Photo Choppy Magic

I'm a dork when it comes to PhotoShop. Although I've spent plenty of time sticky noting graphic designers to remove power lines or make the water bluer or wipe that dirt off the child's face, about the only thing I can do myself is add text to a photo. I can't even do that anymore because when I switched over to my rockin' new Mac and operating system a little over a year ago, said operating system ate Moi's pirated Photo Choppy software. Boo.

But, lookie what Pam in OKC did with my photo of Madrid, New Mexico's historic church!

Photo I took:

Photo as cleaned up by Pam:

Wowee. Nice job. Thanks, Pam!

Now, I wonder, you think she can PhotoShop these onto Moi's feet?

Mute Monday: L is For

We're All Stars Now in the Dope Show

It's a ding dang good thing I'll be spending the next three days working 24 hours around the clock, fueled by caffeine, imaginary nicotine, and just enough low grade panic to melt a couple extra pounds off my happy ass or I would have something pretty darn deep and tragic to say about the Demochromatic National Convention. But if I play my cards right, I can la, la, la, la, la myself right on through without having to listen to all that blah, blah, blah. Well, except I will peek to see what Michelle La Belle is wearing.

I do so hope her handlers put her in something Oscar de la Renta-ey.

And I think she could totally pull off this Marni get up, too.

Aw, heck, while I'm hallucinating, let's go all out and imagine her in some Alexander McQueen.

See now, Hillary? That's a pantsuit.

The only thing preventing me from indulging in my own form of retail therapy is that I'm not allowed to leave the house until 9:00 a.m. Friday morning. But when I do, I think I'll have to make these mine, all mine. I know. I swore I'd never, never, never, never, never do the bootie thing. But, look, I figure if I smack myself silly beforehand and blame it all on my stress induced twilight zone, I'll be okay.

Shoes For Thought

Remember these?

Some of you loved them. Some of you hated them. Most of you doubted I would ever wear them. Well, I'm happy to report that, in the sixty five thousand seconds since I first Dillard's carded and couponed their happy asses into my closet, I've worn them exactly SEVEN times. Yes, indeedy. That comes out to, let's see, uh, divide by seven, carry the five, and then, uh, $3.50 per wearing!

And I'm about to do it again. Because tomorrow is a holiday and we all know what holidays mean to me. Yes, yes, a sanctioned opportunity to stuff myself silly and not go for a run, but also: BLING. Holidays are when the shiny shit comes out of the closet, Party People. And what could be blingier than our Glorious Nation's Birthday?

Most importantly, however, another wearing means that my total price-to-wearings ratio is now at . . . uh . . . um. . . Never mind. I think one mathematical calculation is enough for one day. Let's just say, the more I wear these, the lower that ratio number will go until, ta da! Sometime next year I'll be wearing these babies for next to nothing.

So what will you be wearing to celebrate the Fourth?

And please, do not tell me one of these:

Party hearty. Party safe. But do NOT party fugly.

No Boys Allowed

(Unless you're into this kind of thing.)

SHOES TO END THE WEEK:
(Or, who says there's no good porn for women?)

Oscar, you can do no wrong. A flirty skirt shoe for sure. And in the fall, with tights and slacks. See, how practical I am? Always thinking ahead to future outfits. And, as always with high heels, you get in a jam, you just take them off, flip them over, and they become quite an effective weapon.

* * *

Ah, these. I love them simply because they exist. And because they come from the Church of Christian Louboutin, never mind what was most likely in the Kool-Aide that day at the design table. Plus, I bet SHE could really get her Icelandic Warrior on wearing these. If she keeps off the ice.

* * *

Hello, Central?

Is there any better way in which to channel your inner Rosalind Russell
than with a retro suede t-strap?

I don't think so.

* * *

Finally, the most gorgeous blue suede shoes in the universe.
I want to marry them and make beautiful blue suede shoe babies.

Shoe-ing at the Walls of Heartache

You know how you felt when you were a kid and your best friend in the whole wide world – the one who lived within walking distance, who also had a matching Schwinn Sting Ray bicycle with a sparkle-encrusted banana seat and shared your obsession with the Bay City Rollers and baby pink Luv-It jeans – went and left you high and dry in the middle of summer to go on vacation with their totally grody to the max family? Remember how it felt like all the good air had been vacuumed out of the world, like you were bobbing along, a buoy unmoored, on a vast ocean of flat, featureless days, one hand wrapped listlessly around a can of TaB, the other clutching the latest issue of Tiger Beat ("Leif Garrett's Top 5 Romantic Dates!"), but you were unable to muster enthusiasm for either of them because your best friend in the whole wide world wasn't there to share?

Well, that's how I feel when S.B. first leaves on a job. Restless, pouty, channeling my inner Catherine while two states away, S.B.'s inner Heathcliff is busy making the world safe for automatic coffee makers. And playing golf in the afternoons.

Eventually, I do manage to pull my head up off my desk and get back to work. And after work, I begin to realize with burgeoning glee that, hey, lookie there! I also have absolute, unequivocal, TOTAL control of the remote.

But I'll still have my moments. One of them occurred on Tuesday when, after a work appointment, I felt myself missing S.B. so much that the only cure was shoes. And not just any shoes, but shoes with a theme. Which totally goes against my better fashion judgement.

Usually, I stay away from trends. Well, except for those retro '80s cropped pea green parachute pants from the Gap I bought four seasons ago when I was channeling my inner Carrie Bradshaw. And that Trina Turk caftan top a few months ago because resistance to Boho, it seems, is futile. Besides, if nothing else, I can always channel my inner Joan Didion. Or Anne Sexton (but, I assure you, not my inner Sylvia Plath).

So. Anyway. I went ahead and did it. I bought these.


I figure, I'm running for President. May as well channel my inner Joan of Arc, right? Either that or my inner Patty Smythe: "I am the warrior, and victory is mine. If I survive."

Mute Monday: Todo Sobre, Moi

Oh, and:

Meme Memoir

The fabulous Meghan tagged me for The Six-Words Meme, which was originally started by Smith Magazine. The history is thus:

Legend has it that Hemingway was once challenged to write a story in only six words. His response? “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.” Last year, SMITH Magazine re-ignited the recountre by asking our readers for their own six-word memoirs. They sent in short life stories in droves, from the bittersweet (“Cursed with cancer, blessed with friends”) and poignant (“I still make coffee for two”) to the inspirational (“Business school? Bah! Pop music? Hurrah”) and hilarious (“I like big butts, can’t lie”).

Moi's six-word memoir:

Yay, the artisan's impulse! Stuff good.

I’m going to tag:
Wicked, Doris Rose, Anonymous Boxer, Troll, Aunty, Thursday Next, and Pirate (and SHE!).

Here are the rules:
1) Write your own six word memoir.
2) Post it on your blog and include a visual illustration if you’d like.
3) Link to the person that tagged you in your post, and to the original post if possible so we can track it as it travels across the blogosphere.
4) Tag at least five more blogs with links.
5) Don’t forget to leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play.
6) Have fun.

And I just had to add:

Good gah, are these shoes not muy fabuloso or whatso? Le sigh.

Rehabbed and Ready for 15 Minutes of Shame

In an effort to curb what I am beginning to regard within myself as a dangerous tendency towards rampant materialism, I have decided to use this, the first day of April, to define for myself a new identity. One that has less to do with gobbling up shiny objects and more to do with letting go of those objects via eBay and communing instead only with those things that have real meaning and purpose.

Which, of course, means a redefined approach to my wardrobe as well. After all, one needs a certain kind of outfit to go with one's new found minimalist philosophy of down-to-earthedness. So, no more lusting after the new Burberry Prorsum Ankle Wrap Sandals and Oscar de la Renta party dresses. Instead, something less blingy and more, uh, crunchy is in order here:





to go with:

Mute Monday: Elements

And just so no one completely worries (or is that the other way around?):

Dawg Tired?

Too ding dang bad.

Put on your Party Shoes, Party People, pour yourself a glass of champagne and get going. It's Blog Party Weekend!

Two things I know for sure:

1. I'm wearing these shoes and I don't care.


2. I need a really beeg drink.

Cheers to all!
Moi

She's Praying to the Aliens

One of these days I will sit down and suss out why, oh why, I am so obsessed with Posh Spice. But this is not that day. Instead, I leave you with only this: proof positive that the woman is, indeed, from an entirely different planet.



P.S. And those shoes? Totally NOT fabulous.

Yo Ye Pharoahs, Let us Walk Through this Barren Desert, in Search of Truth and Some Pointy Boots

I'm not going to pussyfoot around here. This fall's supposedly fabulous footwear fashion? Uh, not so much. Which has made me stomp my feet in indignation at the butt ass ugliness of it all. And swear off all purchases in favor of a single, trusty dusty pair of multi-purpose boots that go with everything.


And la, la, la, la, la myself until spring. 'Cause NO amount of sex or candy could persuade me to subject my feet to any of these Fall 2007 "trends."

Butt Ugly Fall Trend #1: Dressing Like A Dude

This according to Fashion Windows: Yes, the powerful woman is back, only this time we don’t have to prove it with shoulder pads. This season a huge trend is the powerful woman, weather [sic] it be biker style or menswear inspired [yikes!] the message is the same. We are woman and we are strong!

Spare Moi.















Nor should I have to feel like a target for Jack the Ripper.
Butt Ugly Fall Trend #2: Brocaded Shoes

Nor like Hell is for Children or Love is a Battlefield.
Butt Ugly Fall Trend #3: The Booties That Just Won't Die

Nor do I want to wear anything named after a beast of burden.
Butt Ugly Fall Trend #4: Mules






























Mules are a close second to booties for the Cockroaches of the Shoe World award.



Finally, look, just look at what they've done to my beloved peep toe pump!

Butt Ugly Fall Trend #5: Camouflage

The Shoes I Love to Hate (For Meghan)

Yes, Meghan, I share your pain.

I hate Crocs so much, I won't even link to their ugly ass Web site, which features even more of their ugly ass shoes.

I'm so sorry. Your husband is a cutie and looks like he knows what he's doing fashion-wise in every other instance.

Tell him, "Hon, these are the ugliest ass shoes in the entire known universe. How could your feet NOT sweat like a passel of piglets on the D Train to the Bronx in mid July wearing these things? And do you know who else wears them?"




She's rumored to have one pair in every color.

Enough said.

Slothful in Blogland

Well, lookee here. Nearly three whole days and I haven't posted a ding dang thing. Haven't found one single thing to be pissed about. Not one single thing to covet. Not one single thing to bring to your attention or convince you to go out and buy.

That's because I've been BUSY party people. Busy jumping through hoops for a client. Busy shillin' for da pitties. Busy obsessing on La Luz. Busy planning our next COWW event, a big ol' patio pahty at Moi's house this Saturday.

I haven't even been window shopping for shoes! Or sneaked a peak in the stores for fall 2007 trends. Gah. I hope ankle boots aren't in AGAIN.


I'm not really sure how I feel about ankle boots. It's a fine line with these things, between Mary Poppins matronly and a subtle dominatrix-esque fabulousness. Although, if I happen to be the winning eBay bidder for this nifty Phillip Lim wool trapeze dress tomorrow, I just may have to buy a pair – they seem to go together, no? Usually, when it comes to shoes, I can be convinced of anything. So long as they're not Dansko clogs or those bizarre ice cream-colored plastic boat shoe thingees, I'll go for it.