I’m in love… completely head over heels (pardon the pun) in love with these totally fucking awesome shoes I found on AttitudeHolland.nl last night. I was looking for Louis heels (no, not Louis Vuitton, I’m not made of money) originally, then Oxfords because everyone loves Oxfords, proven by the fact that I couldn’t find anywhere that had them in stock in my size. Then I saw some wingtips and had to have some, again coming up empty… yes, I have a thing for shoes… unfortunately money and storage are my two evil setbacks…
THEN I saw some gorgeous vintage shoes on the above Dutch website AND these beautiful lace edged heels and I’m a goner… they are perfect and will look amazing on me and are bloody expensive… but… so worth it.! Given the opportunity, I would be the next Imelda Marcos when it comes to shoes. I used to have over 75 pairs of them in my late teens/early twenties. Some vintage, some retro styled, most glossy, sexy ‘fuck me’ shoes because I was that age, stripper heels a plenty, a pair of New Rock’s I bartered for because I couldn’t afford them but wanted them SO badly.
High heeled boots that covered my knees and goth boots with thick tower heels and lots of overly aggressive studs and zips and chains. I had very little to give a shit about in those days and shoes were my true love. Then I met handbags… oh boy.! 😀 I had a major clear out a year or so ago. Getting rid of at least 30 handbags, my last few pairs of stripper heels, my beautiful skintight sexy jeans that had stopped fitting me about 20 years before… but you know, still kinda fitted if I didn’t eat for a week and breathed in real hard and pulled my corset to it’s tightest fitting… Oh, to be 18 again.!
Did you know Valentine’s Day was actually the Roman Feast of Lupercalia back in 300BC.? Yeah, they sacrificed dogs or goats, skinned them and beat women with the skins to enhance their fertility. Pretty sure the only thing that would have been enhanced with me would have been my homicidal tendencies. Whose dumb idea was it that whipping women with animal skins made them more fertile and how the hell did they come to that conclusion.? I’d say it had to be a bloke, but then you’d all start at me about sexism, and feminism and all that PC BS, but be fair, what woman would come to the conclusion that she needed to be belted with goat skin to be in with a chance of conceiving quicker.?
My father taught me that if it’s not working right, smack it. How we got from beating women with goat skins to buying tons of chocolate and flowers and jewellery is a mystery, but one wonders if it’s not in fact a result of the goat skin beatings, by way of apology. “I’m sorry your Roman ancestors got beaten with animal skins by my Roman ancestors, here, have some chocolate and a pretty bracelet in apology”. 😀 It’s an evolutionary genetic dysfunction that the big corporations that benefit from all the apology gift buying take full advantage of.! And so we have commercialism.
Luckily we don’t do that shit in this house. Commercialism can stay the hell out of my relationship. Bear knows I forgive his ancestors and I know he would never even consider beating me with dead goat skin, so we good. He buys me flowers when he sees some he thinks I’ll like and replaces the chocolates and jewellery with beer and shoes when I get all glassy eyed and drool-y in front of a shoe store. Which to be fair isn’t often as I don’t go out much so there’s not much need for shoes and he’s not the bedroom shoes kind… unfortunately. 😉
Bear agreed to the stripper heels but made it clear he’ll only wear them at home. It’s a start. 😀 Today he’s on a late shift which means he’ll be gone from 2.45pm until 11.30pm. Currently he’s walking the streets with a political colleague asking people about the complaints that have been made about the assholes who use their street as a racetrack. I hear them. It used to piss me off when the local reprobates used the road we used to live on as a racetrack, until some twat bent his fancy BMW around a tree and I went outside and cheered him. Dumbass.
Nice car though. It settled down quite a bit after that and then we moved here. Now I just have noisy, obnoxious asshole neighbours and wheezy moped guy to tolerate. Who woke me up again yesterday morning, the little turd, talking to his-damn-self about how cold it was, and how he couldn’t believe it was that cold. If it’s too cold for you pal, stay the fuck at home and let me sleep.
Dear Diary... 
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