Wednesday, February 29, 2012

I know I didn't give you a lot to infer with, but I REALLY like shoes.

I had a lot of fun taking photos for my new blog headers.

Guess which ones I wear the most...
I can tell you where I bought each pair and how much I paid. 'Cept for the older ones.

These are Jimmy Choos I wish I owned.

This is the editorial photo I took for my other blog.

I need a tan. Got these at Payless for close to $20.

These are my all time favorites. They're Guess, and I got 'em in Vegas at a Ross for less than $40.
Best shoes ever.
My friend Shan loves shoes too. Actually, most of my friends love shoes.

Even the tacky ones are fun. I didn't buy them, but I had fun trying them on at Famous.
I can't wait to wear these in the spring. Payless on sale.

I even like flip flops with flair. Payless for close to $10.

I apologize in advance or my exhibitionist personality. Got 'em at JC Penney's a couple years ago. Don't remember the cost.

These are last year's flip flops. Payless for close to $10.

Flannery O' Connor, I heart your writing and your style. Though the shoes are a little conservative for me.
My newest acquisition. Famous Footwear for $25 on sale rack.
I am inadvertently indoctrinating my children with my obsession. Yes, my son is wearing a high heel. I know. I know. It so doesn't go with that outfit.
Taken right after the BIG FOOT run in Ogden last Sept.
I'll admit, there's a time and place for heels. And Moab isn't one of them.

This photo is less about the shoes and more about this awesome bike. Winning. (However, these are my favorite flip flops. They're SODA brand and seriously so COMFORTABLE. I wore them at Disneyland ALL DAY. Invest in SODA flip flops. Your pedicurist will thank you. Less than $20.)
Candy for your feet. $25 at Head Over Heels.
What kind of shoe enthusiast would I be if I didn't also pay homage to boots. These are my favorites.

Got them at Head Over Heels for $37 on sale. [Side note: I got the skirt from JC Penney's for $2. No lie.

I've had these boots for several years. I can't remember how much they cost me, but I love the exposed zipper look. I call 'em my Buffy boots.
Ross for under $20. Great for weddings.

On the left: Payless for close to $20. On the right: Snakeskin peeptoes at Dress Barn for under $20.

Black peep toes from Payless for close to $20.

Got these in Orlando at a Target for $14. Got the skirt from Ross for $15.

Did I ever tell you that I think my feet are my best feature? Well I do. That's prolly why I love shoes so much.

My Vietnamese pedicure for $30.
Also, did you know that March 1-8th is National Shoe Week. Best week of the year.

Monday, February 27, 2012

I've got writer's constipation. It's not as gross as it sounds.

You know how at writing conferences professional writers always laugh when some greenie asks, "so where do you get your ideas?" as if learning the answer to that question will land the amateur right into a Marchesa on the red carpet (who is immediately shoved aside by the paparazzi for a better glimpse of Michelle Williams, cuz who the hell cares about the writers, right?. But it's ok, because you get to chat with Tina Fey about her love child with Jimmy Fallon who they affectionately named Angus just before child services took him away before the parents could use Angus for other satirical purposes. *cough* A Modest Proposal. Also, don't ask Tina Fey about her about the scar.)

...did I have a point to that?
....
.....

Oh right.

Writers find that question so damn irritating, because the answer is anywhere and everywhere.

In the grocery store when the pregnant woman buys a multivitamins and pack of Virginia Slims.
At home when the kids invent a new language before mastering their primary one.
At work when a teacher censors a student's essay on anti-censorship.

[insert creative segue here or a picture of my dog.]
"'I wanna be sedated.' Do you like the Ramones?"

Thing is...I've got writer's block. Hell, it's more like writer's constipation. I wonder what the equivalent of Ex-Lax would be in this metaphor?

Anyway, after enlisting the help of my fb friends. One totally random--but helpful--comment reminded me that I have a bunch of posts that I started but never finished. Here they are and some other streams of consciousness. Enjoy. Or rather make me an appointment with a professional. Your choice.

  • My fishes and loaves fed 20,000. Miracles do happen. [Both of my blogs recently hit 10,000 page views. I know for some of you, that doesn't feel like much of a milestone, but it is for me. I'm pretty excited about it. I don't know how long it takes to grow blog readership, but I think I'm doing ok. I've only had one hater, but I'm keeping my fingers crossed.]
  • I would've stolen diapers too. [Remember reading about all the looting in New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina? Well, after having two of my own spawn, I know that I were in the same situation with two little ones and no diapers, I would've stolen them too. The last thing anyone should have to deal with in a natural freakin' disaster is their kid takin' a dump in the only pair of pants they own.]
  • I'm not sure I know what cumquat is. It's too bad there isn't something out there where I could just look it up. Or I could push a button and see pictures of cumquat. If only. [I just looked this up, and warning: the urban definition made me make this face... =O ]
  • My favorite phrase in Spanish is Abrazame muy fuerte. Why? Because 1. It's the name of a telenovela, and 2. It means "hug me really hard". Behold the cheese:
source: saladenovelas.blogspot.com

  • I used to be in a band. The Guapas Chicas. We separated because irreconcilable differences. But our motto of making up clean lyrics to songs our mothers wouldn't approve of is one thing we'll always have. That and all those love letters to Bobby. 
  • One time I got gum in my hair, and I got a really short haircut, cuz I guess my mom didn't know about the peanut butter trick. Then, she had me perm the top. Kids in my 6th grade class called me "Q-tip" for the whole year. I also wore pink sweats and a pink shirt with a cat on the front for my class photo that year. AND...(seriously, like it could get worse)...that was the year I took up cursing, only I didn't know how their parts of speech so it made for some awkward dialogue. Example:
  • Someone design me a caution sign for these babies.
    • Katie Von Perfectpants: "Can I please borrow your purple crayon?"
    • ME: "No. You piece of hell. And you can take your perfect bastard pants to damn for all I care."
  • Bennet moved to Texas and I miss her. And just because Texas has "Tex" in it, it makes me miss Texy too. And then I think about Vegas and I miss all the BGW's. See what you did, Bennet? It's like a domino effect. Guess you better move back or we might experience nostalgia on catastrophic levels. I'm not kidding. I'm about to pout a tornado up in here.
  • I'm sad that I won't be at BGW this year. But someone take a dance class for me. And someone  spoon Texy for me. And someone order a 3-foot tall smoothie from a mall for me...and then pass out in front of Gollum in a mini skirt for good measure. Man, that was a fun trip.
  • I have to hide my Chapstick from my dog and my son. For the same reason. 
  • I just got a pedicure from a Vietnamese guy (who looked like a cross between a young Sulu and the hot stuntman from The Guild). After about an hour of exfoliating and massaging during the best flipping pedicure in Feetdom, Gulu said in broken English, "I should be done by now, but I like working on your legs." The Babel fish in my ear could've hiccuped at the time, so it's possible that he said, "I should be home by now, but I like parking on tour guides." That doesn't sound any better. Plus, I hadn't even shaved. Hence the power of my gams. They're international gams. I bring the Vietnamese to their knees, or at least I made one late for a wedding reception. My gams are worth missing the "chicken or fish" for.
That's good enough. Huh. That was kinda fun. Now I see what James Joyce saw in this whole stream of consciousness deal. Thanks, JJ...but I still hate Ulysses

Monday, February 13, 2012

I have three wedding rings.

I have three wedding rings.
The one on the left is my first original wedding ring. The others are surrogates.

Same marriage. Three bands.

The first one doubles as a wedding ring and an engagement ring. It's a white gold band with three sparkly, hopeful diamonds. Even though it is often admired for it's uniqueness, there's tradition in the center diamond, as it belonged to my mother and came from her engagement ring. When the jeweler removed the stone from the prongs on her gold thin band, somehow the diamond chipped. I had them set it anyway, and on May 10, 2002, Cole and I wed, exchanging bands, mine with an aesthtic flaw, yet nonetheless sturdy. The inside reads, "With all my love."

Somewhere around year 7, my wedding ring didn't fit. I lost so much weight, my body and mind underwent so much change that with even the subtlest movements, my ring would slide off and ping ping ping to the floor. And during violent gestures, it would launch across the room, a thud and a dent in the drywall.

Afraid to lose the ring, I boxed it safely in a velvet lined jewelry box between a wooden bracelet that my sister brought back from Korea--with some symbol on it that meant "friendship" or "love" or "dignity" and a red slap watch. I swapped it out with a ring I purchased years ago in high school. A band made up of 4 thin bands, which at first glance appear solid, but when removed the puzzle ring crumbles into the pieces; 4 weak rings that bend under pressure.

The middle ring is a puzzle ring, which is made up of four smaller rings. You can see from this shot that the middle one doesn't always have it together.
I kept the pieces together and kept the illusion on my finger, though on more than one occasion, the ring was mistaken for costume jewelry, not a sign of my marital status. There were a few awkward exchanges and explanations. Apologetic smiles and flattered glances.

I wore the puzzle ring for almost three years, watching it wear and flatten in places that should be round. Since the ring has so many crevasses, I spent a good deal of the time scraping the edges clean with my fingernails, but it was never fully untarnished.

At first I resisted replacing it, because I was waiting to see if I would lose more weight, to see if I was destined to shrink anymore. I had asked my husband to make the adjustments to my first ring, but when he procrastinated month after month and year after year, I grew used to twisted ring.

It wasn't until after I took a trip down memory lane that I decided it was time for a new ring. I was flying back to my family when I had a layover in Denver, CO. In a Native American boutique, on a rack between beaded arm bands and a rack of tourquoise dangly earrings, I saw my third ring. It is a wide band made of a darker metal with a matte finish, and it has an etching of two flowers that seem to be reaching for each other, tails vining out behind them, but never quite touching. To me it seemed a symbol of power and fortitude, something my high school ring didn't provide. However, when lifted, the heft I thought it had disappeared like a mirage.

Ultimately the longing flower ring cost me $12. Less than both of the other rings, but I felt it was a purchase of far greater value. It would endure the pressures of life without bending. It will never replace my first ring, but it also won't be mistaken for costume jewelry.

I doubt it will be my last ring. I doubt my body will stop enduring change in the years to come. My hands will no doubt be required to carry weights I cannot imagine. My tinted industrial, yet feminine band fits me, resting in the indented cavity on my left ring finger, filling the emptiness.

For now.



Saturday, February 4, 2012

Spike is my alarm clock, but he has no snooze button


(In the perspective of my dog, Spike.)

A noise. Head up. Ears at attention.
Movement. Rustle. Stomp. Stomp. Stomp.
Watch the stairs. Watch them.
It’s the big one. He’s coming down to let me out.
He walks over and yawns, leans over to scratch behind my ears. Says, “Who’s a good boy?”
I stretch out my front paws
And stretch out my back paws.
Open my mouth wide in a yawn and even my tongue gets a stretch.
He gets up and walks to the door.
I follow.
Scratch at the door as he unlocks it.
It’s open. A burst of cold air knocks me in the face.
Go.
Run.
Cold. Cold. Cold.
Ahhhhh. Relief.
Run back inside.
Look how fast I am. I can out run the weather.
Up the stairs down the hall jump up on the bed.
I found her.
Still sleeping even though her box beep beep beeps.
I will wake her.
Lick lick lick her arm. Her skin smells like oranges. Tastes good too.
She moves the arm under the blanket.
What’s that? Under there?
Chew chew chew the fingers under blanket.
She moans, grumbles, and tucks the arm somewhere I can’t find.
Sniff sniff sniff. I smell her hair. Find her face.
Lick lick lick. She pushes me away.
I sit behind her shoulders and rest my head on her neck.
I do not lick.
I blink. Sad eyes. Give it a minute.
She rolls over.
A hand appears from somewhere scratches me behind the ear.
She is awake.

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