"You went to my high school, right? Mmm your bod looks niiiiiiiiice now"
A direct quote from a class act, who attempted to pick up my friend in a bar last year. She is aging like a fine wine.
He is aging like an alcoholic... maybe because he is one?
29 October 2009
27 October 2009
OJ Did It
Do you hate on the Kardashians?
I do. I watch their show only when Brody Jenner is slotted in to babysit his crazy half-sibs.
But Perez posted something that made me love them.
And apparently, their vaginas. Proceed with Freudian caution!
I do. I watch their show only when Brody Jenner is slotted in to babysit his crazy half-sibs.
But Perez posted something that made me love them.
And apparently, their vaginas. Proceed with Freudian caution!
26 October 2009
Maybe the Fug Girls forgot...
That sometimes fashionably comfortable is amazing.
Case: Freida Pinto. Remember her, from that movie about India and the Millionaire?
Firstly, I couldn't even tell her top was thermal.
Secondly, WHO PAIRS THERMAL WITH VUITTON AND BOOTIES? AAAAnd pulls it off? Seriously. I love this in big ways.
You go girl, rocking the sexiest version of long johns I've ever seen.
Case: Freida Pinto. Remember her, from that movie about India and the Millionaire?
Firstly, I couldn't even tell her top was thermal.
Secondly, WHO PAIRS THERMAL WITH VUITTON AND BOOTIES? AAAAnd pulls it off? Seriously. I love this in big ways.
You go girl, rocking the sexiest version of long johns I've ever seen.
24 October 2009
The Economics of Pain
You heard it here second...Heels make us more successful, and in a tough market our heels just get tougher. Let the Fug Girls (or, Robert H. Frank, Cornell economics professor) explain:
If things get any crazier in the US, I think models will soon be on stilts.
He looks pretty excited about the whole thing. And yes, they do ship to Canada.
See also: McQueen Radicality, previously posted.
Taller people earn more, for example, and command greater attention in social settings. And hence the attraction of high heels.
If things get any crazier in the US, I think models will soon be on stilts.
He looks pretty excited about the whole thing. And yes, they do ship to Canada.
See also: McQueen Radicality, previously posted.
22 October 2009
Girl Crushing
It's ok to have a girl crush now and again, and Daria Werbowy is high on my list.
Case:
Here she struts, clad entirely in Balmain, in Paris last week. What I like is that she's homegrown Canadiana, and for a runway model has some serious thigh/bosom.
Praise Daria in all of her Paris glory.
Other fun things to note: Dior thinks this is a good outfit.
Also, Chloe thinks this in an outfit. To be fair, at least this can be worn by the average woman. However, this particular ensemble looks like the shawl Jewish men wear.
Chloe, get out of synagogue and onto the streets.
And finally, la piece de la resistance:
Alexander McQueen, I want to officially invite you to be in my life. Your RULE!! Pleasure is pain.
That's a wrap.
Thankfully, not a wrap dress.
Case:
Here she struts, clad entirely in Balmain, in Paris last week. What I like is that she's homegrown Canadiana, and for a runway model has some serious thigh/bosom.
Praise Daria in all of her Paris glory.
In other Paris-fashion-week-related news, JPG has finally created a collection of one-size-fits-all! My ass (that hasn't been to the gym since September) thanks him!
Other fun things to note: Dior thinks this is a good outfit.
Also, Chloe thinks this in an outfit. To be fair, at least this can be worn by the average woman. However, this particular ensemble looks like the shawl Jewish men wear.
Chloe, get out of synagogue and onto the streets.
And finally, la piece de la resistance:
Alexander McQueen, I want to officially invite you to be in my life. Your RULE!! Pleasure is pain.
That's a wrap.
Thankfully, not a wrap dress.
20 October 2009
Bringing Down the Babysitter, Part 4
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17 October 2009
Bringing Down the Babysitter, Part 3
Now, picture two hot ladies, out on the town after a decent meal.
We've already got our Spidey senses tingling, care of eye candy at dinner, and the men in the bar are sensing it. Especially in Jolene... she is one foxey lady.
And when men are sensing it, they are really big on buying the drinks.
Hours pass, and Jolene starts to forget about Hot Rod. She starts to think instead about the 5 rum and Cokes that some frat boy has bought her, and maybe a bit about the 2 he's also gotten for me.
Like I said, girl plays hard!
Around midnight, Jol is fully in the bag. I can tell she's going to have a rough morning. I'm thankfully less attractive, and thus less drunk, when the unthinkable happens:
Hot Rod is IN THE BUILDING.
And he's heading straight for us... a booth of frat boys and old ladies.
Jolene starts hollering at him from across the bar to come over; he's coming up behind me (more on this later... I am so witty) so I have very little chance to wipe the shocked look off my face when he gets to the table.
Hot Rod: "Hey, you guys were at Rod's (clearly, not the name of the eatery) earlier. I'm Rod, the owner."
Jolene: "Oh we remember! You are HOT! Come sit with us!!"
Hot Rod gets an expression of embarrassment... but also clearly knows he's not being lied to. And so he sits down, an obliging gentleman. Right across from me.
I pretend to be interested in Freshman Math or whatever is going on beside me, but I can feel his eyes on me. First on the face, and then on a trip back from the bar, over the bod too.
Thank goodness I Master Cleansed before I came home. I do look better than usual.
Under the table, I feel a tap on my knee. I look over, and Hot Rod is staring at me, green eyes sparkling.
"I know you from somewhere, I'm sure of it. Where are you from?"
"Here", I reply coyly. I really want to pretend that he's never been forced to play Barbie house with me and my brother's G. I. Joes.
"Where did you go to high school? Did you go to Michigan State?"
"No", I reply coyly. Technically, we did go to the same high school, but in different decades.
Now he's completely focused on me, which is good because Jolene is about to go home with someone SHE could have babysat. When she gets up to leave, Hot Rod parks himself beside me at the edge of the booth.
"I'm not letting you leave until you tell me" he whispers.
"Ok, I'll tell you, but you have to promise to still hang out for a bit. You can't leave me alone with the Sigma Chi Douchebag frat".
He nods in agreement.
I'm trying to play this as cool as possible... But what if my 7-to-9-year old dreams could come true? It's all too much to come up with a witty pun, and so I muster up this:
"I swam in your pool for 3 summers in a row when I was little"
He looks puzzled, like he's thinking I'm a friend of Jane's.
"With Jane?"
"No, she usually just watched us, me and my brother. Sometimes you did too"
Clearly he puts all the pieces together, because a minute later, he does this:
"Ohhhhhhhh my god. I can't believe I checked out the ass of Stella James! Man, you were a weird kid"
This is not the magical makeout lead-in I was hoping for. Clearly, it shows on my face.
"No, what I mean is, you seem to have grown up well." He smiles, and I have instantly forgiven him... but he offers to buy me a drink, anyway. I think that in this situation, more drinks is the only thing that's going to boost my confidence.
He goes over to the bar, orders drinks, and then motions for me to come over. At last! I am free from Frat Hell--somehow the guys at the table have managed to procure plastic cups and are deep into a game of Beer Pong.
We start talking at the bar, and I find out the critical details: he got a degree in business and English when he was at Michigan State; he was engaged a few years ago, but it didn't work out; he's currently single; he's no one's baby-daddy; and he lives at his parent's house because its close to the restaurant and they are away a lot.
I ask if it has anything to do with proximity to skinny-dipping, and he smiles.
We banter back and forth until last call. I look over at Frat Central--my boys have successfully met some sorority girls to challenge in Pong. I look back at Rod, green eyes a-blaze, shirt open an appropriate number of buttons to show a bit of chest hair, but also that he does his push-ups. As if on cue, Zack Morris style, he runs his hangs through his hair.
If my pants weren't so tight, they would be off.
Have I mentioned that Rod et al. live only one block from my parents' place? Handy, I know.
Hot Rod glances over to our Frat Friends, who are now starting to get yelled at by the bartender: "We should get out of here before things get crazy. I've seen Steve (the bartender?) get really physical with students". He smiles again, but this time it has undertones of absolute filth. Sexy, gratuitous, filthiness.
"Yeah, I'm thinking that going home is a good idea about now."
Hot Rod is already ahead of me, pulling me out by my hand.
WE'RE HOLDING HANDS!! my 7-year-old self shrieks.
HIGH FIVE! Yells back my 9-year-old self.
I must be smiling, because Hot Rod wants to know what the smirking is about. "Oh, this just would have been a big deal in my youth."
"The hand-holding?"
"Yeah, the hand holding is big for 7-year-olds"
Clearly he finds this endearing, because he is still holding my hand, and we are now about three blocks from the bar.
"You're cool to walk in those shoes? It's so nice out I can't bear to take a cab"
Oh, these 4-inch platforms? The ones that bring me almost to your eye level? Yeah, I'm keeping these puppies on.
But instead of giving him a shpiel about how I wear my heels all the time like Carrie Bradshaw, I just nod, smiling, like the 5th-grade me that is hooting and hollering in my head. It takes a minute for me to realize that we're going home together...
Read about it in Part 4! I swear, it's the last part.
We've already got our Spidey senses tingling, care of eye candy at dinner, and the men in the bar are sensing it. Especially in Jolene... she is one foxey lady.
And when men are sensing it, they are really big on buying the drinks.
Hours pass, and Jolene starts to forget about Hot Rod. She starts to think instead about the 5 rum and Cokes that some frat boy has bought her, and maybe a bit about the 2 he's also gotten for me.
Like I said, girl plays hard!
Around midnight, Jol is fully in the bag. I can tell she's going to have a rough morning. I'm thankfully less attractive, and thus less drunk, when the unthinkable happens:
Hot Rod is IN THE BUILDING.
And he's heading straight for us... a booth of frat boys and old ladies.
Jolene starts hollering at him from across the bar to come over; he's coming up behind me (more on this later... I am so witty) so I have very little chance to wipe the shocked look off my face when he gets to the table.
Hot Rod: "Hey, you guys were at Rod's (clearly, not the name of the eatery) earlier. I'm Rod, the owner."
Jolene: "Oh we remember! You are HOT! Come sit with us!!"
Hot Rod gets an expression of embarrassment... but also clearly knows he's not being lied to. And so he sits down, an obliging gentleman. Right across from me.
I pretend to be interested in Freshman Math or whatever is going on beside me, but I can feel his eyes on me. First on the face, and then on a trip back from the bar, over the bod too.
Thank goodness I Master Cleansed before I came home. I do look better than usual.
Under the table, I feel a tap on my knee. I look over, and Hot Rod is staring at me, green eyes sparkling.
"I know you from somewhere, I'm sure of it. Where are you from?"
"Here", I reply coyly. I really want to pretend that he's never been forced to play Barbie house with me and my brother's G. I. Joes.
"Where did you go to high school? Did you go to Michigan State?"
"No", I reply coyly. Technically, we did go to the same high school, but in different decades.
Now he's completely focused on me, which is good because Jolene is about to go home with someone SHE could have babysat. When she gets up to leave, Hot Rod parks himself beside me at the edge of the booth.
"I'm not letting you leave until you tell me" he whispers.
"Ok, I'll tell you, but you have to promise to still hang out for a bit. You can't leave me alone with the Sigma Chi Douchebag frat".
He nods in agreement.
I'm trying to play this as cool as possible... But what if my 7-to-9-year old dreams could come true? It's all too much to come up with a witty pun, and so I muster up this:
"I swam in your pool for 3 summers in a row when I was little"
He looks puzzled, like he's thinking I'm a friend of Jane's.
"With Jane?"
"No, she usually just watched us, me and my brother. Sometimes you did too"
Clearly he puts all the pieces together, because a minute later, he does this:
"Ohhhhhhhh my god. I can't believe I checked out the ass of Stella James! Man, you were a weird kid"
This is not the magical makeout lead-in I was hoping for. Clearly, it shows on my face.
"No, what I mean is, you seem to have grown up well." He smiles, and I have instantly forgiven him... but he offers to buy me a drink, anyway. I think that in this situation, more drinks is the only thing that's going to boost my confidence.
He goes over to the bar, orders drinks, and then motions for me to come over. At last! I am free from Frat Hell--somehow the guys at the table have managed to procure plastic cups and are deep into a game of Beer Pong.
We start talking at the bar, and I find out the critical details: he got a degree in business and English when he was at Michigan State; he was engaged a few years ago, but it didn't work out; he's currently single; he's no one's baby-daddy; and he lives at his parent's house because its close to the restaurant and they are away a lot.
I ask if it has anything to do with proximity to skinny-dipping, and he smiles.
We banter back and forth until last call. I look over at Frat Central--my boys have successfully met some sorority girls to challenge in Pong. I look back at Rod, green eyes a-blaze, shirt open an appropriate number of buttons to show a bit of chest hair, but also that he does his push-ups. As if on cue, Zack Morris style, he runs his hangs through his hair.
If my pants weren't so tight, they would be off.
Have I mentioned that Rod et al. live only one block from my parents' place? Handy, I know.
Hot Rod glances over to our Frat Friends, who are now starting to get yelled at by the bartender: "We should get out of here before things get crazy. I've seen Steve (the bartender?) get really physical with students". He smiles again, but this time it has undertones of absolute filth. Sexy, gratuitous, filthiness.
"Yeah, I'm thinking that going home is a good idea about now."
Hot Rod is already ahead of me, pulling me out by my hand.
WE'RE HOLDING HANDS!! my 7-year-old self shrieks.
HIGH FIVE! Yells back my 9-year-old self.
I must be smiling, because Hot Rod wants to know what the smirking is about. "Oh, this just would have been a big deal in my youth."
"The hand-holding?"
"Yeah, the hand holding is big for 7-year-olds"
Clearly he finds this endearing, because he is still holding my hand, and we are now about three blocks from the bar.
"You're cool to walk in those shoes? It's so nice out I can't bear to take a cab"
Oh, these 4-inch platforms? The ones that bring me almost to your eye level? Yeah, I'm keeping these puppies on.
But instead of giving him a shpiel about how I wear my heels all the time like Carrie Bradshaw, I just nod, smiling, like the 5th-grade me that is hooting and hollering in my head. It takes a minute for me to realize that we're going home together...
Read about it in Part 4! I swear, it's the last part.
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