How High Heels Caused The Decline of Western Civilization

Once upon a time all humans went barefoot. We gathered and hunted, drank pure water and breathed clean air, and lived happily ever after.

Oh, and there were unicorns.

It all changed with the arrival of designer footwear.

Suddenly women were encouraged to strap little poles onto their feet. Gone was the natural equilibrium and balance for which we were designed. Physical agility was banished in favor of looking two to four inches taller.

And what, pray tell, has been the result??

CULTIVATION OF FEMALE HELPLESSNESS. No longer able to kill our own bears and drag them back to our kitchens, women began depending on men to provide sustenance.

DEMONIZATION OF MEN. Learned female helplessness was quickly followed by resentment of those were were NOT helpless, I.e., those who were not tottering about with sticks on their soles. Also, men’s shoes were a lot more comfy. Those bastards!

And finally, and worst of all — Stilettos –> Stilts –> CIRCUS CLOWNS. EVIL, EVIL CIRCUS CLOWNS.

The snake in the garden of Eden gave Eve a pair of snakeskin pumps, by the way. Then she used them to kill unicorns.

Yup, there’s pretty much no evil on the face of the earth that doesn’t stem from women’s high-heeled shoes.

….. Why no, I’m not BitterHateRage-y over going to New York City, Land of Fashion and Beauty, and being forced by my sesamoiditis to wear Croc flats the whole time. Why do you ask? 🙂

UPDATE: Jay G is amused. Thanks!

Introducing Mermaid Anorexic Barbie!

Wait … You mean that’s a real person??? Oh … My bad …

Why Pocket Rockets are awesome!

Because I can ACTUALLY HIDE THEM ON-BODY.

This is one of my favorite shirts – it’s comfortable, the color is nice and rich, and it’s appropriate for either business-casual attire (worn over a nice skirt) or over jeans for a casual look.  And hey, who would ever notice that little lump in my pocket?

In fact, the iPhone and spare magazine in my other pocket makes almost as big a lump as the gun does. Pretty inconspicuous!

I’m not of the demographic that gets eyeballed real hard for weapons. Unless folks really know what to look for, that lump — and the clip, if it’s visible — are much more likely to be ID’d as a palm pilot, or a Blackberry, or something else electronic.

It’s not very visible from the side, either:

IWB carry is more difficult for me. Most of my shirts fit well at the waist, which means that even dark fabrics and patterned fabrics print pretty sharply when I’m sitting or in motion. (I tried to take a picture but the dark shirt didn’t show it very well.)

My Kevin fits nicely in the front pocket of my favorite jeans, my cargoes, and even my shorts.  As long as my shirt is long enough to cover the grip, I’m good to go.  And it’s much easier to keep an eye on that coverage when it’s my pocket instead of behind my back.  (When I do carry IWB I’m constantly checking to make sure my shirt hasn’t ridden up behind.  Does everyone do that? Or is just ’cause it’s new to me?)

Finally, for old times’ sake and for comparison, here is Siguette carried IWB:

It looks like my booty just grew an overhang/shelf. Yeah.  I don’t think so.

In other happy Gun News, Borepatch — who is now a citizen rather than a subject — has purchased the first gun of his very own.  Go tell him Congrats!!

What, exactly, are we supposed to take away from this?

You know, when I was younger I was sooooooo trendy and cutting edge and funky.  The older I get, the more I go for a nice v-neck shirt, an A-line skirt and stilettos.  But even in my most tweener years, I don’t think I would have understood this:

A moderately attractive woman with a very toned body is wearing slabs of meat as a fashion statement.  Wha??

P.S. Jay rolled over one million hits today; Breda beat him by six days.  Go wish them both a hearty congrats!

Sooper Seekrit Sewing Project: Thigh Band

WARNING! WARNING! PHOTO OF UNDERWEAR! CHEESECAKE PHOTO! WARNING!

Good morning everyone!  I’m so glad it’s Friday, aren’t you?

Remember the picture of knives, here? You see my lil’ Paraframe.  I like to carry it at all times; you never know when you’re going to need a knife.  I’ve used it to cut loose threads off my skirt hems, slice plastic zip ties off new sunglasses, open clamshell packaging, rip open big bags of litter at the shelter, etc. etc.  But, being a girl, I sometimes — well, often — wear skirts that don’t have pockets for a knife.  Worse yet, I wear dresses, and then I don’t even have a waistband on which I could clip it.

I wanted a thin, snug band to wear around my thigh, something that would fit smoothly under my clothing and wear comfortably.  I looked and looked on the internet but couldn’t find what I had in mind.

Then I thought about it.

What’s thin, snug, and designed to fit seamlessly under clothing?

Answer:

I cut the band off of the cups, like so:

Roughly and clumsily sewed the cut ends together:

And voile! A thigh band!

Perfect for wearing a small knife under a skirt or dress!  Yay!

Are you done laughing?  I *know* it’s silly, believe me.  But it works!

And I only pricked my fingers five or six times!  Yay hooray!

Why do they hate Michelle Obama?

And by “they” I mean her fashion team.

Look – some people think Mrs. Obama is beautiful; others think she closely resembles Whorf.  Whatever. The fact is that she’s got a more toned body than most mothers in America, and the height that fashion designers love, to boot.

Why, then, does her fashion advisor stick her in god-awful medieval torso-choking belts like this?

Really? You really think this belt was a good idea, Fashion Guys?

Or ill-fitted, high-waisted, mis-shaping getups like this? (Note: that light blue is horrible with pumpkin.  Try a deep rich navy or sapphire next time.  Oh, and a bigger sweater.  And put the waist at her, y’know, waist.)

Mario Batali's orange looks better than mine. This is embarrassing.

But those fashion freaks really outside themselves this time.  Check out Mrs. Obama’s dress that she wore for the Calderon’s state visit:

Well, the color is fabulous.  And I love the shimmery fabric.  The silver-banded waist sits nicely on her frame and makes her legs appear to be a gazillion miles long.  So it’s beautiful! . . . except . . . hey, what’s that?

AUUGGGGHHHHHH!!!  WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY?!?!?

My inner fashionista is writhing in agony.  Why??  If they’d just made the two shoulders match — i.e. put the twisted strap on both sides — this would have been AWESOME.

Why does her fashion team hate her so???

Happy Friday, and beware of bad fashion advisors!

(h/t Bookworm Room)

Really? I’m supposed to look like THIS?

Seriously?  THIS is what’s considered fashionable for young women nowadays?

Damn, this is gonna take work!  The following items are now on my to-do list:

1. Lose eighty pounds.
2. Contract tuberculosis.
3. You know what?  The tuberculosis would probably help me lose eighty pounds.  I’ll do that first.
4. Flat iron hair, then smear with Crisco.
5. Kill, butcher and tan the hide of a shih tsu to provide bangs.
6. Get hands on large brown silk sack.  Insert elastic to hold neckline above breasts, cut off and form knee-length trousers, add small bow with desperate hope it will provide a redeeming feature.
7. Take lovely black leather boots and butcher them.  Cut them off at the ankle, cut a peep-toe and cut a Nike swoosh into the side.
8. Paint a look of surprised despair on my face.  Like I just got goosed by a nasty boss and am not allowed to say anything about it.

You know what?  On further thought, I believe I’ll just stay unfashionable.

Wedding weekend

Good morning all!  As you know, I was down in Washington D.C. for a wedding.  It was lovely to see Mike, and lovely to be back in DC; I lived in Rockville, MD for a number of years, and I lived in DC the summer between junior and senior year at Ye Olde Liberal Arts College.  The groom was a friend of Mike’s, a super-nice guy, and his bride was beautiful.  The weekend went pretty smoothly, with just two exceptions . . .

1) The dress my sister loaned me had a bodice of alternating fabric and tulle stripes.  Not risque, really, I just had to make sure to bring a flesh-colored bra.  So, of course, I forgot to bring the stupid bra.  Grrrr.

We checked Google Maps, and there was nary a TJ Maxx or Marshall’s around — this was Georgetown, after all.  Luckily, there was a French lingerie store right down the block, and a Macy’s 1.7 miles away if I couldn’t find anything at the store next door.

The proprietor of the store was a very nice, very friendly lady.  I walked quickly through the shop looking for the plainest bra I could find and then, trying to be subtle, asked if all the underwear were the same price.

“Oh no!” she trilled.  “That one you have is $150; those over there are $250, and that one is $399.”

ONE HUNDRED FIFTY DOLLARS.  FOR ONE BRA.

“Thank you ma’am but I just don’t think this is what I’m looking for, I’m sorry to waste your time,” I said, and headed for the door like my ass was on fire.

Macy’s it was!  *shrug*  It was a nice day, we were wearing comfy shoes, and hey look, it’s me in front of the White House!

2) The wedding ceremony was a full Catholic mass.  Of all the weddings I’ve been to, I think perhaps half have been full Catholic masses; I’m used to it by now.  I say the responses when I know them, I sing along when I know the lyrics, and I let the rest wash over me and enjoy the prettiness.

This ceremony was, however, a little . . . weird. Well, not the ceremony as a whole, just the homily.  Excerpted and paraphrased, it went something like this:

“When I was looking at Harvard admission letters back in the ’80s, there were three themes:  power, money, and status. That’s what people were after in the 80s.  And look where it got us!  The economy is in meltdown, we’re stuck in another war, we’re in another Vietnam, it’s just a disaster.  You know, I knew Bernie Madoff in the 80s, and look where he is today.  There was too much greed!  And too much lust! . . .

“Now, [bride] and [groom] over there, when I asked what was important to them, they didn’t say money or power. They said, “Family,” and they said, “Friends.”  That’s what they said was important to them . . . But we all know how life gets in the way, and gets in the way of your best intentions!  So I put it on YOU, on ALL of you, to remind them when things get busy!  If you haven’t heard from them in a while, you call them up and remind them what’s important, remind them of their duties to family and friends!”

It was the weirdest sermon/homily I’d ever heard.  Mike had to start poking me because I kept looking over at him, goggle-eyed, mouthing What the hell, dude???  WHAT??? His friend kicked my chair when the word “Vietnam” made my head snap back and my mouth fall open.

A lot of people feel that way.  I know that, I get that, I understand that.

But WHAT THE HELL DID THAT HAVE TO DO WITH A WEDDING????

And then he pretty much congratulated them for their good intentions and then said he didn’t think they’d live up to them.  Dude, what?

*shaking head*  Life is confusing sometimes.

Dressing

My sister came over last night with a double-handful of dresses and about six pairs of shoes and a purse.  She has since decided that she should quit her job and become some celebrity’s personal shopper — the woman PWNS eBay, b*tches.

I tried on quite a few of them, but settled on the first one I grabbed:

It narrows perfectly at my waist and ends above my knee and I feel quite, quite fabulous while wearing it.  She also brought over a sparkly black-and-gold purse; strappy black high heels complete the look.  THANKS, Jenny!  I promise not to spill wine on it.  Well, I promise to try really really hard not to spill wine on it.

Of course, it was amazing that I could fit into any of the satiny confections after our dinner — chicken and pasta and Julienne’d onion and cucumber with  tzatziki dressing.  (Dressing.  Get it??  Good lord I need more coffee, I’m actually amused by the pun.  Oy.)  The dressing is made of Greek yogurt (fat-free!) and mayonnaise (light!), so it definitely carried the official Mike Does Not Like stamp.  You also throw in lemon juice, salt, pepper, and freshly pressed garlic — that part surprised me.  I’m not used to dealing with raw garlic; it smells and tastes all wrong.  Happily, when you mix it with all the other stuff it just tastes sort of tangy and zing!-y.

Thank god Jenny helped me eat it, ’cause I’ve got about four servings left in the fridge.  Who wants to come over and have dinner with me??

Putting the “casual” in “business casual”

I just rode the elevator with a stylish-yet-profesisonal well-dressed woman in her mid-thirties.

Her black suit fit perfectly, the skirt falling above the knee but not drastically so, showing off slim legs.  Her blazer was nicely structured, creating an hourglass figure, and worn open over a pale pink shell.  Peep-toe black leather pumps lent her height and showed off impeccably groomed toenails the same shade of pink as her shell.  Truly, this woman looked like an all-star graduate of What Not to Wear.

Right up until she started blowing bubbles, her gum the same lovely carnation shade as her top and her toenails.

WTF??