blaugra

Shoe Story with a Happy Ending

I just got home from a night on the town -- with my parents.  My mom got drunk on Sambuca and my dad was just naturally drifting in and out of consciousness but we had a good time.

I wore a pair of killer shoes, literally.

The kind of shoes a girl can realistically wear only to walk from the car to the theatre and then sit and show them off. The kind of shoes that make me 4 inches taller but allow me to walk only by using stilted baby steps. The kind of shoes that really made a woman stop at an intersection tonight and yell to me through her open car window: "Love your shoes!!"  (I do that too.) The kind of shoes that made my feet burn with pain at the end of the night.  Those killer shoes were the exact right size for my platypus piddies - 7  W I D E - but poorly constructed so they didn't feel very good, and that pisses me off because they cost over $100.

I threw the shoes back into my closet. Then I looked at my floor where an unopened box sat.  A new pair of shoes arrived the other day and I hadn't even tried them on. I've been burned so many times by shoes hating my feet, I hadn't yet been able to open myself up to a new relationship. But since my swollen feet were already in burning pain, I figured, what better time to try on another pair of 3" heels on a platform? 

These new shoes are from Farylrobin. A friend of mine is working with farylrobin and he knows I lust for shoes, so he said, "Would you like to try a pair and tell everyone what you think?"  WOULD I ?!? Silly question. He suggested I pick out a pair of shoes - any pair - and they'd be sent to me.  Just like that.

I gleefully stared at the collections. Like a kid in a toy store. The picking-out-a-pair was very challenging. I love almost every style. I was able to narrow my choices down to eight. Then researched each style on various shopping sites because I was so concerned with fit. And obsessed with shoe porn.

I finally decided on the luscious grey suede Valencia bootie, because it seemed really versatile, and I was going through a gray period, and because a suede toebox might "give a little" if my tootsies need more room, and the Valencias were reviewed as running "true to size."  Still, I was skeptical and guarded, thinking they wouldn't fit my fat little feet. Pessimist.

I opened the box. *Gasp!* 

They're gorgeous in real life. I kid you not. They feel wonderful, the styling details are lovely, and the heel and sole are solid. SOLID.

I just slipped them on. They fit. I'm so glad I picked this style to test drive. It's comfy yet surprising and edgy. Architecturally it's just a perfect shoe. I can't believe I was so anxious about this.

What didn't work on the high heels I wore earlier this evening was the thin sole and sloppy heel that didn't hold my foot in place, so the ball of my foot was just being pushed into the ground without any care. These farylrobin bootie beauties have a hidden platform and a sense of stability, and, um, sensibility. They care. And they're sexy! 

I've always been afraid of trying on expensive shoes because then if they fit I'd have to buy them and that would be expensive. I never thought of buying a pair that cost over $150 for my feet. But lately I'd been thinking I needed to broaden my shoe shopping beyond Payless and DSW clearance racks, invest a little more, stop making excuses, get great shoes and just feel really good. And then this opportunity to try out farylrobin appeared. It was meant to be.

The verdict on the boots:  they'll take me more places than I imagined they would, not just from the parking garage to the theatre.  And when I walk down the street in them, enjoying the sound of the solid tap of the sole on the sidewalk, I hope another girl shouts her praise from her car: "I LOVE YOUR SHOES!"  Thanks, I do, too!!

disclosure: I was provided a pair of shoes in exchange for a published honest opinion. This is the first time I have ever been compensated for reviewing a product and I'll be happy to do it again and again especially if it's a pair of shoes. Honestly, I really do love the shoes.

Thanx for you, and you and you and you!

My requisite "what I'm thankful for" post. I can't take myself so seriously all the time, especially here, but this is sincere.

I am thankful ...

• I have the use of all my arms, hands, legs and feet. I mean, I have two of each, I don't have extra. They all work.
• I live in a house and have plenty in the land of plenty. The safe, generous land of the free.
• Everyone in my family (those members who haven't died in the past year) is healthy or recovering, and strong. Well, except my brother. oops.
• Syracuse won the men's lacrosse national championship. Again. And Rutgers football lost last weekend. This also makes for a happy home. Whew.
• Social media is bringing the world together and I love being a part of it. It often gives me goosebumps of thrill, thinking about what we can all accomplish. I am inspired every day.
• Biker clubs and singing geeks, subjects of two shows that speak to two different poles of coolness - Sons of Anarchy and Glee. Yay for the creative arts.
• I don't know anyone who has had to close their business or stop doing their line of work this year. That's freaking amazing.
• For all my friends, near and far, new and old, in low places and high, close and acquaintance, each of whom give me her or his own unique gift that makes me whole.

My apple pie did not burn and is gorgeous. And huge. Look at those sugary maple leaf shapes! I was trying to be like bitch Martha.

Bah... whatever

What I love about Christmastime is the brightness in the air as we "welcome" winter, the serenity of the cool night air, the potential for a really big snowstorm to shut down the city, the smell of woodsmoke from open fires (not from house fires caused by dried out lit up xmas tress), A Charlie Brown Christmas, Christmas cookies and drinks, kids running around with joy but not screaming too loudly.

Each year the joys get eclipsed more and more for me.  For you? 

Life in December, even for me, without kids and without major decorating, feels overwhelming. A trip to Bed Bath and Beyond this past weekend sent me to the great beyond with its tall displays of overly odorous candles and endless supplies of turkey basters and Keurig coffeemakers.  Everywhere you look, it's GREAT GIFT IDEA! GREAT GIFT IDEA!  I suddenly wanted a designer Snuggie and added it to the mental list I still make for Santa every year in my head.

Now it's time for the onslaught of "year-end meetings" for work, and then family obligations since I celebrate two holidays in December, and really these wouldn't be bad at all if it weren't for the PANIC around me. And I'm really, really bad with buying presents. My gifts are either lame, or like my mother's: theme gifts. I'm much better giving random gifts at random times of the year. Snuggies and Chia Pets for everyone!

I think it's also escalated for me because I live in CHRISTMAS CITY USA. There are 5 action-packed weeks of all-Christmas, all the time events, all around me. Almost all involving canned music and bright lights.  At least I no longer work at the theatre where we had Christmas show...EVERY DAY OR NIGHT FOR THREE WEEKS.

The saddest commercial-christmas thing I saw, at WalMart (serves me right!) is a pre-packaged artificial Charlie Brown Christmas Tree. Come on. Charles Shultz is rolling in his grave.  You're supposed to find a tree like that by trolling through the xmas tree lots!  Fake trees should be perfect or fancy or tacky. That really hum-bugged me. Bah! It misses the whole point of the Peanuts philosophy!!

Still, I like to do things for other people who are in need of comfort and joy during the holidays.  People who miss their families or who care more about the original meaning of Christmas than I.

One thing I'm going to do - because I don't know anyone in the armed forces but this is always a hard time especially for injured soldiers, is send a Christmas card (I don't really do those anymore either but I will for them):

A Recovering American Soldier

c/o Walter Reed Army Medical Center

No, no, no - don't do that. A real friend told me to do that and I trusted her. Instead - and you probably already know this because I'm slow - send mail to the Holiday Mail for Heroes program and follow the explicit directions.  I did. 

 
It's almost enough to melt any cynical heart.

Disliking having xmas shoved in my face everywhere. Who's with me? I'm not a scrooge but it's overwhelming.

A really gentle man's club.

There are plenty of blogs that are really meaningful confessions, commentaries on social media, politics, and free giveaways. This is not one of them.  Example. 

This is a real ad in one of the region's weekly entertainment print rags. My friend at the coffeehouse did a dramatic reading of it for me the other day. I laughed so hard I thought I was going to lose a lung. Then I had to read it aloud to D. in a Mexican restaurant over a plate of beans. That did not end well.

Of course here I deleted the name of the bar-  but look, at the fictional C.C. Juggernawts Gentleman's Club, Aldo is back after 14 years!  Where was he? The big house? We don't know! But he's back, and he has a really important manifesto to share:

 

Let's review.

Aldo has tested all of his dancers for STD's and heroin use so they are squeaky clean. In fact, they are virgins. Not sure why they would need tests for herpes if that were really true, Aldo.  And these sweet girls next door will talk to you anywhere. Are you stalking one of the dancers in her gym or grocery store? That's okay - she'll talk to you. Anywhere. 

Meeting these innocent clean girls is an experience that can not be bought. Because Aldo is giving it away for free. Did the ad make that clear enough for you? As long as you pay the girls for showing off their days-of-the-week panties, and he gets a cut, just like a pimp, it'll all work out for everyone involved in the transaction.

And compared to dirty, guilty girls that just dance from town to town, these real innocent girls "do not lay on the stage like a cat with it's throat cut."

WHAT IS GOING ON AT THOSE OTHER STRIP CLUBS!? WOUNDED FELINES?!!?

I have half a mind to go there just to meet Aldo and drink his free beer and watch the festival of virgins.  D. didn't want to take me there, even though it says, "Bring your wife, your work crew..."

I'm not knocking the dancing girls. I'm sure they're very nice, especially since they're not Road Hard. In fact, I know someone who used to work there and she's nice, not a junkie and no herpes sores on her lips.  Can't speak to her virginity, I'm sure that was a lie.  But brides today still wear white dresses, so, whatever. I'm glad she chose C.C. Juggernawts so she did not have to recline on the stage like a dead bleeding cat. Oh my gawd, that just freaks me out. 

Boot Lust

I have yet to find the perfect boot for my little Fred Flintstone slabs of feet.

I had the perfect boot, but it fell apart. My pre-requisites for boots are: wide width or they have to "run wide", e-z on/off with a zipper if needed, a shaft to fit my oddly expanding right calf, but not classified as wide calf, which is too wide.  Didn't you know, one calf larger than the other is a very sexy feature! 

I basically want this boot. How difficult is that?!

But Fryes don't fit. Yes, I've tried almost every style, and tried. Short of cutting off my little toes and removing a tarsal or whatever, which I have actually considered. I am now paying for years of folding up my feet to get them into cute shoes.

And I also want a boot with a heel.  And a bootie, for days when the boot is just too much, or when the one calf has fattened beyond its bounds.

I'm in need, dire need, of course, of great black boots. However, I'm lusting for gray.

I remember my bestie's Zodiac gray suede/leather high boots from 1984. Those were HOT. I think she still has them in her closet.  I've probably posted about them in the past.  So I say to her (again)...flaunt 'em if you got 'em!

And check this shit out. Flippin' Hush Puppies. OMG. They're beautiful and they totally remind me of the Zodiac killers:

Hush Puppies usually run narrow, and of course the beauties seldom are made in wide widths.

But those puppies are definitely not as gorgeous as:

These are by FarylRobin. I keep pronouncing it "Feral" as in wildcat and I'm sure it's probably more elegant like "FAH-rill." Anyway these Harlow boots are drop dead. I die. Look at that heel.

I used to say that it was a good thing my feet are so hard to fit, or I'd be broke from buying hundreds of pairs of shoes. I now realize that was a STUPIDASS THING TO SAY! What kind of idioacy is that. I would have at least been comfortable all these years. Of course, the fact that I can't have most of the shoes I love is what makes me covet them even more. 

But now, what I want is for someone to find me shoes that fit perfectly. Make them for me. Make them not ugly. I regret never going to cobbler school, because I could totally use that skill now.

 

Is it just me or are there like waaaaay too many options for blogging right now at this very moment?! Typepad is, like, the DSW of blogging. Speaking of shoes...

Things My Brother Said, part dos

While we were listening to a local hard rock/classic rock/radio station that is called "The Bone" (the only music my brother likes) he said,

"I'm psyched. The guitar solo is making a comeback. We took a bad turn with those hair bands, and now real guitars are back. Steve Vai forever."

Really?  I didn't know the solo went away, just kind of flowed out of the mainstream. Well, there you go. I also didn't want to remind him that the hair band trend that pushed the ripping soloists out of the spotlight kinda died when Jani Lane first left Warrant.

For the love of God, it's been way too heavy around here lately but I've used you all to work some shit out, whether you know it or not.  So, thanks.

Things My Brother Said

Because I've hired my 40-year-old brother to do some yard and house work for me, because he is mentally disabled, and jobless, and feels useless, because I'm trying to help my parents, I have been spending more time with the brother over the last couple of weeks than I really ever wanted ever again in my lifetime.

But it's okay, because all counseling service I have purchased in order to cope with our tempestuous relationship have suddenly magically reprogrammed my brain to manage and respond appropriately to the awkward attempts at conversation.

So, this is giving me fodder for a new blog feature I'm calling, "Things My Brother Said."

Even though he is 40, he is mentally 17 years old.  Therefore, my brother is obsessed with just a few subjects:

1. Money
2. Cars
3. Guitars
4. Himself
5. Comparing Himself to Me

This week's installment of Things My Brother Said falls under subject #5, my favorite.

There are a lot of things he says to rival me. Or rile me. I went to college and he did not. This is a very sore subject.  For him, not for me.

He did not go to college because he chose to move to Hollywood with his dreams of rock stardom, and instead became a drug addict.  He does not see my choice to go to college as an achievement but as an undeserved gift I received from the angels and unicorns that surround me with with their rainbows of sparkly happiness.  He has been thinking about this injustice for 25 years.

And so he said:

"Don't take this the wrong way, but do you really need a college degree to do your job or do you just like saying you have a college degree?"

How I could have responded: 

"Why the fuck do you keeps saying the same shit for 25 years, asshole?!"

How I actually responded, in the same voice I use to talk to 8-year-olds, carefully selecting my words and not getting angry:

"That is a very good question indeed.  Hmmm.... I think that to get a college degree you need to use the same skills you would use for a profession, so, while there's no requirement for a college degree to do my job, I think I am able to do my job because of my experience in getting a college degree."

He said, "Oh," then proceeded to talk about another subject. That's for next week's installment.

Jailbird

I have a friend who did a really very bad thing. Well, had a friend.

The really very bad thing has been the object of my fretting for some time. It involved years of deception and theft against my family. I trusted her, loved her family, and she would tell everyone that Salty D. and I were part of her extended family. While she was thieving and lying.

It's been two years since her white-collar crime was discovered, over a year since her arrest, and her sentencing has been postponed and postponed. 

Today is, finally, I think, her day of reckoning.

The charges against her, an array of felonies and misdemeanors, have been bargained and whittled down to just a couple.  But those few could result in a year behind bars, or seven.  Or, she could manipulate the judge and get off with probation.

Before I understood the extent of the really very bad thing, I let her cry on my shoulder. I helped her with job hunting, I hugged her and told her I would do almost anything for her.  Then I found out that she had cut my family.

Even after that, after all of the drama, I decided to forgive her.  I wrote her a letter telling her that with our past and how much I loved her family, I could forgive her.

My other friends thought I was freakin' nuts!  How could I forgive her?  She needs help, and she doesn't care about you, obviously!

I thought that forgiveness was the right thing to do. No. Not always. Sorry, Jesus.

One girlfriend said, "But did the criminal apologize?  Does she fully realize she did you wrong?"

I said, "Ummmm well she said she was sorry, but, I don't think she knows what she did was really wrong."

The girlfriend said, "What did the criminal say when you said you would forgive her?"

I said, "Ummmmmm she said that I should never talk to her again."

Girlfriend said, "There you have it. She doesn't give a shit, and you shouldn't either."

I feel gutted by it all.

When this all started I wanted her to be able to escape prison. Surely the judge would see she's a decent human who works hard and raises a good family.

After all this time though, on this day, I want to see her punished. Not for seven years, not even for a full year. Just a little time in the big house so it sinks in that she really did a really very bad thing.

I sort of fantasize that after she gets out of jail, we'll have a barbeque and laugh about how she made friends and reorganized her cell block and all the new words that she learned in the joint.  Yeah, no...I don't think that'll happen. Do you?