Category Archives: Fashion

Your Fingers In My Hair

One of the hardest things about moving to Miami is finding a hair stylist.    In Juneau, I had the same stylist for ten years and then he moved.  I was horrified.  It was as if suddenly God shouted there would be no more coffee or cheese on earth.

W H A T ?

Then I found a great new hair stylist who I used until my final day in Juneau.

Whew.

Fast forward to Miami and 40,000 salons, spas, hair cutters and strip malls offering quick cut services.  What to do?  Only one thing.  Try.  Try.  Try again.

So far, I’ve tried three salons.  The first was nice but too far away after a few visits.  The second was….honestly…..the stylist just didn’t listen.  I’d sit in the chair, tell her what I wanted and I swear she barely cut anything off my head.  Not to mention the color never stayed.  Lastly, it’s never a good thing when it looks like you’ve tried to behead me with the electric shaver.  Oh, I’m not kidding!  Big giant red cut across the the back of my neck.

In Juneau, my hair was my glory.  In Miami, it’s my struggle.

Needing to get another cut.  I was dreading having to go back to salon #2.

puffy dog

The stylist, I knew would cut off the equivalent of a gnat’s leg hair width of an amount and the end result would be my head would look like a giant q-tip.  

Yeah me – cause that’s the latest hot style!  Everyone loves that look!

Finally, due to my simple exasperation, my better half searched and found a place on line and I gave it a look.  My initial response was “are you kidding me?  Have you seen the pricing?”  A few visits and I could buy a new car…and we all know what kind of car I want.

As my hair continued to get pouffier, yes that’s a word, thank you.  I cancelled my standing appointment at the salon that doesn’t listen to me and made an appointment at the next salon attempt.  We’ll call this place, “Salon Oh La La.”

I walked in the front door and nearly turned around as I thought: oh no, this is not for me.  No.  No. No. No.  This can’t be right.  I’ve never been in such a salon.

No.  It’s not the mix of 4 different languages that make an impact on me:  Spanish, Russian, Jewish and Muslim.  That’s just a common, regular day in Aventura.  What stuns me is the 3 tiered, enormous, bigger than a VW Beetle, crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling….over a circular couch that could very well be in a porn film or posh advertisement with nearly naked men lounging on it.  Wait, in fact, I think there might be nearly naked people lounging on it.

Every square inch of space has someone in some form of processing.   There’s no waiting area, so I continue to stand in the middle of the chaos.

Well, this is awkward, as I wait to be attended to by the front desk.

My uncomfortableness is compounded as I don’t know where to look as there are people everywhere.  And, by the way….why do they have a money machine in here?

I have to yell my arrival to the woman at the front desk.  Yell.  Over.  The.  Noise.

I can only yell my name and appointment time to her as, unfortunately I have no idea who my appointment is with.  When they called me back to tell me my time (as I requested my appointment via their online system) the background noise from the salon was so loud I couldn’t hear who the name was of the stylist.

OH yes!  You’re with Suyera.

Great!  (WTF? I think silently to myself…what name did she say?)

A few minutes go by and this young guy comes up and introduces himself to me:  Hello.  I am Stoerj.  Nice to meet you.  Please, this way.

He is so quiet and I have barely understood anything of what he said.  Not that he has an accent but he is quiet.  OH MY.

We go to his station and he asks what I want to do.  I tell him I need his help.  That he is my third stylist and I am looking for someone to just do what needs to be done.  He says, “not to worry.”  Then he starts to look at my hair, which I wear naturally curly.

He looks at the back and says, “WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED HERE?”  No mistaking his dislike of my shortened buzzed cut at the nape of my neck.  “WHO DID THIS?”  He’s obviously quite upset.  “TERRIBLE!”  I continued to just let him go on and he continued to run his fingers through my giant mass of hair.

A few minutes later another gentleman joins us and my stylist introduces him as Joseph.  He and Joseph start to consult together over my hair – in Russian.  Joseph calls my stylist Sam.

Eureka!

I have a name!  Mental note to self.  SAM.

The two of them push my head to the left, to the right and to the front.  All of the sudden…. Sam’s voice goes up four octaves and his sentences start running together.  The only word I could understand was:

FUCK!

Again, he’s not happy about the shaved nape of my neck.

I’m thinking, it’s a good thing I didn’t ask him to do this again.

Joseph walks away and Sam says to me, “don’t worry, I will fix this mess in the back.  It will take a few visits, but it can be fixed.  They should have never done this.”  Little did he know, I wanted it like that.

We did color and high lights, low lights, mid lights, rough lights, sweet lights, edgy lights and I even had a cappuccino while I lighted and processed.

It was time for the wash out and he leads me over to the sinks.   A Russian girl comes out to shampoo me.  All I could think to myself was two things….

1.  Please, don’t wash off my eyebrows, I have to go to the store after this.

2.  I don’t think you need to shampoo down my neck.

No, I am not kidding.  She would hold my head up by placing her palm on the crown of my head and then shampoo down my neck.

DOWN

MY

NECK.

I wasn’t just a bird in a bird bath, I was a raccoon in a bird bath.  Water was going everywhere.  I thought at one point….if I start to squirt water of my mouth we’re going to be in trouble here.

My thought process went something like this for the shampoo session:

marilyn

Please don’t wash off my eyebrows.  Oh my god, is my mascara waterproof?

I bet I look like Marilyn Manson by now.  How is this water NOT going in my ears?  Is it necessary to wash my forehead?  Oh wait, time for the neck again.  Please don’t wash off my eyebrows.

Note to self:  Thank god I invested in the clear eyebrow sealer, thank you Bobbi Brown.

Back to Sam, we’re down to business.  He uses his index finger to push my head this way and that way.  The cutting starts normally enough.  It’s your typical hair cut.  Comb and cut.  Comb and cut.  He dries my hair and uses the flat iron.  It looks fantastic.  I love it.

Little did I know the best was yet to come.

Cue Edward Scissorhands.

images-2

I’m not kidding.

It starts with Sam pulling up sections of my hair with one hand……while he cuts wildly….as gravity pulls my hair back into place.

This occurs all over my entire head.

Step two:  He takes sections of my hair and twirls it around his finger.  These large twists of basically hair rope are cut into with his ridiculously fast scissors.   Again, all over my head.

Step three:  Get out the hair dryer.  Tilting my head to one side and then the other, with the hair dryer on….causing my hair to blow wildly….he cuts madly into the forced wind.

All I can do is keep my eyes closed and hope the scissors don’t nip my eyeballs or my ears.  He moves so fast and the sound of those scissors makes my upper lip break out into a sweat.  Talk about scaredy cat ….. I’m on the verge of scaredy cut.

Witcha….witcha….witcha….witcha….witcha…witcha…witcha… (sound of his scissors)

Not to meRollercoasterntion he leans into the chair while doing all of this so I’m also vibrating at the same time.  It’s like a getting a little massage.  No, actually, it’s like you’re going up that first big hill on a roller coaster.  That chug, chug, chug feeling, but at 100mph.

Or, I’m riding along in a POS car and it’s stuck between 2nd and 3rd gear and can’t get over it.  Goodness.

I’m somewhere between getting my hair cut and a Siegfried and Roy act.

The other thing is, when I open my eyes, it amazes me…his cutting draws an audience.

It truly is a performance.  I’ve never had people watch me with such jaw dropping (literally) anticipation.  Perhaps they too are worried about my eyes and ears.  Today when he threw back my hair and I opened my eyes there were four people standing around his station.

FOUR!

They said, “SAM! Beautiful work!”

He said, “Oh no!  She is beautiful!”

Even the woman and stylist in the station across from me yell over how great it looks.

A lady, his next client can’t stop exclaiming how wonderful it looks and wants to know if this is my natural color.  Seriously?  

Ok – who doesn’t want to go to a stylist that says this?  Who doesn’t want to go to a stylist that gets an audience when he cuts?  Is this what it’s like to be a rock star?

Joseph came back over and told Sam he did a great job.  They spoke more in Russian about my FUCKED UP area but we’ll be okay they reassured me.  HA!

hughes

I get the 360 review in the mirror and Sam walks me over to the reception counter so I can make my next appointment.  The receptionist hands me my bill and I realize I won’t be making my first car payment …. instead, I will upgrading to Hughes 500 helicopter payment.  Well shit.  But you know what.  It’s SO WORTH IT.

Now, I also see why they have the money machine in the lobby – tips are cash only.

Sam gives me a kiss and hands me his card with my next appointment on it.

Guess what.  His name is Assaf.

Apparently, I need to get my hearing checked.

Bigger Boobs Please

nature-heart17

Happy Valentine’s Day Everyone!

The “Kinder Gentler Side” and I went to dinner tonight at a local fish market.  Now before you get the wrong idea, it was one of those restaurants where you can buy your fresh fish at the front counter and then if you so choose….you can opt to dine in the restaurant in the back.  It was quite nice.  The best part….

They don’t rush you out to get the next couple seated so they can make their next $300.

In January, we celebrated our 9 year anniversary and went to Joe’s Stone Crabs – a hugely popular restaurant up on South Beach.  We had heard wonderful things about it so we decided to go for our special night out.  The food was nice.  The down fall?  From the moment you sit down they’re pushing you out the door.

No good.

If I am going to spend nearly $300 on a meal, I want to enjoy the meal.  This isn’t a Happy Meal.  We won’t go back.  It wasn’t enjoyable.  To be rushed from the moment your ass hits the seat to the time your dessert port comes – they should be embarrassed.  They may turn 600 tables a night but you know what?  If I’m paying that price for a meal, I expect it to take longer the 45 minutes.  I expect the wait staff not to push me through like candies on a Lucille Ball conveyor belt episode.   To me, it was a scam.

Tonight, we went to Fish Fish in Aventura.  It was great from the moment we walked in to the moment we left.  2.5 hours.  Our appetizer didn’t run crashing into our salad, which didn’t slide screaming into our entree.  It was fantastic.  It was a leisurely and enjoyable evening.  I was delighted.

Of course, tonight was also Valentine’s so you can imagine….the spectacle.  I saw it all.

Lots of jeans.

Young ladies in short dresses.

Middle aged ladies in short dresses.

Older ladies in short dresses.  Go Nana.

But you know what?  THIS is Miami.  If you’re a woman and you have a pair of legs, chances are, you’re wearing a dress.  Double chances are you’re wearing a dress that is a little ridiculous for you.

Miami is all about butts, boobs and fake…fake….fake….fake.

Fake what?

Lips.

Butts.

Boobs.

Hair.

Nails.

Cheeks.

Eyelashes.

Yes.  You read it….eyelashes.

You name it…..it’s probably fake.  There’s so much silicone on the escalator at that mall that it actually jiggles as moves towards Earth.  The damdest thing I’ve ever seen.  Woman are fighting the jiggle only to replace it with silicone jiggle – cause it’s so much more effective and “healthier.”

Well…. and you don’t have to do anything to maintain it of course.

Damn, I could have had a V8!

Or by this time a 48GG.

I digress, which is so often my problem.

Tonight, I saw all shapes and sizes.  Lady, please.  Don’t wear grey stretch pants.  Not now.  Not ever.  No.  The oversized black, v-neck tee shirt with flashy cowgirl type belt – DOES NOT HELP YOU.

Same goes for you sister, with the oh so small nylon white tank top.  If it’s cutting off the circulation to the upper extremities – and your neck and face is a permanent purple color….that is a danger signal…..not a mating signal.  It’s not attractive to anyone.  Not to mention having to look at your four rolls of fat.  

Michelin pictire of Michelin Mann by carlfbagge

I thought the makers of the Michelin Man advertising campaign only created the one that came with a penis.  Didn’t realize they also created one with a vagina.

Which leads me to say, men….if you don’t look good with a shaved head – don’t do it on purpose.  There are some guys who can pull it off and they look good.  Others figure, why fight the battle of loosing their hair so they decide to shave off whatever hair they have left.

The problem is… if you don’t look good, you appear like penis looking for it’s body.

Just saying.

(See, I digressed again.)

There are a lot of fake things here in Miami.  I’m sure there are lots of fake things in LA, NYC, Fargo…(ok, maybe not)….and other high profile cities world wide.  Juneau, Alaska – not so much.  Sometimes it’s a bit overwhelming.

Take for example, the other day I was at the Bobby Brown make up counter getting new colors and this young girl goes walking by who was gorgeous.  I admire gorgeous woman just as much as any man does.  I admire gorgeous men just as much so don’t get the wrong idea.

She was Amazon tall, helped by her 5 inch heels.  Long blonde hair.  Beautiful.

Then she turned around

Collagen-Lip-Injection-Freaks-1

WTF?  She needed to use one of those old fashioned phones that had an ear piece and a seperate mouth piece cause those things you call lips have their own zip codes.

It looked like she was wearing a pair of those wax lips you got as a kid.  Apparently her lips doubled as a bird perch while she was out in public.  They were enormous!  Who thinks this is attractive?  They were done up in a frosty pink.   It was ridiculous and she was barely 24.

Of course, my self esteem, all 5’2 of it,  just shot through the roof.  Thank you.

Boobs.  If I were to get something fake.  I’d get bigger boobs.

True.

I’d like to upgrade to grapefruits.

The couple that came into the restaurant last night and sat down at the table next to us – she had a boob job.  She walked past us and I gave Eric the “OMG WTF….look at this” look.  I couldn’t help looking.  Even after they sat down, I couldn’t help looking.

Her chest was so out of proportion to the rest of her body that he had to hold her up under the arm pit.  Mind you, I’m not even talking about a petite girl either.  She was a “big boned” girl to start with.

She wasn’t grapefruits.

She wasn’t watermelons.

She wasn’t even human head size.

She was mamoth.

Little green dress, low cut.  Which I get.  Show those behemoths off.

Trust me, I like to flaunt my oranges as often as I can…I get it!Every good artist knows if you’re going to show off your artwork, you need a good frame.

This girl….thought she was all that and she wasn’t even the olive in her martini. Her bra didn’t even fit right.  The band was so tight that it cut her boobs in half.  So it looked like she had FOUR boobs.  To top this off, there was the neck line of her dress….another line on her boobs.

There was so much silicone and boob bondage going on that she appeared to be a pregnant cat with swollen tits.  Stop it!

Just.

Stop.

It.

All I could think about is the man with her:  Tell me…you honestly think THIS is attractive?  Really?  Honestly?  She has to rest them on the table.

Girl.  Did you look at yourself before you left the house?  Did you get dressed in the dark?  OMG what the hell?

Did you seriously think this was HOT?  What magazine said buy yourself boobs that belong on an elephant and then stuff them into a bra made for a mouse….men like that.

Really?  I’m thinking every issue of Cosmo would advise against that.  If they did, it was in an article referring to bondage and they meant using red silk and satin ropes and ribbon.  Not for dressing up on a night out on the town.

I would much rather see the soft curves of a slightly exposed boob and the bounce and jiggle as a woman walks.  Not some mashed up mess inside the dress with sloppy spillage over the neckline.  It’s so unflattering.  Does 25 gallons of silicone even bounce?

I don’t care if you have treated yourself to a 46GG and think you are the most exotic thing since Marilyn Monroe.  You appear to be a cartoon. They’re disproportionate to the rest of you.  Did you consider that before you bought those missiles?

WAIT maybe that is what they are!  She’s actually a secret weapon of destruction.  25 gallons of liquid nitrogen.  Better yet, maybe they’re bullet proof and she’s a body guard.  Like Wonder Woman but different.

Nope, I bet she’s a fisherwoman and they’re her floatation devices.

She’s obviously not a stomach sleeper.

What would one do with those when you turn 75 and decide you don’t want to carry 20 pounds worth of silicone any longer?  By then your skin has sagged. So what?  You put groceries in there when you go to the store?  Secret hiding place for valuables?  What?

Wait!  I got it.  That’s where you will sneak in snacks to the movie theatre!

It was just absurd.

Don’t even get me stared on eyelash extensions….

Seriously.

Get Off My Ass…Unless You’re Buying Me Dinner.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again.

Alaskans.

We.  Like. Our. Space.

That’s why we prefer to live in a state where there’s only 1.5 people per square mile.     Love that.  In my square mile I’d designate Liggy, our cat, as the .5 measurement.  (That’s correct, Eric can get his own square mile…mine is full.) Unfortunately, however, I’ve moved to Miami and the luxury of personal space went out the window along with owning sensible shoes.

Which, by the way, if you would have told me at this time last year I’d be wearing platform heels I would have laughed myself to the point of a side cramp.  Now, I have several pairs to choose from in the closet.  Not to mention the colors.  Yes.  The shoes I get the most complements on?  The hot pink Jessica Simpsons – thank you very much.

There was this one pair I drooled over in DSW.  They were vanilla colored, satin fabric, platforms that not only had a rhinestone on the front but feathers as well.  LOVED those shoes.  Went to try them on several times.

shoes

Then I thought to myself:

Self, when are you realistically going to wear these shoes?

I’d wear them to work?

No.

Performing art?

Maybe.

Grocery shopping?

Definitely.

No.  I didn’t buy them.  Sigh.

Anyway, back to the issue.  I wish the people of Miami would do me one little favor:

GET

OFF

MY

ASS!

I have never been anywhere in this short lifespan of mine that has had so many strangers trying to climb up my ass every single day.  Not only that but they’re pissy people at that!

It would be one thing if you were a smooth talking, good looking, sweet smelling suave and swanky personality that would cause me to swoon as soon as you grinned.  However you’re not anything close to making my knees buckle Miami…..

Driving down I-95.  Am I supposed to be impressed as your flashy Porsche flies past Norman like he’s standing still?  Probably.  And I am impressed.  I’d love to go for a ride in that!  Sexy and fast.  Sign me up.

However it’s the idiot in the Honda with the stupid loud muffler that’s trying to act like he’s all that AND a bag of chips….but when in reality he isn’t even the stale pickle on the plate.  Really?  You’re going to tail me and try to intimidate me?  Okay well I’m slowing down by at least 5 mph.  Oh yeah baby, that big rip of a scrape along the left side of your car door – that’s so hot.  Meeeeoooow,

No.

If you’re going to get that close, I hope you brushed your teeth.

Then there’s the cars that when you look in the rear view mirror you already know what’s coming next.  (It’s like watching a Heat game and you just know they’re going to win….the opposing team really shouldn’t have bothered to show up.)  Before you can change the radio station with the flick of your thumb on the steering wheel….no, Norman doesn’t have that ability….it’s just wishful thinking…..the car has climbed up over your back fender and is changing lanes just as fast.

Damn really?  And then the traffic slows down and you’re side by side with Mr. Slick Ass.

Sucker.

And the point of that was what exactly?

More than driving, the one thing that absolutely brings me to the edge of insanity in :15 seconds flat is personal space.  I have gotten to the point where anything inside my imaginary hula-hoop is MINE.  The hula-hoop is made of titanium and can’t be broken.  You step inside the hoop and you’re going to be in my way.

BACK  UP!

Enough already.  Do I have a sign on my forehead that reads, “newbie….transplant from Alaska” which gives you the permission to try and body check me at your convenience?  Oh, there wasn’t a sign, you’re just rude by nature?  Wow.  Your parents must be so proud!

Case in point:  tonight I stopped at Pet Smart.  Liggy, was in need of kitty treats, which I can only find at Pet Smart.  I stood in line.  My purse, which isn’t a suitcase by the way, was hitched over my forearm…..comfortably cradled in the crook of my left elbow.

This woman comes up and while there’s nobody standing near me for 3 miles….manages to walk into my purse as she’s going around me.

Really?

As she gets around to my right side, where I am holding another bag in my hand….from the grocery…she bangs into that as well.

OMG what am I?  Magnetic?  For pete’s sake….you have the entire front of the store yet you are drawn to me like freedom fighters to a noble cause.  Can you really not manage to give me a few inches to breathe?  Even the casher grimaced at me with an apologetic face.

The grocery stores are even worse.  Nobody has any concept of personal space.  I don’t just mean in the check out lane, where they push their cart all the way up to the handle bar of your cart the moment you turn your back.  I’m talking about walking down the wide main aisle of Target and it’s three across going one way….large and in charge.  And two coming directly at you.

Cue the Wild West Gunslinger Music….there’s going to be a shoot out.

It’s gotten so bad at Target that I will go out of my way to avoid certain areas because the people are going to drive me crazy before I can even get to the toilette paper.  You try and go around and it’s like they have crazy ESP.  Fake left, they go right.  Fake right, they go left.  Double back to go forward and they’re right there….quietly pondering what to have for dinner….steak or chicken…as they push the cart…down the middle of the expansive aisle.

The side aisles are the trenches of warfare.  Forget trying to make your way from one end to the other if there’s another person in the row.  The rule of “finders keepers” is definitely in play.  They won’t give you an inch to spare one square.  It’s a new game of ostrich….

“While I don’t have any available sand to stick my head in so I can ignore you….if I just plain out pretend I don’t see you then you can’t see me and life is good.  So fuck off and go around me because I own this universe.  Okay, I own this aisle!”

Okay, get over yourself and move your damn cart already.

Today I got on the elevator at lunch.  It was crowded.  The last guy on rather than turning around to face the door, decided to keep his back to the door and face the rest of us.  He was busy emailing.  Good grief people!!!  Save yourselves and release the smart technology for two minutes and join in the rest of society.  Buddy, you closely resemble an ass and if you had any idea, you would have been horrified, of this I am certain.

Yes, he finally turned around and in the process moved closer to me so his screen was nearly eye level with my eyeballs.  Do you really think I give a fuzzy hamster’s butt about the upcoming meeting regarding the 42-B template for designs of toilette flush handles?  No.  I.  Do.  Not.

Stop being so pretentious.  Stop trying to put your business in my face.

I. Don’t. Care.

While we’re on the topic of elevators and people and being pretentious and putting their business in my face….I want to discuss sweatpants.  Specifically the ones with words across the butt.

I have two observations.

1.  Whoever thought of this concept obviously didn’t think about including regulations  for appropriate wearage.

2.  Just because they fit doesn’t mean they look good on you.

Dear heaven above, save my eye balls from bloody ruptures if I have to see another butt going by that rolls so much I can’t even make out what the words are:  AGNES, NAGES, ANGLES, AGILES, ANGELS, LANGS…..

w. t. f.

Fake…Fake….Fake…

If I had enough time I’d park myself at the Aventura Mall for an evening and people watch.  Wait, what am I saying, I just moved here and without my better half…I have plenty of time on the weekends to spend people watching.

OMG

The things I’ve seen.  I should have moved here earlier.

Honey, if you are wearing that bathing suit, I could wear that bathing suit, stretch pants, short shirt, sequined shirt, belly shirt, short shorts….and the list goes on.  Only have a dress basically made out of Shrinky Dinks?  Not a problem, put it on with some wedge shoes and hit the streets.

What?

Who you calling Ho?

OMG.

I feel like Elaine on Seinfield…..”Fake. Fake. Fake. Fake.”  Oh wait she was talking about something else….  I’m talking about boobs, lips, cheeks and eyelashes.   On my way to work I drive past a sign that advertises for “Brazilian Butt Lifts.”

?

Then there are the women I see who if they blink they’re going to trip because their hamstrings are going to cinch up so tight from the movement of their eyelids.

Wow.

That’s all I’ve got.  Wow.

There’s a woman at work who wears fake eyelashes  I’m not talking your average, just a little something eyelash enhancement.  This lady has a full on caterpillar over each eye socket lashes.  Every time she comes to talk to a co-worker of mine all I can do is stare.  Those of you who know me know I am a fan of fake lashes, however I could never get away with wearing them along side my Calvin Klein dress.

Speaking of dress.  These shoes are going to kill me.  You have to wear heels with your dresses.  The problem?  In Miami they’re all OPEN TOED shoes.

I hate.

HATE.

HATE.

Toe clevage.

My second toe is longer than the big toe.  Enough said.

Then, there’s the issue of panty hose.  Yes.  I am wearing hose in Miami.  People were taking bets on how long the Alaskan was going to last in hose in Miami.  Well, here we are in week….four?  I’m still wearing hose.

I’m sweating.

My feet sweat.  (Of course, this is the least of my worries…foot sweat.)

The shoes chaff.  Blisters form and I’m hobbling along the sidewalk.

I took a survey of the ladies on my work team.  “When wearing open toed shoes, can you wear panty hose?”  NO!!!  Apparently one woman in the company does and she’s been made a mockery. They actually have her photo installed in each ladies room on hints of “how not to dress.”

Well alright then.  I found a solution….toeless pantyhose.  $20 a shot at Macy’s.  Genius invention.  The foot…the big toe goes in one hole, the rest through another.  A little piece of hose stitched together between the big an index toe.  Perfect.  God bless Donna Karan.

Last week I bought the cutest pair of Nine West OPEN TOE shoes at Ross.  A little too big but I thought for sure I could make them fit.  My feet are a 6.5 and the shoes were a 6.5.  Well, apparently I have narrow heels.  No matter how many inserts, heel guards, ball of foot pads I put into these shoes do they stay on my feet.  It’s like wearing 4 inches flip flops.

Stupid.

 

 

 

Really, This Is Dressed Up!

The other day I was walking through our grocery store, Fred Meyers.  If you aren’t familiar with the store, you can literally walk in one side and buy your produce and deli items….exit out the other side with your new firearm and ammo.

I would say “fresh” produce but that would be a big fat lie.  Due to the travel time to Juneau, Alaska nothing arrives fresh.   Recently I’ve started to use asparagus as bows on gift bags….bendy and decorative… yet can be recycled into the evening’s meal.  You mean peppers aren’t supposed to be wrinkled up?

Anyhow, I pass by a guy talking on his cell phone and hear him say:

“I’m tired of dating girls that dress like men.”

Welcome to life in Juneau, Alaska.

I smiled to myself and reflected on all the cute clothes I have in my closet.  Strike that.  Closets….multiple.  God bless Macy’s and my dear friend Ginny….who keep me looking cute.  Big relief to know I’m not in the, “dresses like a man” category.  Then I realized, I was wearing my Carhartt jacket.    Well hell.  It’s warm.  It’s purple.  At least I wasn’t wearing my Carhartt pants at the same time.

In Juneau, dressing up means wearing your freshest flannel shirt, cleanest Carhartt jeans and newest pair of Xtra Tuff boots.  By newest, I mean the ones without the duct tape.  You could walk into any wedding, funeral or religious service wearing a combination of the above and fit in perfectly.

Sometimes, I can’t help myself.  Just have to do it….be a normal local.  Please note, my humorous foot attire for a winter ball I attended a few years ago.  Don’t worry, I did bring my heels and changed into them after the photo.  Only in Alaska…  And yes, quite a few Alaskan brides have had their photos snapped wearing these oh so attractive boots.

Honestly, you could walk into the fanciest restaurant in town and nobody would blink an eye.  Actually, that’s a lie.  Some people would blink an eye and would be shocked.  Those would be…

Tourists.

They’d be wondering what the hell was wrong with you.

Certainly they came to dinner in their linen pants (because it’s summer and doesn’t Juneau have summers like everywhere else in the world….warm?) and breezy resort shirt while reviewing travel guides and local tour brochures.  Here you come with your lover and look like you just got off a fishing boat.  The tourists are dumbfounded while sitting there all prim and proper, looking down their noses at you…. saying under their breath: This is a linen table cloth restaurant and they let anyone in here – can you believe it?  Those people look like they just hiked in from the back woods.  Must be a homeless sympathy meal.

I’m serious.

Recently, I was talking with a friend who had visited Alaska for the first time this year.  They commented on all the reality shows featuring Alaska now.  You name it, there’s a show about it.  Yep, people still mine for gold, fish for crab, drive on ice, get arrested, mush dogs and survive on the bounty of Mother Nature.  My friend commented how apparently some of the people in Juneau were obviously living off the land.  Because they resembled the people in the reality show:

Tough.

Scary.

Hard-core.

Only in town to stock up on supplies before heading back out to their cabin hidden away inside the forest or out into the sea for the next big catch.

Hate to break it to you my friend, those are just the regular locals.  Scruffy around the edges.  Yes, it’s true, even the women are scruffy.

I didn’t think much about the attire of our locals until I overheard that guy’s phone conversation.  Then I began to seriously look around at the people near me.  For example the other evening we went to a concert in town.  “Break of Reality.”  They were exceptional by the way.  Before departing the house, we both changed into nicer attire.

He wore a nice sweater and jeans.  I had on a cute top with jeans and heels.  As we sat in our seats, enjoying our glasses of wine I took a moment to survey the fashion scene.

What color flannel did you need?  We’ve got it all covered.  It was a virtual sea of flannel shirts.  Red.  Green.  Blue.  Mustard.  Black.  Amazing.  Quite a few women were dressed in what you’d normally wear to participate in outdoor sports.  Fleece tops and black cotton exercise pants.  Really?

On the other hand, there are people that show up to business functions and you can’t make up what they’re wearing for professional attire.  Recently I attended a function where a lady, who I was unfamiliar with, arrived wearing:

Purple sparkly sweater.

Sparkly black stocking.

Mid-calf black boots.

>> drum roll please <<

Black spandex exercise shorts.

Crap, now we must have an Alaska reality show about “What the Hell NOT to Wear.”

Yes, I will take that glass of wine now, thank you.  Did she even pass a mirror on her way out of the house?  What magazine said that was the new look for the 2012 winter season?  That’s at the polar opposite of wearing your pajama pants out into public.  And by public, I’m saying you’re where other people can see you, not just on your front porch waiting for your dog to piddle in the morning.

Since we don’t have a mall – there are no make up counters.  The concept of enhancing your features is akin to suggesting you reuse toilet paper. WTF?  Luckily, the salon where I get my hair cut has a great make up line and my hair stylist did my make up on my last visit, while my hair was “processing.”

There was another lady getting her make up done next to me.  She was amazed at what a little eyebrow definition can do.  I told her, the one thing I never leave the house without are my eyebrows!  Thank you colored powder and pencils!

Note:  It is the one facial feature I can choose to create every day.  Angry eyes.  Crazy eyes.  Shocked eyes.  Thin, thick, inverted V shape….endless personalities to choose from every day.

At the salon, I bought new foundation, eye shadow, eye liner and lip gloss.  The lady next to me was paralyzed with fear about the idea of purchasing an eye brow pencil.  “It’s just so dramatic.”  No, it’s just enhancing what you’ve got already.  Just like if we lived in a warmer climate, I’d be wearing tank tops that show off my boobs.  Similar, but different.

I am a girlie girl.  I like to get manicures and pedicures.  I like my hair to be done.  I like the color pink, fluffy things, glittery things and sparkly things (which could also qualify me to be a magpie…)  I enjoy dressing up and was probably living back in the day when corsets were a regular fashion necessity and Marie Antoinette was eating too much cake.

I’d wear giant dresses with crinolines and trains, silk stockings, button boots, powdered wigs and painted lips every day if I could.  Ruffles, pleats, layers and layers….oh my.  I’d need a separate carriage just for my dress when going out on the town.  Which leads me to the Wearable Art Show.  It’s the biggest fundraiser for our local arts council, raising tens of thousands of dollars.  For the last 5 years I have designed and modeled an outfit on stage.

Each year, my outfit gets bigger and bigger.

And let’s not forget my love of huge fake eyelashes, wigs and the 6 inch acrylic hooker heels.  Yes, I did purchase my last pair in a porn shop in Vegas.  They’re perfect!

Needless to say, it is that time of year where I have to start creating my next fashion statement.  So many people want to know the who, what, how, why….about this process, I thought I’d share my process with you through my blog.

I have a few videos of my performance from the previous years on You Tube – hope you’ll check them out and see what a great treat is coming up this February!  I can’t wait.

http://www.youtube.com/user/littleminxyAlaska/videos?view=0

Currently, I’m pondering my design.  As always, it will be a dress.  As always, made from throw away items.  And I’m thinking Marie Antoinette will be making a come back this year.  As for the style, I’ve got my history of fashion books down and tabbed…ideas are swirling around in my head like a vodka and tonic……

Put on your seat belt….we’re ready for the countdown!