6/12/09

Shoes SUCK

This title does not apply to the owning and sporting of fabulous shoes. No, no, I am A BIG FAN of all that business. But the pairing of the right shoes for my bridesmaid dress has wrapped it's impending tentacles around my ankles and is dragging my down to the depths of cyberspace shoe shopping HELL!!! It's hot down here. And I'm nervous, and anxious. Can somebody get me outta here, please?!!! I've been here for a long time.... Help!!
Here's my dress in light flamingo (it's silk taffeta).


I really want to add a flower to the waist band on the side-it feels more like "me". That would make the dress look like this:

Now here's my dilemma: The bride, my wonderful sister, has given me plenty of shoe options: pink, muted gold or a light/nude brown beige. But for some asinine reason, all I am drawn to is deep purple fabulous shoes, like these:

And a little part of me says, hey, they look cute, it'll be fine. BUT, the bride despises the color purple. I mean, doesn't want anything to do with it in her wedding, or on her maid of honor's feet. Oh, and the wedding party is in shades of pinks, khakis, some white, you get the point-LIGHT colors.

My stipulation to finding the right shoe is this: I don't want to buy a pair of shoes I will NEVER wear again. Even if they're $29.99 and perfectly conservative for this little j.crew number. My closet space is extremely limited and I don't need some ghetto grandma pump taking up space in there with my beloved shoe collection. I'm open for suggestion. Anyone?

6/8/09

Dining in The Twilight Zone

Well, it's actually called The Beach House in Morro Bay, but I'm pretty sure it was featured on that TV show sometime in the late 60s.

We wandered in last night with the kiddos for an early bite to eat having heard rumors of good food and great desserts. For starters, the mismatched decor of Grandma Maymee's living room caught me a bit off guard, and upon further inspection discovered crocheted placemats (mismatched, of course) gracing the tables alongside several pots of fake flowers. This rather unsightly display was accompanied by various ceramic salt and pepper shakers in the shape of palm trees and kittens or other farm animals. Christmas lights were strung around the windows and nick knacks strewn as far as the eye could see (even into the kitchen area where the bumper sticker read, "My other seat is at The Giants Game" on the heat lamp). Beaded jewelry was displayed at the register alongside a collection of metal cats holding empty wine bottles and a few wicker baskets with complimentary mints.

We were greeted by a colorful, middle aged gentlemen with a sultry accent who wore turquoise hookah beads, an earring and a Giants Baseball Cap with his Hawaiian Shirt. I spied a pair of Bermuda shorts beneath his apron, accessorized by none other than white socks and sandals. Awesome.

He seated us and presented menus while spewing off a number of cliche greetings, the specials and then this, "I do not have a children's menu printed but I do have a verbal one which I can recite to you now. I have carrot sticks with ranch dressing. I can do pasta any way imaginable, cheese, marinara sauce, butter, white sauce, you name it. I also have little cheese pizzas, chicken tenders or the best grilled cheese in town." Then he continued through the specials adding, "Each entree does come with soup or salad. The Soup Day Jour (that's how he said it) is Chicken Tortilla or we also have Clam Chowder, which is a 2 dollar upgrade but I guarantee it is a wise investment. You won't be disappointed, I make the best darned clam chowder around." And then he left saying, "The waitress will be right with you, she's just finishing up some desserts in back."
I kept repeating the words "Soup Day Jour" in my head wondering about the origin of its mispronunciation. Soup Day Jour....
We surveyed the dining area, which was all of 9 tables, mismatched furniture, and one other couple eating dessert in the corner. The windows were grubby and the, the, holy SH%$!!! I just opened my menu to survey my options and the prices ranged from $21 to $32 an entree. WTF? I scanned through the lighter plates and appetizers in hopes of getting away with a cheaper bill. Nope, it was Grandma Maymee's Secret Pot Roast recipe for me tonight. And that was that.

When the waitress arrived to take our order I asked for macaroni and cheese for Ana and a cup of clam chowder for Shelby.

The waitress furrowed her brow, "Uhm," she said as she held up one finger and turned her head to shout into the tiny kitchen pass through, "Gerald, did you say you can do a mac n cheese?" And before she could finish her sentence, there he was again, Giants baseball cap, hookah shells, there to inform me that he only had parmesan cheese tonight for the pasta. So the term, "pasta any way imaginable" wasn't exactly accurate. Okay, then.

When we settled on our menus and ordered some wine, I was pleasantly surprised by the casual banter we kept up with the waitress/owner/wife of the hookah shells. We enjoyed Chronic Cellars wine by the glass, an obvious incentive for our visit. The waitress brought focaccia bread in a metal bucket and pointed out, among all the other nick knacks on the table, two bottles with oil and vinegar hiding on our table. The bread was warm but flavorless, and something about the oil and vinegar tasted like dust.
My dinner arrived drowned in dark brown gravy (a flashback to my pregnant days in Australia when the woman we lived with would douse every meal in gravy, rendering it completely inedible to a prego with nausea). John ordered the bacon wrapped salmon. Shelby and I both enjoyed her clam chowder and the minute we said it aloud, there was hookah shells looming over our table to share all the inner workings of clam chowder and his secret recipes. Doesn't this guy have cooking to do in the kitchen?
The girls couldn't keep their grubby mits off all the breakables on the table, and when we finished dinner dessert was unavoidable. Chocolate lava cake and strawberry shortcake. They were divine. Well, I wouldn't know about the strawberry shortcake because Shelby inhaled it before we could get a bite.
So we left bizarro world after paying our $100 bill. That's right folks, for a wood paneled dining experience and okay food, we paid a fine dining price.

The Shopping Wanderlust

It's like Pandora's Box, you know, the whole shopping extravaganza. I mean, I haven't spent but maybe $100 on my wardrobe since New Year's (so, for you mathematically challenged-husbands-out there, that's SIX months!!!). And yes, I did rather successfully infuse my wardrobe back then with several key finds. So, I recently warned my understanding spouse that retail therapy is on a biannual schedule for me, and when it comes around it is INTENSE. Be prepared, you've been warned.
So I hit the Coverings Sale on opening day (which, in retrospect was optimum shopping, because when I returned the third day it was pretty picked over). I did a significant amount of damage. And then I arrived home and reorganized my entire closet so I could admire all the lovely items I acquired. And then I gasped! There are HOLES IN THIS WARDROBE!!! There are some very pertinent components that I have failed to introduce here. How did I miss this? Like the very necessary black leather boots that would compliment so many of these fantastic outfits hanging in my closet. And an everyday structured coat. And a long gold necklace. And another purse. And a pair of fab new wedges.
And that's it. With this simple list, I could achieve retail nirvana....for the next 6 months. Or, until I opened Lucky Magazine and realized I didn't have one of the "Must Haves" in their fall issue. That magazine will put me into early bankruptcy.
And where did I find myself today? Wandering around San Luis on that very dangerous block between Avanti and Therapy (for those non-local readers, a minimum of 6 fantastic and very expensive boutiques lie between the above mentioned stores and I was armed with a credit card). My Motive? The very key "I GET 40% ONE ITEM AT COVERINGS" coupon, a desire for a set of boobs to fit my bridesmaids dress, and a possible glimpse at the perfect shoes for the wedding. My Progress? Boobs, but no bra to put them in. With these rubbery suckers, I am going to reinvent myself until I can get the real deal. I have officially graduated out of a training bra for just $49.99. Now, if I could just slip them under my skin...
"Um, could I wear these home?" I asked the clerk at Fanny Wrappers Lingerie Store. Yep, that'd be me, dragging an empty "Breast Enhancers" box around town with a very proud and very arched posture.
So I took my B Cups for a stroll in search of shoes for the wedding. I found three pairs I loved, two that were actually comfortable, and all that were the right price. But then me and my $50 boobs lost the urge to splurge. Guilt set in. I don't need all these shoes, just one perfect pair for that bridesmaid dress. And just then, my posture slumped and I felt myself shuffling out the door to the next boutique. And the next boutique. Until a voice in my head whispered, "Go Home." And so I took my new chest and my retail urges home to reevaluate myself and my consumerism.
And when I pulled into the driveway, I spotted the giant Zappos box on my porch. When will this madness end????