My world of recovery, motherhood, life in the South, and other people's business
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This is what you see when you walk in my den:
I don’t know what’s so difficult about taking shoes upstairs. The 3-year-old may need to be reminded, but what’s up with the forty-something? He should know better. When asked to clean up their shoes yesterday, this is what they did:
I think they’re missing the point. I would say M is incapable of maintaining a clean, organized home but let us not forget THIS. So I guess I’ll choose my battles. Housewife – 0. Shoes – 1.
Tags: daughter G, husband, irritants, shoes
Poor ole Mississippi seems to be the step-child of the Gulf Coast. Oil is washing on its (her?) shores and all we hear about on the news is Louisiana. I have nothing against Louisiana, but I’m partial to the good folks over in Mississippi since I worked with them in the days following Hurricane Katrina. (Don’t tell me that all you think about with Katrina is New Orleans, or I might have a hissy fit.) These people were too proud to accept help from volunteers; we had to shove food and water at them. They were embarrassed that we helped clean their homes, but were grateful for every little kindness shown to them. This was not the case for all of the victims. (I’m not mentioning where, but it rhymes with Boo Horlians.) Surely there are honest and dishonest people everywhere, so don’t take this as a slam on Louisiana. But let’s notice their neighbor, you know the one that is on the other side of the Mississippi River/oil slick. Let’s look at a few special things about Mississippi:
Uh-huh. Well, there you go. Where would the world be without bottled Coke? I mean, come on! And what about the pairs of shoes? I wear pairs, don’t you? Thank you, Mississippi. And a big shout-out for all the rights afforded women – can I get a WOO-HOO?
Please don’t get me started on Alabama. If oil starts spilling on Alabama’s shores, we are gonna open a can of whoop-ass. I am not having 20 plastic surgeries to go to a class reunion, only to have oil stick to my new shoes (the ones I haven’t bought yet, but assume will not coordinate with oil). (I bet you were wondering how I was going to turn this oil spill to being about ME, right? You have forgotten what a knack I have for these things.)
Much love to the ENTIRE Gulf Coast. Sorry you are dealing with yet another clusterf$ck.
Tags: hissy fits, irritants, selfishness, shoes
I sometimes have ethical dilemmas, and it’s very difficult for me to decide if it’s in everyone’s best interest for me to MMOB or to step in and help someone when they’re making a terrible mistake.
As an example, I overheard a conversation between friends yesterday in the shoe department. The two women were conservatively dressed, except one of them wore bright plastic jewelry like your grandma used to wear. I had the vague sense that one or both of them decorated their homes with items purchased from the Cracker Barrel gift shop, but they seemed nice. The lady with the grandma jewelry was trying to convince the other, dowdier (read: un-bedazzled) woman to buy a pair of black shoes on clearance.
Grandma Jewelry: You have to get these. These are perfect!
Dowdy: But they’re velvet and it’s going to be summertime.
Grandma Jewelry: It’s the Midwest!
Dowdy: IT’S KENTUCKY!!!
Grandma Jewelry: They’re very progressive in Kentucky now. Lots of people will be wearing shoes like this.
Dowdy: You think so?
At this point I was just DYING to tackle Grandma Jewelry so I could tell Dowdy her pushy friend is insane. Seriously, does she own stock in the Black Velvet Shoe Co. or what? NO ONE in Kentucky will be wearing black velvet this summer, namely because it’s hot as hell and secondly because you just don’t do that. I’m not saying you have to strictly follow the old fashion rule of putting away your velvet after Valentine’s Day. But summer? No. Hell no.
Then a horrible thought crossed my mind and my anxiety kicked in. What if ole Dowdy is going to the Derby? Oh, sweet Jesus, please don’t let her go to the Derby in black velvet shoes. Please, please, please. Because the ticket-takers may allow her to enter and, on top of ruining those shoes, she will be the only Douglas fir in a grandstand of tulips. And that will be so very sad.
So there I was, trembling, mentally shaken, and trying to breathe into G’s empty lollipop wrapper in the absence of a paper bag. I tried to concentrate on what my friends are always telling me, that I don’t need to take on the problems of the world – fashion disasters presumably included.
I drug myself out of the store and told the Fix-It Me to shut up and not worry about Dowdy’s issues. Then I came home and obsessed over it for a day and a half. I was thinking of the friends who are always telling me not to interfere, when it struck me – they may call me a control freak, but they’re probably just jealous that they’re not as altruistic as I am. Yes, that’s it. Now I just need to locate Dowdy…
Tags: fashion disaster, shoes, shopping
Okay, so if you don’t know that I tailgated the Oscars last week then you can catch yourself up here. Here is a photo of me where I feel I most comfortable – on the red carpet! This particular carpet was being rolled out at the Beverly Hilton.
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I know you have a bunch of questions, so I’ll help you out the best I can – although some of my issues have no answers.
Q: Oooo-kaaaaay…why are you wearing a bathrobe?
A: Because I just came from the pool. I know y’all think it rained all day for the Oscars, but it was actually a pretty day.
Q: And what about those loafers?
A: 2 answers to this one – 1)because I can, and 2)I didn’t pack pool shoes due to Delta’s luggage policy.
Q: Ummmm, what about that pose?
A: This is one without an answer. Maybe I was trying to strike a Paris and it went wrong? I dunno.
Q: Uh-huh. And why is the picture sideways?
A: It just accidentally loaded like that and I decided not to correct it, since I typically live my life sideways.
Hope this sufficiently entertained you in only the way that making fun of someone else can.
P.S. I added the tag “sex” because this picture just screams it. You know you want me.
Tags: celebrity stalking, housewives, oscars, sex, shoes
We all know I like to do a good deed each day, and today it is for you, dear reader. I will share with you the sure-fire way to save money when you’re out shopping. Are you ready for it? UNCOMFORTABLE SHOES. And there you have it. Today I had lunch with an ex-coworker, so I had to be especially cute so he would go back and tell everyone who still works at that crummy place that I am actually pretty attractive when my soul is not being sucked by Corporate America. So anyway, I put on my hooker boots, the stilettos. (I heard these referred to as “valet parking shoes” since you can’t walk across the parking lot in them). I thought I was looking pretty cute and had planned on doing some shopping afterward. But since my toes felt like they’d been through a blender, it was all I could do to hobble to my car. I couldn’t even go to Target today – it was that bad!
Back in our single days, all of us knew the trick to not sleeping with a guy was to wear tatty underwear (so even if you decided to throw caution to the wind in the heat of the moment, you wouldn’t be able to since you’d die 3 times before letting him see you in those nasty old things). Unfortunately for me, sex is the one area where I took my mother’s advice (as in, “don’t do it. period.”) If you didn’t have a diamond or the promise of one coming, well neither were you (if you know what I mean) (and I think you do, you old tart). So I am now a recovering prude, but it isn’t any fun because I’m married now. M said he’d give me permission to sleep with someone else if I really wanted to, but I think that kind of takes the shine off of it.
Where was I? Oh yes, saving money. So unless your ego is so low as to allow yourself to ride around on one of those Lil Rascals, you won’t be spending money if you wear your uncomfortable shoes. You’re welcome.
DANGER: This trick doesn’t work on shoe shopping because you might be inclined to purchase more comfortable shoes!!!
Tags: hookers, Mom, saving money, sex, shoes
