Wednesday, July 26, 2006

Stop! In the Name of Love

Hi people. Can we have a quick chat? About these:

These first came to my attention through a series of posts by, who else? Dooce, as she has been staging a public revolt against her husband and his very own cheery, lemon yellow pair.

Suddenly, however, I'm noticing that this particular brand of footware is spreading like SARS through the once hip, happening streets of Toronto. I'm serious, I think this footware might be airborn and am considering wearing a mask. The Beach should be bloody quarantined, but I almost expect to see them there. But Queen West? For sale in EVERY store? No. No no. People? No.

Now, while my own husband-to-be would sooner amputate his own feet at the ankles with a dull pen knife than put these atrocities on his feet, my opinion of them is somewhat softer. I would definitely require a very sharp pen knife.

I have tried these "shoes" on recently. Out of curiousity. And I'll give you this, they are comfortable. They are acceptable for gardeners to wear, in the comfort of their own private gardens. For cottagers and early morning strolls along a secluded, misty beach. For dog walkers who need to run outside in a torrential down pour to let the pup take a pee. Possibly, maybe even as indoor slippers but only when you do not have any guests.

But please listen to me. These "shoes" are not acceptable for the streets of Toronto. No, no. It doesn't matter that they come in trendy, fun colours like teal and orange sorbet and hot pink. The colour is not hiding the fact that these are hideous. The colour is amplifying the fact that these are hideous.

I'm no fashion expert. I don't talk about fashion here very often because what the fuck do I know? If I know one thing, my friends, it's this. These "shoes" are a fashion crime to the Nth degree. You should receive a life sentance in fashion-prison for even thinking about wearing these "shoes" in public. I actually feel sick with embarrasment for those unsuspecting criminals that I see wandering the streets cluelessly in alarming numbers, comfortable feet and all.

Friends? Stop! In the name of love.

Thursday, July 20, 2006


Saw The Devil Wears Pradalast night with Weirdo.

Won’t critique it except to say that Meryl is an absolute bloody genius and she totally owned the show. I thoroughly enjoyed the movie but found the “chicklit” aspect of it (incredibly annoying "friends," and the predictably cute but boring boyfriend who gets threatened by the change in girlfriend and the girlfriend who realizes almost too late that she has changed only to change back and return to annoying boyfriend) that annoyed me. I seem to have lost my tolerance for the genre, as of late.

Having said that, after seeing the movie, I feel compelled to do five things with the utmost urgency:

1. Lose 15 lbs.

2. Throw out every single item of clothing that I own.

3. Replace entire wardrobe with one massive shopping spree (preferably in New York and/or Paris), relying heavily on newly acquired line of credit.

4. Read more fashion magazines.

5. Thank my lucky stars for my new boss, who is lovely, intelligent, funny, normal and did I mention NORMAL? I’d love to dwell on this one some more, but as we all know, and let’s all say it out loud together, "WE DO NOT TALK ABOUT OUR JOBS ON THE INTERNET." (Thank you Dooce for your words of wisdom.)

Saturday, July 15, 2006

Always Be My Baby

I think we can consider this unequivocal proof that The Momes loves this year's birthday gift, Winston the Wonderpug.

And I'm glad, because I love The Momes, I really love The Momes. I love him enough to buy him a $14 demented looking squeeky toy from the poshest pet store on the block, just to watch him carry it around, drag it through the dirt and slobber all over it for hours.

Momo turned a whopping four years old on June 25, that's 28 in "doggie years" so he's catching up to me. But no matter how much Cesar Milan would disapprove, he'll always be my baby.

Happy birthday Lil'Boss!

Luv Mommy.