So in the comments section of my last post fellow blogger, (not wine blogger…there are others, did you all know about this?) AnotherDayofCrazy alerted me that she had tagged me on her latest post. Once I realized that she had not covered me, a photo of me or this blog in graffiti I remembered that I had seen this tag thing once before on my beloved Sara’s blog, Sara In Le Petit Village, (again those linkie things, gotta get me a lesson on how to do that, but she is on my blogroll). So the deal is, someone writes a post about something then they tag a couple people and now they have to, (well you don’t HAVE to but it’s kinda douchey not to) do their own post on the same subject. They then tag a couple folks and so on and so on.
Now I have yet to see this in the wine blog world, but seeing as I only read a handful of them it may in fact be happening and I am just clueless. That or we wine folks are so encased in our little bubble that we have no idea this is happening in the rest of the blogosphere, but seeing as my goal has always been to reach out to people on the other side of the bubble….well I’m gonna play dammit. But Holy-mother-of-all-things-that-make-me-feel-like-more-of-a-freakish-chick why did it have to be shoes?!
There was a time, a time long ago that I was in fact a shoe freak. I was about twenty and making my own money for the very first time. Each dime that did not go to my son and his care went to shoes….the latest, hottest, most worth dropping triple digits on shoes, Nikes. I was a total sneaker freak. I bought pair after pair of white, they were always white, Nikes and would give the “No you did-int stare to anyone that dared to step on my kicks or ding them with their shopping cart. It was an addiction that needed to be addressed. It was ugly, the sweats, the vomiting, the shakes but I was able to emerge victorious and free of my “just a little taste” monkey, the one that would have me sniffing around the Foot Locker scratching my calves, biting my lip and begging to, “Just let me put my toes in for a second”. I would love to say that my family was unscathed but I shamefully admit that my son, my dear sweet son was touched by my habit. He has been working at Dick’s Sports Goods for two years….in the shoe department. He seems to be able to use better than I did but I do get horrendous pangs of guilt when I get the text messages with pictures attached, “Ma which ones you think? These or (second photo) these?”….sigh.
Since kicking my habit those many years ago I pretty much own one pair of black shoes, one pair of brown shoes and a pair of flip flops. I wear them until they literally fall apart, my last two pairs of black shoes ended up splitting across the sole before I finally laid them to rest. Oh and did I mention my toe thing? Okay so I have a “binding” issue. I don’t like things that hold me too tight, this goes for clothes, under garments, men, and shoes. Fuck I waited until my eleven year anniversary to even marry my husband….kinda hard to hold on to and if you hold too tight…doesn’t fit. My clothes are always at least two sizes too big, jammies are often closer to four sizes too big and when it comes to shoes…..well I now buy the right size but I always buy men’s. The very idea of having my toes pinched (shudder) together and crammed into some against nature point…well it just aint ever gonna happen. My mother used to love telling everyone that I would stop dead in my tracks and begin crying if I had a wrinkle in my sock. No words, just a two year old Sam wailing because something in her shoes was making her feel funny…not much has changed in thirty seven years.
So okay AnotherDayofCrazy here we go….
My Brown Shoes
I love them but fully understand why some, (read men) hate them. They are dinged to hell, the backs are structurally challenged and the heels wear the fact that I rest my weight on them. Cannot remember when or why I bought these shoes but remember clear as day walking down the steps of a tiny hotel in Cadiz….feeling shy and so not ready to join my massive group of travelers. The females noticing my chunky, squared shoes first…the guys being distracted by my slightly too big brown suit, pumpkin shirt and brown tie. Alliances were formed that first night; me against all the girls and while it pained me I found comfort and acceptance with the dudes that never thought to look at my shoes and loved pulling me around by my tie. As our little gang of divided travelers moved on to Alsace there were more females leaving the nasty shoe-shit talking pack, tired of stumbling around on four inch heels through the cobblestone streets and after a very drunken night in a gay bar in Colmar where somehow my shoes were removed and I tried to force them back on, (thus destroying the spine of my beloved shoes) before cramming my ass in the ONE cab in all of Colmar, with three of my once snarling and whispering female travelers. Drunk, shoes wrecked and the four of us laughing our asses off.
Fast forward three years, my next trip to Europe and I am meeting the only other woman on the trip. “I love those shoes” she said as we shook hands, in love…I was in love from that point forward. Broken, scuffed, squared and so very me. These shoes are mine, they wear my life on them and I stand so proud and so confident when my feet are in them.
My Flip Flops
Being from Southern California wearing flip flops is just part of the deal. It is the uniform and what we all deem acceptable footwear for anything from hanging on the beach to four star dining. Love it or hate it that is SoCal and I personally love it. I adore getting all glammed up, curling the hair, laying heavy on the eyeliner, wearing the, (too close for my liking) form fitting shirts, curve hugging jeans and hearing the slap-slap-slap as my flip flops accompany me to the hostess station at whatever new hot spot is on my list of, “must see”. Sure there are some fancified versions of the flip flop but these…these are my chosen ones. One look at the underside and you might figure out why…
Bottle opener. My freaking shoes can open a bottle of beer…dude, I am so in.
So my favorite shoes, the ones that make me feel the most sexy, the most sass and the most comfortable…it’s these….
My skin, my toes, (they need a painting I know) but no shoe, no manufactured piece can make me feel more alive, more sexy and more me than these. Living in my skin, looking at the little bits of growth, the rough patch on my big toe that reminds me that I used to dance….the way the veins run down the length of my foot…the way I can cradle my whole heel in the palm of my hand. Sexy, just seems sexy to me. So my most beloved “Hello Lover” shoe thing, well it comes from touching my bare feet…my skin...feeling all the weight and texture...those little rough bits, it's just me.
So now I have to tag someone, keep the game going and see if my beloved wine bloggers can intermingle with the rest of the world so...Ron and Charlie, you're It!