So right, not exactly what I was looking for, but something even better. See how I’m gifted?
He’s like a modern-day Don Draper, but without the lying. And no smoking, unless we’re talking about his hotness!
As an oft-wed sister of mine says,
sometimes you have to try it three or four times to get it right
I know she got it right this time. I’m convinced they’ll make it work. Partly, because I’ve seen all the hard work they’ve put into it already. And there must be something so fabulous about this set up that makes it worth working for, and trying to achieve, again and again.
What is that fabulousness? What I mean is: What’s in it for me?
I understand if you have kids, right? You want to build the safest strongest nest, and a partner helps you do that. Is it the same for people who don’t have kids? My nest seems pretty great, and I built it without a husband! Would it be better if I had one? Would it be worth all the work and heartache?
I’m thinking, yes! Because I’m an optimist. Before I broke up with Haggis, I really really wanted to make it work. I was actually prepared to dive into a “serious” relationship. Alas, it was not to be. So, I went on my usual hiatus, where I forget to keep dating for a couple years.
yes, sometimes I forget to start dating again
Now I have a boyfriend, who is fun and awesome and handsome and nice, but who I don’t get to see very often, and I’m dating other guys. I’m open to the possibilities. Yes, I’m keeping my “fun” boyfriend even while I’m auditioning long-term partners. Yes, Fun Boyfriend knows I’m dating other guys. I have to say, the only people who have balked at this are some of the guys I’m dating. Every girlfriend and guyfriend I have seems to agree that this is a pretty awesome arrangement, as long as it keeps working for me.
even married people should remember to keep dating!
Some people think I’m nuts, though because one of their top reasons for finding a long term partner is so they can stop dating. Which in turn seems nuts to me, because it seems like one of the reasons people HATE being in a long term partnership, is that they’re being taken for granted! I don’t think you should ever just forget to keep dating. If you want to consciously stop dating that’s fine! Take a break! I’ve done that several times too. But here’s the catch: if you’re gonna do that while you have a partner, you have to tell the person what you’re doing! I’ve seen (and heard) the sad tales of unappreciative louts from both sides of the gender wars.
So, given that all the above is a wash — kids, security, fear of being alone, dating phobia — why do it? Why get married, and why stay married? How would working with a partner improve the nest I’ve already built for myself?
But which Democrats?!
What a lovely lunch hour outside the tortilla factory in the brisk pre-springtime sunshiny air! Who knew there were tortilla factories?
Struggling with loving my deformed project monsterbabies BECAUSE they’ve been horribly mangled by others, not just in spite of it
I’m waiting for the man.
The junkman.
The junkman cometh.
The junkman taketh away.
omg! apparently, the best way to communicate with customers is using words!
Posted via ping.fm at #wordcampdenver
This is for Bev, who may or may not be dating. And for me, a sporadic, half-hearted dater.
Heroin. This is my favorite song right now. Listening to this song evokes such a strong sense of seeing not just from Lou Reed’s point of view, but from inside his body, viscerally experiencing his ringing nerves and pounding heart as he gets his fix. Soon you’re vibrating like the guitar strings, steel buzzing on wood, fingers numb; the numbness expands and wraps itself around you until you feel twice your normal size, lighter than you’ve ever been, all your pain and love and thought diffusing into the air around you. And then, Lou’s bitter laugh stabs through the trance like a lit cigarette popping a birthday balloon.
Listening, I wonder: why does this feel so familiar? Is it that Lou Reed and John Cale and Mo Tucker are just so fucking brilliant and they’ve created some perfect shrine to addiction, a precisely crafted replica of what it feels like to shoot up? I’m no junkie — hehh, right? Ok, then, if I am, what’s my heroin? What am I mainlining? And I’m not talking smokes or whiskey or donuts or heroin even, really, because all that just covers up the deeper vice, the real poison we spike into a vein every chance we get.
Aahhh, heroin. For lots of us, especially women, it’s that sweet, sweet approval we’re rushing on. Every time we say yes to something we may not really want in exchange for that warm little glow of validation — what should I do? What would Jesus do? What would a nun, my sister, mother, Oprah, Madonna, Jesus’s mom, Rachel Ray, Paula Dean, Paris Hilton, Drew Barrymore Jenna Jameson do? What do you want to do? Where do you want to go? How can I please you, Oprah, Mother Madonna Jenna Jameson? We’re floating on that warm airy illusion, and the happy buzz of doing what’s proper or properly pornstarish drowns out the sorrow we might feel as another millimeter of soul and truth gets scraped away. Then when we’ve finally had enough, how we hate that object of our affections — that man. After we’ve exhausted ourselves anticipating his every whim, we can’t get away from him fast enough.
And what about me? Thank you Fate and my troubled childhood for making me give less than a shit about whether someone likes me. I’d do about anything to get a laugh, though, that’s what’s richer than a vein full of smack to me. I don’t care if you don’t like me, but you WILL fucking notice me. That spiky charge of laughter insulates me just as well as another girl’s loving good deeds towards others at the expense of herself does; it makes me feel like Jesus’s son. And who wants to date Jesus’s son? If I’ve always got that syringe poised and ready, what the fuck do I need you for?
If the company’s awash with rumors and innuendos about changes to the dress code (and I’m not saying it is) I would like to get my suggestions in right away before rampant flip-flop wearage takes away our Friday Jeans Day forever.
Women: Uniform – Either an ensemble circa 1909 (hobble skirts, leg-o-mutton sleeves, and emu hats, short-heeled boots suitable for marching for women’s sufferage)
OR circa 1962 Mad Men (wiggle skirts, sweaters, circle pins, and pointy-toed stilettos, lipstick to be worn at all times, no gum chewing).
Men: Ascots and cravats must be worn with smoking jackets over Lord Fauntleroy knickers.
OR open necked linen shirt with jodhpurs and riding boots.
OR choose any ensemble (including jaunty hat) worn by Daffyd on Little Britain.
