My boots

My da got me my very first pair of Doc Martens when I was in high school. Before them I was a sneaker-clad miscreant of fashion. My Docs made me feel really bad-ass. They brought a newfound confidence and a slight increase in height. I felt good in them. After that all encompassing emotion of goodness, I decided that bitch couture is my niche. The blacker the better.

Over the years my wardrobe has become a sea of lush black fabric. Satanist. Goth. I’ve been called it all. I proudly brandished my black flag and shunned the unbelieving masses when they tried to put me in a box. Enter my very first pair of platform boots, pictured here in all their splendor. I was inches taller. The leather wrapped around my legs seductively. The buckles tightened around them and I was ready to kick heads in. I felt… powerful. They are quite the statement, these boots. I’ve mended them countless times and wear their wounds with pride. I could be wearing an enormous macaroni box with these babies gracing my feet and my ego would know no limits.

Yes, yes. It is merely a character augmentation. A superficial one but I do so enjoy expressing my demeanor and creativity through my dress code. I put effort into my appearance because I like the way I look. They say clothes maketh the man but darling, boots uplift the woman.

An easy going blog piece tonight. I’m all jacked up on pork chops and chai tea. It’s clocking 11pm in South Africa and I have nothing but time and pork fat on my hands. As you were.

My humps

Not all people at work are assholios but it just takes one… One elevator crusader that deems my attire inappropriate for mom-life. Hell, I wasn’t even showing boob. Flowy dress and boots with upside down crosses on them are office-chíc, no? Am sure the crosses were meant to be the right way around but they are from the Town of Chinas after all. LOL. I am… less confrontational than I was before. I am… not the man I used to be. I enjoy using that phrase. I could have ripped her face off with floral slander and sensual sarcasm but instead I just stood there slurping my coffee. She asks ‘Did you hear me?’… I ignore her. Slurp some more. She pokes my bare shoulder with her penis-shaped finger. In a fit of unbridled anger, I threw the remnants of my brown mana potion onto her floral dress and glide out of the elevator which made a perfectly timed stop. I’ve been working really hard on my temperament-fueled actions and this sloth of a woman made me regress. I want to be a calm, rational lady-person in my borg’s life but hot damn the sheep are testy testicles of late. Sigh.