Shuesday: Worship at your own (financial) risk

calced (kalst) adjective. Wearing shoes. From Latin calceus (shoe). Which has to be better than not wearing shoes, yes?

These are Roman goddess shoes - at least they have an unworldy price tag.

(The four-inch heel undoubtedly references the original interpretation of goddess as one who stayed still while worshipers came to see her, and not the modern, girl-power fueled goddess, bestriding her world like a fashion colossus.)

I see London, I see Lance

Lance Armstrong was on The Daily Show tonight, which was fine, (I'm not a fan). For someone who's spent that much time in France, he should have better fashion sense. He came out in jeans, an untucked white buttondown shirt, and a black jacket with one button done up. The front shirttails were hanging out below the jacket in front, not just because it was untucked, but because the shirt is longer than the jacket, at least in front.

He's a big guy (despite the fact that he appears shorter than Jon while seated in the chair, what's that about Jon?), he's fron Texas, and it's the end of June in New York City. Either tuck in the shirt or lose the jacket. Which reminds me, we had a discussion the other day with some of the boys, and the rule with jacket buttons is, top to bottom, always, sometimes, never. We were watching the NHL payoffs, and one of the announcers sat down with all three jacket buttons done up. It just looks lumpy, and in all the wrong places.

Blinded by the Whites: Part Un

This weekend, summer chose to glance west, and all the ghosts that populate this town responded by turning into cherries through overexposure to the sun. And I love cherries. Bing, not Maraschino. Although that reminds me of the time The Renaissance Man bought me dinner. But that's a story for another time.

To celebrate, I marched in the morning, and then betook myself to a part of town that has more spas and beauty salons per square inch than any other I've ever seen, for a pedicure. After all, those new shoes deserve beautiful feet, non? Kim did a fabulous, quiet, affordable job and I almost fell asleep. Almost. It was reminiscent of the shavasana yesterday morning. And my toes are now cherry-red and ready for those shoes.

Just give me one thing that I can hold on to

Suddenly it hits me: in this moment, this place, this pinprick in the human timeline, it is fucking fantastic to be a woman. The three of us discuss switching careers, moving to new continents and constructing our lives in concrete terms, never considering that we might not have the freedom or abilities to consummate our plans. The notion of being excluded from schools, organizations or companies because we’re female doesn’t enter our consciousness. Our choices for an autonomous future are just that: our choices. We romped freely through adolescence and our early twenties, and now sit back and laugh at past pitfalls and mistakes with no fear of scarring reputations or curbing options. We harbor aspirations and goals with no concept of limits or walls, carving out identities without heed to convention or social mores. Our personalities run rampant, never crammed into boxes or forced to embody male fantasies or antiquated visions of “femininity.” Without trying, we convey the poise that accompanies self-assurance gained from life experience. We can laugh at the world’s puerile assholes knowing they’ll squirm through life as barely a blip on the cosmic radar. We love men as companions and equals, not saviors, tormentors or patriarchal substitutes. We sob, scream, cackle, grin and giggle on the street with abandon, achieving full self-expression whenever and however we choose.

Sipping my margarita, I realize that here, now, we have everything we need to create extraordinary lives brimming with possibility, all handed to us wrapped in silver ribbon. To the women who endured the past and fought limitless inequity, dedicating entire generations to social transformation so that women my age could step into a world of immeasurable opportunities: Thank you.

Thank you, Opinionista.

Angel from Montgomery

Urban Etiquette

New York mag has published an Urban Etiquette guide (it's OK, the same rules apply if you're not in NYC, just skip over the part about subways) and it is hilarious. Exerpts:

How do you tell someone he's been mispronouncing your name for three months?
Tell him a story in which you use your own name, clearly enunciating where he’s got it wrong. For example, if you were Ralph Fiennes, you’d say, “I called him and said, ‘Hi, this is Raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaafe Fines.’”

What’s the best way to split the check in a group?
At a group meal, an equal split should be the baseline expectation: It falls to those who ordered more-expensive dishes to offer to pay more, not to others to pay less. Failure to partake in the appetizers or the wine can be cited as a reason to cut one’s contribution only if there was some socially sanctioned reason for declining (veganism, Islam, pregnancy). If you just got the soup and you don’t think that’s fair, well, think about whether it’s “fair” to make your friends eat dinner with a buzz-killing cheapskate.

The one that gets me, and is not addressed here, is those damn people who barge into the elevator before letting those in the elevator off. Same goes for the bus. It's not like you're that desperate to get to work.

Shuesday: Serendipity

Although this isn't exactly the season, these are lovely, and are also available in pink with a black bow.

Last week had its moments, and not only because I managed to run over a pair of steel scissors en route to the tire-rotation shop. I found the latest shoes I'd been craving, (and on sale!) and completed my summer shoe-drobe with a new pair of beige sandals and a pair of brown strappy sandals with a slight platform (because what I'm missing these days is height). The Scottish Cowgirl talked me out of a pair of Michael Kors sandals (high heel, three thin straps across the foot with a perpendicular thin strap connecting them to a final thin strap around the ankle - regretfully I was unable to find a photo). She contended they were a little dominatrix-y & since I wanted them for everyday, we went a more office-appropriate route.

I know three pairs of shoes in a week seems ridiculous, but I've convinced myself that now I don't need to shop for or buy shoes for the rest of the summer. This should last at least until the end of the month. Also picked up a new white jacket, so there's also a moratorium on shopping general going into effect. Once again, the rule that when SCGirl and I go shopping, I buy and she gets off Scot-free. Grrr.

Shuesday: The Second Deadly Sin

So Midwest Medved was strolling through the mall, ostensibly on his way to purchase shorts for his 5 year old, and low and behold, he accidentally stumbled into the men's shoe department at Neiman Marcus and suddenly became the proud owner of a pair of Ferragamo loafers. The Grinch, the Wicked Witch of the West, and the Great Gazoo had nothing on me colour-wise.

Ladies, I realize this isn't going to do anything for you (other than to make you wonder where you can find a guy with such great taste in shoes), but the fact that I actually know someone who owns a pair of shoes in this particular plane is very, very empowering. By which I mean it raises the upper limit of what I'm willing to pay for a pair. He claims they're comfortable enough to run in - of course one would never subject them to such treatment - which is not something I'd be prepared to say of ... almost any of my shoes, owned or coveted.

Playing Dress-up

Tell me about your style.
I first look at the weather, and then select a shoe based on how athletic the plans for the day are, and then I work up. My husband actually buys all of my clothes for me. I think it’s sweet, and he’s got far better taste than I do.

I know one guy I'd trust enough to dress me, but wouldn't be interested, one who I'd trust enough, but who lives in Iceland, and one I might trust a year from now, based on his taste in shoes (more about that later). Besides, isn't this just a sign of learned helplessness? Although I guess if you've already got a driver ...

Well Tressed Soho Housewife [NY Magazine]

Read the label

There's a fun Greek restaurant in town with a house martini that includes feta-stuffed olives. I like mine dirty, so I partook and was pleasantly surprised. And when I ran out of martini olives chez moi, and happened to see feta-stuffed olives at the store, I thought, Perfect!

Later that night, I popped two in the bottom of a chilled glass, acknowledged the vermouth and poured the icy nectar of the gods from the shaker over the olives. And that's when I saw them. Little pools of oil, like mercury, floating on the surface of my beautifully chilled gin. The olives, you see, came in oil, not olive juice, and if I'd spent a moment looking at the label, where it's clearly written, I'd have put them back on the shelf.

And now, what to do with them? Can they be rinsed, or patted dry before involving them with the other martini ingredients? Tonight I added them to Trivial Kate's lavosh pizza (where they're performing well), but I ask you! Does a girl have to stuff her own olives around here?

No one can find the rewind button, girl

Two am and she calls me cause I'm still awake ...

Yes, I know it's a song that contains the amount of cheese consumed daily by a small French village. I won't apologize for being a girl. There's a bicoastal effort underfoot to improve my taste in current music. Or at least to expand my options. Although so far, all the bands seem to start with the word The.

There's a hidden epidemic ravishing the country that no one's talking about, and it's anesthesia-lag, the time it takes to recover from surgery beyond the healing of wounds sustained and the dissolving of stitches. Harder to predict than jet-lag, and less common, it sneaks up on one long after care-takers have flown away and swelling is no longer visible to the naked eye. (If only someone cared enough to share, and connect ...).

I hear that staying away from alcohol and getting lots of sleep helps, but I don't think those people know what they're talking about. Although perhaps following their advice would stave off what may become a World Cup watching-habit. The fact that I've never played football (soccer), and therefore have no idea how the rules work doesn't seem to be making a difference so far, but with The Scot's departure, I suspect opportunites to watch will decrease.

But, my God, it's so beautiful, when the boy smiles.

Made someone really laugh this week - I couldn't hear it live, but I could tell - a hard-earned laugh and a real one, from someone who isn't prone. That felt good.

The good news is that the parts of my personality with addictive tendencies appear not to be interested in pain medication. Which is not to say that I'm going to have any left when this is all over, but that I haven't had to call for a third prescription. Yet. We'll see how I feel when I get back from my run tomorrow. Yoga would probably be a better way to start exercising again, but today's work & social marathon did not permit. Maybe I'll just lie in bed and practice breathing. Which is really just sleep.

Shuesday: The Non-shoe Sandal

Each summer, my search for the ultimate sandal begins again - I want as little shoe as possible, a decent heel and comfortable sole. I've been looking for a nude heel for spring to replace a pair that are several years old, and I think this might be it. Plus its tiny straps are gold and silver, which gives it even more flexibility.

And He agrees, there shall be no Crocs.

Yes, the defenders of the Crocs they will speak, as the defenders of the ugly often do, of the great comfort of this “shoe”. Manolo asks you, why must the “comfort” always be the war cry of those who would lead us into the bad shoes?

Manolo says, comfort and style they are not incompatable, one does not obviate the other.

Say No to the Crocs [Manolo]
Crocalocious

Pudding & jello & soup, oh my!

My sense is that solid food is on the horizon. Many thanks to the bringers of flowers, ice cream and blenders, as well as the senders of good wishes.

Under the knife

(If it weren't melodramatic, how would you know it was me?)

Because it's important to do things right, and because I've done lots of things first, I unconsciously elected to be the last of my peers to have my wisdom teeth out. Today. All four at once. First time under general anesthetic since age 5 (tonsils & adenoids). Peers have been equal parts supportive and derisive, and often both at once. Those of you who were truly empathetic know who you are. I'm less wise going forward, we'll know they were properly named. I'm apparently being driven home by two men in costumes and wigs - as long as they bring the milkshake and a spoon, I'll probably be beyond caring. See you on the other side.