Stephanie Gayle

In today's American culture shoes have been used all too often as some sort of magic talismen for women. Got man troubles? Buy some sexy heels! Lost your job? Buy some kick ass riding boots! Just been diagnosed with a disorder that requires six months of strict bed rest? Buy some feathered mules! Yes!

I don't buy the whole fetishization of shoes. This may be because I have misshaped feet that require size 11 shoes or because I'm above such trivial nonsense. Ahem. However today I saw this and my heart did indeed go pitter pat.

How awesome is this?! A shoe wheel! It's the coolest storage solution for shoes I have ever seen. Want. Never mind that mine will not be filled with pastel pumps but instead dirty-toed size 11 sneakers. Want.

I won't have to use the bottom shelf of my bookshelf to stack all my shoes inside. Instead I can put them in the wheel. It conjures up images of game shows AND hamsters.

You can purchase it here if you too are overwhelmed with shoe wheel desire.

P.S. Just read that you have to assemble the shoe wheel yourself and tat it is not easy. Damn it! This latest blow makes me want to...eat chocolate. (Did you really think I was going to say 'buy shoes'?"

Posted by Stephanie at 07:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Today I added fresh blueberries to my blueberry yogurt.
That's what I call kicking it up a notch.

Posted by Stephanie at 09:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Since I've begun looking for a new apartment (wah) I've seen some pretty interesting ads. There's the one with the ever-changing subject lines that ends with "must be okay with kink." Uh huh. That place isn't far (geographically) from where I live. And then there are the ones with about 36 bullet points highlighting attributes NOT desired in a future roommate and ending with a story about how someone they knew once got a paroled murderer as a roommate using Craigslist (unwittingly). Yikes. Then there are the ones from older men (some with headshots) offering to show younger, female roommates the city's sights, if they are new to Boston. Run, ladies. But I think I found my favorite today. It offered house sharing privelges rent free in exchange for house sitting and some errands. The proposed roommate? A thirty-something nudist female who insists potential roommates be comfortable with a "clothing free environment." She inists on no emails but instant messaging instead. At night. Uh huh.

Who needs the personals ads with listings like these?

Posted by Stephanie at 06:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Oh man. I just discovered My Milk Toof
It's constructed around the premise of the author's baby teeth, Ickle and Lardee, going on adventures.
The teeth are adorable .

Check it out.

Posted by Stephanie at 02:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The spinner on the washing machine keeps refusing to behave so when I pull my clothes from the washer they are sopping wet. This requires much fiddling with the dial and prayer. Neither remedy seems very effective. So then I dry my clothes at too high a temperature for a long time and end up shrinking some of them. All of this while in the comfort of the cobwebby, damp basement that lacks only a serial killer hiding in the shadows to give it exactly the right shade of horror ambiance.

And yet...it is a washer and dryer in our house. I've been apartment hunting. Every time it is revealed that the "super convenient laundry" is across the street and requires quarters my heart falls several stories. No way. When I was twenty-five I resolved no more sleeping on futons. I was sleeping on real mattresses from now on. I am now at an age where laundromats hold zero appeal. Hauling bags or baskets of laundry outside to launder? No. Just no.

I guess I should make sure the next place I live has in unit laundry AND that the spin cycle functions properly. So much to do...

Posted by Stephanie at 07:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I don't own a car. I have never owned a car. But the other day I was riding in one. (Stranger+candy=old story). And it came to me: the single greatest idea ever. Instead of adding flashy rims or booming stereo systems to your car to attract attention (and the ladies--am I right, fells?) try this: put some babies on your car. Strap 'em to the roof or the panels. Maybe place on one the back window. You will get attention. Pronto. And everyone and his police chief will want to know where you got your babies. But you're no fool. So you just sit back, smirk, and say, "That's my secret. You've got to find your own."

You might wonder why I'm giving this best idea away for free. It's because I love you. Very much.

Posted by Stephanie at 08:24 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Some days I wish I was child again. People are expected to feed you. You think money is kind of magical. You don't have a job. Sigh. Good times. But every now and again I'm reminded of why it's good to be an adult. Urban Outfitters sent me one such reminder in the mail the other day.

Here it is:

See? If I was a kid I *might* just think that outfit is acceptable, nay, cool. And I might buy it and wear it. But due to the adult powers of reason and discernment I can understand that at no time in history is this outfit a good idea.

Thanks, wisdom of years. I owe you one!

Posted by Stephanie at 04:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)