Oct
4
October 4, 2006
Years ago, I was trying to set up a lunch date with an ex-boss of mine, and when I suggested the Cheesecake Factory in downtown Seattle – mostly because I knew there was a non-terrifying parking lot nearby – she snootily informed me that she wouldn’t eat anywhere with the word factory in its name.
I think of her sometimes when I shop at the Shoe Pavilion, because I bet she wouldn’t buy shoes anywhere with the word pavilion in its name, either. In fact, unless her personal circumstances have changed dramatically, I can pretty much guarantee it, because I once house-sat her Mercer Island mansion for a week and peeked in her giant walk-in closet and saw – for the first time in my life outside of Sex and the City – actual rows upon rows of carefully boxed Jimmy Choos. I don’t think you can buy Jimmy Choos at the Shoe Pavilion, is what I’m saying.
You can buy affordable boots there, though, and I decided that this year I need a sexy pair of tall leather boots. It is a Goal of mine, to find these boots. Sure, I could have a loftier goal like losing ten pounds or cleaning out the hall closet, but screw it, I want some boots.
So I visited the Pavilion of Shoes earlier this week and tried on a few pairs. And PEOPLE. There is a PROBLEM.
Let me back up a little and tell you something about myself: I have nice legs. I do. From about mid-thigh on down, I have some shapely motherfucking stems. They are not skinny, but there is definition between the calves and the ankles. I may have lost the genetics game when it comes to other nonfantastic body parts, but goddamn it I have good legs.
(Whew, that got a little defensive, didn’t it? Hi, low self esteem calling, are we reaching?)
Anyway, these boots…they do not fit at the top. What the hell? I know I do not have elephantine chunk-trunks, so why is it that I couldn’t zip up one single pair of tall boots without cutting off my circulation and creating a weird leg-bulge above the boot? WHY?
I tried on some Nine Wests, so I’m not just talking about El Cheapo pleather designs. Are they supposed to, like, stretch over time? Are leg-bulges trendy, and I just didn’t read about it in Us magazine? Are the only people who are able to wear tall boots shaped like Mischa Barton?
Maybe there’s a reason to avoid pavilions, after all. I need a Shoe Hut. A Shoe Hut for the Big-Calved, apparently.
Oct
3
October 3, 2006
To those of you who wrote to me after yesterday’s entry, thank you. It means more to me than I can adequately explain.
I have deleted the entry because JB was unhappy with how he was mentioned. To be absolutely goddamn crystal clear, I did not mean to imply he was abusive in any way shape or form. I was trying to talk about my own regret for arguing in front of Riley, but it’s true that sometimes I am completely surprised by the disconnect between what I think I’m saying and what people hear.
I didn’t know how to re-phrase anything in a manner which he would find acceptable, so I just got rid of it. I’m sorry I had to do so, because it was honest and the way some of you responded made me feel like I did something good by sharing my story. I wish I didn’t have to censor myself, especially over something I think is important to admit and talk about.
I do think about what I write here and elsewhere and how it might impact other people. I think about it with regards to Riley, whether or not it’s okay to talk about him and post photos of him, when he isn’t in a position to give me permission to do so. I don’t know for certain. I can only stay aware of what I’m doing, and make changes if I feel they’re necessary.
It’s pretty hard to talk about the ups and downs in your life if you never refer to anyone else. On one hand, I feel like this is my website, and I’m writing about my life. It’s about me, and how I feel. On the other hand, I have to respect the fact that JB may not want certain details publicized, because it’s his life too.
I’m frustrated because you guys helped me so much yesterday, and to be told that the entry was negative brings me right back to the same place of shame and regret.
But. This is not Enforced Blog Therapy. This is not where my family’s dirty laundry is supposed to be dragged out for everyone to see. I get that.
And now it’s time to move on. So…
Look! This guy is constipated. I took this photo of a paused commercial the other night, because I thought it was so ridiculous. I can’t remember what was being advertised, presumably some sort of gastro-intestinal miracle drug, but seriously. Was this the best they could do?
Also, if you are having a not-so-great weekend, I highly recommend arranging for a giant box of GUM to be delivered to your house.
Thanks to a fabulous reader who works at Wrigley, I got all hooked up with my favorite Eclipse Polar Mint gum, plus a festive assortment of other chewables. I have to say, the lemon gum sounded about as appealing as spraying my mouth with Citronella, but it is, in fact, magically goddamn delicious.
I am trying to pace myself with the Plethora O’ Gum, otherwise I’ll hit some kind of glycerin/rosin overload and I, too, will have a message emblazoned across my belly: I CANNOT SHIT FOR I AM FULL OF GUM.
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