Date Archives May 2007

It’s as bad as showing butt crack.

Since it’s nearly 5 weeks until Elegant Swan Day, I’ve had to start getting serious about getting my things together. On Saturday, I went shopping for Shoes I’ll Never Wear Again to go with the Dress I’ll Never Wear Again, and promptly discovered that zero shoes on the market today are the correct color of cream to match the aforementioned dress. On a whim, I went into another store filled with dresses of the Never Wear Again style, and found a different one made of lighter material that is more Wisconsin-summer-heat-wedding-appropriate, in the same shade of blue, with white trim instead of cream. The clincher was that this dress will cost nearly $100 less in alterations, so even with the additional expense of the dress (marked down 80%!), I’m saving a much-needed $75. So now I own one Dress I’ll Never Wear Again and one Dress I’ll Never Wear And Maybe Never Even Look At Again So Hopefully My Closet Eats It.

I found a pair of white shoes immediately and was excited to be done with my shopping so quickly.

Of course, something was destined to go horribly wrong.

That something, ladies and gentlemen, was toe cleavage.

You might be asking yourself, “What in the Sam Hill is toe cleavage?”

Toe cleavage is the horrible, horrible practice of cutting the tops of shoes low enough to show the tops of your toes and the gaps inbetween. It ruins the clean look of a formal shoe and makes it appear concurrently that:

1)Your shoes don’t fit properly and 2)You’re ready for the beach, you rebel, you! and 3)You have toes long enough to join your simian ancestors in swinging through trees and picking bugs out of fur.

This scourge is apparently quite fashionable right now, which is a shame as it is so utterly disgusting. It must be quite a boon to the foot fetishists, but other than that, I feel confident that the rest of us can strongly band together against the nastiness which is toe cleavage. Furthermore, when I see toe cleavage, I am overwhelmed by the idea that the person wearing the shoes must inherently smell like sweaty feet, even if that is not the case.

These shoes are going back to the store with a quickness not unlike superman chasing a cheetah.

How do I know I’m right? Well, Saturday night, I went out with Amy to the Rickshaw in cute shoes that did NOT show toe, and while I was talking with Chuck outside, some guy was looking at me instead of watching where he was going, and at the exact moment he was trying to be slick and drop me a wink, he walked into a car’s sideview mirror.

THAT’S how I know.

In which I mention unmentionables

Last night I went shopping for some new unmentionables. For as rarely as they’re seen by eyes other than mine, you wouldn’t think I could possibly be as picky about the whole process as I am. But you would be wrong. Oh, how you would be wrong!

In the course of events, I came up with a few suggestions for the manufacturers of funbag containers, over the shoulder boulder holders, titsacks, turret covers, “oh my god, I can’t believe this tiny piece of lace costs $60″, etc:

1)If a woman is 36 inches around, she’s probably going to have a cup size larger than an A or a B. It would be very helpful if you made bras to accommodate these needs. 36” around is not a specialty store size. Please stop treating it as such.

2)If you happen to actually make a bra with the requisite cup size, please make it the same style as the A and B cups. Cute, feminine, sparkly, lacy, whatever. I should not think of artillery when I look at your bra. I do not want to think of artillery when I take off my shirt unless I happen to have a gun strapped on under there or some sort of bitchin’ Howitzer tattoo.

3)Furthermore, if you happen to make a bra with the requisite cup size, please stop adding additional padding. If a lady is rocking a C or larger, she probably doesn’t need your foamy/gel/waterpack boost, as she’s got enough of her own material to work with. Also, foam/gels/waterpacks are totally cheating and smaller cup sizes shouldn’t get them, either.

As a side note (speaking of racks), I found some Pirates of the Caribbean pajamas on the clearance rack. What is better than waking up in the morning with Johnny Depp’s face on your crotch? NOTHING.

Dance, magic, dance

On Saturday, Carrie and I got gussied up and went downtown to the Fifth Avenue Theatre to see Edward Scissorhands: The Play.

Earlier in the week, Carrie’s barista had led her to believe that this wasn’t a play in the strictest sense, but more of a musical. So when Carrie and I sat down, we expected something along the lines of ‘all singing, all dancing’. It turns out we were only half right–this would’ve been far better billed as “Edward Scissorhands: The Ballet” or “Edward Scissorhands: The Interpretive Dance”. Which isn’t to say it was bad–just that it was surprising! For a while, my mind kept trying to reject it–“You are NOT arty enough to appreciate this, you are NOT arty enough to appreciate this” but when I shoved that part of me back, I found it truly enchanting.

It definitely made me wish I had seen the movie more recently, as I felt I would’ve appreciated what was going on more if I had a clear memory of the progression of the narrative. Still, the show did an amazing job of telling a story quite clearly without words, and it’s quite possible that it was an adaptation that was better served without words.

The scenes between Edward and Kim were breathtakingly beautiful; not only was it easier to focus on the dancing when there were only two people onstage instead of twenty or more, but it seemed that extra efforts were made with their choreography. Immediately before the intermission, there is a scene where Edward shows Kim the topiaries he’s made, and as they dance together, what initially appeared as set pieces came to life and started dancing with them. It was gorgeously done, but that didn’t stop the gigglefest between Carrie and I come intermission. “Oh mum, I’m so excited–I got the part I’ve always dreamed of playing–DANCING BUSH NUMBER THREE!” “It’s so cute, it’s like a little bush dinosaur!” “I’m going to sign programs with XOXOX, Topiary Lizard!”

Half the people around us were highly entertained by our little intermission show, and half of them were giving us the stink-eye. The girl on my right, in particular, who couldn’t have been more than sixteen, gave me the stinkiest stink-eye in the history of the world. But come ON now, it’s not as if I was talking/giggling/making jokes DURING the show, and it truly cannot be expected that I’ll be stifled for many hours running!

It certainly didn’t hurt my enjoyment of Edward Scissorhands: Dance-O-Rama to note that the actor who danced Edward had an amazing ass. I think I missed a decent portion of the action just because I couldn’t take my eyes away from his hindquarters. It’s ok, though, as when you’re staring from a distance, it just appears that you are a VERY attentive theatre-goer.

Many, many thanks to Carrie for taking me to this show-I truly enjoyed myself, and I don’t think I could have enjoyed seeing it nearly as much with anyone else.

This theatre review brought to you due to an emotard post I had made a while back. If this is the sort of birthday gift one receives because one whines about one’s friends being too busy, I’m going to have to be an emotard more often.