Says it all, really

And some links for you, Alex, cause you're not on facebook (and anyone else interested in chatting about these things. I admit I'm starting to move on):

Be interested to see what you make of Anne Summers on Gillard's (and other women's) choice of footwear

Another Summers article published on a New York blog, on the Gillard/sexism/misogyny thing

A link to Gillard's speech re the UN, note at the beginning how carefully she ascends the stage. Poor thing. Get rid of the fucking heels. Go the Stott Despoja Doc!

And finally, something recycled from years ago. Still love it:



And if you like shoes you might like muffins:

The problem

The problem with wearing these shoes out on the town




is that you end up walking home looking like Mrs Doubtfire.

But fuck me, they are good looking shoes.

Diaries tomorrow. I promise.

time for some serious blogging

ok, after the fripperies of oysters, and the intensity of running cinema 101 for an ill child (back at school today) i need to talk to you about something very important.

so... lean close. in a nice, intimate huddle. ok.
this is for the girls only, so boys you can go and have a wank or whatever it is you do when girls talk about shoes. play some warcraft, or go on twitter and tell the world all about nothing.
today is a shoe post.
for, on the weekend, in one of the newspaper magazines, i saw an advertisement for these:

and the information that there is a limited release on now. i have been looking for these fucking clogs for years. when i say years, i mean years. i mean like 8 or so??

oh sure, i found some pretenders in that shoe shop in sorrento-darling, and i was so excited i got two pairs, white and red. and then they fell apart. the studs started coming out of the leather, detaching from the sole, within about 3 wears. plus they killed my feet.

now, i know the pain just goes with new shoes for me. i swear, even runners can rub. it's just my feet. or heels to be more precise. i think i have pretty feet, they are nice and small and cute. but they don't like shoes. i know i've talked on here before about how i would like to wear thongs and ugg boots for the rest of my life. but i would throw these clogs in the mix. i just like them.

so, today sees me driving off on a mission, to get these clogs. i want the white pair. and maybe the black pair. because who knows, it might be years before they are in the shops again.

these are the real deal. not those faux ones with the soft, plasticcy sole, or the suede'y top part.

the real deal.

and to finish my sermon, i leave you with this little delight. yes, i have shared this one before. but it needs to be shared again.

shoe update

the blister is healing. i wore high heels to a wedding saturday night. i bought new shoes last week. they are beautiful. and the following is required viewing. i think i've posted this before, but really. it is worth revisiting. enjoy.

yes, it's girly whinge time

i was never meant to wear shoes, i'm sure of it. uggs and thongs work best for me. no backs to rub against my heels with the thongs, and big space between ugg boot backs and my heels.

the disadvantages are: thongs let my feet get filthy in summer. uggs stink.

and neither are suitable, professional wear.

today i wore some flats that killed* me when i first wore them. and then the next time. and then the next time. but the next time they seemed a little better. i even wore them yesterday teaching. on my feet all day, doing yard duty, etc. and no new rubbings.

but today, when i am at an area in chadstone shopping centre furthest away from where the car was parked, all of a sudden, a huge, fucking welt on the side of my heel. i swear, it measures about 1.5cm and there is a circular flap of skin that is hanging, and underneath it's all slippery and juicy and weepy.

why? why me?

i think i was a cave girl originally, and therefore i am just not made for shoes. uggs are really just the modern-day equivalent of animal skins wrapped around a foot and tied on with a leather strip, but without the leather strip; thongs are just bare feet but with a rubber bit at the bottom so you don't cut yourself with all the glass lying around st kilda.

shoes hate me. but i love them.

feel very sorry for me.

thank you.


* killed = created great, weeping blisters

let's get this straight

just because i am not creaming my jeans over the olympics, it doesn't mean i'm less of a good australian than any athletics-archery-swimming-groupie out there.
and by the way, i'm not a flag-hater because i think people who wear the australian flag are tossers. i'm actually quite indifferent to the australian flag.
i've never been that interested in watching sport, apart from tennis during the navratilova/mc enroe golden years, and football every since gary senior started kicking bagsful for the cats. i've always preferred to play sport than watch.
what is this nationalistic argument about some people being better australians, or more australian, than others, based on topics like sport. sport is good, i'm not against it, but why do i feel judged, somehow less belonging, when i say i'm not that interested in the olympics?
why do some people think that if you criticise this country, you automatically hate this country.
i hate gladiator sandals, but it doesn't mean i despise gladiators. they're alright in my book.

of boots and men

now that the miners are safely out, and the media are intent on spoiling everything, i did tell you so, i can relax back into my trite observations.




is it that they make a different sound on the footpath?

do i walk differently?

i know i'm taller but really; what's the big deal with the boots?

i bought some new boots. they are brown. they have a beautiful heel.

today i went up the street to have lunch with a girlfriend. i seemed to get so many looks, from the old dude hanging near the rsl to the tradey crossing the pedestrian lights, and then from all types in between.

it's like for some men

this






somehow becomes this





which clearly is an announcement that i am about to break into this
























in the middle of the street.

yesterday when i mentioned to my honey i'd bought new boots (expecting him to gulp and ask how much) he merely made a noise like a little baby lion growl.

what is it about boots?