Bring it on Jimmy Choo I can Sew Too!

Mending my Moccasin

Jimmy Choo you design beautiful foot-stopping shoes, from sleek, savvy pumps, brilliant, bold wedges, sinister, sexy sandals, to flirty, focused flats, but can you save a moccasin from a near death experience? No? Well, I can, and in less than five minutes, and no, I didn’t need an app either.

With a small spool of tan thread, I discovered in my bathroom cupboard in a travel kit that I don’t remember receiving, I sat on my toilet and performed emergency surgery on my punctured moccasin last week.  I attempted to start the first stitch on the inside so you couldn’t see the knot. I tried several times, bending the moccasin this way and that, trying to get the needle to the hole in the toe, but it just wasn’t going to happen—my hands, which are small, were too big, so I had to make do with the knot being on the outside instead of in. No one would be examining my job beneath a microscope anyway, and if they did, I would say, “You try going a year without buying new clothes and see what measures you’re willing to take. I bet you will be sewing your underwear.” I looped the peephole closed multiple times like any good doctor would and then a couple more just to make sure the stitch wouldn’t separate again, and it would have to make another trip to the hospital (aka my bathroom).

I sported the recovering moccasin immediately at work—no R&R for that shoe. “It looks great!” . . . “You sewed that?” . . . “Nice job!” were just some of the compliments we (my shoe and me) received from my colleagues.

May sound silly but I was pretty proud of myself. I’m not going to get any big award or start marketing mended moccasins, but I am going to attempt to fix every piece of article of clothing on the verge of death by my overuse–with the exception of underwear. 🙂

Can you Mend a Moccasin with Duct Tape?

My Wounded Moccasin

Anyone know a good elf I could call? And, I’m not talking one of Santa’s or the kind that lives in a tree; I need one that can make shoes.

Tragedy hit yesterday when I noticed my right foot was enjoying a little bit of a breeze. I looked down and discovered that my Target beaded moccasin had a peep hole just big enough to give my big toe a view of the world below. Besides my Chuck Taylors, these are my favorite shoes.  They are comfy, easy, and, most importantly, can go with any color, texture, or style of jeans (They are at their absolute best though when paired with a skinny.).

My first thought, you didn’t see a thing, Jodie. There is no hole in your shoe. My second thought, everyone will see that there is a hole in your shoe. My third thought, could I stitch them? My fourth and final thought, shit—I ain’t no elf.  My sewing skills are not like my mother’s, who can produce an entire collection for the live Christmas nativity scene for church, including Mary, Joseph, three kings, a chorus of angels, and yes, even the swaddling for baby Jesus all in one day.  I had one skill in that department if duct tape wasn’t involved—button sewing.

My co-worker, Brady, suggested I take the moc somewhere and have it repaired, but that would extend beyond my purchase price ($10) so, no.

You know what? I’m gonna do it myself. I’m gonna use my new fancy phone and find an app, an app called “Sew Your Own Shoe in 5 minutes or Less without Duct Tape.”

Stay tuned for next week’s post where I will find out if I really do have some elf in me.

You think I can do it?

There is an “I” in iPhone: Mine

Ok, you really didn’t think I would go a whole year without buying clothes and not treat myself at all did you? . . . Good, because if I didn’t, I would have surely gone insane.

Now, don’t get me wrong; I didn’t go out and hit up the first cellular store around the block. It was actually a strategic decision to buy a new phone or to stay with my Samsung Rant. What? You never heard of that phone? That’s OK because they don’t make them, along with VCRs anymore.

Let me Introduce You to My iPhone5

It’s a funny thing, but after I stopped buying clothes, I really stopped going into stores all together.  My new hot spot to visit was Festival Foods, where I could buy anything and everything because I couldn’t wear it. (Only Lady Gaga can pull off a meat dress.) This is when I realized that I was beginning to get very cheap, so cheap that my shampoo quality had hit rock bottom—from Pantene to Suave. Ladies, this is when you know it is bad. I mean Pantene is one thing, but Suave for $.99 a bottle is on a whole other level, right up there with gritty Roundy’s ice cream.  Before I knew it, I would be wearing sweatpants to Festival. It was time for a change. I needed to upgrade something before it was too late; a cell phone was my best option since my alarm clock had been recently starting to go off randomly, but most often, at 3 a.m.

I did my research, searching each and every carrier, comparing their phone prices, plans, and coverage. There was an immediate winner: Verizon. I wanted the best service. I was tired of searching for a signal on my Sprint phone which required me to, at times, stand on my tiptoes with my phone over my head praying for a miracle.  Next, I had to decide on a phone. I didn’t even give the non-smart phones one look. I headed straight to the new iPhone5. Jon has an iPhone, and I have to admit, I had a little crush on it, so much so, that I couldn’t keep my hands off of it. (Ok, I will stop there before it gets weird.) Needless to say, Jon was happy when I upgraded.

The first night I had my iPhone, it was like I was a little kid, trying to fall asleep Christmas night after opening all my presents; I desperately wanted to get up and play with my new toy: Tweet, Facebook, Stumble, . . . Yes, I have traded one obsession (clothing) for another (technology). Now, I can just search the web anytime I want and look at all the dresses I can’t buy, haha!

Target Sleepover Slumber Party?

Ok, my slumber party look a bit different that this one. (Provided by http://www.ehow.com)

I awoke each morning the same: staring at the seven and beyond colors of the rainbow, in a collection—too big to count unless I picked each one up—of scarves draped over hooks, an at least four-shelf-high display of heels, wedges, and flats, and two racks of dresses, skirts, and blouses.  Was I in Target? Was I dreaming?

Nope and nope. I was staying over in Jon’s sister’s and her fiancé’s spare bedroom. Like myself, Danielle is a collector of cute clothing; so needless to say, I didn’t get much sleep that weekend. As soon as the morning light invaded the room through the blinds and exposed her mini-store, I was entranced—caught in a very real dream.  I started putting outfits together in my mind: that white pencil skirt with the black belt, with that purple blouse, and conservative black pumps. (I was going to work.)

Just like a little girl, I played make-believe dress up at 6 a.m. while everyone else slept. Weird, yes! Good weird? I’m not so sure. . . . All I have to say is Danielle is lucky she wears a size seven and not nine and a half.

Note: No articles of clothing where confiscated during the plotting, creation, and publication of this blog.

Shopping with Clark Kent

Clark Kent? Jon? Jodie? From http://www.hollywood.com

I’m sure you are wondering how my shopping outing went with Jon, but before I fly into that comic strip, I want to return to my thesis about how men shop differently than women: males are the “in and out” type, while females are the “in and let’s talk about our whole life story” type.  Did shopping with Jon prove this correct? Ha! Does Superman exist?

The Overdue “Saving the World” Agenda

Eye glasses. He had been putting them off for at least 3 months. During this time we went over a lot of curbs in his truck, and I read every menu that he couldn’t hold.  I was his must-needed sidekick. Our mission was clear, so we walked right through JcPenny (They have really cute spring dresses out already!) and headed to the first eye glasses store in the mall.

The Superman Wardrobe Change

He transformed into only about 10 pairs, trying them on like there was an invisible telephone booth right in the store. He knew what he wanted—black frames with no bottom.  So, yup, he tried only this style, but of course, threw in silly 100-year-old grandpa inspired pairs too to make me laugh. I needed that; I’m not buying clothes for a year.

The One Stop Shop (No, not Walmart)

After he had chosen his top pick and I had tried on many pairs (I love shopping for glasses. I get a chance to be Clark Kent too.), I started to leave, figuring we would go onto the next store, but Jon interrupted me: “Where are you going?”

“Aren’t we going to look anywhere else?”

He had a confused look on his face like other eye glass stores didn’t exist; men really couldn’t fly. (They have two more in our mall. And, men can fly but they can fall too.) “I just gonna get these,” he said.

“You really don’t want to shop anywhere else?” I said this not because I didn’t think the ones he had picked looked great, but because, I wanted to keep shopping. I wanted to try on more glasses.

“No, I’m done,” he said. “Is that ok?”

“Yes.”  I shuffled with him to the counter like a child who didn’t get that lolly pop they wanted.  Did I throw a fit?  Absolutely not, I’m 29 years old; I save those fits for when it really counts—over shoes. Instead I waited patiently while he made decisions: plastic, polycarbonate, anti-glare, etc. But, I couldn’t help but ask before we walked out after he had paid, “What is the warranty?” The saleswoman had totally forgotten. Jon I don’t think even cared or knew to ask.

Men should be lucky to shop with women. Even though we like to chat a lot, try on everything, and are attracted to shiny things, we never forget the most important factor: a good guarantee.

Women saving men, saving the world, one day at a time.  Who is the super hero now?

“Walk like a man, Talk like a Man . . . Shop with a man?”

This weekend I’m going shopping with Jon, and I think, no, I know I’m more excited than he is. Why? . . . because I’m a female and he is a male, duh! Yes, the Jersey Boys got it right. Men really have a swagger to them to feel like the Jolly Green Giant, and women try their best not to fall on their face in skyline tall heels.  Women and men not only walk different, but they shop different.

Yeah, this is not going to happen!

Men go into a store with a purpose; it is an “errand.”  They know where to go, what they are looking for, and at times, know how much it will cost, and they always make sure it can fit in the back of their pick up: “I need to go to Fleet Farm for an ice auger Jiffy Model 75 ArcticBLAS that’s $310.” Now, some women are probably thinking: “Wow! That is expensive,” or, most likely, “What is an auger?” (It is the standup drill you use to make holes in the ice, so you can get the fish out of the lake.) It was also my favorite piece of equipment when it came to ice fishing with my dad when I was a little girl. I was mesmerized by the water that spilled out of the holes after the drill broke through 6 inches and then came back up to the Earth’s surface.

Women now, they go to a store not necessary for a purpose, but 85% of the time for the “experience.” One woman says to the other, “What do you want to do today?” Keep in mind there is a lot to do in La Crosse: swim, bike, hike, go on a brewery tour, but the usual response will be: “Let’s go shopping.” Why is that? No, it is not because they want new clothes; they want to chatter—gossip about colleagues, family, boyfriends, and other friends. So, yes, men when we go out shopping with our girlfriends we are usually going to talk about you, trying on clothes just gives our bodies something to do as our mouths do the real work.

How will it be when I go shopping with Jon? I’m not sure.  I won’t be able to gossip about him with him, and I can’t try on any clothes. Well, I could, but why directly torture my body like using nail polish remover to eradicate a temporary tattoo? How will I keep myself from instant comatose?  . . . I could buy an auger? But then I would need a fishing license, a jig, line, hook, bait, that little orange shovel with the holes you used to get the slush off the top of the hole. . . . Gee, this not buying clothes resolution may get expensive.

Ladies, ideas?

Is that Versace? Nope, it’s a Liedke

My mother has labored in a mozzarella factory for over 33 years, but she is more than just a maker of one of Wisconsin’s must-haves besides beer; she was an artist.  In a past blog post I wrote that most of our clothing came from hand-me-downs that our cousins had outgrown.  This was true, but before that my mother made a lot of our childhood attire, especially special occasion dresses for Christmas and Easter. I don’t remember her making them so much as me wearing them.

Jenny and I with Mom and Dad in our matching dresses for Christmas

I used to hate getting dressed up like my sister, Jenny for one simple reason: We couldn’t have been more different.   Jenny was the tough “I kill deer with a bow” kind of a girl, while I was the anxious “I don’t want to sit in a stand all day just to kill something” kind of a girl. It took me years to just start to grow anything that resembled her thick skin.

But when my mother dressed us in her hand-sewn dresses, we were like two little American Girl dolls—picture perfect midwest daughters—until we opened our mouths: ****  That we learned from our father; he was an artist too.

Like I said, I don’t remember her ever making the dresses, but I know she put a lot of warmth and honor into each stitch, hem, and button just like she does with her cooking.  She was always proud to say that she had made them.  It was the ONLY new clothing we ever had as children. And, even though looking like Jenny wasn’t my top priority, it felt good to have something no one else had or could have.

Mom still has all the dresses she made for us boxed in the rafters in the garage.  One day, hopefully soon because Jenny’s little girl, Joslyn will turn two this year, the dresses will come back to life on the next generation.

Red Blouses, Lipstick, Heels, Oh, My? No, Oh, Shit!

Just so you all know, just because it is Valentine’s Day, I did not hound Jon to get me clothes for this occasion. What kind of girl do you think I am? (I’ll save that for my birthday.) . . . Actually, I was never really a good clothes receiver when it came from men anyway, but probably because many that I’ve dated ended up giving me clothes that weren’t really me per se: an aqua blue snakeskin clutch with a silver wrist chain (What would I wear with that? A first aid kit because I would probably end up looking like a hot mess that needed medical attention.) Or, how about a blingy, big-faced watch that only Rihanna would wear? (I sport it occasionally, but I always get the look “that is not you” from my friends. I kind of like the sparkle though.) Men, Clothes, and I don’t mix. . . .

“Where are your flowers, Jodie?” one of my male colleagues asked me this morning.

“Flowers?”

“It’s Valentine’s Day. I expected you to have flowers.”

I would never assume to receive flowers from a man. I’m not an assumer, but I have to admit, Jon is a bit of a romantic; he has very close kin to Romeo. (Yes, I made that up.  However, when I think about it again, Jon is Italian, and Romeo is from Venice. . . . ) Anyway, I kind of expected flowers. Did I tell my colleague this? Heck no, I said, “I don’t need flowers; I’m not that kind of girl.”

“Ok,” he said.  What he really meant to say was, “liar.”

Bouquet Jon Sent Me for Valentine’s Day

Just 20 minutes later, you know what happened?  Yes, our amazing secretary delivered a beautiful, fresh bouquet of flowers to my office.

“Thank you so much,” I said to her. “Thank you!” (My face gets red here, matching the roses.)

“Don’t thank me,” she laughed, “I didn’t send them.”

I opened the card: “Happy Valentine’s Day Jodie! I can’t wait until our next adventure together! . . . [The rest is personal; you can’t get everything, you know].”

I smiled—a lot. Yes, I really am “that” kind of girl, a woman that appreciates thoughtfulness that extends way beyond clothing.

So, gals, what did you get for Valentine’s Day? (Please don’t say red heels. Ok, yes, I’m still thinking of my co-worker and friend, Emily’s red heels from a month ago.  She reminded me how much I loved them by wearing them to work today. . . . I know what I just said above.  This process takes time. :))

1 Stop at Macy’s: 5 New Outfits

What is blue, has feet pockets, and is inspired by monkeys? . . . Give up? It is the five-pack of baby onesies I purchased at Macy’s last week for my friends Angela and Kris.  They are expecting their son, Winsor in March. I’m so excited for them to be parents and was equally excited to get the chance to buy clothes that Angela opened at her baby shower this past weekend.  Winsor is going to be one styling cutie that is for sure!

5 New Outfits and Mommy to Be

Is this still within my rules?  Of course!  I can’t buy anything for myself.  Other people are fair game even if what I buy for them can fit me, which baby onesies certainly cannot.  But, let me tell you, if baby onesies came in my size, I would proudly pull them over, snap them up, and relax on my couch with a bowl of freshly made cookie dough and a mug of Baileys and hot chocolate.

Ok, I apologize for painting that picture in your head.  I don’t even want to picture that—weird. It is like heading back to the 80’s when skintight leotards were a bigger hit than puffy bangs.  But, aren’t the 80’s coming back too?  I’m starting to see a lot of neon green, yellow, orange, and pink in the stores. I should have saved some of those past picks and busted them out in 2013.  However, the seven-year-old Jodie wasn’t thinking about money and being “hip” in first grade.  As children, most of our clothes would come in big, black garbage bags that came from our cousins that had out grown them.  Those were “new” to us. It wasn’t until middle school when “cool” meant having brand names.  I still remember my first item from Calvin Klein. . . . It was all downtown shopping from there.

After Hours Shopping Spree Winner!

This Could Have Been Me

Amber called me yesterday.

Reader: Who is Amber?

Amber is a sales associate at Maurcies here in La Crosse.

Reader: You can’t shop? You didn’t buy the boots? Why was she calling you?

You’re right. I didn’t. And, I was just as surprised as you are. . . . Answer: I had won an After Hours Splurge Party for myself and five or more of my friends.  Brady had put my name in for the prize months upon months ago.  I thought those contests were just a trick to get more customers.  Note to all women, you really can win from them!

I could choose any day.  I would receive 30% off all merchandise, and my guest would receive 15%.  They would even provide us all with goodie bags!

Reader: What did you say?

Come on. I said, “No” of course.

Then Amber said, “Are you sure?”

She was very puzzled as to why anyone would turn this down.  Women just don’t do that sort of thing. I had to tell her the truth: “My New Years resolution is to not buy any new clothes for the year.”

Amber was silent, and then finally said in a very upbeat tone, (She was super nice.) “Well, good luck with that.”

I need more than luck; I need a redo.