Footsies

I so want to be a "shoe person". I covet cute shoes. They are so fun and spunky and just the perfect adornment to any outfit.

The problem is I'm a "comfort person" and in my (ahem) years on this planet, I've made special note that "comfort" and "cute" so rarely go together.

But every once in a while I bust out a pair of cute shoes, sashay into a local establishment and hobble out with my slightly deformed and bloody feet several hours later.

And you know what? It's worth it, it really is. It's mostly worth it. It is, in fact, worth it...occasionally. Well, some times. Okay - hardly ever. But I do it anyway.

Because I have the great desire to be a "shoe person". And don't get between a girl and cute shoes.

Why Can't TV Mirror Real Life?

Even "reality" tv isn't so - how shall I say - rooted in reality these days. And sure, I'm not dying to end up on an island with space/time continuum issues or smoke monsters. Nor am I looking to live on a street with women ten years older than me who are 10x hotter than me.

But there is one show I'd like to see in my real life (no, it's not The A-Team), but rather, one of my top 5 favorite show of all time - The West Wing.

Why? Well, let me count the ways...

1. Because I would feel comforted knowing that the leader of our country and those who give him daily counsel were bonafide smarty pantses.
2. Because I can 100% deal with people being flawed and making bad decisions, as long as they can admit that they are flawed and make bad decisions some times.
3. Because if you can't be right all the time, you sure as hell ought to be funny.
4. Because, well, a grossly liberal and educated president would make my heart sing.
5. Because there are a lot of hot guys on that show and if politicians were that hot in real life, a lot more people might be engaged in the inner workings of our country.
6. Because I would love a reason to watch true debate and not just malicious slander.
7. Because when these people show up at a Rock the Vote event, they don't look wildly out of place.
8. Because a White House full of compassionate and accepting people might not be the worst thing in the world.
9. Because I'd like a generation of young women to have smart, beautiful, educated and passionate female role models to look up to. And think Paris, Britney and Lindsay were moronic and lame.
10. Because a government that does not talk down to or underestimate its people, might find that its people are able to comprehend quite a lot.
11. Because I would give anything to tear up at the words spoken by the leader of our country.
12. Because the dream that was America might still have a chance to be realized and I really want to see, hear, touch and feel what that might be like.

Song of Myself

I love Walt Whitman, although this entry has absolutely nothing to do with him, except that I've "borrowed" (okay, ripped off) his lovely poem for my post title.

This is actually a response to my step-mother's blog about the songs in her life that remind her of specific moments in time (egads - isn't that why we are drawn-to and just effin' love music?) This made me think of some of those songs for me. Alas, many are linked to the Ghosts of Boyfriends Past, but some others have trickled in in other unexpected ways:

Hit Me With Your Best Shot - Pat Benetar: When our ex-step-cousins from Oregon came to town one year for Christmas, we all hid out in the basement while the grown-ups talked (read: drank) upstairs and sang this song along with our tape player.

Lady In Red - Chris de Burgh: It makes me think of when my sister went off to her senior prom with her (yet to be) gay ex-boyfriend. To me, she was the most beautiful thing on the planet. I was so jealous.

(speaking of gay ex-boyfriends, here are a couple more)

Fire and Rain - James Taylor: My (yet to be) gay ex-boyfriend was my first "musician" boyfriend and I vividly remember sitting on the living room floor in front of the sofa - facing each other, knees touching and he played and sang this song to me. Man, if that kid hadn't come out of the closet I'd still be sitting cross-legged on that living room floor staring into his eyes.

Let Him Fly - Patty Griffin: My friend, K's (yet to be) gay ex-boyfriend introduced me to my most favoritest singer/songwriter ever, Miss Patty Griffin. While the song is kinda somber and is often played when I am lamenting a break-up, it also flashes me back to Mardi Gras 1999 and that's a nice break from the lamenting.

Feels Like Home - Bonnie Raitt/ Forever - Ben Harper: I had these two songs hidden away in the secret vault that might one day be opened if I happened to get married and needed a "first dance". The first was "given" to my sister and and brother-in-law, the second to my cousin and his lovely wife. They did well by the songs, so there you have it.

Honestly - Stryper: My oldest friend, J wrote the lyrics of this song in the inside of a card to me when I moved away from my hometown at the tender age of 14. It was pretty amazing that a 14-year-old boy was capable of expressing his feelings at all - we'll forgive him that the source material was composed by a Christian metal group.

I Loved Her First - Heartland: Yes, fine, it's on uber-cheesy father/daughter song list, but when I heard this song the first time in the car on a roadtrip with my father (thankfully, he was napping in the passenger seat) I almost lost it. Fine, I'm a Daddy's Girl - sue me.

At This Moment - Billy Vera and the Beaters: Last dance with the first boy I ever loved.

Untouchable Face - Ani DiFranco: I drove around with my best friend, K with this song on "repeat" while she was getting over a crappy break-up. This is the Dumpee Anthem.

Livin' on a Prayer - Bon Jovi: It started at high school dances and has landed me at GNO dancing at the Bayview. Bon Jovi is ALWAYS the perfect music to dance to with your girlfriends.

There are too many more to speak of (at least right now), so I'll leave you with this - music is our very own soundtrack. Just listen, and your life will come rushing back to you.

Supercalifragilistic Expi-egomanic

I will no longer wax stereotypically on the ginormousness of the male ego.

Today I fell into the thrall that is my own (quite large) sense of self-importance and it went something like this:

M: (hell bent on not moving her desk at work) No. That's stupid, some dooty-head must have dreamed up that idea!

Co-worker: But it would be so much easier for the rest of us

M: (stomping foot) But now I will be out of sight. And out of sight at the Farm, is definitely out of mind. I'll be locked up in the back of this joint, never to be heard from again.

Co-worker: But, M - four walls could never contain your spirit and energy (insert: chorus of angels)

M: Well, moving seems perfectly logical when you put it like that.

The End

Seriously, I almost climbed over the fabric-covered cubicle walls and frenched the poor guy. A little stroke of the ego and I'm putty in some tech-dude's hands.

It's sort of lame and all, but you won't hold it against me, will you? After all, four walls simply cannot contain spirit and energy such as mine.

(Okay, fine. I'll leave you to your vomit receptacle of choice.)

Pardon me, while I take issue

I'm sorry, but I take serious issue with people who are not from Kalamazoo, Michigan - writing about Kalamazoo. I concur, it's a fun word and easy to rhyme with things, but that shouldn't give any Tom, Dick or Jackass the right to well, write about it.

I just purchased a wonderful book for my niece (don't worry, she can't read yet - so the surprise won't be spoiled on my blog) and it's about attending a party in Kalamazoo. There's lots of weirdly colored animals (the true sign of any children's book is things like pink elephants and purple giraffes)... anyway...

The book is cute and since I purchased it in a locally-owned bookstore in my lovely hamlet of Kalamazoo - I assumed it was written by some local fellas.

Uh, negative.

Two freaking Jersey boys went and wrote a book about Kalamazoo. Like they've ever been to a party in Kalamazoo. Like they've ever visited Kalamazoo. Like they've ever had a layover in Kalamazoo.

My point is this - before you get to lay claim to the linguistic wonder that is "Kalamazoo" - you better have put your time in like a good Midwesterner. You better have experienced four honest to goodness seasons. You better have suffered through potholes that put you nearly a grand in debt (a nod to my new friend, O). You better have lived through lake effect snowfalls of 14"...on the second day of Spring.

Yes, there really is a Kalamazoo and until you have had the opportunity to both love and hate it - why don't you set your books in Trenton, boys.

A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes

There are little dreams - like imagining all the lights on the way to work will be green so you don't get a nasty look from your boss.

There are big dreams - like one day owning your very own Kitchenaid mixer without having to get married, just so you can register for gifts.

Then there are the uber-dreams - like the kind where you are someone who can sing. And by sing, I do not mean pretend you are Madonna in the car.

I'm talking about the kind of singer who gives you chills. The kind who doesn't need synthesizers to sound good. The kind that is brave enough to stand up in front of as many people who are willing to listen, belt it out and be met with cheers.

It's not that I lack the bravery (just ask all the friends I coaxed into talent shows over the course of my life), but I actually lack the talent. (Poop)

And ain't that just the kick sometimes? There are dreams you can do something about (like find friends who have spouses who work at Whirlpool and can cut you a discount) and there are dreams that will always elude you.

And I gotta say - that makes it absolutely essential to do everything you can do make the possible dreams come true.

Oh yeah, if you're done listening to my little droning - check out some real singers.