Thwarting crime in a red catsuit

Below I am in my atelier having cocktails with James Bond (the Sean Connery one). I am smiling because he just thanked me for my stellar work at the hidden volcano last week when I thwarted the plans of the bad guys. 

In reply, I winked and said, "You'll have to work harder if you want to keep up with me, Jim." He smiled back devilishly, tipped his glass, and said, "Perhaps I'll have another." He was drinking wheatgrass, good for the digestion.

"On the rocks, Jim, or neat?" I asked as I sauntered over to the wet bar and popped another carton. "By all means, neat and shaken," he said. It was awkward shaking his green drink after I'd already opened it, but I'm trained for emergencies. I filled a glass and withheld a retch. 

I decided to be dirty and popped a few olives in as well - they were hard to see in the putrid green fluid. And stuck in a bamboo straw because plastic ones are ruining the planet. Finally, on a whim I fished a bag of frozen corn from the freezer where I also keep vodka and old blue jeans.

"Here you go, Jim." He smiled at the bobbing olives. I said, "Next time, be more careful," and dropped the corn on his knee. He winced and saluted.

"Well, I'll leave you to your dirty wheatgrass. I must go. No, don't get up. There's a joystick in the arm there. This chair will take you wherever you want. Mind the wheels under the skirt." And I was off.

I set my hoverboard on High. I had to hurry if I wanted to be on time at city hall to receive the key to the city. That's me below, ready to shake hands with the mayor. The key is ginormous and gold-plated, very unwieldy. In a press scrum after the ceremony I asked the mayor if he could possibly exchange the key for a small fob. My catsuits don't have pockets.

Then I asked, "Where's the door for this key anyway?" "Whaaa...?" the mayor spluttered. His eyes bulged in alarm. "Well, uh, well, I don't know, really." He swiped his sweaty forehead with the palm of his hand. Eeew. "It's got to be around somewhere. It's the key to the city for f#@$'s sake!" He snapped his fingers and was immediately enveloped by consultants in boring suits.

When the mayor turned back to the press, his fists were raised. "Nobody builds a giant door to my city and I don't know about it!" he proclaimed. "I'll get to the bottom of this!" Cameras flashed. The mayor posed. And I knew I had my next big assignment.

I may need help. I hoped Jim hadn't left yet but remembered with relief that I had Johnny English on speed dial. (Johnny English, spoof Brit spy played by Rowan Atkinson, read here.)

And below, on my way home I stopped at the studio to practise my go-go dancing. Of course it is a requisite skill for all international women of action, which is so unfair. Many international male stars just sit around acting like misogynist pigs. 

In fact, I received a dance caution on a previous job, my guest appearance on LOL 40-UP! show, which Sherry Dryja of blog Petite Over 40 and I made. It's on our IGs, here, here, and here. Plus Bloopers, here. 

Sherry and I had a BLAST!! shooting LOL 40-UP, modeled after the Laugh-In comedy TV series from the '70s. Sherry was in Seattle; I was in Vancouver. But we found a way. It stretched our tolerance of bad jokes and our editing skills. Thanks, Sherry, for coming up with such a freaking fun idea. And thanks to O for his tolerance when our home was blanketed in green screen. The dance clip was made from some green screen takes I made for the show.

I'm wearing my Gordi of Montreal vintage red wool catsuit with rear zip. I always get into trouble when I wear it.

You know what's funny? Although I am a social butterfly, sometimes I feel stuck in the wormy stage, too many feet without enough gorgeous shoes to go around. Slow-moving, hairy, and squishy, particularly in winter. Better than being a mealworm though, which just turns into a beetle.

There was a study which showed no difference between mealworms fed styrofoam for one month and those fed "conventional" food. I'll take the dirty wheatgrass. Who thinks of these experiments? And are they hiring? (That was on Wiki, by the way, but there was a note stating the claim needs a reliable source. Ya think?)

It's a new year since I posted last. I hope you are all well-rested after any holidays you may have had. It's a year for creativity, caring, and humour, you betcha. Big hugs to all of you. Thank you for coming back to Bag and a Beret after this break. I'm very grateful.

I'll be linking up to Patti's Visible Monday at Not Dead Yet Style and Catherine's #iwillwearwhatilike at Not Dressed as Lamb. I may see you there!

Hang on to your hoverboards, everyone! Two-thousand nineteen is going to be quite a ride!

ONE MORE THING!!

If you are in a style rut, my friend Sylvia of 40+ Style will be offering some awesome courses to help you feel fabulous. Click the image for details. For her paid courses I get a commission, but you know I never promote stuff like this unless I think it's absolutely awesome. And it is!!! Hurry!!! The Style Challenge is free and on NOW!

How to wear fitted onesies over 55 for high adventure

Give me a purple or red fitted onesie and I'm on, hunting down baddies with headquarters in remote island volcanoes or exploring the Earth as a possible off-planet colony for my People. It happens every time. 

So here I am, still in the purple onesie from the West Vancouver United Church Flea Market, which I posted on here - I took it off in between though. The stirrup feet are miracles because they pull the fabric taut for an overall smoothing effect, which: 1) is calming when wearing a body-con outfit that flirts dangerously with my boundaries of public comfort; 2) provides streamlining for fast, comfortable deep space travel.

But first, let me write about that coat. That frickin' amazing coat from frickin' amazing Shelley of Forest City Fashionista. It came in a bulging envelope last week, along with something else equally amazing, which I am holding back from posting for delayed gratification. 

This photo is called golden leaf

Vivid fuchsia, vivid. By Danier, suede with shaggy fuchsia trim. It's almost (maybe, kinda, if-I'm-feelin'-glass-half-full) long enough for buttoxil area coverage (essential), but I brought along a stretch skirt in case I started feeling exposed, like I did behind the Strip shop below. Aliens must try to blend in.

They say, strip; I say, cover up. I'm practising being human by being unpredictable. Of course I wouldn't need the skirt if I were wearing a maxi coat, but this coat overruled all other outerwear considerations. Plus it has a secret weapon. Read on.

I swoon for that '60s groovy sci-fi vibe. Below, calling the Mother Ship with my Mantis. Or occupants of inter-planetary craft. Either will do, as long as their flight attendants serve Cheez Whiz ("processed cheese spread"), Space Food Sticks, ("developed for the U.S. Space Program"), and gherkin pickles (pickles).

I'm so glad I found this red wall! It's my first time here. These photos remind me of the piece Shelley did for VOGOFF magazine, where she's also calling her Mother Ship. 

The Purple People Eater, video clip, 1958 hit by Sheb Wooley)

When I was passing through Nordstrom during my inspiration walk, I ran into two friends who fell hard for this coat. Of course, I was keen to draw their attention to the glory of my spacesuit onesie as well, so I boldly hoisted the skirt to where no man has gone bef...* Oops, same era/genre, wrong script! To my high thighs to demonstrate its all-in-one-ness, which felt risqué, despite still being fully clothed. Well -

I needn't have worried one bit - they wouldn't have batted an eye if I had begun shooting ping-pong balls from my

Running in the vortex in Ackery's Alley

mouth, been wrapped in tentacles and slathered in Cheez Whiz and pickles - the coat had them in its thrall. They couldn't keep their hands off my cuffs and collar - the hypnotic power of the trim was alarmingly potent. (Note to self: Trim as secret weapon for future invasion strategy.) I almost had to Mantis them!

In the end, I gave up the onesie show and pulled my skirt back into place. Some stars, like the coat, shine brighter than others I suppose. 

Below, more evidence of the Fitted-Onesie Phenomenon (FOP) of super-sleuth/alien: my Emma Peel impression near the passport office, in a photo taken by Sandra Bernabei of Standard Deviations.

I'm wearing my vintage red wool knit onesie with original sewn-in belt at the hip, made by Gordi of Montreal. Also here. The seam threads were disintegrating so I had to resew the whole thing. Well worth it.

Below, a sneak peek in my bedroom. Is it possible I was abducted by one of the Occupants?!

And then I feast on a light breakfast. It's the new alternative energy.

To be clear, this post has been all about the SEO (search engine optimization), but you knew that, right? Now my blog will be inundated with hoards of women over 55 clamouring for tips on FOP. But to be fair, these tips can apply to any age. I'm sorry if I made anyone feel excluded.

That's it for now. I'll be linking up to Patti at Visible Monday on her blog Not Dead Yet Style and Catherine at #iwillwearwhatilike on her blog Not Dressed as Lamb.

May the FOP be with you, friends.

*From the original Star Trek TV series, 1966-69, line from the opening voiceover by Captain James T. Kirk. Relive it HERE.

Space, the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. Its five-year mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no man has gone before.

Okay, now you'll be humming that opening theme all day. You're welcome. Heh.