I've waited for this day for weeks. Maybe months. Maybe even years. I've been thinking about blogging since I first heard of (and then subsequently googled) the word. However, I know myself and I know my flaws. I know that I like to start new things. I know that I do NOT like to stick with most things. I was worried (and truthfully still am) that once I start blogging, two sad and bad things will happen: 1. I will neglect other things that I should and/or want to be doing (see my blog name and time of this post???), and 2. I won't stick with it. However, I also know something else about myself: my willpower is about as strong as a newt's. I guess it was only inevitable that I would one day start blogging.
I think, in a way, my past few years of Facebooking has kind of been like blogging. People comment that my status updates are pretty funny and more than one person has told me to write a book someday. I tend to call it like it is, and I spend way too much time thinking about (perseverating, really) on things that most people don't even notice but find pretty humorous and true when they do. Friends have suggested I start twitting or tweeting or whatever it is, but obviously I have no idea what that really means, so that's not happening. Recently, on my "mommy board," we've been talking about blogging. I've been inspired by these women's blogs, and encouraged by them to start my own, so here it is - my very first ever virgin (gulp) blog post...
I think it's only right to start by talking about something very important in my life - shoes. Looking back, I realize I've always had a thing for them. I remember having at least three pairs of jellies when I was a pre-teen (think late 1980s) - sparkly clear, hot pink, and teal! Then I morphed from awkward pre-pubescent girly girl to a confused wannabe hippy chic. I must have been about 13 or 14 when I convinced my sweet grandmother to buy me these awesome clogs - they were maroon and made a great loud "click click" when I walked. Then, as I progressed even further into my alternative-hippy/wannabe-grunge-girl days when I wore boys' jeans and swore off bras, my love for shoes continued to flourish. At 15, I wore Birkenstock sandals with colorful wool socks (yes, I am sweating with embarrassment as I write this!). At 16, as I moved further into the "I don't need to follow the rules" attitude, I had five pairs of Chuck Taylor Converse sneakers - three low top (green, black, and deep purple), and two high top (hot pink, and red and grey flannel plaid). The plaid ones were sent to me by an older boy who might or might not have had a little thing for me when we met that summer, but either way, he clearly understood my need for self-expression through shoes! :) He was cute, and the shoes were cuter, but truthfully, they couldn't hold a candle to the purple ones! At 17, my fashion sense continued to morph faster than that questionable jar of applesauce in the back of the fridge. I remember working at my first "real" job at a trendy women's clothing store, wearing brown lace up military style boots with ankle-length flowery dresses (oh, god - is it hot in here or what???)! Somehow, I managed to keep my job, and even got complements from the customers and my bosses (more for my guts than actual fashion sense, I'm sure!).
Sadly, in college, my love for shoes took a backseat to my love for booze, so I didn't really have any money to buy memorable shoes (or if I did, said love of booze precluded any possibility of remembering them!). In grad school, I didn't have any money for shoes OR booze, so I was one sad, thirsty, and boringly dressed girl... I do remember, though, my one splurge - replacing the plain brown laces on my brown boots with bright red ones! I was really living on the edge - I know! After a lot of hard work writing papers, reading texts, and hiding my ho-hum shoes under tables, I finally got my degree and a real job. I had a paycheck and an audience to support my habit, and I finally had a job where it was expected, acceptable, and even appropriate to wear nice shoes! In the past eight years, I am proud to admit that my shoe collection has grown faster than the clump of cat hair at the bottom of the basement stairs.
Despite years and years of unabashed shoe love, I never really realized I had a problem until my first staff retreat at my then-new job four years ago. We had to anonymously provide a fun factoid about ourselves for a cheezy "get to know you" game with the new staff members. My creative juices were so not flowing, so the best I could come up with was "I own 38 pairs of shoes." Apparently, this is a bit more than most people, but how was I to know? Since then, when I had to reveal my identity to my coworkers and was quickly referred to more 12-step programs than I care to admit (remember, I work in a mental health clinic!), I have become known at work as the shoe diva. I have fierce competition each year when we have trendy young interns, but overall, I think I hold my own. Truthfully, I appreciate the challenge from these "kids," because I am definitely the youngest senior staff member and one of the few straight women, too. I don't think I'm letting the cat out of the bag when I say that most lesbians have no idea about shoes - essentially, what I have learned from my dear gay friends is that if it's flat and black and comfortable, it goes with anything. Oh god! Thankfully, though, these new interns come every year with new styles and trends and not only encourage my love for shoes, but also give me something interesting to look at and think about during staff meetings! But, I digress...
Since that overly revealing day four years ago, my collection has grown to 52 pairs (54 if you count my ski boots, but I think that's kind of cheating). Some of my favorites are my red patent leather heels (which are a smidge too tight since pregnancy but I still wear them anyway); faux purple crocodile skin heels (which don't really match anything I own but I try them on at least once a week in the hopes that they magically will); black, white, and pink lace kitten heels (which I wear all the time, so much so that they will likely need to be resoled soon but it would probably cost more than the shoes themselves!); and my at-least-12-year-old permanently stained and dingy green Old Navy flip flops (that I couldn't possibly have paid more than $7 for!). I still fantasize about a marvelous pair of shoes I bought last summer and made myself return (thanks to that good old Catholic guilt!). They were pewter crocodile skin heels and they were gorgeous, but I knew I had nothing to wear them with. Funny though - this spring, I bought a pair of pewter flats - not crocodile skin and not heels, but shiny and soft all the same... Anyway, despite owning 52+ pairs of shoes, I found myself shoe shopping today! I honestly do need a pair of strappy silver sandals for a friend's wedding that I'm in in two weeks, but I also managed to thoroughly convince myself that I need (yes, NEED) a new pair of black sandals and a new pair of brown sandals. Fortunately for my bank account (and my marriage), I couldn't find either the black or brown sandals. Unfortunately, though, I also couldn't find the silver sandals, so my quest will continue. I have a slight suspicion that my, ahem, need for the black and brown sandals will continue, too... Don't worry - I'll keep you posted...
Oh, and in case you were wondering, I did start wearing bras again. Turns out, push up bras do so much more for flat chested girls like me than civil disobedience and burn parties do.
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