SHAMELESS PLUGGING

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Ode to a Shoe and its Mate

I bought you with derision in a Payless Shoe Source in Manhattan New York. I needed some shoes that weren’t boots. I’d never been to New York before; I’d never been anywhere really. I had no idea what kind of shoes would be necessary to navigate the jungle of buildings. You were casual without being sloppy. You were nice without being formal. You were black, but got along well with brown as well. You were that perfect medium. I wore you all over New York.

I wore you all over Farmington Utah as well. I wore you all over Provo, Orem, Lindon, Bountiful, Salt Lake City, and pretty much any Utah city I’ve been to in the past six years. I wore you in Las Vegas. Together, we stomped on naked pictures of “escorts”, and marched through casinos. We gambled for the first time together…of course, it was with someone else’s money so I didn’t feel too bad about it.

You were my shoe of choice for so long. You came with me to London. We rode the tube, got crepes at the South Kensington Crepery, and crossed the Millennium Bridge together. I wore you while I gazed across the Thames. I wore you the first time I saw the Eiffel Tower. That moment, that amazing moment that happens when you’re on the metro and the buildings part and all of a sudden there it is! Breathtaking! Mesmerizing! You were there for that with me. I wore you in Scotland. The cobblestone streets were tough. The ancient roads welcomed us. The magic soaked into our collective souls/soles.

I hated that you were a brand name. American Eagle? For real? I remember the first time I wore you to work in the shop and I accidentally got paint on you. The paint dripped on the brand name tag. I was ironically ok with it. You started to wear out. Your rubber soles began to crack. More paint. The heel of one shoe started to flap a little. Couldn’t wear you in the rain anymore.

I started trying to find a replacement for you. You were very simple in design after all; there should be some kind of knock off, copycat shoe company that made something similar to you. Nothing. And you kept getting worse. It was hard to wear you because I knew I was running you into the ground, but it was impossible to stop wearing you because I had ingrained you into my life. You were my go-to shoe. You made sense.

One day I was painting in the shop, your back heel flapping away. A friend of my commented on how old you were and another friend came to your defense. “I love those shoes. They’re perfect,” he said. You were perfect. But I knew I couldn’t keep you forever.

I wore you to Los Angeles. By this time, you were very nearly dead, but I wanted to add one more major city to your life. The dirt from L.A., Paris, London, Salt Lake City, Las Vegas, Edinburgh, Stratford, and Provo all mingled together. You were on the edge.

I was shopping in a thrift store one day and found a pair exactly like you in brand, size, and age only they were a muted brown. I almost bought them. However, when I tried them on I found their insoles were in worse shape than your outer soles. What shoes. What amazingly wonderful shoes that can be worn to bits and still be preferred over all the hundreds of shoes I own and have owned.

I can’t keep you anymore. You’ve fallen totally apart. I can’t wear you. I can’t justify your place in my closet. I haven’t found a replacement for you, and truly, doubt I ever will. But I needed to do something to remember you; to keep you important for me. If at least, for a little while.

Good-bye shoes. You were well worth the twenty dollars I spent on you and initially resented. Thank you for proving me wrong. Thank you for guarding my feet in all my travels in life. Godspeed shoes. Guard the feet of angels and walk the roads of heaven and if you could, would you mind throwing another pair my way?

For Realsies?

So. I am a grown up. No matter how hard it is for me to accept the fact, I am no longer in my twenties. Grown up. And as a grown up, I feel a certain sense of responsibility to uphold the title in all its glory. I help children that are lost in shopping marts. I pick up litter when it's within reach and doesn't impede my destination. I also own and drive my very own, fully paid off, Toyota Tacoma. Grown up. As the owner and operator of such a grown up vehicle, I also feel it is my grown up responsibility to drive conscientiously. I also feel it is my grown up right to be pissed at those grown ups that don't recognize their own responsibility. Like the idiot that full on cut in front of me not only after he had made eye contact, but he had enough time after the eye contact to pause, look the other direction, and still make the decision to force me to slam on my brakes. Not tap, slam. Full stop in the middle of the street. And for such an action, what grown up would deny you the right to blare your grown up horn? So I did. Little did I remember, Toyota made a fatal flaw in designing the 1995 Toyota Tacoma, that flaw being the intimidating power of the horn. Or should I say the lack thereof. The sound of my horn resembles that of a toy car horn, or clown horn, or the occasional squeaky toy in the dog food section of the grocery store. Intimidated? Hardly. Laughable. Anyone that I honk at does not question their own stupidity in driving, but rather, asks themselves "for real? Was that a car horn? Cute." If anything, it encourages bad behavior.

So what do I do? Voluntarily give up my grown up right to honk? Turn the other cheek? Buy a new, guttural, man-voice horn? I think not. For now, I've decided to honk at random with little rhyme or reason and maybe, just maybe, people will be so busy laughing they'll have to stop and think twice about cutting me off. Preemptive strike, if you will....

Dear Digestive Tract,

I am writing this letter in response to the recent unwanted activity that has been going on 'down there.' Please do not mistake this for a friendly letter; far from it. As you have ignored my recent attempts to resolve this issue in a friendly manner, a non-friendly method was my last recourse.

As you know, in years past I have been pleased and even proud at times that you have the strength and the willpower that you do. Your sheer determination to 'power through' any intestinal illness has allowed our body to evade even the most powerful stomach flu's that circulate through my office thus enabling me to use my days off for much more important things like festivals and vacations. You have also afforded me with many hours of conversation discussing your 'no vomit' policy and the absence of your gag reflex always invites further probing and parlor tricks.

While determination and willpower are admirable traits, there is such a thing as 'too much of a good thing.' I am writing this letter today to inform you that I believe your determination has turned into stubborn adherence to policy, and your willpower is little more than a failure to adapt to circumstances at hand. Throwing up is not a pleasant option, but it is an option nonetheless, one that I feel you have ignored in the face of your stubborn pride. Had you made the choice to throw up at the beginning of this ordeal, the rest of our body would not be in the prolonged pain that it is in--and has been in for three days. I feel that with your thirty years of experience, when faced with the impending conflict, you have the proper knowledge to gauge what we can and can not handle as a body. I feel that by making the decision to disengage the vomit reflex, you have endangered our way of life as a whole being, and I am disinclined to leave future decisions of this importance up to your discretion.

I realize that at this point, little can be done retroactively to diffuse the situation. But I expect that you will do everything within your power to remedy this situation as quickly and painlessly as possible, with minimal effect on other bodily systems and organs. I also expect that you will learn from this mistake you have made, and be willing to consider other options more carefully in the future.

Sincerely,
-Me

I was in HEELS

Anyone that knows me, knows that my number one, all time, biggest pet peeve of death is when people leave shopping carts in the middle of the parking lot.

ESPECIALLY when the cart corral is mere feet away. Before I proceed, a couple of little known facts about shopping carts:

1) On average, shopping carts weigh about 40 lbs.

2) Shopping carts cost anywhere from $100 to $200, plastic or metal.

3) Store managers claim a staggering $8,000 to $10,000 loss a year in shopping cart theft or damage.

4) Even if you watched someone deliberately roll a shopping cart into your car, it's nearly impossible to receive compensation for the damages.

With that said:

I went a shopping today, feeling good about the nice weather, found a lovely spot right up front, and was in and out with what I needed in no time. As I walked toward my car I noticed a rather large woman and her rather large teenage daughter sauntering to their car which was parked kiddie-corner to mine. Their cart contained one, maybe two bags of groceries--certainly making good use of the cart which can hold up to 95,000 cubit inches of goods. The daughter pulled the bags out of the cart, and the woman tucked the cart right up next to my bumper. Because if it's already TOUCHING my car, it can't possible crash into it, right?

She and her daughter had climbed themselves into their car by the time I reached the scene. I put my one bag of groceries--for which I did NOT need a cart--in my car, slammed my door, and walked THEIR cart the 20 FEET to the cart corral. Literally. All the while, the two of them sat in their car enjoying some sort of overly preserved food item that couldn't possibly wait for them to leave the parking lot, LET ALONE for them to put the cart away.

I ask you, what kind of world do we live in where we would add 40lbs to our load just so we don't have carry two bags? What kind of world do we live in where on a sunny day, with no obstacles in our path but another 20 feet, do we opt to potentially endanger someone else's property--both mine and the store's--rather than return a blasted shopping cart to its proper place? And why, in the name of all that is good and holy in this world, is it my responsibility to clean up after you? I don't care that you are tired. I don't care that you are overweight. I don't care that your knees are bad or that your back hurts or that you're really excited to eat your Little Debbie Cakesters. I don't care that your daughter's future is just as bleak as your own, forged out of the decisions you've damned yourself with. I was in heels! And somehow I dug deep down inside myself and found the courage and strength to walk twenty more feet than I was planning on, pushing 40 more pounds than I had intended to, to return a 120 dollar cart that I DIDN'T USE.

AND I had a Reese's Peanut Butter cup waiting for me in the car.

-Me

I heart honest advertising

-Me

Mission Statment

So apparently, this blogging fad is going to stick around for longer than I expected. My silent rebellion to keep my face-to-face friendships offline has been squashed by the technological tsunami that is social networking. And if you can't beat 'em, you gotta at least keep up with them. But if this is what it takes, I'm going to do it my way.

Reasons I Have Avoided Blogging:

1) Fragmentation of Friendships: Many will argue that blogging lets you develop stronger friendships with people you don't see often. I disagree. I feel that blogging all of my feelings into cyberspace creates an easy out for people to NOT develop stronger friendships with me. If all I have to do to catch up with someone is read their daily blog, what motivates me to talk to them in person? And what's worse, when I do talk to them in person, what will we have to talk about? I get what I need out of a friendship online and I don't have to give anything back. That's not a friendship.

2) Illusion of Importance: I am not the center of the universe. You are not the center of the universe. No matter how many followers a blog obtains, the writer is just a person spilling their thoughts onto a keyboard. More than once, I've had conversations with friends that were offended that I had not read their blog. Nevermind that I was one of three out of their five hundred Facebook friends that attended their baby shower.

3) Failure to Dig Further: This goes hand in hand with the assumption that 'everyone has read my blog, so there's no need to elaborate in person.' More than likely, I haven't read your blog. I require the details.

4) Intonation is Lost: For me, the Facebook friends I stalk are not real people. There's a disconnect when I learn about a life from a computer rather than a face. I love reading a person's face. Even talking on the phone offers a certain sense of detachment. I often forget the words that people say because what strike chords with me are the tones they use while speaking. Facial expressions, body language, vulnerability, distractions, listening skills, all of these things tell me more about a person than the words they choose to use ever will.

In an attempt to avoid becoming what I dislike, I have established a mission statement for myself. (I like structure, challenges, rules, regulations; I feel they inspire rather than inhibit creativity.)

MISSION STATMENT

This blog is intended to provide an overflow station for the many ramblings and thoughts that run laps around my brain. My thoughts are not meant to offend. My opinions will rarely be solidified. I may say 'soda speak' and mean 'so to speak' or vice versa.


-I pledge to never base my self worth on the number of followers accumulated on this blog.

-I pledge to use punctuation, proper grammar, and correct spelling so far as my knowledge of the English language permits me.

-I pledge to make up words to fit my thoughts, not the other way around.

-I pledge to use metaphors and analogies that will provide line drawings of my thoughts, not complete pictures. Those who wish to color inside the lines are welcome to it. Those who wish to color outside the lines are invaluably appreciated.

-I pledge to express opinions because they are mine, not because they are popular.

-I pledge to change my opinions when sufficient logic is presented against them.

-I pledge to quote and reference 'Arrested Development', 'Serenity/Firefly', 'Oscar', and 'Back to the Beach' on a regular basis. I can't promise that 'Pushing Daisies', 'Mystery Men', 'Zorro the Gay Blade' won't sneak in as well.

On this, the 19th day of May, 2010, I hereby declare this blog PUBLISHED. Let the great experiment begin!

-Me