What the Hell? Designer Shoe Edition

I “get” high fashion. Of course I do. Have you seen my closet? It is a veritable cornucopia of the latest styles from, um, well, I’ve got pants and shirts. Hey,  I’ve got several wrap dresses, those are classic and they just had a birthday yesterday.  Thanks Diane von Furstenberg for creating a delightful and classic silhouette.

Okay, so I don’t “get” high fashion, and more than likely I will never be able to afford it BUT, if I ever could, I cannot IMAGINE subjecting my feet to the hell that is some of these shoes that premiered recently at Fashion Week.

These “Nuts and Bolts” shoes that are a part of the  Miu Miu Fall 2014 collection almost defy logic. So many questions. I am not opposed to the mixing of the soft and feminine shoe design and material with something industrial like bolts. I like that idea. I just hate these shoes. So much. I know I would bust my ass wearing them, but even if I COULD walk upright in them, I don’t think I would want to. I just don’t like them.

Okay, these I could work as part of a steampunk Tinkerbell or something because I love me some dressup, but other than that, aside from Rihanna, Tilda Swinton, Katy Perry, or Lady GaGa being able to knock these out of the park,  I don’t know why these exist.

 

FINALLY, I have been looking for a stylish, well maybe not stylish, but definitely overpriced, way to show off how much my feet sweat. THANK YOU MIU MIU.

 

These are from the Saint Laurent Fall 2014 collection and I have no idea how much they cost but I imagine it’s more than I make in several months. These are “what the hell”because I love them and I shall never have them. Life, so unfair.  Not only would I wear these in my upcoming yet-to-be-written Star Wars musical and cast myself in the role of a ballsy Ethel Merman style singing C-3PO, I would wear these with my beloved sweatshirt material skirt that has become my weekend uniform because it’s a skirt, dressier than pajama pants, so therefore I am always the most well-dressed person in the Wal-Mart, and these are PERFECT, because they would cover up most of my more than likely unshaven leg.  *FABULOUS, aisle 6, next to the Reese’s and condoms* (So wishfully thinking here. I have no need for condoms, yet always need Reese’s).

 

Saint Laurent is right in my wheelhouse with this collection. It’s like they took a peek inside my head and created shoes and boots that I would covet and forever pine for, but alas, never be able to own. Damn you, Saint Laurent.

When I was a kid, I took dance lessons. Dancing was not my thing. I liked the costumes and the fact that my dad took me out for hot fudge cakes after my class (a tradition I find hilariously adorable), but I did not like the actual, you know, dancing.  My sister took dance lessons too and she was an amazing dancer. I LOVED her dance shoes, and these very much look like character shoes that she wore when she was doing some saucy modern dance number (turns out I don’t know anything about dance terminology either). Trust me, these shoes hit me in a place deep down in my soul. I would wear these in my off off off off Broadway production of, A Cabaret Chorus Line in Chicago That Can’t Pay the Rent, an amalgamation of my favorite musicals, and I think it’s not unrealistic to say that I would turn in an off off off Broadway  award-winning performance. Let’s call the awards the Gilda’s, because I’m a big fan of Gilda Radner and the movie starring Rita Hayworth, and why the hell not, this is my blog.   Picture it, black tights, black long slouchy shirt perfectly falling off one shoulder, red lipstick, these shoes, the music, the mirror, and me, doing some version of the Carlton dance with extra finger snaps,  and less show-boating and splits and stuff, because really, I told you guys I’m a bad dancer, BUT, I look fantastic trying. YES I DO.

 

*shoe pictures courtesy of the fantastic website http://www.tomandlorenzo.com.

Misdirected Anger

There are a lot of things that happen in this world that make me legitimately angry.  I don’t necessarily want to delve into those things because I try to keep this blog lighthearted, even when tackling hard-hitting subjects like writing letters to my dog and wondering why I haven’t married and divorced Rick Springfield at this point in my life, but as much of a goofball as I am, I am genuinely troubled by children killing themselves because they have been brutalized by other children and I have spent a pretty good amount of time concerned about shootings that seem to happen every day.  Those things deserve space in my head.

However, I also find myself angry about things that I should not be angry about. Things that I not only cannot control, but things that are so ridiculous I need to let them go. The boys and I have a saying, well, it’s my saying that I have tried to pass along to the boys. We say “tie it to a balloon”, meaning just let it go. Visualize the unnecessary or hurtful items or feelings as tangible objects and see yourself tying them to a balloon and letting them go. It is easier to say than do, but in a show of solidarity to my children whom I say this to probably once a week, this is me tying these ridiculous things to a balloon and letting them go.

Pizza rolls are a guilty pleasure of mine. If you are not familiar with this delicacy, first of all, what the hell do you eat?  There is no second of all because I am still stuck on the fact that you have never had a pizza roll. These little goodies are found in the frozen food section of the grocery store and they are almost like tiny calzones.  Besides being good, they are cheap, they bake in the oven in about 12 minutes, and they are probably more healthful than eating a stick of butter and/or a block of Velveeta. Probably.  What issue could I possibly have with pizza rolls? Recently I discovered that they can go from being perfectly done and golden brown to death pockets filled with molten lava, with no warning whatsoever. I have made them several times, the same way every time, and after a cooling off period they are usually perfectly safe to eat. Most recently, however, I made them and after the cooling off period when I took a bite it felt like I had entered the 10th circle of hell, and yes I know there are only 9, this is just how hot they were. The marinara sauce inside the pizza roll immediately burned the skin off the roof of my mouth which caused me to hastily spit it out  just enough to roll down my chin and land on my chest, leaving a trail of sauce and blisters all the way down until it landed in a heap on the table.  Why was this batch different? I can only blame Kim Jong Un. See, I read things.

About four years ago, when my eldest was around 8, he asked me why Taylor Swift was singing us her diary. It was funny and true. At the time, Taylor was known as a sweet young girl who wrote her own songs and played the guitar. To a lot of people she probably still is known as just that. I, however, am a little sick of her. Taylor has written rather nasty songs about her exes and about Camilla Belle, the girl who supposedly stole her man or some such nonsense. Taylor told us all in the song “Better Than Revenge” that Belle (who is not named in the song but who the song is about is Hollywood’s worst kept secret) is “better known for things she does on the mattress.”
That was way harsh, Tay.

I don’t care that she dates a lot, she should, whatever. I just get a little tired of her whole “poor me” attitude. She broke up with English singer Harry Styles, or presumably he broke up with her, and she opens the Grammy Awards by singing her song “Never ever ever ever ever EVER getting back together” and the parts of the song when she is saying what the guy says, she is using a British accent, and is essentially making fun of him. Fine, do that Taylor, but if you can dish it out, you need to work on being able to take it. At the Golden Globes, Tina Fey and Amy Poehler tell Taylor in their opening monologue to “stay away from Michael J. Fox’s son”, because he is young and she has a rep for dating everybody.    HAHA, right? Not the funniest joke of the night but certainly not deserving of Taylor telling Vanity Fair magazine in regards to the joke that “there’s a special place in hell for women who don’t help other women.”   If her next CD is called “Introspection” or “Diving Into Lake Taylor” or, one can hope, “Maybe It’s Me”, then I will reevaluate my opinion, but I have a feeling it will be more “This Guy is a Big Poopy Head Because he Doesn’t Like Me Anymore and That Girl is a Slut Because she Dated Somebody That I Liked,”  because hey, that crap certainly sells.

I like food. I have already talked about pizza rolls, but seriously, my palate can be just as sophisticated as, you know, other people’s. I appreciate a good meal and I know the work that goes into preparing one, and I think cooking is somewhat of an art. That said, what the hell is with the ego, chefs?  You are cooking, you are not curing cancer. You are preparing food. I really like the show Chopped on the Food Network, and if you follow me on Twitter you will see that I do because I reference it probably more than I should. The show starts out with 4 chefs who are given a basket full of mystery food items that they must incorporate into each of their dishes. It is fun to watch and a lot of times I don’t even know what the items are so kudos to them for making something tasty out of them, but usually at least 2 out of the 4 chefs on the show seem to be arrogant jerks. Like Anthony Bourdain size jerks. It makes me wonder if these people were drawn to the food industry because of their egos or if their egos are so hugely inflated because they can cook well.  I don’t know the answer to that, but I will continue to watch Chopped and report back if I figure it out.

Finally, the nerve of Alexander McQueen to design these shoes and NOT put a goldfish in the heel.  Really, though, thanks. These are all kinds of practical and probably really comfortable AND I bet affordable too.

Sadly, this is not the end of my irrational anger.  As I was writing I thought of about 5 other ridiculous things that annoy and anger me. Luckily, metaphorical balloons are free.