Sleeping with the enemy

We all do things that are wrong. I don't text while driving, only because I can barely text while I'm just texting. I recently texted someone's name into a message to myself so badly that only K, who is somehow wired to solve the scrabble game of how I speak at least half the time (after a long stint of writing or editing, usually, when the word circuitry has overheated), could figure out who it was. But I do write while I'm driving. I dictate entire scenes and pages of my book into the voice memo on the iphone, and I've taken to calling it iwrite. If it were that easy, I'd be done.

Other wrong things include kicking the wall of my studio in frustration because the studio is too small, and, despite my most fervent ethics and belief in the green of recy and re-buy and vintage, I am, occasionally, swayed into the groove of UO. They are reprehensible, I know. But we all wear American Apparel T's, right?

Super groovy summery stripey platform wedge shoes I can't stop lusting over

So these shoes. Can someone tell me: are they Prada meets Missoni meets Target knockoffs? By Deena & Ozzy? Who are Deena and Ozzy? Are they mythical boho young designer personas in the UO machine? Do they put on hats and wigs and glasses to become older versions of themselves for Anthro? And who cares? These are shoes I could really scare my father's doormen with. 5 quaint mason jars and a costume necklace, and they're mine. Well, in theory anyway.