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Nudists are weird. lisafwf@gmail.com

Monday, July 25, 2011

Intern and Personal Slave for Sale

Last week, the Man Repeller, a.k.a. Leandra Medine, announced that she was looking for an intern. After about three fainting spells, I decided to apply. Here is my man-repeller resume which, hopefully, she will read.

My dearest Man Repeller,

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways...

Well I don't really love thee because I am tragically and biologically inclined to love the male gender (thus, man-repelling becomes imperative) and I hate counting because mathematics is for calculators and I, my friend, abandoned such frivolity when I was a mere schoolgirl because somewhere, deep inside my man-attracted loins, I knew I would need to arm myself (the arm party being my weapon of choice, of course) against mother nature's plan for my empty womb and that the only path towards defending the sanctity of my reproductive organs against the intruding protrusion of the male specimen was to study the ancient and widely unknown art of man-repelling.

Since that day I have been repelling with ever-evolving skill, however, I now feel myself stumbling about in my quest and, accordingly, in my 5-inch platforms; hearing the call of that talking tree in Disney's Pocahontas beckoning me to give in to my pre-ordained baby-making destiny. Now more than ever, I need a mentor to show me the way of a true man-repeller. Now more than ever, I need me a pair of over-sized birth-control glasses.

But why do you need me, you say? Because:

  • I would work my BUM off for you. The implications of this being that I would therefore lack a bum, and would instead possess a continuation of my back where once there WAS a bum. I can recall from the hormone-heavy days of middle school learning that boys do not like a buttocks area which does not permit unbridled groping opportunities. Translation: I would be your wing-man-repeller, like Batman and Robin, Bonnie and Clyde,Thelma and Louise (just please refrain from driving off any cliffs with me in the front seat).
  • I would never steal your shoes but only salivate profusely over them. I thus recommend purchasing some sturdy, water-proof shoe boxes.
  • I blog and play dress-up. I also occasionally eat and sleep. 
  • I am the underdog, namely due to the fact that I live in a town where tractor-causing traffic jams are an everyday nuisance and Abercrombie & Fitch is haute-couture. And who doesn't love an underdog? Cat-lovers, that's who.
  • Like you, I can look REALLY good when I try hard enough. For instance...
    armed and dangerous

  •  This would be a dream-come-true. You could be my fairy godmother and I swear I would never lose a shoe, glass-slipper or not, during a man-fleeing attempt.

And just for good measure, let me show you how I repel...

And so it begins. I have here a see-through (gasp!) white lace top which some would deem "sexy" but which I see as prime man-repellent material. Time to uglify...

Step 1: COVER UP THOSE NIPS in a gold bandeau bra, which, being gold, conjures up in the male-mind images of Goldmember, and therefore the peen, and therefore they will have forgotten that I even HAVE boobs.

Step 2: Slap on a pair of shorts which possess an uncanny resemblance to a baby diaper. Let's call them Pamper's Pants. Some might even say that this picture could be classified as child pornography. Uh oh...

Step 3: Curves, be gone! Dress like a bright yellow square.

Step 4: Forget the arm-party, let's have an arm fiesta! Because every party needs salsa and chips, and at least one obnoxiously large sombrero.

Step 5: Add a fur clutch. Men love dead things on women, right? Right?

Step 7: More jewelry!

Step 8: Tur-baaaaaand. 

Step 9: Wooden clogs and socks to eradicate any thoughts of dainty feet.

Bippidy Boppidy BOO! Man-repellant, you done good! No babies for me!

And if that was not enough to convince you of my man-repelling prowess, consider that I am a superbly awkward 5 feet, 3 inches, ergo, optimal mini-me material. Think about it, there could be a midget following you around every day of the week! 

Together, let us combat the overpopulation of the planet and instill in the male psyche a deep fear of fur, fringe, bow-ties and grandpa sweaters. 

Friday, July 22, 2011

Kevin Costner is my muse

Harking back to the good o'l days when movies on my viewing roster included The Sandlot, The Swiss Family Robinson,  and Thoroughly Modern Millie, the lessons I learned as a young gamine from library movie rentals have stuck with me as a recovering adolescent and apparent adult and will now proceed to critically inform my future success in the fashion world, guiding me through major decisions such as, what shoes should I buy next?! I KNOW, these are pivotal choices!

So where do I turn at such urgently decisive moments? Somewhere, buried deep in my unconsciousness, the voices in Kevin Costner's head from Field of Dreams echo throughout me, whispering, "If you build it, they will come."

So now I gotta BUILD something to satisfy my shoe fetish? No way, Jose, Alberto, Alejandro and Miguel. Instead, I've decided to put a lil' Lisa-twist on these wise words, committing to running 3 times a week for 4 weeks and upon successful completion of this here goal, I shall reward myself with these suckas...

Now, some of you Negative Nancy's may find such an ambition laughable. That is until you consider that I hate, despise and thoroughly loathe running other than to escape a rapidly approaching forest fire or to experience a highly-anticipated instance of bladder relief.

I'm almost through with week 1. And because my mommy taught me better, I will never lie to you or to myself if I miss a run. Hey, it may not be a baseball diamond full of deceased players, but I'm gonna build a better bod and a vastly improved-upon shoe collection. Let's get sweaty.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Tackle the Trend: Get your cowboy on!

I had originally hoped to post this........uh......post during the Calgary Stampede for its obvious affiliation with the theme and widely agree-upon dress-code of the famous outdoor show. What is that theme? Cowboys and Cowgals! 

And with the influx of the wild wild west onto the fashion runways, the time has come to incorporate some southwestern-chic into your look. But how can you accomplish such a feat when, like myself, you shudder at the sight of outfits comprised of cowboy hat and boot duos?

With courage in my heart and valor in my soul, I took on this trend with a vintage cowboy lariat necklace that I excavated and exhumed from a tiny knick-knack store LADEN TO THE CEILINGS with what I could politely call TOTAL CRAP. What the hell is a lariat necklace? Well, I don't really know, but it's kick-ass and it can double as a mustache!

See, disturbingly long facial hair AND it's totally trendy

And BOOM CHACALACKA! I'm a modern-day Annie Oakley with less body-odour (presumably). And you can be too! Hit up your local, unassuming vintage shop for a similar necklace and then bathe daily. 
So you see, fashion is not just a frivolous sport. It encourages fearlessness and a stringent hygiene regimen.  
Trend = tackled

Saturday, July 16, 2011

From the Nation's Capital to the Fashion Capital

I took a little trip to some cities with some fellas. Brand spankin' new Panasonic-G3 in tow, it went a little like this...

comme des garçons

mustard is a menace

galactic screen, galactic tee

holy moly trendy boy!
hustle, bustle, kerfuffle

at a crossroad

stomach-ache enducing

A little enlightenment at the table

nice facial

mug shot
And the quest for the ultimate fashion school wages on.

I'm in a pickle really, a DILL pickle if you must know. In one corner, we have Vancouver (where the risk of acquiring hypothermia is low, yet the risk of debt-enforced poverty is likely, perhaps guaranteed) and in the other, Montréal (where losing at least one toe to frost-bite is a given, yet my prospective dirty french accent can only blossom and grow).

So,which educational institution will be crowned winner of thousands of OSAP dollahs under my name? Stay tuned kids...the showdown commences!