Big ole cheapskate

I'm not a big jewellery wearer, as most people know. Every now and then I'll slap on a cheap necklace, or funky earrings, but they usually end up in a cup holder or purse pocket before I reach my destination. I like the look on other people, but just can't seem to pull it off, not to mention, the feel of something pulling my ears off, or choking me is NOT pleasant.

SO...I've been toying with an idea.

I've never been one for fancy. Keep your prada shoes, fake nails, and coach bags.

However, I LOVE my blue topaz wedding ring, and really admire my Barry for getting his wedding band tattooed on his finger.

Why not do that? Why not tattoo something with a shade of blue on my finger? And while I'm at it, why not get a little flower or peace symbol tattooed on my ear lobes? I'd never have to stress about jewellery again!!

SHOULD I???? Big decision.

I'll keep y'all informed.

Should I or Shouldn't I?

I don't have a cell phone. I know. I KNOW.

There are a few good reasons I don't have one. For one, people might call me. Another, they may TEXT me. And obviously, they're expensive.

However, I also do not own an i-pod, my digital camera's batteries die every 5 minutes, and my last good watch is leaving some nasty tan lines. Not to mention, silly Barry took Nuvi (my GPS) to Niagara Falls with him, so I can't venture further than Altona for the next week. To be honest, last time she helped me out, she led me down some back roads out east where I swear I could hear banjo music playing eerily in the ditches. I also swear that when she repeatedly said "recalculating, recalculating" about 40 times, I could detect tone. And quite frankly, I didn't appreciate that.

So.
I was wondering if maybe I should consider getting a cell phone? Y'ALL know that you can have every single one of those features in your phone? SERIOUSLY. And I just read somewhere today that soon you'll be able to pay for a bucket of chicken with your cell phone. That's right. They can program your credit card information right into your phone now which totally sounds safe to me.

So anyhoo. I figured I was always pretty radtacular as a youngster, why stop now? If I could master the Sony Walkman or the Polaroid instamatic, I'm surely ready for a blackberry, right?

I'm sure there's some kind of medication out there for my fear of phones which, by the way, is TOTALLY A LEGITIMATE MEDICAL CONDITION.

Tidbits from my Brain

I was just thinking…

This weekend was awesome; Barry is a good Mothers Day husband and my kids ROCK at it. I got a beautiful necklace with their names and birthstones and a great big fat book to read.

Kim brought the BEST chocolate covered strawberries over for Trivial Pursuit on Saturday night and I cannot stop thinking about them. They were the best EVAH.

Everyone keeps posting the most beautiful pictures of their babies on facebook and I WANT ONE!! Not a child. Just a baby. A cute one.

Summer is nearly here, so I need to lose about 5 pounds, get a fabulous tan and paint my toes. AND…I’m almost done work! YAY!! I hope to drink plenty of Bud Lites, eat burgers, and hang out with my buddies ALL summer.

I may or may not put in my garden this weekend. I have decided not to get all drama queenie about my garden this year. WILL NOT STRESS. Will not plant unnecessary things. Will not plant things I do not like. Will allow occasional weeds. (maybe)

My new PC is wondrous. It has supergiant Mah-Jong tiles (which is my favourite game)!! It is faster than the speed of light AND…I have been staring at the screen a lot. Just staring. I even opened it up to check out the motherboard. We’re just getting to know each other. I guess it’s like the honeymoon phase. SHHHH…don’t tell old PC.

My birthday is coming. I can Feeeeeel it!

OBAMANIA

Today was Remembrance Day. And I didn’t actually have a moment of silence at 11 am, not because I’m disrespectful, but mostly because I was in bed with my flu stricken son. HOW’S THAT FOR AN EXCUSE, Y’ALL???

I did however DO a lot of remembering and reflecting throughout the day. And that led me to thinking about the current situation overseas. The world is aflutter with hope right now with Barack Obama as the upcoming president next door. I am no exception to this, but I do however worry when I see so much anticipation and hope flooding through the entire planet. Call me pessimistic…lord knows I’ve been called worse, but are we building ourselves up for disappointment?

All’s I’m saying is he better not “tear up” our NAFTA agreement!

He better bring some friggin peace already!!

He better reverse that anti-gay marriage thingy!!

AND…I sure hope those assassination threats are a big ole hoax.

Ahh dangfrick. I have hope too. Can’t help it.

It’s like Obama is the new Santa Claus and I am sending him a wish list!!

15 Things I'll Never Do

1. Wear rubber boots with a skirt. Not ever.

2. Say no to an Easter Cream Egg.

3. Shop at Abercrombie and Fitch. I swear, those saleskids are zombie clones! (That’s why they keep it so dark and creepy in there!)

4. Attend a Tony Robbins convention. (He may also be some sort of alien creature, not sure…)

5. Watch a Rocky or Rambo movie marathon. Sorry husband.

6. Work at a hamburger restaurant because I freakin LURVE hamburgers. With bacon. So I will not work at a bacon restaurant either.

7. Stop wearing my disgusting gardening pants.

8. Wash my disgusting gardening pants.

9. Go pants or bra shopping with my BFF, Mary. And, I might add…I wish that upon no one.

10. Wish that I were ten again so I could convince everyone that I were marrying one of the stupid Doofus Brothers as I plastered his poster all over my walls.

11. Turn down a hug from the son who calls me beautiful sweetheart when he gets out of the van to go to school in the morning.

12. Admit to owning a Clay Aiken CD….oh, snap.

13. Dry clean my clothes. WELL…geez, I’m not a rich person. Does it look like I eat dinner at 9 or play the stock exchange? Gosh.

14. Eliminate meat from my diet. Y’all know how I love me a juicy meat cow.

15. Choose a Kashi granola bar over chocolate.

Flu-Zilla

Bragging about how healthy I am and how I rarely get sick has obviously come back to bite me in my easter-creamy-egg-dimpled ass.

Now, if you know me, you’re expecting me to blame someone. And trust me I’m tempted. I want to blame the snotty, disgusting, little school children who hork loogies into mid air when they sneeze or the yucky skating rink full of creepy, raging, viral, plague germs. But I’m above that, oh yes I am.

I recognize that it’s my fault that I haven’t washed my floors in a decade, or spent more than one night a week at home relaxing in two whole months. The fact that I have been existing on a diet of quarter pounders and easter cream eggs may also have something to do with it. Who knows.

I have lost my sense of smell so it’s okay that I no longer shower and the greasy hairdo I’ve acquired works wonders when you want it to stand straight up off your sweaty back.

I’ve learned to communicate with Barry using grunts and groans when I need soup, back rubs, or consolation ice cream.

I’ve now missed three days of school and am only today starting to feel a mere bit better.

My skin hurts. My hair hurts. I LOVE to whine.

Yes, I am the idiot-tard who brought this superflu on herself. But please, I still want yer pity.

Green is the New Black

So, I’m looking to save the planet these days. ALL BY MYSELF, since silly Graham Dad is busy with catching bad guys and watching UFC’s and stuff.

I already don’t use a dishwasher, bought some crazy efficient light bulbs and promise not to throw Styrofoam in the fire again. (sorry about that)

Now I just need someone to go to Bootlegger and buy me some of these super awesome bags I saw there the other day. They’re about ten bucks each and look sort of like this. PLEASE BUY ME ONE.

So yeah, I know, I have a long ways to go. But don’t we all? At least I don’t drive a Hummer.

Masking Nutrition

So, tomorrow night is parent council meeting night. Which is fine. Except as usual, I have procrastinated and have no idea whatsoever what kind of hot lunch I will be presenting to our precious pupils for November.

Now here is the problem. School boards are outlawing all the main food groups like pop, chocolate and chips, and replacing them with the new age fad crap like 100% fruit juice, vitamin water and wood chips. Did I say wood chips?? I meant wheat crisps. And if y’all saw the Echo last week, it reported that the parent councils support and reflect this with THEIR choices. Ahemm….ha ha ha….

I’ve tried, people. Last couple years, I tried serving veggie platters, chicken wraps, and taco salad. I even tried to trick the little buggers by calling the veggie platter “a special picnic lunch!” They didn’t buy it. Not one bit.

The only successes I’ve had are with your good ol’ mac and cheese (I swear that stuff is radioactive), greasy pizza, anything that tastes similar to a fistful of sugar, chicken nuggets and fries. All of course, with globs of ketchup.

I need a healthy lunch idea that will have the parents and teachers oohing and aahing at my nourishment expertise whilst tricking their offspring into thinking it’s better than a fried KFC leg doused in chocolate ice cream.

I would love to go organic, free-range, hormone and antibiotic-free, but as I do not have dreadlocks or partake in the ganja, I think it’s best we start out simple.

So fellow internets – give me a solid idea. One that I will tout as my own and present it to the school board soldiers as they get enriched by my greatness.

Disclaimer: For those who STILL don’t get my sarcasm, I fully support and encourage healthy eating and am mostly aware that chocolate is not a food group.

Goddess in my own right!

Yes, it’s true. I am domestically challenged.

I figured if you can roast a mean chicken and bake a cake from a box, you’re good.

But NOOOOOOOOO. Apparently the gods of great-grandmothers’everywhere, are on to me. Hanging out with the “other mothers” as I affectionately call them has brought up the rather embarrassing and WAY TOO FREAKING FREQUENT questions.

Them : So, what kind of yeast do you use for your whole wheat bread?

Me: Umm….Is that a Wonderbread product??

Them : Did you sew those curtains yourself?

Me : Yeah, and the flimsy purple power ranger costume that Oscar is wearing for Halloween this year is also my creation. Really. I made it with my Superstore machine!!

Them : What kind of canning did you do this year? Did you make peach jam?

Me : Screw off, Martha Stewart. I BUY my condiments. (K fine, I didn't actually SAY these answers but I angrily barked them inside my head.)

I don’t sew, make breathtaking crafts, or throw lavish parties with hors d’hoeuvres that don’t come out of a box in the freezer.

My meager garden has about 4 basic vegetables and sometimes the kids have to take Snak-Paks (shout out to snak-pak inventor!) to school.

Ideally, I’d like to be one of those mothers who grows all her own food, bakes her own bread, whilst gently nurturing her children in an environment of educational bliss. And the charming high heeled wife who naturally converses and chortles among her husbands business colleagues about the Dow Jones and Syria’s nuclear developments.

But not today. Or tomorrow. Sorry, my disappointed internets. It most probably won’t be happening.

However, I may switch from Dream Whip in a can to the powdered stuff. Just don’t push me!

For Sale - My right to say NO!

Over the many years of my adult life, I’ve attended many ridiculous direct selling parties. I don’t think “party” is the term I would use for these “suck all your female friends into buying crap with a 500% markup so Sheena doesn’t have to get a real job” events. However, that is what they call them. You’ve all been to them…(okay well maybe not the men), but ladies, you’ve attended at least one Tupperware/Party-lite candle/Pampered Chef/Silk Plants/Mary-Kay/Weekender Clothing …etc…BARF…part-ay.

Well these fancy soirees just aren’t my bag. Don’t get me wrong, I love to go eat tiny crackers, cheese and cutesie little spring rolls, whilst we gossip about the new neighbour and her real or fake bustline… BUT…seriously, are you a true friend if you want me to spend $20 on a little box of tealite candles? Or $50 on a plastic cereal container? How bout $100 on a polyester vest that my great-grandma might have liked? Especially when you KNOW that I love to find me a sale at good old Target and can get all the above crap for less than 20 bucks and still throw in a bag of Doritos. And don’t EVER say, “oh silly, you don’t HAVE to buy anything…just COME…it’ll be loads of fun!”…I know that as soon as I’m out the door, you’re bitching about what a cheapskate I am.

So I’m sorry friends. I’m not going to go to your selling parties and feel pressured to buy a large amount of crap I don’t need just to get you to your sales goal so you can get a free votive or measuring cup.

Please feel free to invite me to your wedding/baby showers, anniversary parties, or plain old catching up with coffee nights, and I will jump at the chance. Just don’t invite me to something where I’ll feel like a bonehead if I don’t hand over my cash for useless crap.

P.S. I hope I still have friends!!

Bring Home Our Canadian Troops

Why are we still there?

The news of more Canadian soldiers killed in Afghanistan last week brought tears to my eyes. My naïve little heart has gotten to the point where I can’t even watch the TV reports. I know it’s callous and perhaps a tad ignorant to say we don’t belong there, however, I continue to struggle with the following points:

• We did not invade them and blow everything to oblivion; however we are the ones left with the mess. Where are the U.S. troops? Too busy annihilating Iraq and plotting against Iran? Are we going to go clean up those countries after the U.S. bullies them into submission?

• Is it realistic to believe that our gentle hearted Canadian forces can rebuild a corrupt society that does not want our help? We will never entirely eliminate the Taliban. They will always rise.

• How did the Canadian troops get the shitty deal of being the closest ones stationed to Kandahar – the heart of the Taliban?? Put the f*cking American troops in there!! Let our guys go build bridges on the borders and teach them to farm. WE are a peacekeeping and rebuilding people.


I can’t wrap my head around supporting a mission that sees our brave sons/daughters/brothers/sisters risking and losing their lives for a battle they cannot win. Small victories in various Afghani provinces do not compensate for the lives lost and the reality that this mission will not turn Afghanistan into a society rebuilt in Canada’s image.

Paris Hilton WUZ NOT HERE!

Want to know how to offend Heather?? HEHE...I wrote this after a friend said that I was too high maintenance, just like her! HAHA...NO. Imported from April 2006.

Don't call me high maintenance. For I am not.
I won't buy the name brands as they are charging one hundred dollars for a scruff of a shirt that was made by a small poor child with insects crawling on his face. If it cost more than 30 bucks, it's not in my closet.
I don't want diamonds. Never did. If I ever get married again, I would want a simple silver band with a little blue topaz in it. 300 bucks MAX.
I don't drive a fancy car. I can't afford it. And if I could, the money would be spent on my children's education, not some big giant rims on a big giant suburban.
Yeah, I wear makeup. So what? It's my right and I don't care if you don't like girls that wear make-up. Come see me sometime in the morning and you'll be beggin for a little blush.
I don't have fake nails, fake boobs, hair extensions, or carry a poodle in my $2500 Prada purse.
I don't drink fine wines or eat sushi or talk to waiters like they are beneath me.
I'm happiest in my flower bed with dirt beneath my nails, Serena Postel blaring in my headphones whilst I spit sunflower seeds all over my paint chipped deck. In the background, my kids are gathering twigs for a wiener roast in my simple little fire pit. There's no lush carpet or thousand count thread sheets in this old house. And there never will be. It's just not me.
So tell me, friend, what made you accuse me of being "too high maintenance" for most??
Maybe those of us who are comfortable in our own skin are too intimidating for those who are not.



Yeah, this is the extent of a Heather Graham temper tantrum. Write a furious blog that you know your computerless "friend" will never read.

Riding in bandwagons with boys

I don't usually tackle anything that may cause too much controversy in my blogs since I am a big baby and refuse to argue with anyone. Well, maybe sometimes I do. Like today.
Browsing through various social networking profiles can sure educate us on the reality of society today. Especially our teens and twenty-somethings...
For instance, I sure enjoy watching some of them jump on a cause before committing themselves to the full extent of it and examining the facts from all angles.
I giggle at the cool kids who will rant in their "all about me" sections how they love puppies, world issues, and thunderstorms. Hmm....which one does not belong?
I shake my head at the do-gooders completely against animal testing whose grandparents may be undergoing chemo or radiation treatments to stop their vicious cancer from spreading.
We all want to save the children in Darfur but we're too busy buying a Gucci purse that's hotter or newer than those of the other girls we go clubbin' with.
I especially love the vegans whose pictures show them wearing a wool sweater, a string of pearls and tons of mascara and hair dye!
And do you wonder if the giant rock on princess's left finger was purchased with the guarantee that it was a conflict-free diamond?

All I'm saying, is we ought to really listen to what we're saying sometimes. We end up looking like fakes and hypocrites, and trust me, I'm not excluding myself in this category, heck, I don't even recycle!

Me and my nasty habits - A housewife's cry for help!

A few months ago, I saw a show on my favorite network, (TLC) called Clean Sweep. For those of you who’ve never seen it, it’s about a team of psycho organizational freaks who come into a home and help you throw out your junk and set up a system for keeping your messy home, well…tidy.
The show has been burning a hole in my wee brain, because, well, if you’ve ever been in my home, you know that I am the tiara-wearing queen of clutter, mess and disarray. (Hubby is too, minus the tiara, of course.)
I’m the type of person who runs around chaotically throwing fitness magazines, unpaid bills, glued together scissors, broken Polly Pocket doll legs, hot wheel car parts and/or empty lipstick tubes quickly into my bedroom at the first hint of company coming.
The result?
A bedroom fit for swines who love to collect junk and can’t walk from the closet to the bed without stepping in a half completed photo album or pencil crayon box full of unlabeled burnt CDs.
I don’t know why I’m like this. Maybe I was dropped in a basket of odds and ends too many times as a child…but alas, this is ME. And I try, guys, I really do! I WANT to be neat.

My dream is that people who love and care about me (which isn’t a lot, I think there’s only two people who either truly like me or read my blogs anyways,) will come one day all intervention-style and hold me down as they toss out my beloved birthday cards from when I turned 22, movie ticket stubs from first dates of boys who I don’t care to remember, teddy bears losing their stuffing, knives that just don’t cut it, half-burnt candles, wardrobe pieces dating back to the late 80’s (NO, wait, MUST keep those), Pez dispensers, football shaped piggy banks…blah, blah, freaking, blah….and the list could be like 4 or 36 more pages…

Since this obviously isn’t going to happen, I’m going to go out and buy a few more giant containers that hold everything in the world and I’m going to set a date.
So, Barry, if you read this…and you will because you are one of the aforementioned two who is forced to read everything thing I write, we have a Clean Sweep Date.
Bring cheezies and non-alcholic beer. And prepare yourself. I am throwing out your football shaped piggy bank.

Everyone has a pair of fat pants. EVERYONE.

So, friends of mine may or may not have heard about the Easter Cream Egg incident and what it led to. Those of you who don’t know, well, …umm…I really enjoy them and well, I put on over 10 pounds during the Easter season while they were available. Seriously, it’s a good thing I’m not addicted to nicotine or heroine because I would be a madwoman. (ask my husband, and he’ll tell you I WAS a madwoman when the cream egg stash would run out. He feared me.)

Well, that aside, here is the problem. I can’t get into any of my jeans. You remember how nothing came between Brooke Shields and her Calvins back in 1980? Well, I had a pair like that. My most favorite pair is a cute faded ripped up boy cut style that I purchased last spring and do you think I can get them on? NO. It’s like stuffing a hippo into a doghouse. Ask my friend Rehannon. She’s seen me try and nearly peed laughing.

I dread the jean shopping. The tiny dressing prisons with the falsified skinny mirrors and the hyper Lindsay Lohanish salesgirl gushing about how they look SOOO fabulous on me.
I fear for those poor salesgirls as I imagine myself tearing out of the dressing room with 6 pairs of jeans draped around my body yelling “RARRRRR” and going crosseyed with a psycho grin on my face.

I don’t want jeans with some silly butterfly or flower decal draped over one side of them as I do not have a pair of roller skates and a comb for the back pocket to go with them.
I also don’t want any super-low rise rapper girlz jeans because I can now pull off the muffin top spillage like nobody’s business.
And please don’t tell me to buy some high-waisted pleated pantalons because although I DO want to hide my jiggle baby belly (yes I hang on to it for sentimental reasons!!), I just can’t go there yet. I may be 32 but please, my maturity level is only hovering around 23 or 24.

So for now, I’m hoping to eat only celery and lettuce for the next few weeks in hopes to get back into the jeans I love more than my cat. If you see me out and about, I’ll probably be wearing my oversized muddy gardening pants, since they are the only thing that doesn’t make me feel like a kidney is about to slip out.
My sincerest apologies.
(On the upside, I think I have boobs now!)

Please sir, can I have some nukes?

I've decided to allow a couple of my political blogs on here, as they are pretty tame. This one was written October 10 2006


Dear North Korea,

We're sorry that President Bush called you evil.
We're sorry that Rumsfeld probably sold you your nuking gear.
We're also sorry that we have a prime minister that has regular play dates with Bush.
We really hope you're messing with us when you say you have missiles that can reach America.
We also hope that you were just f*cking around with your buddies when you tested your so-called nuclear bomb the other night. (YES, WE BELIEVE YOU NOW!!!)
And specifically to Kim Jong ll, we are sorry for not feeding your attention starved ego lately, we've been busy helping Bush plot against Iran and cleaning up the messes we made in the Middle East playground. Maybe if you had a bucket of oil, we would play with you more often!!

Finally, it would be wise if you would put your efforts into helping your impoverished country's economy rather than sinking all your money into silly old nukes. Y'know, I'm just saying...

Love and Hugs,

Canada (country north of USA, that does what it's told)

Spirited Energy

This blog was written June 19 2006

Phew....what a relief! I no longer need to be friendly. Now my licence plate will read "Spirited Energy". And I ask, do we need to be drunk for that?

Anyways, this really tops my list for stupid crap now. It's already cost taxpayers $600000 and is estimated to cost over $2 million when all slogans and crap are done.

But fear not my friends, as Gary Doer insists that now everyone will know what Manitoba has to offer. We're more than just friendly folk with bitter winters and killer mosquitos. This new slogan and ad campaign will tell everyone about our creative edge.

Personally I would have voted for " Manitoba - Uncomfortably Close to Ontario".

How much does this suck? I was content being friendly. Now I gotta come up with some energy. And spirit? eww.

Why Swim with the Sharks?

Why Swim with the Sharks?

Is your brand new black acura really going to bring you more happiness than your kid-filled old rusty mini-van with cheezie crumbs, baby wipes and the off key warbling of “The Wheels on The Bus go Round and Round”?

If you put that Ikea retro-modern dressoir and candelabra in your living room, do you think your kids will remember when they’re adults that you took their ugly stained Winnie-the-pooh foam chairs away just so their Dad’s new boss would be impressed when he came over for dinner parties? Where will they play board games now? Why can’t they have popcorn anymore on the new shag white carpet on family movie night?

Is it really going to be better if you take your kids to the most expensive amusement park like your neighbours did, rather than spending a weekend camping and learning about nature and telling campfire stories?

What is the point of dressing your children in Gap or Abercrombie? Do you think the other kids and parents will like them better? What are you teaching your children about the value of a dollar if you spend 30 dollars on a shirt rather than 10 dollars for one just as good that doesn’t have a stupid name on it. And when you stop and think about it, wouldn’t you rather your children (and yourself for that matter) gain the friendship and respect of others based on their attributes rather than the clothes they wear? Maybe that extra 20 dollars you spent on the Gap shirt could be put towards sponsoring a foster child. Think about what THAT would teach your child!

My point is this:

If you spend all your time, money and effort trying to attain the things you think will make you happy or impress others, you may find that you missed out on the things that make life REALLY beautiful.
Don’t get me wrong. I like nice things too. (especially plants!!) We all do. In fact, I just got a new living room suite. So every now and then, I’ll probably go back and re-read this just to keep myself grounded.
However, I see so many people around me trying to outdo one another. If the Jones’ have this or that, we think we MUST get one too. And maybe even a newer model, just to make them jealous..snicker snicker…
My home is my fortress…it is beautiful to me for memories like Oscar’s first wobbly little steps, Shelby’s dislocated elbow from trying to do a WWE suplex on her Daddy, and the abstract artworks hung strategically all over the walls by Shelby and Oscar Graham.
I may not have all the neatest toys or most expensive things, but I am blessed beyond belief for the beauty in my home, yard and family.

In God we Trust, All Others, We Virus Scan

This blog was written April 3, 2006


My parents, who are older than Father Time himself, finally got themselves a computer. And let me tell you, they know NOTHING about them. Something as simple as hitting ENTER after a finished document, is completely foreign to them. So of course, I, being the sweet and darling daughter that they love the most, set it all up for them and got them going on the internet.
.*BIG MISTAKE*....
My Mom calls me the other day in a panic, "heather, we got one of those virus thingies!! The monitor went all black with a colored flag that says 'windows' floating all over the place!!!"
"Mom...calm yourself. That's the screen saver, now move your mouse and let me go back to bed."
My Dad can't figure out the whole email thing. I checked my own email on their computer other day. He says " WHOA....how did you get your e-mail into OUR computer?" I had no response.
I told them I was going to get them a free virus protection program and they looked at me like they needed protection from the Avian Flu.

Poor dear fools.

Here's the skinny on skinny jeans

This blog was written September 28, 2006


When skinny jeans hit the fashion scene awhile back, I thought they were pretty darn cute. And I figured that I would have to follow the trend because all the "cool" kids had them. So I went shopping, hoping to come home looking all slender and sexy like this.



Apparently it doesn't work for short, full-hipped Norwegians like me, as I came out looking like a sausage mcmuffin. Kinda more like this.



Some fashion trends should not be followed for the greater good of society. And I get that.

Here's to wearing what looks good and not what Nicole Ritchie says is cool.
Damn you to fashion icon heck, Nicole. You need a few Mars bars, you look like a bug-eyed baby ostrich.