Tag Archives: trainers

Shoes. Lots of shoes.


I took these photos ages ago, because someone expressed interest in my shoe collection. Now, I have to preface this with the statement that most, if not all, of these Cons were bought because my husband is a sneaker freak. I find them a little narrow for my big duck feet, and my pinkie toe always is unhappy. But! I have some gorgeous, limited edition sneaks because of my husband’s sneaker fetish. It’s great to go shopping with him – he does all the work, knows all the necessary heritage of a kick, and as I’m a size 7/8 (men’s, or European size), most of the time the only good ones left are my size instead of his (11).

My oldest, rattiest pair, bought for about $9 in… Maybe 1998? 1999? I still wear them. Soles are nearly worn down, and they have been put in the washer once – they useta be black.


Pretty sure these are my next oldest purchases – found cheap in an odd shop in southern/middle Ohio in about 2005. Yes, I wear them like this! Unless it is Paddy’s day, in which case I go full green. I really have no need, ever, for yellow shoes. I hate yellow clothing.

Anything from here on down was bought in Ireland, and probably at TK Maxx. I wear these spotted ones a lot; they are slip on (hate messing about with laces, especially as iDJ says the laces have to be ‘perfect.’ Oh god, no. Save me from fashion faux pas! Put my damn shoes on for me, then, if it means so much! Yes, I make him do that when I wear any of these:

The low-rise set. I like the ones on the left, as they match any pair of jeans. But! The ones on the right are apparently really rare and valuable. So says himself. They are an unusual plastic upper, so great when it is wet out – as it often is. But, honey? Should I wear these tonight? NO, it’s raining! Sigh….
Notice that the tag is still on? Yeah. He says that’s important. For fashion.
I say they are shoes, they get dirty, why, why, why…

Terrible pic. They are dark blue, and again, they match any jeans but I can’t be arsed lacing these bad boys up very often.

Possibly my favourite pair. I love the black laces against the white and gold. They look like tiger shoes! I don’t mind keeping these out of the rain – they are flippin’ white, after all. I also don’t mind so much when hubby has to make sure that the laces lie ‘just so’, as the laces are kind of important to the overall look of this shoe. I bet these are his least favourite! Not for the ‘honey help me’ factor, but because they are tacky as hell.

Maybe sometime in the next 8 months I’ll get around to posting pics of my Nike collection. A lot less shoes, but way, way more awesome (according, of course, to Himself).

Halloween costumes and gender stereotypes, with random BS


Hi, and welcome back to another instalment of the continuing saga, “….

Nope, I got nothing. My blogging friend Michael could come up with something, I’m sure.

I’m a bit at loose ends tonight, as my BFF Socks has family over and isn’t available for our usual phone call. I know she’s having a great time, though, and not even I can begrudge her that. We’ve planned a conversation tomorrow, but it must needs be cut short due to my needing to assemble Halloween costumes.

My costume is mostly make up – well, actually, glue-on, good quality prostheses I bought in the US last year- and those terrifying New Rock boots I mention in my ‘about’ page. But iDJ – well. I am gonna have soooo much fun with him. I refuse to give it away, but we came up with a costume that utilises his beautiful, arse-length blonde hair. It also involves make up, but more like lipstick and eyeshadow rather than greys and blacks.

Despite us being married for over 6 years, he still gets called gay because of the hair. The hair I love. The hair that suits him. When they see him in costume (called ‘fancy dress’ here) on Saturday, they will say it even more. The thing is: only a man secure in his gender preference is comfortable enough to dress so oddly (and no, he’s not going to be in drag). So, you small town, insecure, gender-preference-repressed name callers – eat it and weep. He’ll be awesome, and he gets to come home with me.

I will post pictures. I know I’ll be unrecognisable, and he will likely be, too. I say that, because I’m still debating on keeping the blog anonymous. I think I have four out of 11 followers who don’t know me in ‘real life.’ However, I’ve not said the horrible things I thought I might say when I first started the blog. I was in such a dark place, I figured it would be non-stop bitching about everything. Instead, it turns out this thing helps me see the humor in my life, and makes me appreciate the little things more.

I also think I appreciate the bigger small things more, like my KIBIS nights. We did have one this week, not at my house but at MrsMMC’s apartment. We voted to include another member, but we didn’t say who was going to invite her… oops. Is that my job? I’m not going to detail the evening, but some things we talked about are things I want to ramble on about here, and I’ll give a KIBIS-mention when I get a round tuit.


Yes, I know that is an old, bad joke. It makes me think of my dad, though. He had one of these, and he loves an old, bad joke as much as I do. Hell, my whole family loves stupid jokes. Would you like two that came from my great-grandmother, on my mother’s side? No? Tough. Please note, these jokes have to be over 150 years old, passed down over the generations.

What are the three dirty parts of the stove? Lifter leg and poker.

What are the three naughty vegetables in the garden? Lettuce turnip and pea.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Right, what next? If I hadn’t segued into bad jokes and KIBIS, I might have said some things about the seeming gender confusion in my household. That is completely the wrong term, of course. Stereotype shattering is a better term.

An example from right now! He is live on the air, playing his Internet radio show. Tonight is Halloween themed. He was playing a song that is new to me, and I like it a lot (a rarity, I’m picky). Afterward, he (was) is playing Glen Campbell, Ghost on a Canvas. He told me that he’s snuffling back tears because Glen has Alzheimer’s, and his memory only comes back for his songs, not his family or friends. So, Glen is now a ghost himself. Aw. (iDJ also said the two songs before the one I like made him weepy.)

Me? I’m considering deleting the part of my post yesterday where I admitted to feeling anything.

Okay, back to fun examples of why we are so good, and so odd, together.

He loves to shop for clothes. He knows labels, what is hot, what is classic, what isn’t worth the trouble and why. He always has, and spent hundreds on a single jacket or pair of jeans back in the day of the Irish Punt.

I don’t know, nor do I care, about labels or what is in fashion or cool, except to avoid what is trendy. I buy based on three things:
Is it an acceptable price for what it is?
Is it ‘classic’? Meaning, it better not be a trend and I’ll look like a twat next year because I’m not doing this shopping shit again any time soon if I can help it.
Does it look good on me?
Sometimes there is a no. four: is it so totally awesomely tacky that I cannot live without it?

iDJ is a shoe freak. Sneakers, trainers, whatever you want to call them. His passion is to re-buy all the trainers he had as a kid; sadly thwarted due to me not having any income. The good part about this is that he shops well. TK Maxx, aka TJ Maxx, is the best for inexpensive cool shoes. Even better is that after he checks the selection in his size he looks at my size, and has gotten me some really cool rare kicks. Oh lordy, he’s rubbing off on me.

Enough about clothing, it’s boring.

Next is, of course, that his hair is loooooooong. He’s not a metalhead, and doesn’t want to be taken for one. Hipster is more his style. Yes, he even wears cardigans. But, he has no piercings or tattoos and doesn’t want any. I have 3 tats, want another, and my ears are punctured 4 times left, once right. All my tats are on my left, too, it’s a thing with me. No, I don’t know why.

Last one, then I’m done, honey, I promise.

He drives a MINI Cooper. I drive a Harley-Davidson Sportster.

Because this has gone on long enough and I have to end on a high note, don’t I? A thing i am very happy indeed about: He isn’t threatened, is indeed relieved, to let me do most of the mechanical repairs and assembly around the house. I love putting together flat-pack!