When V.V. met J.C.

Last Monday my friend cunningly coerced me into accompanying her to Value Village, to which I agreed and simultaneously blew off my hot date with the gym (my sincere apologies to my glutes). Lo and behold, this day just so happened to be the much-anticipated (well, maybe just for me) FIFTY-PERCENT OFF THE ENTIRE STORE SALE!!!! (If I was asthmatic, this would have been the moment when a puffer would be KEY).

Um hello? This is the event I have sexy dreams about.

So naturally, like I imagine occurs to most people when visiting this revered establishment, I experienced mildly dangerous heart palpitations and went BUUUCK WILD.

Mustard colours...yum...or not.

I didn't buy this. I SWEAR.

I go gaga for the pieces that I brought home.

 No later than the next day, the good folks at Purolator showed up at my door with a cardboard box and the key to my heart, A.K.A. my new Jeffrey Campbell combat/grunge boots. If you've never heard of my man J.C., the footwear designer extraordinaire, take a look at the Jeffrey Campbell website (warning: you might want to sit down for this).

I am a self-proclaimed shoe ADDICT and I'd take his creations (and the resulting empty bank account) over rehab any day. 

Yes, they have slits in them "à la knife attack." They're like a serial killer's fetish.

I'm starting a J.C. collection. 2 down, 1000 to go.

 I won't be blogging for an entire week starting Sunday. I'm off to Cuba to celebrate graduation with my best friends and in the meantime, maybe give my skin a good roasting; well-done on both sides please and thank you.

I hope that my resulting "total-body-aloe-vera-coating" healing regimen will make me worthy of the champion's title in the epic battle of "Lisa vs. The Canadian Climate."

Let it be known...Winter, I spite you!

Buenos Noches Amigos