stalkers

A Lady: Fuck. Off.

D: OH MY GOD THOSE LOOK LIKE THEY ARE IN YOUR HOME OH MY GOD OH MY GOD HOW DID THIS HAPPEN

A Lady: Barneys. Warehouse. Sale. 70% off the discounted price.

D: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.

DUDE.

OH MY SWEET JESUS. If I were standing up, I’d have fallen over.

I am just going to make incoherent allcaps noises over here.

Well, I bought $30 worth of Korres lip gloss today so.... WAIT THAT'S NOT THE SAME LEVEL OF GREATNESS AT ALL.

A Lady: Ahahaha. Fuckoff heels! I has them!

Sigh.

D: Ahem, shouldn't I be the one sighing with envy here?

A Lady: Oh, right.

D: So, as per request: the etymology of "fuckoff heels." It is pretty clearly Belgian Waffle, in my brain, but I think it's one of those concepts that most women will immediately understand.

A Lady: See, I've been using it for tech things for years. Such as: "fuckoff stereo."

D: Aha, yes.

A Lady: "A huge fuckoff tv.”

D: "That was one spectacular fuckoff sandwich."

A Lady: Ehhhhhhhh. I object!

D: Cmon. You know that I, of all people, will say "fuckoff sandwich" in the most highly approving manner.

A Lady: There has to be intent to intimidate/proclaim awesomeness.

D: Well, maybe the fuckoff sandwich is HUGE and also you are REALLY hungry.

A Lady: But is it putting other people in awe? I feel like that's the necessary bit. And I have never been in awe of a sandwich. (Have I told you about the pancake-eating competition?)

D: (Ooh no do tell.)

A Lady: (Everyone at brunch, dudes included, ordered the triple stack of plate-sized pancakes.)

D: (Ow Jesus my stomach hurts at the thought.)

A Lady: (The dudes were idiots and got chocolate chips. My friend and I got fruit ones. So it was a race. And I won, hands down. Ate the whole plate in, um, 90 seconds.)

D: (GODDAMN. I am impressed. And a little horrified, so basically DOUBLY impressed.)

A Lady: So you see why the idea of fuckoff food is like, eh.

D: Well, you're you. Meanwhile, I have been in serious awe of food on many occasions. Now I am on a quest for a fuckoff sandwich for illustratory purposes.

A Lady: Ahem, D, back to fuckoff heels. They usually involve some kind of a platform, yes?

D: Note: I think the fuckoff heel is for other ladies.

A Lady: Really? Oh, I wear them for both: dudes, ladies, you can all fuck off.

D: Well, how many straight dudes do you know that would look at the shoe and appreciate it as anything other than "pretty!"?

I mean, everyone can fuck off, but ladies Get It.

A Lady: Naw, I mean, they're sexy shoes, but they make you tall and you can stomp in them.

D: Ah, right-o. So fuckoff heels are 1) tall, and 2) stompy.

I don't feel that a plain black leather pump, no matter how tall it makes me, is really a fuckoff heel, though. Like, if it's pretty much unquestionably work-appropriate, it's not fuckoff.

A Lady: Also, the black pump can tip into fuckme shoes pretty easily.

I wonder if the difference resides in the platform. I feel like if it's sold at Anthropologie, it's not gonna be fuckoff, knaamean?

D: Mmhmm.

A Lady: They have to be stompy.

D: Do they have to be? Or is that just a common thing? Because sometimes there's a difference between a stomp and strut shoe, but I think I have strut shoes that are fuckoff.

A Lady: Hmm. Ok, my verb of choice might be stalk. Catwalk-style.

D: Oooooooh, yes.

Can wedges be fuckoff?

I'd think a fuckoff wedge would have to be 5", or it would just go clunky.

A Lady: There has to be some kind of angle or a tapering.

D: …something that looks just slightly precarious, which makes it all the more fuckoff that one is stalking in them.

A Lady: Exactly.

D: Under no circumstances can one of those pencil-thin stilettos be a fuckoff heel. You cannot stalk in those heels. You can slink, maybe, but not stalk.

A Lady: Yeah, those are totally fuckme territory.

D: Yup. A fuckme heel is meant for minimal walking, yet is also seen in the wild at ill-advised dance clubs. Poor choice, ladies!

A Lady: That's why they can't dance!

D: Also most of the population at those clubs is not known for good decision-making.

cinematic

D: Why yes, I did get tipsy this month at an art opening & decide to go see "Burlesque" by myself.

A Lady: I can't believe you went to “Burlesque” drunk, alone.
I mean, I can.
But: amazing.

D: Ahemmm. Not drunk, tipsy. The art opening ran out of booze before I could get properly drunk.

A Lady: Was it everything I'm hoping it will be?

D: If you hope for a bastard child of “Showgirls”, “Cabaret”, and “Moulin Rouge”.... then YES.
Sequins, bad makeup, tits, and hilarity.

A Lady: OMFG. I need that in my life.

D: I still cannot believe that Alan Cumming was convinced to do that movie.
Also, Cher's face Does. Not. Move.

A Lady: Wait wait wait. Cumming's in it?

D: I KNOW
YES I THOUGHT I WAS SEEING THINGS
BUT HE'S IN IT.

A Lady: Must. See. Now.

D: I believe his first line is "I should wash your mouth out with Jaegermeister for that.”

A Lady: Holy shit, how did I not know that?

D: Best-kept secret of that movie, I swear.
Oh! And Cher has a line like "Did you tell him about the tattoo on my ass?"

Also all the girls in the movie who are not Xtina/Veronica Mars (she’s the Gina Gershon) look like Jessica Simpson.
EVERY. SINGLE. ONE.

Dude, this movie was so worth the $4.

socially clumsy

I can't argue with A Lady on this. She notes:

"D, your dating life is like the social interaction equivalent of a montage of people walking into doors."

book club

It's worth noting that the Trollops' current reading list is Edna Woolman Chase's Always in Vogue and Jay-Z's Decoded. We're well-rounded.

trollops' holiday woes

Email from A Lady:

"I realized today you and I have opposite approaches to overeating: you put on clothing that works around* the offending body part. I put on clothing that I fit into ten pounds ago in order to remind myself to not eat everything in sight. BUT there is strategy involved: jeans where the waistband is so tight that I’m desperately uncomfortable and in a little pain, but a big sweater over it so as not to offend anyone.

It’s like a hair shirt in service of vanity instead of divinity."

*... that is to say that I'm currently wearing the hell out of my loose shift dresses and the two pairs of pants that button.

lippy

D: I have decided that I need a good coral lipstick.

A Lady: Ooh yes you do.

D: And a good violet gloss.

A Lady: ?

D: Not pastel-violet... plum? Something purple-y.

A Lady: .

D: I got into a red rut.

A Lady: .

D: I am taking that “.” as endorsement of this plan, whether you meant it as such or no.

A Lady: Uh huh.
They make berry colors for a reason. S'all I'm sayin’.

D: (My intern is going to come into my office any minute and see me frantically scanning Sephora. This will not surprise anyone.)
I kind of want to go play with this in Audacious Violet.

A Lady: EW. Dude.
Someone has to say it.

D: You never know! When I go play at Sephora, I will take photos. One of us will be proven right.
Hopefully it will be me.

A Lady: .
I know what this will look like. It will look like 1994.

D: Sssssssssh. Naysayer.

A Lady: YOU KNOW I AM RIGHT.

D: I will try it out! I am not saying I'm buying it sight unseen or anything.
…maybe more like a purple-y lipstain?

A Lady: Like a popsicle? or a cadaver? NO.

D: Popsicle.

A Lady: No one wants purple popsicle mouth. Cherry, yes. Grape, no.

D: Damn you, naysayer.

(later)

D: Photographic evidence, L! The selection at Sephora was a wee bit limited, but I fucked off from work this week for a trip over there with a camera.

NARS Shrinagar

Sephora Crush + Dazzling Violet gloss

NARS Bougainville

First of all, yes, I am obviously somewhat lipstick-impaired. Lipstick application is one of those girl-skills that I never acquired.

And second of, I only cropped the photos, no color correction/retouching. I am vain but not a liar.

A Lady: no.

D: Fuck you. I still think I've proven that yes, one can wear purple lips in real life.

A Lady: WRONG.

D: NAYSAYER!
Sigh. Ok, internet. Back me up here. These three purple lip experiments were not unsuccessful, right? Comment and tell me you're on my side.

Ed: FINE. No one has opinions. Way to make us feel alone and unloved, internet. (Setting aside the fact that we are often absent and neglectful and... oh, fuck it. I bought some purple gloss. A Lady can deal with it.)

wishful thinking

D: Um, yes. We are the worst bloggers ever.

A Lady: Sigh. Agreed.

D: Let’s ignore the fact that we are absent and disappointing bloggers and jump ahead like we didn’t accidentally hiatus for, like, three weeks.

A Lady: Yes! Exactly! Let’s get greedy.

D: AKA wishlisting time. This is the best part of holidays: pretending that it’s not a little sad that I, at nearly thirty years old, am still making wishlists.

A Lady: Plus, the Christmas-adjacent birthdays thing. Was this always a pain for you, or a bonus?

D: Oh, always a bonus. My birthday falls three weeks after Christmas, so I’d take the handwritten list off the fridge, carefully cross off all the things I got, leave the un- acquired gifts on the list, and retitle it “Birthday List”. It was all kinds of efficient.

A Lady: Ooh. That’s so clever. My problem has always been of the eleven days prior variety. No, I never know what I want for either holiday. The more important concern is What Do You Want To Do For Your Birthday, and, to be frank I’ve more or less decided to throw in the towel. People are always writing papers or taking finals or already gone home for break and god I resent the academy sometimes.

ANYWAY. What do we want this year, pray tell?

D: I think I can speak for both trollops here when I say “scotch”. Delicious, gorgeous, expensive scotch.

And a table saw would be nice. But probably not recommended to enjoy at the same time as the scotch.

A Lady: And a pony! A Tom Ford-approved pony!


D: And a first edition of “What Shall I Wear”, of course. One must have a well-selected library, naturally.

A Lady: I could always do with a Rothko and a Twombly.

I also feel like either of us would go for the Visionaire boxed edition of Diana Vreeland’s VOGUE memos.
I saw it at Art Basel Miami and pined for a few minutes. The last copy they had on hand was $160 or so. (Which, crap, I should totally have gotten as an investment because on the site they retail at $250 WTF. Not. Worth. It.)

D: Ooooh. That packaging. Swoon.

(I can’t believe you don’t keep a running wishlist through the year. My acquisitiveness knows no bounds: I have a specific list on my calendar just for Things I’d Like To Have Purchased For Me. Sadly, the list only gets longer, not shorter ever. Magpie tendencies.)

A Lady: (I mean, I did, for a hot second, have a running email I was sending to myself to keep track of everything I wanted, but then present time came around and I, um, forgot about it. Because what’s more fun than making life difficult for everyone?)

D: Passive-aggression is everyone's favorite gift.

A Lady: Another thing I could use, since Boswell ate mine, is a new pair of ballet flats. (The
Delmans are dead, long live the cheaper version?) Like these, but in my size.

D: V nice. I can’t believe I haven’t put Improbable Shoes on my wishlist yet. No, my wall of shoes is not quite full yet, and I must remedy that.

FUCKOFF HEELS!
These are insane. And so am I, and thus, it is perfect.

We are so easy to buy gifts for, really.