Bootsy McGhee.



Some say that’s me.



There are people in this world who collect all sorts of things — stamps, baseball cards, automobiles and the like.



My collector’s items are a little out of the ordinary, and they’re one of the biggest components of my personal brand identity.



CFM boots.



Normally I’d spell out what CFM stands for, but the editors of this fine rag have yet to wave the flag on dropping F-bombs. For effin sake, Pappi, set me free! But back to the CFM tip — if you need the definition, just Google it, edify, and then we can proceed.



This week I received a call at work from someone within my 3,000-plus organization who needed my fine assistance. She recognized my voice from elevator encounters and said, “Are you the Carmen with the long hair and the hot boots?”



I smiled sheepishly and uttered a simple word, “Yep.”



I’ve read advice columns on professional attire that say it’s inappropriate to wear sexy boots in the workplace.



I pooh-pooh all of that.



Sure, my boots are a distraction, which is precisely why I wear them. Plus, I think that rule about CFM boots in the office was probably created by grumpy, frumpy women who can’t pull ’em off.

Over the weekend, I purchased what I will now deem as the most beautiful, quintessential CFM boots EVER.



To start with, they’re Valentine’s Day red. And even better, they’re made with stamped and antiqued Cordova leathers by the one and only shoe designer who covers my feet — John Fluevog. Oh yum.



I know it’s completely narcissistic to obsess about inanimate objects such as these, but if you saw them, you’d go crazy, too.



I can’t wait to wear these delectable CFMs with short skirts on the weekend and to taunt people and piss off more hags in the workplace.



Ha!

206 in the mix

On Friday I jet-setted up to Seattle to make some social rounds.



My first stop was this new hipster bar called Bandits that my friend Stephen just opened. He was the best man in my best friend from high school’s wedding, and he’s an all-around great guy. His joint is a cozy little 50-seater right off of First and Denny. A little known fact is that he named the place after his father’s lucrative porn production company. I love that part of the story. There are very few things I adore more than seeing my friends do well. I congratulated Stephen again and headed on my way.



Adventure #2 was at Twist, a posh spot off First and Bell, for the birthday party of the world-famous Justin Stiles, an awesome artist with whom I happened to go to grade school. We were also celebrating the fact that his paintings were on display throughout the location. If you can’t make it up to Twist, check his digs out at www.justinstilesart.com. I hung out with the pretty people, clinked glasses, gave hugs and kisses, wished Justin the best, and skedaddled to my final stop — The Owl N’ Thistle.



Friday ended amidst sing-along jig songs with a gaggle of my boys, best friend Colin, Derrickito, Ian, Adam, Eddie and The Owl N’ Thistle Band. Some of my fondest memories there are of sitting with Natasha in the shadow of Johnny the fiddler’s dangling strings. He started playing for the Seattle Symphony when he was a mere pre-teen, and I have yet to find anyone who can rock that instrument as magically. It sends chills up me spine.

That was the perfect conclusion to my 206 excursion.

Kulture me bad

My outfit on Saturday was solely planned around the CFM boots and, naturally, the matching purse. That sort of getup demanded a visit to the Swiss where I could flirt with Monkey the bartender. I know he has a girlfriend, but I just can’t help but squeeze him. In addition, it was great to be looking and feeling so good when I ran into that kung fu putz who thought he could play me along with every other girl in this city at once.



After that, I hopscotched over to the event that I’d been looking forward to all week — the Kulture Lab’s Art of Eroticism party. Naked women were everywhere, mostly in paintings, sculpture and hippie love porn. There were also several drag performances, the best of which was Joan Jett’s “I Love Rock N’ Roll.” I have nothing but props for the Dead Artists who pull these gigs together.



Their functions continue to make my life so fun.