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Christian Louboutin Coussinet Platform Slingbacks For the Monday

Manolo says, it is Monday and you are back doing that thing that you do during the week, but now filled with chocolate and jelly beans, and more honey-baked ham than was perhaps advisable to eat.

But, other than the lingering side effect of the mild marshmallow peep poisoning, it was the very good holiday weekend, although, this morning has been somewhat marred by the knowledge that Danielle Steel owns 6,000 pairs of the Christian Louboutin fancy-lady shoes.

6,000 pairs of the Christian Louboutins!

And here you are with only only two pairs, both of which are hand-me-downs from your crazy insane friend Ericka, and which, because of that, do not fit so well.

But, such is the nature of life, in which the crazy sexy people and the obsessive-compulsive writing people who dress up like the duchesses in the Eloise stories are able to accumulate millions of dollars worth of luxury shoes, while hard working peoples, such as yourself, must go barely shod with only the couple-three dozen pairs of mostly mid-range shoes to your name.

So you go to the website of this Danielle Steel, who, although not to your taste, is one of your mother’s all time favorite writers, to see what is all the fuss, and you discover this remarkable sentence…

My other favorite haunt these days is IKEA

… juxtaposed next to the photograph of the room that looks something like Louis-Napoleon’s boudoir.

Clearly, this woman should be writing the Lord of the Rings style books about elves who have many complicated romantic entanglements, because she obviously has the very rich fantasy life.

And then you imagine what the first chapter of this book would be like…

Galindral Vinewhip sipped his warm mead, his first cup of the morning, and turned to the society pages in the Middle Earth Tattler to see who among his acquaintances was allegedly in love with whom, who was giving a dinner party where, who would attend, and who would presumably not show up because of the latest social feud. He knew only too well that there would be an item or two from their reporter in Marbellathric, that very tony resort on the sunny Aetheic Sea, where only the most beautiful elves wintered. He also knew that his ex-wife, Nostariel Grimjester, would be mentioned….

“Hmm,” you think to yourself, “this has potential.”

And so you resolve in that instant to write the Daniel-Steel-meets-Tolkien novel and get very exceedingly rich (because everyone knows that the quickest and easiest way to spectacular wealth is by writing novels).

But first, you must be inspired by looking at shoes you will soon undoubtedly own…

Christian Louboutin Coussinet Platform Slingbacks

Such as these unusual and arresting Christian Louboutin Coussinet Platform Slingbacks.

Take that Danielle Steel!

Christian Louboutin Let Me Tell You Ankle Boots For the Monday

Manolo says, it is Monday and if you are American you are probably not back at your desk, in the stead you are still at home in your jammies, because that is the way you roll, baby.

And now, because it is the holiday and the day after the Dia de San Valentin, and because you Holiday of Love did not perhaps live up to your expectations (as it did not involve the appearance of Fabio bearing the bucket of fried chicken) the Manolo will show you some fantasy shoes from Christian Louboutin.

Let Me Tell You Ankle Boots from Christian Louboutin

Beautiful! Unusual! Fun!! Wicked Expensive!

Christian Louboutin Bobo Ankle Booties For the Monday

Manolo says, it is final Monday before Christmas, four short days, the mere blink of the eye…in the other words, it is time to get shopping!

But, before you rush out the door to the mall, here are interesting shoes for you to contemplate while you engage in spirited holiday fisticuffs with your fellow last-minute shoppers.

Christian Louboutin Bobo Leather Ankle BootiesDetail of the Christian Louboutin Leather Ankle Booties

The Christian Louboutin Bobo Leather Ankle Booties.

This is the shoe that asserts itself.

Would you wear it?

Christian Louboutin Feticha Botta Platform Boots For the Tuesday Before Thanksgiving

Manolo says, it is Tuesday and you are back at your desk doing whatever it is you normally do, but very badly, as you are completely distracted by Thanksgiving, which is now barreling down upon you like the runaway freight train full of free-range turkeys.

Thanksgiving was not supposed to be crazy this year. It was going to be just you and Gary and the kids and your mother. But then your mother called two weeks ago, and said she’d invited your Uncle Bill to fly out from Buffalo for Thanksgiving.

“Okay,” you thought, “one more won’t hurt. Uncle Bill is an old school nut who will probably goad Gary into an argument about professional football. But one more won’t hurt.”

And then your mother informed you that Uncle Bill insisted on inviting his son, your layabout cousin Billy, to fly in from Hollywood to join you. Billy calls himself the “writer-director-actor-producer,” although what he really is is the 43-year-old, cut-rate playboy who subsists on the variety of menial jobs and handouts from your uncle. Although, to his credit, he did once appear as the non-speaking extra on Will and Grace, in the distant background, as the coffee shop patron.

Speaking of people subsisting on handouts, two days after your mother’s call, your daughter Jeannie, who is away at the college, called to say that she has invited some dorm friends home for Thanksgiving — three foreign girls and one Latvian boy — who have nowhere to go for the holiday.

“The more the merrier,” you think. And then the conversation takes the surreal turn.

“Mom,” says Jeannie, “one of the girls is from Africa, and in her culture the turkey is considered sacred.”

“What?”

“We can’t have turkey, because Ki’x’il’ko,” the name included three clicks and the pop, “says her people consider the turkey to be a type of sacred spirit.”

Later, when you tell Gary that you’re going to have to order goose for Thanksgiving, his reply is succinct.

“Bull-crap. The turkey is sacred to my people, too, especially when served with sweet potatoes and cranberry sauce.”

“But we can’t be offending this girl.”

“Tell her it’s a really big chicken. Nobody thinks chickens are holy.”

And then five minutes after you get off the phone with the butcher, who informs you that you cannot order the 23-pound goose, so you’ll need three smaller birds, Jeannie calls back.

“Mom,” she says, “Ki’x’il’ko says it’s okay to have a turkey. She looked up the word. It’s ostrich that’s supposed to be sacred to her people.”

Luckily, you were able to call the butcher back and cancel the flock of geese.

And now, on Tuesday, with two days to go, you are frazzled and distracted from your work. And yet you are also filled with pride that everyone would consider your home and your family as being the good place to celebrate this important holiday.

Look, here is the Christian Louboutin Feticha Botta Platform Boots, simple, beautiful, dead sexy.

Christian Louboutin Feticha Botta Platform Boots   Manolo Likes!  Click!

Christian Louboutin Metallic Patent Pump For the Monday

Manolo says, it is Monday and you are back at your desk, somewhat rueful that your breakfast consisted of two cups of coffee, three bite-sized Snickers, two Starbursts, and the small box of Runts (you love the banana-shaped ones).

But what could you do? When you came down the stairs this morning, there was the giant tub of candy sitting on the counter, where you had left it yesterday afternoon when you fled the house for the lengthy bicycle ride, taken to assuage the guilt of your out-of-control candy-binging.

You know you should be more temperate, but Halloween is the worst. You love it so much, and always have, but it is the worst.

The instant it arrives, you flash back to the greedy little girl who on Halloween night would rush to her room with the plastic pumpkin full of candy treats, slamming the door on her little brother’s fingers, and frantically gobbling as much as possible before her mother intervened.

“Honey,” your Mom would call through the door, “why don’t you come out here with the rest of us and show us what you got tonight?”

“Mmphugh, mmphugh NO!!!!” You would shout back, bits of half-chewed Butterfingers spraying across the room.

Threats and counter-threats would be made, and then the tears would flow, as the holy blessed pumpkin was placed on top of the refrigerator, so as to put the parental governor on your consumption. (Like your little brother, who always ate his candy more slowly, that pumpkin would taunt you for days to come with his candy-filled, gap-toothed grin.)

Naturally, when you had children of your own, you understood why the pumpkin had to be placed on top of the refrigerator, although you also understood why the best candies would seem to disappear when the pumpkin was on the refrigerator; because your parents frequently dipped into it, the family tradition you have maintained.

Now, that your youngest is fifteen, your biggest Halloween problem is preventing her from going out the front door dressed like the Hoochie-Mama Witch, or the Slutty Hermoine Granger. (Oy, what has happened to society?)

Although, you are also responsible for buying the candy, which is how the ridiculous abundance of Skittles, and Milky Ways, and Snickers, and Starbursts, and Runts came to be sitting in the giant bowl on your counter.

Sigh.

Speaking of candy…Look! Here is the Kandy-Kolored, Tangerine-Flaked, Streamline baby from Christian Louboutin.

Christian Louboutin Moira Cutout Pump For the Monday

Manolo says, it is Monday and you are back at your desk after the very tiring weekend of nostalgia and regret, the weekend of your 25th college reunion.

It was wonderful to see all of your old friends and acquaintances, and to note, with both satisfaction and alarm, how they have have become middle aged peoples, with gray hairs, spreading bellies, and enough wrinkly crows feets to constitute the murder.

Although your college boyfriend, the aspiring film director who had majored in pot smoking and ultimate frisbee, looked better than ever, like the bronzed Greek god — tall, lean, and tanned, with the full head of beautiful, naturally highlighted, wavy hair — the consequence of spending most of his days in the water off of Point Dume (and his evenings parking cars at the fancy Italian restaurant off of Wilshire Boulevard).

“I’d describe myself as an independent filmmaker and producer,” he said, while Gary, your husband, flirted with the young, porn-starish blond who accompanied your ex. “I’ve got a couple things in development, and my latest short is up is up to 7,100 hits on YouTube.”

Of course, much more disturbing was the appearance of the skinny Pakistani boy, Nayyar, who had latched onto you during your senior year, utterly besotted.

He was sweet in that unworldly, innocent, geeky way–tall and skinny with the prominent nose and wild hair. But, because he was harmless, you never had the heart to tell him to get lost, even as he shadowed you from class to lunch to class, never taking the not so subtle hints that he should go away for the few minutes. (At graduation, when you met his parents, you realized that he had been describing you to them as his “special friend” and that they had expected, with some alarm, that the proposal would follow. )

But there he was at the reunion, in his bespoke Saville Row suit, looking like 743 million dollars (according to Forbes), with homes in London, Singapore, New York, and Gastaad, and his own very successful international equities hedge fund. He had filled out marvelously, become more refined and better looking, and was now objectively hunky, a testament to the powers of expensive tailors, barbers, and personal trainers. And look at his wife! She could be Padma Lakhsmi’s younger, better-looking, more cultured sister.

Naturally, Nayyar and his wife were seated at the same table with you and Gary during the gala dinner, which, oddly turned out to be great fun. The wife was charmingly funny and smart, and Gary, the hale-fellow everyman, bonded with Nayyar over the lengthy discussion of riding mowers.

“Was Nayyar the fellow you and your sister call the ‘Wacky Pak’?” Gary asked, later that night in the hotel, “He doesn’t seem very wacky.”

And now this morning, back at desk, all you can think about were the shoes on Nayyar’s wife’s beautifully elegant feet.. Moira Cutout Patent Pumps from Christian Louboutin!

Manolo’s Wednesday Miscellany

Manolo says, here are the few links which may perhaps amuse…

To kill time before I needed to drop my visiting mother off at LaGuardia, we wandered into one of those many nameless discount shoe stores in NYC and I came upon these $15 shoes:

“I’ve always preferred the creative process of designing and selling clothes to the idea of putting on a poncey fashion show [....] It would be wonderful if fashion shows died out completely. They’re so time-consuming and costly.”

The Brogue for Butter

While most believe the ritual to have begun in 1880′s France, the first mention of a man imbibing from the shoe of a beautiful woman actually takes place in Chicago:

Christian Louboutin For the Columbus Day Monday

Manolo says, it is Monday, and perhaps you are at your desk, or perhaps you are not (seeing as it is either the Day of Columbus or, for some, the Día de la Raza). Either way, whether you are at the work or enjoying the day off, today is the day to celebrate discovery.

And what better way to celebrate this discovery than by remembering the woman who made it all possible, Isabel la Catolica, the Spanish Queen who provided the approval and funding for the Columbian scheme?

Of the course, we do not know exactly what shoes Isabel actually wore on the fateful day when Cristobal Colon was finally given the approval.

Happily, however, the Manolo is the amateur student of history, one who is qualified to make the educated guess, and thus he imagines it was something like this…

The Christian Louboutin Glitter Peep-toe Slingback.

Although, the Manolo is also willing to accept that it was the glittery sandal, such as this.

Straratata Glitter Platform Sandals from Christian Louboutin   Manolo Likes!  Click!

The Christian Louboutin Straratata Glitter Platform Sandals

“But, Manolo,” you are perhaps saying to yourself, “late 15th Century lady monarchs would have worn sensible brocade flats, not glittery-sexy pumps or sandals.”

To which the Manolo replies, O RLY?

The application of the well-known reasoning principal entia non sunt multiplicanda praeter necessitatem, yields the following locgical question: “What sort of fabulous shoes would you wear, if you were a) the most powerful queen in the world and b) able to be carried anywhere you wished in the opulent sedan chair?”

To which the most reasonable answer is Glittery Louboutin Platforms!*

Thus…Q to E to the D.

*The answer “Bejeweled Louboutin Platforms”, is also acceptable.

Louboutin Dillian Flower For the Tuesday

Manolo says, it is Tuesday and you are back at your desk doing whatever it is you do with the computer and those endless stacks of paper for the eight hours each workday you are not engaged in pointless meetings or bureaucratic wrangling, or avoiding your backbiting co-workers.

Did that sound bitter?

Sorry. You are not bitter, not exactly. You are perhaps disgruntled, and certainly anxious, maybe even slightly angry.

Ever since your company was taken over late last year by MegaMongoManic Corp, your formerly decent job has morphed into the Mr. Toad’s Wild Day Job, with rumors of impending layoffs and financial collapse–each more dire than the last–clambering up and down the office grapevine.

But, you have grown used to that, so perhaps that is not the cause of your aggressive case of the blahs. Perhaps it is the fact that summer has well and truly ended, marking yet another season down the old tubes.

Sigh.

Well, there is nothing for it but shoes, your oldest and bestest friend, always ready to make you feel better when the world has you at its mercy.

Look! Here is the Dillian Flower Pumps fron Christian Louboutin.

Christian Louboutin Dillian Flower Pumps

If looking at this shoe (one of the most wonderful and stylish of this season) does not send the blahs packing, nothing will.

The Rip Off Artists

Manolo says, the Manolo has long and loudly campaigned against the phoney-baloney fake shoes (even those produced by supposedly reputable companies), but recently the brazenness of the counterfeit shoe crooks has been too much.

Thankfully, the word is getting around, and today there is the article in the New York Daily News about this very topic.

Killer Louboutin heels with that signature red sole for just $177, delivered to your door at 80% less than the $860 retail price.

Strappy Jimmy Choo sandals at $143.99, 64% less than the $395.99 value at the label’s Fifth Ave. store.
How to Spot the Fake Designer Shoe

Such are the boasts of flashy Web sites featuring red-carpet shots of J.Lo, Sarah Jessica Parker and Cameron Diaz in the wildly glamorous shoes. [...]

It seems too good to be true – and it is.

Tens of thousands of online shoppers are falling for the latest variety of fakes flooding the Internet.

Despite ultra-convincing pictures and claims that the Web sites are run directly by the designers and the footwear is individually crafted in Europe, it’s a scam.

The goods are neither handmade nor exclusive. They are mass-produced in China.

The “leather” often smells of toxic chemicals, the “hand-stitching” is replicated by sewing machine, and the sizing is inaccurate.

Return the purchase and, on top of the cost of shipping, customers are subject to a “restocking” fee of up to 20%. Little wonder most swallow the disappointment and don’t bother to send them back.

If disappointment were the only result of the fraud, it wouldn’t make headlines. Who really cares about image-obsessed fashionistas being ripped off?

On closer examination, however, this international con has a devastating and far-reaching effect.

Child labor, money laundering, prostitution and terrorist activity go hand in hand with the counterfeit trade managed by criminal gangs.

For several months now, the Manolo has been waging the war against these evil people both in his comment section (where they spam the comments with their links) and in his banner ads (where their ads are delivered to his websites by Google Adsense). With effort, he has been able to keep them at bay.

Remember, when buying the luxury good, only do business with the reputable companies, either those with whom you are already familiar, or those who have been recommended to you by people you trust.

P.S. Thanks to the Manolo’s internet friend the Susan at the always informative Counterfeit Chic.

Christian Louboutain for The Monday

Manolo says, it is Monday, and another Mother’s Day has passed and left you feeling slightly less than fully cherished and honored.

It is not that your children (and their enabler, your husband) did not try to make the day special for you, for indeed they did attempt to specialify it their own peculiar manner.

Sometimes, contrary to the popular banality, it is not the thought that counts. Sometimes, it is the actual item, or the manner in which it is delivered that counts.

Take, for the example, that celebratory breakfast in bed, prepared by your teenagers, delivered by your pre-teen, and semi-supervised by your man. Yes, the eggs were undercooked and the coffee over-bitter, but the real problem was that you were compelled to lie in the beatifically maternal state under the tray, pretending to enjoy the meal while your bladder screamed out for relief.

To say nothing of the marmalade stains on your comforter.

Let us agree that our new Mother’s Day tradition includes time for the mother get up, do her business, put on her finest houserobe, and arrange her hair into something more presentable. Then, and only then, can the digital camera make it’s appearance.

“Smile, Mom! Oh, wow, look at that hair! I’m going to put this one on my Facebook account!”

Take, also for the example, the celebratory Mother’s Day dinner at Cooter Brown’s Rib Shack. Yes, your slab of pork ribs was bar-b-qued to perfection, and the hot wings were suitably spicy, and your bottomless Mason jar of sweet tea was frequently refilled…but still, there was that nagging question at the back of your mind, “What? Was Hooters all booked up?”

Well, at the least, the Russell Stover’s chocolate sampler from your husband was tasty, even if it was delivered in the Target bag together with the receipt for the oil filter and the packet of tube socks.

You know what would have made your Mother’s Day, super fantastically special? Special shoes from Chiristan Louboutain that spell out “Love”!

.

Why, they are just like your family, impractical and faintly ridiculous, and yet also, just like your family, so filled with good intentions and sweetness, so brazenly about love, that any errors of judgment can be easily overlooked, indeed embraced as what makes them special.

Christian Louboutain Boots For the Monday

Manolo says, it is Monday and you are back at your desk, and frankly, for once you are so happy to be there, although not nearly as happy as you are to know that tomorrow this election madness finally ends.

This is absolutely the last time you register you political party as “independent”. Indeed, your phone must have rung forty times this weekend, what with the robo-calls, and the pollsters, and the polite young people from both of the campaigns, trying to sway your vote, or begging for money.

Nearly as bad as the phone calls, was the constant bombardment of the television ads. Mendacity and hyperbole, bombast and misdirection, and numberless attempts to frighten and bully you into voting one way or the other, and those were just the ads for the county supervisors.

And then there is the entire problem of social discourse. You have spent the past several months tip-toeing around your acquaintances and business colleagues, speaking obliquely and avoiding certain topics, lest these peoples turn out to be the avidly unreasonable supporters of one faction or the other.

One minute you are talking about taking your nephews to the zoo, because they “love the elephants” and the next, you are embroiled in the heated argument about tax policy with someone you barely know.

Oy, but this is tiresome. You long for the days when participatory democracy meant voting for the homecoming queen, not trying to sort out the various currents and subcurrents of the modern American political system.

But, what can you do? You are the good citizen, and so you do your part, educating yourself and participating as best you can, even if you find all of it about as satisfying as the trip to the dentist.

And now you need the break, the long, pleasant, politics-free break.

Wait. What’s this in the Post? “The 2012 race commences first thing Wednesday morning.”

“Ayyyyy! Manolo take me away!”

This level of weary malaise and alarm calls for something super fantastic, some spectacular, something Louboutain!

Boots, platform, tall, fantastic, super.

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