My Footwear Fetish

A few years ago now I tagged along with my Dad when he and some old footy playing mates had a three-week holiday in America.

The final week was spent in Hollywood, which is dirtier than Kings Cross, in my opinion, but I did LOVE the shopping. Everything I love in clothing and footwear was easily found and CHEEP (compared to Australian retailers charging three hundred or more times that of the Americans).

This is how I came to own my boots (to add to my collection which includes lace up knee-highs and docs)…knee high platform boots (toes to ground was four inches…than add the heal) which laced up the front and had buckles (also I side zipper, otherwise they would have been hell to get off when drunk). I loved my boots and wore them to the pub, to clubs and even to work (never fallen over in them in case your wondering…I loved those boots, and those boots loved me).

Once returning home I decided to look for thigh-high boots similar to my new knee-highs. And low and behold they existed and I was in love (well, lust, must be honest) so I click my way to the shipping page…no international postage available…ok, no big, I’ll just find another website… no international postage available…there boots, I’m sure they’ll be fine… no international postage available…I have money… no international postage available…fu*k you all, you fu*ken fu*ks…must breath…so after many let downs I had to except that, right at this moment, I will not be walking around in thigh-high boots and starting thinking about how much I was willing to spend to get an Australian store to get them in for me ($100 in the US equalled $800.00 or more here…HOW THE FU*K IS THAT FAIR?)…

From time to time I would look online randomly, hope never truly dying…but always the same…which was more painful after one specific night where me and my boots were out having a blast when we gave the mosh pit a go (was always nervous of them after I had to be pulled out of one…plus I’m much shorter than everyone else…the boots fixed that)…loved every minute and I’m sure my boots did too before they died…

I held the tears in until the shoe repair place told me they couldn’t be saved…I’m tearing up right now as I think of it…my babies…*big sigh*…

Than yesterday…

I was looking online for gothic cloths, as one does when hard at work, and with me saving money I decided to splurge on an outfit (not sure which one yet but this is the most extreme…).
http://www.galleryserpentine.com.au/

Now with a Victorian outfit you need Victorian shoes/boots…and when looking for shoes/boots I always end up look for my wet-dream thigh-highs…suddenly I come across an Australian website (an easy way to bypass international postage…though I find it ironic that us Aussies will post to the US)…

!!!I FOUND MY BOOTS!!!

How could this be? Am I dreaming, is it real? Oh calm down Corinne, they would have raised the price ridiculously…NO!!! I’m in love!!!

So now, for the entire world to see, I give you my darling ones that will soon be mine…MY PRECIOUS!

First up is the Ranger…lol…love the names they give footwear…now these have a completely other story behind them.

I had this Ute that got smashed up and we sold it on EBay. Now there was no way I would get what I paid for it, but I was hoping to get something…which I did…the day the auction was finishing I was looking at New Roc boots (I know this looks like an addiction, but it’s not, I can stop any time…I just don’t want to) and came across a pair that I loved and thought they were worth the $800.00 price tag. As the Ute went for more than $800.00 I decided to get the boots…I like spoiling me…

Now the Ute buyer transferred the money into my Dad’s account and we were discussing getting it into mine when the final bill for our holiday to the Great Barrier Reef came in which, my share, as you might guess, was over what I got for the Ute. So Dad kept the money and wrote a check…so no New Rocs.

So when I came across this website that had THE BOOTS, I went looking around to see what else they had and found the Rangers. Now they don’t have the solid metal heal, buckles (I do love buckles) and other New Roc attachments but they were what I wanted in the first place. Just simple boots to ware anywhere with anything (docs are flates and knee-highs are a pain sometimes and don’t look as good with baggy army shorts).

Than the Monroe’s caught my eye in the footer of the page
While looking for them I cam across the shoes to go with my soon to own Victorian outfit (thank you Carolyn for helping me to decide between the calf-high and ankle boots…asking Carolyn’s opinion led to this blog). And last but by no means, least…the long desired…fantasised…THE BOOTS…named Electra (I will be getting them in black)!

Boots for Babes...I LOVE YOU!!!

YOU HAVE BEEN TAGGED! Bloody Carolyn

Link the person who tagged you
Mention the rules on your blog: Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours
Tag fellow bloggers by linking them
Leave a comment on each of the tagged bloggers blogs letting them know they have been tagged.

1. When it comes to all time favourite music, I'm more into poets than musicians.
2. Have a fear of free falling which will stop me from bungee jumping but not sky diving.
3. Wish to travel to places that a single female westerner should not travel to.
4. Have dreams that I rarely remember, but when I do I wish I didn't.
5. Since year seven in high school I have struggled to decide what to be when I grow up so I have made the decision to never grow up.
6. Have a religious fixation but have a tendency to question EVERYTHING so have no ounce of faith.

Ok Carolyn, new one for ya: Tell of six of your worst habits

Reading Porn

Before I explain the whole concept of readable porn I best explain how I came to be in the situation of reading porn in the first place.

Once upon a time, in a far away mind frame was a little depressed girl collecting little depressed fiction. Anything dark, miserable, disheartened was collected, read, cherished and placed in a ex-library bookcase to be re-read whenever and forever (see, little depressed girl has a terrible memory and can re-read the same book over and over again…also hates borrowing, needs to “own” the story in all sense of the word). Over the years the collection grew and grew. From an obsession with vampire mythology, came an obsession with vampire fiction (as no non-fiction works went into detail about vampire mythology unless it was bloody Dracula), than lycanthropes, witches and suddenly little depressed girl was a little depressed fantasy freak.

Now from time to time, usually when there was no worthy fantasy under the big SALE sign in the various bookstores, little depressed girl started delving into other forms of reading material. Suddenly science fiction (too technical for one of the memory challenged), biographies, regular fiction, history, mythology and so on, was added to the ex-library bookcase.

On a day like any other, now little semi self-aware girl (little depressed girl got some professional help) stood in front of her beloved ex-library bookcase, looking for some fluff to entice her imagination for a day or so (and to distract from intensive self analysis). Suddenly the realisation hit that the majority of the collection was nothing to laugh over and a trip was immediately undertaken to the claustrophobic second-hand bookstore hidden in an arcade in Penrith.

Now little semi self-aware girl had “romance” and “chick lit” in her collection (which took some time to except and in the beginning had tendencies of keeping covers hidden while reading on the train) and had a few laughs instead of tears.

Some might see how readable porn would come into this, but just in case I’ll continue.

After some time I came to the conclusion that I was missing some sex…in my reading material people…the missing sex in other parts of my life are for another blog, and probably only after a few, so nothing as such this month (still going strong, go little sober almost fully-aware girl). See, anyone who reads fantasy would know that it usually contains a fair bit of sex (and not usually the “natural” kind…a friend and I used to joke the Anita Blake series was turning into porn but Laurell K. Hamilton seems to have satisfied whatever needed satisfying and is back on track…we await the next instalment with bated breath). Now all this romance and chick lit fluff does not seem to commonly delve into the sex lives of their love crazed characters and, as such, resembles a PG movie where there’s a big kiss, some metaphors and two happy, satisfied people lying in bed together (not necessarily naked). So on the next trip to the bookstore (this one Basement Books by Railway Square in Sydney, where, for $50.00, you can break your back carrying books home) I decided to try and get some “hot and steamy” chick lit…I still have small twinges of sham at all this, must remember “chick lit is not a lower form of reading material, chick lit is not a lower form of reading material, chick lit is not…” Well, I got exactly what I was looking for, and more some.

Porn, as best as I can describe it, has a thin, predictable strip of a story line containing multiple characters that have multiple sex in multiple positions, which result in multiple orgasms. These books, it’s like I’m reading a bloody screenplay (if porn had screenplays) with added scene descriptions! I found it quite amusing that the whole “yeah, give it to me baby” and such said during sex turns my stomach, both when watching porn and when reading it (and having it, but, once again, for another blog). I don’t get that at all but I do love how imaginative they get with describing genitalia. Plus I love how these books (which seem to be part of a collection, I realised later) all have “Remember, in real life, always practise safe” before the story (I use the term loosely) begins.

How did it come to this? Isn’t there fluff out there with a story line with strong and detailed characters that get it on in a way that enhances said story without becoming it (such like a relationship based on sex…fun but without meaning)? And not a story line that has something to do with war, death, disease and a good old “end of the world as we know it”. Aren’t there happier conflicts and situations that characters can overcome?

Well, even with the tears of frustration (with the writing people) in my eyes, I’m still laughing, so it can’t all be bad.

***After inflicting you with a summary of my reading history, the whole “readable porn” section of this blog was quite anti-climatic…HA!!! Hey, if you can make one person laugh…***

First Test for "Dry" May

Today’s rant will mark the first trip to the pub during my “dry” May. Yes, for the first time since I starting partaking in the adventure that is the murky oblivion of drinking myself unconscious, I have decided to give the grog a miss for a month (just before travelling with my Dad and the scuba diving club to the Great Barrier Reef who love a good drop…or a down pour)…

I found it quite amusing that when “pub for lunch” was mentioned by work mates that I did not think of said decision made only a week earlier. Nor did it come to mind when I was ordering my lunch…but I did have a good giggle at myself when I automatically stated “I’m just going to grab a beer”. No beer for me…when I explained this to a friend she was quite puzzled for more than a moment…no alcohol…you’re in a pub? Her perplexed face was priceless…but I still had to suffer with a coke…(other than water, what else is really on offer? I’ve never needed to know before).

I still had a laugh and good food…and no spontaneous giggling when returning to the office…unfortunately, after a trip to the pub, I’m used to the rest of the day flying…sad to say it’s going along at it’s normal pace but I’m sure none of my work will be required to be rechecked tomorrow.

And, for the entire world to read, I have some time and concentration to write a rant.

Since going out to a club some years ago with “friends” and making the one time (and only time) offer of being designated driver I have a fear that sober me would find out my drunk “friends” are fu*k wits (in a bad way…there is a good way to be a fu*k wit but you have to have talent to pull it off)…after this epiphany I drunk enough to kill those brain cells that held tight to THAT memory…I guess that I had taught myself over the years that drinking makes, not necessarily everything better, but at least I got to enjoy myself in sub-conscious self pity.

Now, quite a few years since that sober observation of my social surroundings, I have made the conscious decision to take a different path of dealing. This seems to be no social surroundings...but hey, nothing's perfect and instead of enjoying myself in sub-conscious self pity (and spending quite a bit of money doing it), I'm actually enjoying myself in conscious self pity (DEBT FREE!).