These Boots Were Made for Walking ... Through the Fire Swamp, Apparently.

So it's fall in the city again, that gorgeous time of year when the air becomes crisp and the leaves start turning gold. Every day twilight lasts a little longer, and the smell of Nutz 4 Nuts drifting through the air is like heaven in a little waxed-paper bag. It's the time of year when a young woman's thoughts turn to one thing: boots. At least this is true if you're me. No, seriously. I have calves that are the size of some women's thighs, and every fall I go on a massive, city-wide hunt for knee-high boots that will encompass their tree-trunk-like girth without making me look like an elephant. (Actually, I have bought boots that make me look like an elephant in the past simply because I can get the zipper all the way up.) I'm a leather snob and I won't wear stretch, faux leather, or fabric boots, which makes it doubly hard to find something in my size. Strangely, this ongoing obsession has led to me actually owning more boots than most women probably do. I have 3: one basic, pointy-toed sleek black pair (these are my work-appropriate pair, and I love them), one pointy-toed mushroom-colored pair (bought at almost 80% off on a summer sale two years ago! but they are hard to match), and one pair of heavy black leather harness boots that I bought because I wanted something more casual. I started regretting this purchase almost immediately, as the boots are way more Western than I can really pull off, and the heaviness of the sole/heel makes me feel like I'm walking in galoshes when I wear them. I may try to sell them on eBay this year. But anyway! So the kind of boot I am coveting currently is a knee-high, flat-heeled style, like so: Dangit, these images came out much smaller than I expected, and I'm too annoyed to download all the pictures and combine them into one file again. But, from top to bottom and L to R: Frye's Bonnie Tall Riding boots, BCBG Petler boots, Aerosoles [couldn't find name], and Marc by Marc Jacobs [couldn't find name]. The BCBGs are a pretty brown croc print. I heart them possibly the most, although I did see a woman wearing the Aerosoles last year and the little added hardware actually looked really hot. I found all of these when I was window-shopping online yesterday (THERE'S NO HARM IN LOOKING). As you can see, they're all sort of pseudo-equestrian, but slimmer and not as structured. I wouldn't call them pirate or Robin Hood boots exactly--both names have been floating around for the last couple of years, but I think both those styles have fold-over tops and, like, extraneous straps . . . . . . or would you call them that? Because later that night I turned on the TV, and lo and behold, on the screen was the swashbuckling Inigo Montoya from The Princess Bride, and on Inigo Montoya were ... the boots I want!!! Actually, everybody in this movie has the boots I want. Examine: From L to R: Evil genius Vizzini; reformed drunk and reknowned swordsman Inigo Montoya; and gentle giant Fezzik. Each sporting a pair of suede boots that any fashionista would be proud to own. I believe that Vizzini's leggings have also been seen out and about town, most recently on Lindsay Lohan. The Dread Pirate Roberts has a pair (leggings and boots): So does the Princess Buttercup, in a charming, whimsical red that matches her romantic, fairy-tale frock. (I wouldn't recommend this look for the peasantry, as it might come off as a little too matchy-matchy while strolling through SoHo. Plus that skirt is really too full to work with those sleeves.) Aw, Westley and Buttercup's boots, together at last. (Hmm. Maybe if you lopped 3 feet of fabric off the hem of her dress and made it a tunic, to balance the sleeves? I think I saw something like it at Macy's.) No really. EVERYONE in this movie has a pair. Even the Six-Fingered Man, Count Rugen, and a horde of extras/henchmen: In conclusion, I need to find the costumer for this 1987 classic freaking ASAP, because clearly only she knows how to adequately address the problems that are my C.O.U.S. (Calves of Unusual Size). According to IMDB her name is Phyllis Dalton. Phyllis, if you're reading this, please call me. I have complete faith in you. If you can find boots to fit the calves of Fezzik the Giant, you can find boots to fit me. Srsly. Call me.

It Was the Best of Weekends, It Was the Worst of Weekends ...

Oh, sob. Last week I was in denial of a lot of things, apparently, because all I could force myself to focus on was the fact that it was a Three Day Workweek (any event so momentous deserves title case, my friends). Alas, I did not consider that after my Three Day Workweek, I would: 1. turn 25 2. lose Da-E for one year Yes, I recognize that 25 is actually quite young. But! I am no longer in my early twenties (sob x2) and let's face it, those circles under my eyes aren't getting lighter with age. Plus, after, like, 27, one's stock as a female starts to plunge like ... well, like a stockbroker on Black Tuesday*. And considering the last, oh I don't know, eight years have been pretty much meh ... yeah I gotta get to work on that. However! It was also a supremely wonderful weekend because I spent 99% of it with my true BFFs whom I love with the strength of a thousand suns. I have no pictures as of yet but I will edit them in when I have them ready. First, on Friday Elaine, Jo2, and I helped Jo move into her new apartment. Diana arrived halfway through the day and we immediately put her to work. Grey came up from Philly for the occasion, and thank God he did because moving was more painful and arduous than expected (and I basically expected Hanoi-level torture). However, now the Jos live in the same apartment building (read: it's our new dorm), and it is a beautiful one! All shiny hardwood floors and well-constructed bathrooms and working new appliances and tons and tons of storage space. It's gorgeous. And there is an insanely cheap Chinese bakery across the street with 50-cent cha siu bau and 2-dollar fresh watermelon smoothies, and oh my god I have to move to Brooklyn freaking ASAP. Anyway! So after we moved I went back to Queens to shower and change because I'm stupid and didn't bring a bag. But I'm glad I did, because my friends spent the time making a delicious, delicious surprise feast of all my favorite foods! See pictures, TK below, for scrumptious mac-and-cheese-with-bacon and Jo2's amazing beef-and-potato stout stew. The bacon was such a perfectly salty counterpoint to the melty, oozy, cheese, topped with nicely browned breadcrumbs. Oh my freak. And the the beef chunks basically fell off your fork in tender hunks into a gorgeous, rich dark stout base. No cream, butter, or beer was spared in the making of these foods. Yes this is turning into a foodporn post. And it was as good for me as it sounds. And then, when I went downstairs to Jo1's new apartment to take out my contacts, they turned off the lights and surprised me withthe most delicious homemade chocolate cake with amazing homemade chocolate-buttercream frosting!! (Unfortunately I took my sweet time in the apartment below. I think they waited like 10 minutes with the candles burning.) And THEN they gave me beeeyouteeful presents, such as: Pink Cephalon silicone bakeware! It folds and flops, and doesn't get hot! And you don't need to butter it; the baked cake layers slide right out! I want to use it right now. And the pièce de résistance, this freaking gorgeous Coach bag. I am squeeeing silently to myself right now as I type this. It's even more beautiful than in this picture--the leather next to the hardware is a slightly darker mahogany than the rest of the bag, which is more chestnut, and it's so so so soft and buttery and beautiful. I've talked a lot about butter today, haven't I. Anyway I have the best friends ever. We went to dim sum the next day (Jin Feng = my new chinatown ds place), and then out to Public for dinner and then to Crime Scene and the Park (obvs) that night, and I got supertrashed and don't remember much but it was fun-o. This year I did not become Melancholy Drunk Girl and hang all over Grey (in a platonic, drunken kind of way), although I did apparently become Apologetic Drunk Girl, which frankly is to be expected.** And then on Sunday we got burgers from Big Nick's Burger Joint and took them to the 79th street pier and ate and drank wine while the sun went down. And then played charades next to the river. And we went to Players for soju and squid & nuts, minus the squid because they ran out. Omg. Squeee! Here's all of us at Public except for Andy, who was graciously picture-taking. Actually these are his pix too. Yay Andy! Don't I have the prettiest friends ever? I think so too. They're all gorgeous and mostly single. This is just a drinking picture. Cuz. Drinking is fun. Monday, however, was a day of great and terrible sadness, because we had to say goodbye to Elaine who is leaving for Taiwan. I was going to write more about it, but it's kind of weird to do so because ... well, I mean, she's not dying. She might even be reading this (hi elaine!) and with the wonders of modern technology I can pretend she is in her office on 59th & Lex and soothe my wounded soul. It is, however, definitely the end of a NY era for me. When I first moved to the city, I stayed on Elaine's floor for a whole month while I looked for an apartment. She and her then-boyfriend came out to my mom's car to help me carry my stuff into her room, and I think it was raining although that might be my subconciousness grieving by flavoring the memory. When, after three days at work, I realized that my job was going to bite major a**, she was there to also realize that her job was going to bite. And when, for the first year when we had no other NY friends, we were completely miserable 99% of the time, we would call each other from our respective offices at 9 p.m. on Friday nights have a conversation that went roughly like this: Person 1: Are you still at work? Person 2 : Yes. Person 1 : Me too. How much longer do you have to stay? Person 2: I could seriously stay for another 12 hours. But f*ck this place. I hate it so much. Person 1: Ditto to everything you just said. Let's get out of here and go drink. We are Persons 1 and 2 in this little snippet of dialogue because we were seriously interchangable in our misery. And then we would go to a bar and drink beer and gloomily talk about how awful our bosses were and how working life was terrible, and then we'd cling together in front of the subway stop and say things like "Don't die!" and "OK we can do this!" and part until the next Friday. Alright, enough eulogizing. Da E, Taipei is lucky to have you but come home anytime. *EDIT:Or like a stockbroker on Monday, September 15, 2008. **EDIT 2: Apparently, I did become Melancholy Drunk Girl this year. It was just that "compared to last year, this year you were wayyyy better." Which, like, is not really that much of an improvement. Sorry, Grey!