No Banjos, Please: a Sunday Shoe Story

Just kidding, banjos are just fine if they’re not of the “twang twang, my dog gone and got hisself shot and mah woman she left me” variety. That being said, the list of country songs on my iPod is rather short. Well, more like “country-lite” anyways…

My second tape (after The Beatles Greatest Hits) was Garth Brooks, and it became a quick staple in our house. Thinking back, this might have been the first tape that Andria (of Anchors and Freedom) and I first made up dance routines to. And yes, they were line dance routines. I’ve drunk away all knowledge of when to step, turn, and kick up my heel to my hand, but I feel no shame in remembering those good old days!

Shania Twain became the big country music star of my high school years, with such memorable tracks as “Man! I feel like a Woman!” and “Honey, I’m Home,” but the one track that’s stuck with me to this day is “That Don’t Impress Me Much.” I guess I was always a feminist with extremely high standards in men!

These days the only semblance of country music that’s on my rotation is more pop rock than actual country, since I don’t mind the occasional influence of country-style guitars. After all, music isn’t really clear cut into genres anymore!

Shoes by ZiGi New York "She's a Rockstar"

Let me Take you There: a Sunday Shoe Story

Besides books, my favourite way of experiencing other cultures is through food. I grew up being an extremely picky eater, but I have since broadened my horizons to encompass all kinds off foreign food. I’ve eaten my way through the Ukraine (cabbage rolls), Japan (donburi), China (deep fried squid), and Greece (souvakli), but my favourite place to travel through food is Italy. Pasta, garlic bread, sausage, and most importantly: pizza!

Most people don’t consider pizza to be very exciting, but I ask you, how many of you actually make your own pizza? From scratch. Well, I do, and contrary to what everyone seems to think, it’s one of the easiest recipes ever. So easy in fact, that I don’t consider my recipe to be at all secret (like my recipe for triple chocolate orgasm cookies). So today you’re all getting a free trip to Italy, courtesy of my pizza recipe!

Ingredients

1 cup flour (white, whole wheat, or a mix)

1 ½ tsp yeast

1 ½ tsp sugar (optional)

¼ tsp salt

½ cup warm water

1 tbsp vegetable oil

toppings (seriously, go wild)

Preheat oven to 400°F. In a large mixing bowl dissolve yeast, sugar, and salt in the warm water. Add oil, then flour, and mix well. Should make a soft dough, but add more flour if it’s too sticky to knead. [This is the part when you’re supposed to knead and let the dough rise, but I don’t because I prefer a thin, crispy crust. Feel free to knead dough for a few minutes and let rise for 15 minutes if you disagree.] Roll out dough and place on a baking sheet (I usually add a bit of oil to the sheet, so that the crust doesn’t stick). Add whatever ingredients you want for toppings – I’m a big fan of the “everthing in my fridge that could possibly taste good on a pizza” method. Bake for 15-20 minutes, or until crust is golden and cheese is bubbly.

And while you’re waiting for your delicious pizza to cook, use that time to plan out your outfit for tomorrow! It saves time, and distracts you from the pizza, because waiting for a pizza to cook is the longest 15-20 minutes of your life. 

Be Wild boots; Dior purse; vintage necklace; Seductions tights; Kensie skirt; Dotti shirt

Hopeless Wanderer: a Sunday Shoe Story

The great thing about moving to a city that is known for its freezing temperatures is that it gave me an excuse to buy a new pair of boots. I haven’t owned “real” winter boots since… well, since my parents used to drag me on Christmas day hikes and made me walk up a mountain to school. (Welcome to Kamloops). Which definitely ended as soon as I acquired a permanent bus pass, learned to drive, and then escaped the wintry hell of central interior BC.

I figured that if I had to buy winter boots that I should get good ones. Name brand stuff, rated for -40°C and waterproof as well in the off chance that there’s a flash heat wave while I’m at work.

I know, I know, but a girl can dream, can’t she?

So on the day that my chauffeur was in town (read: father) we made sure to hit up a few sporting goods stores in the hopes of scooping some decent boots for me. Don’t worry, he was happy to do so because he got to spend an hour in Capella’s, which is basically an outdoorsman’s version of shopping heaven. (And my personal version of hell, since the place is literally filled with camouflage everything and taxidermied animals are waiting around every corner).

In the third store I finally found this pair of Sorels, which much to my surprise came in a rather chic colour as well as were on sale! Apparently my shopping karma has finally caught up with me, since I haven’t had this much good luck since I left the West Coast two years ago and lost my shoe luck along the way! Now I can wander my way through the Regina icelands (or at least to the library) and my feet will be nice and toasty warm!

Break it Down & Build it Up: a Sunday Shoe Story

Sometimes we have to destroy the past if we want to build something new. Rubble, like our memories, can turn to dust or be built into something new. It just depends on how we view the chaos that ensues; as a cracked mirror to madness or the building blocks towards inspiration.

Which choice will you choose when your life is in shambles, and all you can see is broken pieces? Will you continue to burn or will you rise from the ashes?

*shoes "Naima" by Rachel Roy

Simplicity is...: a Sunday Shoe Story

... spending an entire Sunday reading books.

*ankle boots by H&M, books from the TNRD library system.

Harlem Shuffle

There's no such thing as too many pairs of rock n roll boots. My mother would disagree, but she disagrees with everything shoe-related.

Rock On by riella03 featuring a black studded belt

Chance: a Sunday Shoe Story

I walk the darkened street with chips in my hand and spades on my mind. 

My bet? 

That I'll win, everytime. 

And for the times that I can't win, there's always the gun in my pocket. 

Fioni "Tate" ankle boots

Crux: a Sunday Shoe Story

Cindy Says "Pasha" suede ankle boots

As the first flakes of December begin to spiral Earthwards a chill sets into my bones and into my heart. The trees have become barren of all but soot-winged crows, whose harsh voices harken the changing of the season. Frosts have begun to cover the grass each morn' and the brisk air of October has become heavy with the chill. Pumpkins have long since become rot and only imprints on cement serve to remind of the crisp leaves that used to crunch happily underfoot.

The world is slowing with the coming of the snows; it is ready for its hibernation, but still it remains awake to watch for the end. What is the moment of change if none are there to observe it? The voices of the North Wind's zephyrs whisper in the ears of the October People. With the first blanket of white they will be put to sleep, but until the crux comes their whispers will continue to spread a message of warning tinged with laughter. 

Moonage Daydream

I'm an alligator, I'm a mama-papa coming for you
I'm the space invader, I'll be a rock 'n' rollin' bitch for you
Keep your mouth shut, 
you're squawking like a pink monkey bird
And I'm busting up my brains for the words

Keep your 'lectric eye on me babe
Put your ray gun to my head
Press your space face close to mine, love

Freak out in a moonage daydream oh yeah!

Don't fake it baby, lay the real thing on me
The church of man, love
Is such a holy place to be
Make me baby, make me know you really care

Make me jump into the air

Keep your 'lectric eye on me babe
Put your ray gun to my head
Press your space face close to mine, love
Freak out in a moonage daydream oh yeah! 

Freak out, far out, in out

~David Bowie, "Moonage Daydream"

The Shoes that Ended a Friendship: a True Sunday Shoe Story

Once upon a time, in a land of cacti and rattlesnakes, two friends disagreed about footwear terminology. The first said that styling determined what to call the boots in question, but the other insisted that the level of practicality was more important.

“They’re Steven Tyler cowboy boots!” one insisted, her mouth set with determination, “They’re not meant to be practical; they’re meant to be fabulous!”

“But real cowboys don’t wear metallic bronze boots with extended toes and two inch heels!” the other countered with a pout.

“I never said that real cowboys would wear them, hence the reference to Steven Tyler. They’re supposed to be parodies of reality, even though they have detailing that mimics the original!”

“But I live on a farm, my family are farmers, and I know lots of cowboys, and none of them would wear those boots! Therefore they’re not cowboy boots!”

“It’s not about who would wear them! It’s about the detailing in the boots themselves! See that tooling in the leather on the sides? And the shape of the heel? And the sole that extended just a touch farther than the boot top? And the loops of material at the top of the shaft? All of those features are present in real cowboy boots, and therefore I can totally call them cowboy boots, as long as I admit that they’re not practical by saying that they’re Steven Tyler cowboy boots! Stop arguing with me, you’re not going to win.”

But the argument didn’t end here. The practicality party refused to stop talking about real cowboys, until the other became sick of their childish stubbornness and told them to grow up and give it up.

It’s been 4 years, and not a word has been spoken between the two, even on a 2 hour plane ride from Kamloops to Calgary. The moral of this story is pretty obvious: it’s better not to argue with me about shoes, because you’re definitely wrong, and I will take this as a grievous insult.  

She Sings the Revolution: a Sunday Shoe Story

“These boots were made for ass-kicking,” she told me over coffee one day.

Black ringed her eyes in smudges, but the intensity of her gaze wasn’t brought on by the make-up. She may have only been 18, but the mocking look was anything but teenage angst. “Maybe not kicking ass in general, but definitely kicking some specific asses.” Laughing, she amended her statement. 

I had already heard about her picture perfect childhood, her A+ grades, and then the crash that happenned when she had reached the end of her rope. She had gotten tired of playing the good girl and living up to the expectations and had gone her own way. Leaving behind everything she knew in the search for what she knew was missing in her soul. She said she hadn’t found it yet, but that she knew she was getting there. She had seen the change coming, and she had decided to ride the wave of revolution to take her one more link down her own evolution. Her tales of loves and friends lost had been typical – she admited as much – but she wasn’t interested in finding someone to complete her. She knew she was like salt to earth, and that only the hardy would survive. Some would call her toxic, but I just shrugged and admitted the difference. Afterall, I was rather fond of salt and had a tendency to kill plants myself.

This could get interesting, I thought to myself as the last of my coffee washed down my throat. I cringed slightly as I tasted grounds, but I relished the bitterness that came with reality. Not everything lives up to society’s  imagined standards, and not everything should.


Boots, Miss Me "Monet." 
Inspired by "She's a Rebel" by Green Day from the album American Idiot, 2004.

Madison Avenue

Fioni by Payless Shoes "Madison" ankle boots

Calvin Klein got his start in New York City, and has since become an icon of American fashion, so it was only fitting to pay homage to his home city by featuring a pair of shoes named after one of the most iconic New York City streets, Madison Avenue! Whether it's cruising the shops, hailing a cab, or catching the eye of one of New York's toxic bachelors, these ankle boots will stand you in fine form. Say it with me, ladies: I came, I shopped, I conquered!

image from here

image from here

the Lanvin store, image from here

Gangster Tripping

Aldo "Pavlicek" ankle boots
Louis Vuitton purse
Vero Moda jeans

We got to

We got to

We got to

We got to

Kick that gangster shit.

~Fatboy Slim

Dior Addict

Victorian-style ankle boots
"Addiction" by Anne Michelle