It's not news that I drooled stupidly over the Prada Spring/Summer collection (despite the heroin chic bullshit). While thankfully the lure of the Prada fairy handbag fizzled, my passion for the drawings of James Jean (the genius behind Prada's inky weirdness) has only blossomed. If I could, I'd wallpaper my girlie room in this stuff. While it is a little steep on the creepscale, it still draws me in (maybe due to the creep factor). I could just sit here all day and lookatitandlookatitandlookatit. It's like a dream gone bad gone good again.Saturday, March 8, 2008
How Fairy Thou Art
It's not news that I drooled stupidly over the Prada Spring/Summer collection (despite the heroin chic bullshit). While thankfully the lure of the Prada fairy handbag fizzled, my passion for the drawings of James Jean (the genius behind Prada's inky weirdness) has only blossomed. If I could, I'd wallpaper my girlie room in this stuff. While it is a little steep on the creepscale, it still draws me in (maybe due to the creep factor). I could just sit here all day and lookatitandlookatitandlookatit. It's like a dream gone bad gone good again.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
An Ever-Fixèd Mark
I've been married for eight-ish years and still crave my guy with a ferocity as unbridled and tender as the maddest of mad first love.
Ok, I'm not saying that the shit hasn't hit the fan, nor am I suggesting that my life with him is a fairy tale (but I'm not suggesting that it isn't a fairy tale, either).
Our marriage ceremony was bell and whistle-less. My wedding dress bore boot-cut pant legs and was made of Levi denim....My husband's tuxedo looked much the same as my "dress".
We had no family in attendance, no "song" to dance to, no head table, no champagne, no groomsmen, bridesmaids, flowergirls or ringbearers, and no cake or photographers.
My most vivid family recollection is that of my mom crying on the morning of the *uhm* wedding(?). I wrestled with guilt just hours before the matrimonial leap, having feared that I'd somehow failed my mother.
In the end, I did it my way. Our way.
The ceremony was purple microdot clear, like the perfect acid trip - crisp, yet surreal. The gentleman who bound us in holy-less matrimony was one of the coolest people I've ever met; a free-spirited marrier of gay couples, heathens (comme moi) and other "fringey" freehearts shunned by the tight-assed folk of the far right persuasion.
While I do wish that I could have somehow satisfied the want (or perhaps worry) of my Mom - I don't, for a second, regret limiting the affair to Bride and Groom. Unclouded by the expectations of others, the moment was ours - and ours alone.
It was both magical and liberating.
That's it.
Pudsy
Ok, I'm not saying that the shit hasn't hit the fan, nor am I suggesting that my life with him is a fairy tale (but I'm not suggesting that it isn't a fairy tale, either).
Our marriage ceremony was bell and whistle-less. My wedding dress bore boot-cut pant legs and was made of Levi denim....My husband's tuxedo looked much the same as my "dress".
We had no family in attendance, no "song" to dance to, no head table, no champagne, no groomsmen, bridesmaids, flowergirls or ringbearers, and no cake or photographers.
My most vivid family recollection is that of my mom crying on the morning of the *uhm* wedding(?). I wrestled with guilt just hours before the matrimonial leap, having feared that I'd somehow failed my mother.
In the end, I did it my way. Our way.
The ceremony was purple microdot clear, like the perfect acid trip - crisp, yet surreal. The gentleman who bound us in holy-less matrimony was one of the coolest people I've ever met; a free-spirited marrier of gay couples, heathens (comme moi) and other "fringey" freehearts shunned by the tight-assed folk of the far right persuasion.
While I do wish that I could have somehow satisfied the want (or perhaps worry) of my Mom - I don't, for a second, regret limiting the affair to Bride and Groom. Unclouded by the expectations of others, the moment was ours - and ours alone.
It was both magical and liberating.
That's it.
Pudsy
Saturday, March 1, 2008
For the Love of Vog
I've been hunting for these boots for months. They are a very rare, hard-to-find Fluevog boot and I don't know - just something about them swept me away. They have been shipped and should arrive early next week...I can hardly wait...
Pudsy
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Too Annoyed to Fini....
I starting writing this a few weeks ago. I was so annoyed with my experience that I couldn't bring myself to finish writing about it. Here it is, well after the fact.
________________________________________________________
I can't believe how fucking angry I am right now.
Umpteen mothereffing weeks ago, I scheduled an appointment for a haircut and colour at the "legendary" Rinaldo's Spa. I asked for the most experienced cutter - I wasn't willing to settle for just anyone - I wanted "the best". I was ready to lop off my locks...my loooong, luscious, Rapunzelian locks (translation: matted, bed of tangles and split ends.)
The salon receptionist, in her most practiced fashion drawl, assured me a date with the most stylish of do-makers. The knowledge that I had "to wait" a significant length of time for the meeting with my maker to end all hair-makers made it all the more delicious; well-anchoring a feeling of safety and pathetic self-importance. I fantasized, yes fantasized about my transformation....Oh, how beautiful I would be.
So there I sat - for weeks on end - eagerly anticipating my much needed escape from an eternity's worth of shitbox salons run by 80's throwback hairdo-ists. I began to develop a blind trust - expecting fully to fall into the arms of the most experienced blades in the solar system....oh the sunny days to come...
Here's where the story stops short.
I feel far too annoyed to elaborate in any more significant detail. The rest of this entry is bulleted to preserve my relatively stable mood of the moment.
________________________________________________________
I can't believe how fucking angry I am right now.
Umpteen mothereffing weeks ago, I scheduled an appointment for a haircut and colour at the "legendary" Rinaldo's Spa. I asked for the most experienced cutter - I wasn't willing to settle for just anyone - I wanted "the best". I was ready to lop off my locks...my loooong, luscious, Rapunzelian locks (translation: matted, bed of tangles and split ends.)
The salon receptionist, in her most practiced fashion drawl, assured me a date with the most stylish of do-makers. The knowledge that I had "to wait" a significant length of time for the meeting with my maker to end all hair-makers made it all the more delicious; well-anchoring a feeling of safety and pathetic self-importance. I fantasized, yes fantasized about my transformation....Oh, how beautiful I would be.
So there I sat - for weeks on end - eagerly anticipating my much needed escape from an eternity's worth of shitbox salons run by 80's throwback hairdo-ists. I began to develop a blind trust - expecting fully to fall into the arms of the most experienced blades in the solar system....oh the sunny days to come...
Here's where the story stops short.
I feel far too annoyed to elaborate in any more significant detail. The rest of this entry is bulleted to preserve my relatively stable mood of the moment.
- Fuck Rinaldo's Salon.
- Fuck trends.
- Never trust a person who is wearing shoes are that are longer than he or she is tall.
- Only Elton John should wear Elton John's glasses.
- Mirrors don't lie.
- There is no way to make oneself disappear from a salon chair without literally getting up and moving (yes, I've tried to make myself disappear - and I have a witness).
- Never, ever, ever book a hair appointment with a friend. Invevitably, the friend will end up looking magnificent and you will have "healthy-looking hair" (thanks, *Elvis)
- Long hair is beautiful. I don't care how matted, or tired it looks. To me, it will always be magnficent.
- A heart-felt thank you to *Elvis for saving the life of that hairstylist dude.
So there you have it. My hair has been cut for the last time. Viva les locks! Long, luscious, Rapunzelian locks (translation: long, luscious, Rapunzelian locks).
*Elvis is the person who joined me at the salon for a "hair transformation" which, incidentally, turned out beautifully ( not at the hands of "my" master cutter, of course). Her name has been changed to protect the oh, so beeee-oooooo-tee-ful...
Pudsy
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Through O's Rose-Coloured Glasses
This photograph was taken by a very humble photographer - someone who is far more gifted than she realizes. With an almost unnatural ease, she transforms flowers into vaginas and snowstorms into beachy shores......It is the craziest thing. Visit her website, Parvum Opus, at www.parvumopus@blogspot.com for some unadulterated magic.
O's Rose Petals....*sigh*
Goodnight,
Puds.
O's Rose Petals....*sigh*
Goodnight,
Puds.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
Too Terrible to Title
This past Monday I lost my wallet and then found my wallet - all within a timeframe of about three minutes. Yup - for about three whole minutes I was without identity, without credit and without crunched-up receipts.
That white-hot feeling of complete fucking loss shook my bowels, cleared my sinuses and left me feeling spent (and abused). Everyone was guilty. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs and psychokinetically slam all the doors shut (a la Carrie, 1976).
My companion, dressed in her Chapters bag, red-hot Roots wristlet and casual smile was the epitome of calm.....I could have killed her. Yes, it was hilarious. If my back wasn't so fucking sore I'd tell you more....I have to sign off.
Puds.
That white-hot feeling of complete fucking loss shook my bowels, cleared my sinuses and left me feeling spent (and abused). Everyone was guilty. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs and psychokinetically slam all the doors shut (a la Carrie, 1976).
My companion, dressed in her Chapters bag, red-hot Roots wristlet and casual smile was the epitome of calm.....I could have killed her. Yes, it was hilarious. If my back wasn't so fucking sore I'd tell you more....I have to sign off.
Puds.
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