A whole lot o' nothing. And then some….
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Isa- what?

There’s a new crash diet in town. And I’m all over it. All. Over. It.

Look – I’ve tried every diet there is. The nutrisystem deliveries? Revolting. Nutritionists? Evolved into whack-job emotional eating therapy sessions. One summer I tried the Montignac/GI Diet/Suzanne Somers thing with a friend of mine. After a month or so we agreed we’d never felt better; never had more energy; never enjoyed so much cheese. She looked tremendous. I couldn’t do up my pants. And of course as any who know me know….I’m a Weight Watcher lifer – right down to the app on my iPhone.

I know what you’re thinking – obviously having been on every diet means that I….erm… needed to be on every diet. Not so. OK, maybe a little, but I was rolling along quite nicely until I got pregnant. Over and over and over again!

With each weekly WW meeting I figured out new and improved ways to beat the system. And then suddenly, the system stopped working for me. Or maybe I stopped following it….Either way, I’d reached that dreaded zone we never-say-diet-it’s-a-lifestyler hates: The Plateau.

So when my dear friend told me she was going to do a “cleanse” I poo-poo’d her. Crash diet now, gain it back later. That’s what I’d heard, read, studied. Belittling her efforts became a bit of a sport. What was she thinking?

Question is, after she lost 11 lbs in 11 days – what was I thinking? And when could I start?

September 8 was D-Day. After all, Labour Day’s the new New Years, right?

Bring on the Isagenix.

My new mantra became shake, shake, meal. Breakfast and lunch are replaced with these shakes, followed by a “healthy” meal. And I must tell you the first day was brutal. BRUTAL. I was warned I might suffer a headache or two, but when I crawled under the covers, fully clothed, ice pack on my head and gel mask on my eyes, I thought I was in rehab. Turns out this cleanse was, in every sense, a detox. I also happened to have had a tetanus shot that morning. I can blame the shot. Or the lack of Diet Dr. Pepper. Either way, I was sure this was it. The end. The end of isagenix, and the end of my life.

But the sun rose again and I carried on. Shake, Shake, Meal. Shake, Shake, Meal. I ditched the gag-inducing Ionix (a Vitamin B liquid/motor oil that failed to get my engine running) and stuck to the shakes. I added a few pineapple chunks and a smattering of mango to the vanilla and I swear, it could’ve passed for a pina colada. Almost.

And then came cleanse day number one. The moment of truth. I shot back 4 ounces of the Cleanse for Life liquid and waited for the magic to happen. I had to do 4 glasses of the stuff which, while not completely vile, isn’t something I’d ever savour. But whatever natural speed/appetite suppressant was in there was working. It was a breeze. So much so that I went for it and did another cleanse day the next day.

Now, if someone had told me I’d drink nothing but 16 ounces of some sort of aloe vera berry juice I’d have shown them the door and ordered Chinese, just to prove them wrong. But I did it. With only mild cheating. A couple of carrots here, a cuke or two there. And then there are the oddly compelling IsaSnacks. Strange little wafers that taste like chalk and yet…..become somewhere comforting when there’s nothing else to chew.

And so it went….For 11 days.

I stepped on the scale, whipped out my measuring tape – supplied by the kind folks at Isagenix to prove their point – and….Lo and behold, I’d lost 10 lbs. And 18.5 inches. I don’t know how. I don’t know why. And to be honest – I don’t care. I did get a bit nervous that there may be some sort of heart-attack inducing natural speed in there – but according to my trustworthy chiropractor – it’s all good. In fact, he wants to start taking it now too!

It’s no secret that the whole isagenix world is based on a pyramid scheme. Tho’ I guess it’s not a scheme if it works. But there’s a shady feeling about the whole thing. And yet… I’m all over it. Hook, line and sinker. I don’t miss my diet pops or my processed turkey sticks. I have a new-found appreciation for water, almonds, and tea. I know how evangelical I sound – ironic when you consider one of my many sidelines of work is writing inspirational blogsites – but when something works, it works.

Oh – and for those naysayers who wonder how much more I’ve gained back? I’m down another 3lbs . Schadenfreude – kiss my shrinking ass! Everybody else, hop on the IsaTrain – it’s a sweet, clean ride…..

2 comments:

Anonymous said…

you should send this to them and get paid – I’m serious

3:15 PM

kyra said…

yay! i’m about to do another 11 day. starting thursday. the day after my birthday. gotta have my cake and eat it too!!!!!!!

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September 9, 2009   No Comments

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What I Did on my Summer Vacation

Looks like summer is officially over. Tomorrow it’s back to school. Back to carpool. Back to chauffeuring. Being a night-before stylist. An enforcer. A chef. And my fave – The Warden.
I had all these grandiose plans for the summer….
Seeing lots of movies. Check.
Exercising. Started off well.
Getting back to Bikram yoga. Got too tense – and had nothing to wear that wouldn’t either constrict in the most unflattering of ways, or flip over my head and blind me if I bent over.
Writing a script. Did a rewrite… okay, a polish… of an existing project. But that kinda counts.
Spending lots of quality time with my kids. I extended their day camp. But we did hang out a lot at the cottage. And I took them to an amusement park by myself, went on loads of rides, ate as much junk as possible, went onstage during a clown performance, AND got stung by a bee and didn’t cry. Yes, I am supermom.
I also saw how enlightening a summer can be, even when you’re 1, 4 and 5-and-a-half years old. While my baby conquered walking and learned to point instead of scream, my big boys picked up all kinds of other equally important stuff this summer.
They are now gaga masters (that’s dodge ball for those of you out of this particular loop). They love archery. They can swim in the deep end and jump off diving boards. They pretty much know the entire Beatles catalogue by heart, and are counting down the days until Beatles Rockband arrives (-2. We pre-ordered). They’ve become terrific bikers, soccer players, and catchers. They can wield a tennis racquet with the best of ’em – and sometimes even hit the ball. Over the net. They know street names, directions, and how to do English accents. They appreciate the BBQ. They’re not afraid of sunscreen, and they like wearing hats. Their phone manner and overall sportsmanship has improved tremendously.
And they can swear like sailors.
It started off innocently enough. Weiners. Balls. Butts ‘n bums.
Jackass. Piss. Crap.
Stupid. Idiot. Stupid idiot.
And then shit happened. “Say shit”… “He said shit”… “You’re a shit!”
Inevitably, they dropped the big bomb. The F-word cruised into our house on a barrel of laughs and blushing cheeks. Apparently, FUCK was one they learned here at home. From their father, God bless him. That they happened to pick it up only when off at camp and yet blame their dad amazes and amuses me. But it’s here to stay (not that it ever left!) And joining the F-word is the B-word (Buck) and the C-word. Everyone gets a little shifty and nervous when they mention the C-word. But – get this – they think it’s Cuck! And so it goes with every letter of the alphabet.
Except L.
The L word is Love. As noted by a 5.5 year old.
So while they stub their toes and scream fuuuuuuck like banshees, and call each other dicks, jackasses, and shits – but only “for pretend until school starts” – I take heart that the L word will stick around, even in grade 1.
Fucks, shits and pisses be damned.
Happy back-to-school… for those who go, those who drive, and those who remember!

1 comments:

Anonymous said…

the father did really teach it to them. notch another one for jack ass. summer lovin!

September 7, 2009   No Comments

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Lulu’s for Lemons

Check out the following statement:

“Look at your cute clogs…I remember when you only wore high heels, were dressed to the nines, and had your hair cut ‘n coloured by that rip-off guy….Now you’re all comfy and relaxed….”

How would you interpret this?

a) that you’re fabulous and chilled; mellowed with age.
b) that the person speaking has a secret ladies’ shoe fetish
c) that you’ve let yourself go

If you said anything other than (c) you’re a moron. Or a man. Same same sometimes. “Comfy”? There’s not a whole lot worse you could call a person, without being straight-out rude! Fact is, lululemon is the best – and worst – thing to happen to a girl since the invention of lycra.

Lulus, and all their knock-off compatriots, have definitely helped the humble sweat pant grow in leaps and bounds. (Excuse the phys ed refs.) But when once they were seen as a somewhat chic way of dressing shlubby (in my mind that is) they’ve now become the ubiquitous uniform for stay at home moms, exercise fanatics, and those of us who need to shed a few.

In other words, they’re the new Fat Pants.

They’re black. They’re flattering. They suck you in in all the right spots. We all wonder how we lived without them…And yet…they let the world know you’re got nothing to wear, something to hide, or both. Outside of the gym, that is. I have one friend who refuses to wear her yoga pants after 12 noon. Another who will only wear them once she’s inside the actual gym. And then there’s me, who (until the clog/relaxed/what happened comment) refused to wear anything but!

Erm, “butt” being the operative word here.

Having a four-month old baby should be excuse enough for kicking back a la lemonata. And yet, it’s not. With my other kids I always knew another pregnancy was on the cards, so never really invested. Sure, I joined a gym (or two) but rarely went. And of course I’m a Weight Watcher lifer. I always got back down to the starting line, give or take 5 lbs. But this time, it’s done. No more babies to be born from this body. It’s time to get back on the horse. The clothes horse that is.

But with an unforgiving, post-partum, 3-baby body it’s easier said than done. Hence the yoga pants. And now it seems they’re no longer an option. Or are they? Sure I remember the days of yore: not necessarily skinny, but definitely stylish. I was the chick who was dressed and blown dry on Sundays. In my apartment. And now? Jeans are my fancy pants. What happened? Have I let myself go? Is the most stylish thing about me my beloved iPhone?

It is pretty stylish…

But I digress. Someone suggested I don’t care as much now about how I look.

WHAT?!?

I straighten my hair for god’s sake. I may colour it myself now, but I still straighten. With products. So I must care. Right?

Let’s set the record straight.

I’M.NOT.GOING.ANYWHERE.

Or anywhere exciting. It’s a short drive from my home to my kids’ schools. Throw in a couple of detours for food ‘n sundries and I’m done. For that I should dress up? How? Back in the day when I did get styley, I was also getting paid. Most of my money went towards feeding my shopping habit. Nowadays, my money isn’t really mine. It’s “ours”. (Well, actually…my money is mine, his money is ours… but I don’t really have any…And that’s another story…) Either way, it’s spoken for.

But not anymore. I’m turning over a new leaf. Or reverting back to an old one. I’m packing up my yoga pants. Putting away my sensible shoes (albeit high-heeled ones). All dressed up with no place to go? That’ll be me. Suited and booted and rarin’ to go. Nowhere. But in style.

At least for this week……

October 30, 2008   No Comments

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Resolve This

I will, I won’t, I swear, I’ll try…..Talk, talk, talk, doesn’t anybody…erm…do anymore?

I’m talking about New Year’s resolutions. It’s January 12th. Do you know where your resolutions are? Are they down the crapper? Come on, you can admit it. Still eating? Smoking? Lounging? Working too hard? Not working enough?

Probably.

Rather than fall off various wagons and miss crucial deadlines, I didn’t even bother making resolutions. It’s not that I think I’m perfect. Far from it. I’m just as much a fixer-upper as the next gal, if not more so. Always in need of a fine tuning here, a slight shaping there, a little motivation…

Motivation!! Maybe THAT’s the problem. I’m so unmotivated (insert: “how unmotivated are you?”). Well, I’m so unmotivated that I can’t even make a bloody New Year’s resolution.

But with all the studies showing how fruitless they are, really, who can be bothered?

VIVA LA REVOLUCIONE!

Yep, I’m rebelling against resolutions. For me, this New Year’s backlash isn’t about staying home on New Year’s Eve. Au contraire!!! But Jan 1st? Could there be a worse time to start making empty promises? I mean , puh-lease people – it’s a national holiday! We’re all still on vacation!

The good intentions of Christmas – I mean – The Holiday Season – are sweet. Nice. Charming. But come January? Buh-bye. I almost want to start smoking – almost. Except I need to be supportive to those who resolved not to. Eat less? I resolve to do that every week. But in January? Sheesh…I’m a Weight Watcher’s Lifer and haven’t been since the ‘007 began. Working too much? A non-issue for me. Starting work? Erm…It’s January. Isn’t showbiz dead in January? Isn’t it?! All the best movies came out in Dec and the best TV is on hiatus ’til, well, Sunday. And people are just starting to get their work-groove back. Right?

That’s what I tell myself.

And then there’s the working out issue. Talk about been there, done that… I used to be a daily do’er. Complete with trainer. Mr. Mexico, no less. That’s right, the real Mr. Mexico. While Miss America was saving the world or getting wasted, Mr Mexico was training me. Until I fell for someone else – Bikram. Cuz folks, let me tell you – nothing beats a Bikram body. Nothing. Except you can’t do hot yoga pregnant. So that was replaced by walks. Power walks. Then strolls. Then stepping into the car. And now? The closest I come to a workout is lifting my fork to my mouth.

But not for long. Because I joined a gym. I joined a new, hot, fancy shmancy gym. I figured the price alone will drive me onto that treadmill. Except for one thing. My gym isn’t open yet.

That’s right, I’m so loathe to make a new year’s – or anytime – resolution that I pre-joined a gym. Back in Sept. I figured I’d give myself a couple months to procrastinate and then, when it opened, I’d go. Is it a coincidence that it looks like it’ll be opening in January? Perhaps. But because I joined a while back, and didn’t make any announcements, it wouldn’t be a real New Year’s resolution. And thus I wouldn’t be breaking it.

Here’s the thing – while it’s still not open officially, it’s getting close. Every week I get emails informing me of the club’s progress. The lobby’s done. The equipment’s in place. The classes are up and running. Unlike me. All that’s left are the showers. And any minute now those changerooms will be rarin’ to go – but will I? What excuses will I have left? By the time it opens it won’t be about breaking New Year’s Resolutions. It’ll be about breaking in my shoes and breaking out of my lounging habit. The other day they even left me a message about setting up a fitness consultation. Is it too late to resolve not to waste time talking on the phone? Would that count?

Tick tock….January’s flying by….If the resolutions are out the window, does that mean we have to keep the secret promises we made to ourselves…in September? I’m changing my mind. I am going to make resolutions. And stick to them too. If Jan 1st is the day, so be it. January 1st, 2008. Shame I missed the boat this year, then….A real, lovely, lazy shame…

January 12, 2007   No Comments

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Go Cheap or Go Home

Is cheap the new black?

Sexy, hip, flattering.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. But is cheap the new black?

Erm, not at Zara. Yeah, it’s chic ‘n cheap but it’s also crap. And not in the disposable way Le Crapeau…I mean Le Chateau… is crap. We’re talking ripped-while-still-on-the-hanger crap, as opposed to wear, tear, and toss crap. Oddly, their kids’ line is not crap. Mind you, it ain’t cheap. But it’s stunning – especially for boys.

Ditto H &M. Awesome duds for the kids, but for ladies? Duds of a different kind. For this gal at least. Believe me, I’ve tried. But ’twas not to be. The fit, the fabric, or just the itch factor – there was always something a bit off.

Winners? Dirty. Old Navy? XXXXXL. Fairweather? Puh-lease. And the list goes on.

So I stuck with fancy. The supersoft shirts, yummy sweaters, perfect pants. All mine. For a price. A very hefty price. And y’know what I found? That a lot of the high end stuff was crap too! No sooner had I washed and worn than I’d find a little teeny tiny hole. Or a snag. Or an unravelled cuff or jagged hem. And don’t get me started on cotton tees that start to ball. It’s the worst.

But what’s a fashion victim to do? Shelling out the big bucks didn’t work. And the cheap and cheerful left me feeling anything but…

Until now.

There’s a new kid in town. Let’s call him Joe. For real. ‘Cuz the place is called Joe Fresh and basically, it’s clothes shopping at Loblaws.

WAIT!

Before you delete and think I must’ve completely lost my mind, read on. I actually debated sharing this dirty little secret. In fact, some friends kindly suggested I keep my mouth shut (at least until after they’d checked it out themselves). But alas loyal readers, you’ve earned it. You’ve shared my blog, you’ve liked my blog – you’ve actually read my blog! So here’s a little tidbit for you.

Joe Fresh. As in Joe-who-used-to-own-Club-Monaco. As in the guy who got lured away by the kind folks at Loblaws. As in who the hell cares? You won’t. Cred be damned! If you can get over the fact that it’s, well, grocery shopping for fashion, you’ll be glad that you did.

Housed in suburban Superstores and in the Old Caban space beside, yup, Loblaws, you will meet Joe Fresh. Nice, plain, simple. And did I mention, cheap? Tees for a tenner. Jeans under $30. And yoga pants and tops that fit and feel EXACTLY like your Lulus – but without the hefty price tag (pants are $29)(that’s right, no type-o: $29)

AND not only are the clothes flattering – the sizes are somewhat generous too. So you can try on stretchy jeans and check out your butt – or thighs, or hips or calves – and marvel at the fact that you’re wearing a size smaller than you thought. Who doesn’t love that? Especially compared to all the fancy pants around that were definitely not designed for women of childbearing age. Paige Jeans excepted.

I got a bit carried away this morning: jeans, shirt, vest, sweater, and more. What with these prices…And the turnover is crazy fast as the stuff flies off the shelves…’Cuz at these prices… Finally, I do hear you, skeptics. It may all turn out to be more disposable fashion crap. Only time will tell. But again, at these prices…

3 comments:

Anonymous said…

Went today and it’s like Club Mon of old, although not as styley. Very good basics, although for me the pant cuts were not nice. Very cheap store-like, although, not the yoga pants which are fab and will be worn on the plane by a non-outside yoga pant wearing person. But I take great offence to your dissing of Winners and Fairweathers. You’d be surprised what basics you can find there that don’t feel disgusting. And well, Winners is for hunters and you ain’t ever been one of those. I have some wicked stuff from there and now I add Joe to my list of easy basics. Thanks for the tip.

11:20 AM

Anonymous said…

This is Dave’s friend Rob… my Wife has been bugging me about this Lulu crap for months now. I sent her right over to the super centre and now she has her Lulu knock off’s and is loving life. Thanks for the tip. You rock. By the way, I personally know one of the managers of Winners and the biggest and best hidden treasures are at the Winners in Barrie right off of the 400. There is a tip for you!

October 12, 2006   No Comments

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Jean Genius

VIVA LA REVOLUCIONE!

The jeans revolution, that is. Yeah yeah, I know it’s been going on for aaaaages, but still. It’s quite extraordinary the lengths (lengths!) people (like, ahem, me) will go to find a good pair of jeans.
Ebay? All the way. Sample sales – um, only if you’re a certain (sample) size. Vintage? Uh, OK. But the glut of Levi’s back in the day? Prison. Uh-huh. From the prisoners’ butts to your own. I doubt many inmates are sporting Citizens of Humanity…
Gone are the days of the Levi question – red tab, white tab, button, or zip. (red tab, button fly for me). New or used? A non-issue. It’s always new baby, new. But they need to look used. And no, not in a dirty denim sort of way. I never bought into that whole dirty denim. They just looked too….too…what’s the word I’m looking for? Oh, I know – DIRTY! Blech.
I know jeans were never passe compose, but they weren’t as dress-up-dress-down-wear-’em-to-work as they are now. Were they? I don’t think so. But I’ve been wrong before and (gasp!) I just might be again. I was definitely wrong when I said I would never pay over $100 for jeans. HA HA HA HA HA.
Gap? Whatev. I was a gap girl for years. Modern boot cut? Loved’ ’em. As I said, I never believed in paying for jeans. But then something happened. My sister-in-law convinced me to try on her 7’s, and I never looked back. My husband agreed – goodbye Gap, it was time for the grown up, low slungers that all the cool kids were wearing. I hit the streets a skeptic and came home a changed woman.
I blame it on Adriano Goldschmied. You know, AG? The Angel and The Legend especially. I tried on the Angels and walked out 3 pairs richer (and several hundred dollars poorer). For jeans! JEANS! I didn’t get it then and I still don’t get it now. And yet it makes the $10,000 question (“does my ass look big in these?”) so much easier – and cheaper than 10 grand – to answer…
But here is a legitimate question: what’s with the oh so long legs? I don’t get the ultra low rise – really, I don’t get them. It just wouldn’t be a pretty sight. A bikini wax? For jeans? Why? WHY? But despite any unsightly overhang one (er, not me, one) might experience with low risers, there are always the long shirts to hide it. Double them up and you’re a bean pole. But lady long legs? They’re just a pain. I’m no shrimp, yet every time I get a new pair of jean genies I have to get them shortened. And as any girl worth her – well, worth her jeans – knows, when you buy something, you kinda wanna wear it ASAP. No? Yes! Especially jeans. You buy new ones and suddenly the oldies aren’t such goodies. But you have to hold off and shorten ’em. Original hem to boot (boot!)
I take solace in the fact that, for the most part, the denim thief, I mean merchant, willl shorten ’em free of charge. As they should – at these prices… People, look around at all the lovelies shakin’ their thangs in their jeans. Take a good look. Because y’all should know that tapered, high wasted jeans are on the (ahem) rise. God help us all….
But for now, enjoy your jeans. After all you’ve spent on them, you have tooo. Even if it’s hot – no, sweltering. And even if you’re not really going anyplace. As the saleschicky said, “Dress up, dress down”. And get ’em straight (straight!): Chip & Pepper? Not a band. Paper Denim? Not stationary. James Jeans? Not an actor. My latest find are Paige jeans. AWESOME. And no, they aren’t over $200 like some other “new and improved” jeans you can find. Who buys those? Don’t answer – I’m sure I’ll be slinking aorund in ’em soon enough.

1 comments:

Anonymous said…

Alternate titles to your latest posting:
“I Dream of Jean-ie”,
“Beyond the Rainbow” (points if you get the reference), and my fave
“Jean Smart”
(who by the way, ROCKED on “24”. Hello, Emmy–are you listening?)

June 16, 2006   No Comments

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Women be Shoppin’, Women be Shoppin’, Women be Shoppin’

Live from New York, it’s Mother of all Mavens!
Except I’m not really live from New York at all. I’m live, post-New York and I gotta say, I heart New York. F&ck the spas….Looking to rejuvenate? Then pack your bags – and check ’em, why not?! – and head to the Big Apple. That’s what I did – sans babes or my man. No offence boys, but it was A-W-E-S-O-M-E. The sights, the sounds, the smells….THE SHOPPING.
Bear in mind I haven’t been alone in 3 years. And I haven’t been on a successful shopping spree in longer. ‘member? Pregnant, post-pregnant, almost-there. Pregnant, post-pregnant, etc. Not a great look, no matter how you slice it. Back in the almost-there phase, alone, with a pal, in NYC, how could I resist?
Answer: I couldn’t.
So after lounging (alone!) and coffee (alone! in bed!) I hit the streets, Visas blazin’.
Ladies, and those who love ’em, take note: Olive and Bette’s. That’s all you need to know. I was sent there by a fashionista friend and boy-yoy-yoing was she on the beam with this one. Unreal. All pink and girly on the outside, hip and not too-too-trendy on the inside. Talk about girls gone wild. This place was the bomb.
I walked in wearing one outfit, walked out in another. And then shopped at a different Olive & Bette’s in yet another O & B combo. Talk about wearing the concert-T to the concert!! But I did, proudly. It was one of those places where you try to hold off but just can’t. I think that could be the number one rule when it comes to shopping (and dating, kind of): if you love it, buy it. Sounds obvo, I know. But bird in hand, folks, bird in hand.
And guess what? There are four of these lovely boutiques across the city – something for everyone, everywhere! I only hit two: West Village and Soho. And here’s the scoop (aside from being better than Scoop, another clothing emporium par excellence): Bleeker was better.
I met a lovely lady named Amy who quickly became my new best friend. She had me trying – and buying – everything. And she got me, really got me! Knew her butt-skimmin’ skirts from her cling-ons. The look-like-you’ve-had-your-boobs-done tops from the where’d-they-go’s. We played dress-up girlfriends for about an hour before I was utterly spent – literally.
Or not. Because I couldn’t resist checking out the Soho shop (concert-T to the concert, remember?). Now these chicitas saw me comin’ a mile away. How could they not when I was dressed to the nines in my new duds from their sister shop? They circled my pal and I, hurling so many compliments it made us want to, well, hurl. Sure, they introduced my ass to a lovely new pair of jeans (Paige, since you asked) but after entering the changeroom with piles of stuff and emerging with only the jeans and a cardy, all these new best friends dropped us. But fast. We could barely find someone to take our money. That ain’t right!
Soho staff aside, it’s a mighty fine find. So remember, when next you find yourself in New York: ditch your men, hit the streets, and run, don’t walk to Olive & Bette’s.
And then cut your Visa cards into millions of itty bitty pieces because this place’ll break the bank. But at least you’ll look good. Damn good.

4 comments:

Anonymous said…

okay that was the shopping– but the FOOD– hello? Where’s the food? No trip to NYC is complete without a sampling from the delights to be found (insert turista exclamation) “only in New York!” And I know you MOAM– you sampled some tasty vittles. Fess up!

5:25 PM

Anonymous said…

Your “fashionista friend” thanks you for the shout out and assumes you found your way back to Sullivan St. — O&B bags unharmed.

I miss you already!

12:06 PM

Anonymous said…

Concert t to the concert! You are a maven!

4:33 PM

Anonymous said…

you feel very very alive and in somewhat of control ….or not

June 13, 2006   No Comments

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