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Okay, let’s have a little girl talk.
I currently have two types of high heels. Those I wear “Out” and those I wear “In”. “In” have a higher heel as I am only required to walk from the closet to the bed. I can walk as slow sexy as I want. And now that I’m 20 pounds from my goal weight, I no longer look like a flustered hen and I have more fun in them.
“Out” or everyday heels are more of the 2-3 inch variety because I value unbroken ankles.
So let’s talk about the everyday heel.
I don’t know how to purchase heels that fit so I can actually walk in them. All the pairs I’ve bought in the last year are too big and fall off my biological heels as if I’m walking in my mom’s shoes. Then, as the shoes fall off, I scuffle to keep from losing them completely. Add my concentration not to fall and I’m just a mess. I might as well just wear flats and forget the whole thing because if you cannot walk confidently in heels its over.
When I bought the shoes, they fit, I think. I tried different sizes and bought the size that felt right, but maybe that’s the problem. Should they be too small when I buy them? I also have narrow heels (the body part), so could that be the problem?
My question is, How do you fit a heel? Do you get a half size smaller to anticipate slippage? Is there a trick? Is there a secret? Did I miss that day in girl school?
Next item. Under eye bags.
Over the weekend, I bought some Preparation H. Stress and little sleep have prompted steamer trunk-like bags under my eyes and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve read the Prep H trick in Cosmo or other glamour magazines.
Tat didn’t believe me. She just laughed the entire time thinking my explanation a cover for some other deep burning desire. I swore up and down and all over town that as a photographer she, of all people, should know this trick. I willingly took the jokes about ass pain and perhaps more appropriate places to apply said cream all night long because I KNEW IT WOULD WORK, damn them.
It didn’t work. I ended up with shinny, oily looking bags and a little redness from the mineral oil.
So, Cosmo lies. And I was just going to try the “Keep Him Guessing in Bed” and “How to Give a Good Blow Job” thing. What am I going to do now?
And, to make matters worse, I’m having lasik surgery done in SF when I’m home so I never have to wear my 3″ thick glasses again. I have to figure out this bag thing before I no longer hide behind lenses.
Advice, please. I have 22 days before America, Land of the High Heel, and a credit cards to burn. I want tried and true words of wisdom. What works for you?
Thanks.
This was written about 6 years ago. I’ve been in Germany for 4.5 years. What have I learned? Locations change, cobblestones for concrete, tall trees for tall buildings. I still don’t sleep. Anxiety still shadows my every move. People talk and still don’t listen. And I still want those fish tacos.
I now have more weapons at my disposal. I’m more knowledgeable and secure in that knowledge. I have more confidence. I have an inner strength whose source is unknown, but reliable. And fierce determination. I can still walk after the blast.
May 2002
I’m feeling older and older as the days continue. I’m truly just about at the end of my rope with a lot of things. I feel a meltdown coming soon. I tend to have two moods. Anxious and very anxious.
I never used to be wound so tightly. At least I didn’t think so. I’m so worried about being good, successful, competent and smart I think I’ve lost something. I suppose that might be the price that one pays. I just find myself running hard and fast with an idea of the destination, but without a real concept of who I’ll be when I get there. I can’t do anything else right now. Too much too soon or I just wasn’t prepared. I’m feeling cornered by the great unknown.
I’m feeling like I need to run away and sell tacos on the beach of Cabo San Lucas, date one of the guys that sprays on suntan lotion and wear tank tops and handmade thongs. Worry about whether to sell fish or pork tacos or if the clouds will burn off before I take off in the catamaran to snorkel. I want to worry about the kind of beer I want — corona or pacifico, and did I want a lime with that? I want the scent of the ocean, briny and fresh.
I want to feel the warm sun on my skin as I nap and the light kisses of a breeze keeping the heat bearable. I want to swim in warm moonlight without a thought of the next moment. I want to look at the girl anxiously taking on more and more projects in an attempt to shine her gold star from a distance. I want to see her in my mind and not in the mirror. I don’t want to go to meetings where everyone talks and no one listens and nothing gets accomplished. I don’t want to walk the halls of a building smiling and looking alert. I don’t want to answer the phone with a chipper voice and polite small talk. I want the lazy hooded look of a girl well contented. I want the crass manners of a girl with no need to impress. I want to be drunk off the sensuality of living rather than sober in the realities of urban responsibilities. I want handwritten love notes and steamy whispers against my neck rather than an e-mail and cell phone innuendo. I want to stop by rather than plan as we speed across the freeways and flight plans trying to coordinate busy schedules. I want understanding to be free rather than forced. I want the lethargic movement of thick, tanned legs walking on sand rather pasty white legs stuffed into tights jaywalking on asphalt.
One reason I can’t wait for California is that I might have something more interesting to write about. I’ve had interesting times lately, but none of it I can talk about. I probably won’t be able to talk about California either because I’ll be solo for a bit and it’ll be boring.
HAHAHAHHAHA
Yeah, no.
Other than work, I have only Sparky and cats to talk about and I think if I tell one more story about cats, I will have earned the matching Cat Umbrella/Tote bag set my grandmother gave me.
Not so interesting minutiae:
My surgery was removing the superficial veins from both legs and they did that using a hook and I have the swelling and bruising to prove it. Telling my family about it in sphincter-activating detail is great fun.
I have a mouse problem. Having left my new mouse in Hamburg, I’m using my old one and it moves my cursor around every few words so writing the simplest of sentences becomes a chore.
Sparky and I might go to Vegas in December on our way back from Pasadena. Neither of us have ever been there. There is a shooting range where you can shoot any type of weapon. And we might get married because according to my mother-in-law, that’s where and how all Americans get married. Heathens!
If my brother decides to go to Puerto Rico for New Year’s, I will fill his car air vents with pink silvery confetti so I can celebrate New Years with him later. We’re close like that.
Ollie had worms so bad that it required all cats to be shot up for a month. Sparky tried to make sure the vet didn’t think we had Munchhausen’s-By-Proxy by making a joke about it. Our vet thought it had more to do with Sparky eyeing the horse steroids than M-b-P.
Living in Germany allows me to know how to spell words like Munchhausen’s.
I’m going to go get ready for my day with Tat. She’s coming to get me because I still shouldn’t drive and the Mercedes isn’t functional and we’re going back to her house. She is picking me up AND taking me home. That’s almost four hours of driving. I am obviously loved. Or she desperately wants to make fun of my caramel legs.
Below is the E-mail I sent to my family this morning before the pain killers wrapped me up in a fuzzy blanket taking me away from pain I can only describe using words like well, used and whore and allowing me to walk semi-normally. My thighs are so swollen and bruised, I can only walk bow-legged. after standing for five minutes I have to lay down with my legs up in the air. I know I’m rather talented in this particular pose, but it does get old.
Anyway, christmas is coming and to show my step-dad how much a I love and respect him, I’ve tried to keep my Christmas control to a minimum. As long as he’s not exposed, we’re good, so I start here in Deutschland. I’ve been told I can be controlling.
***********
Okay My Lovies,
Can you feel the wind blow a little cold? Do you hear whispers in the wind?
I will be home in little less than a month.
So, because the time is grows near, I need Christmas lists so I can properly organize my time here and there. As I am no longer a lady of leisure, I do need to plan… I have my spreadsheets to make and my budgets to plan. And if I can do my organization here, away from all my loved ones, I am far less likely to be freaking out when I’m in the states. I can relax and let Christmas happen in a nice soft as gently falling snow sort of way and give you wonderful Christmas memories that will keep you warm in the cold aftershock of January billing cycles.
Also, Miranda and I really love putting together a great Christmas. It would be a gift for the both of us. She and I coordinate and try to mastermind a great Christmas in a nice, easy, no-stress kind of way. We really do love making all of you happy come Christmas morning.
If I could get all your wish lists this week, you would be doing me a great service. I’m not working this week and could get a lot of shopping done. I am also Jeff’s personal shopper this year(every year), so it’s doubly important that you get me this info.
John: Is it okay if I use your house as a shipping depot?
Miranda: We need to start to coordinate who gets which websites for stocking stuffers.
David: I need to include Megan on this e-mail, but I don’t have her address.
This is the time to let me know if there are particular goodies you would like from Germany. I might be making a run to the border (France) so let me know if there is something from the Alsace region (Miranda, the painter man only paints in the summer time).
Absinthe: This is by far the most requested item. I can only bring a small number of bottles home because its expensive and, like, I don’t know… ILLEGAL. I like the romantic notion of being a smuggler (I prefer pirates, ships, French brandy and the Cornish coast) and all, but I have had bottles confiscated. My ruse as a romance novel reading middle aged matron doesn’t always work. And David is first on this list. Jeff is last. Did I say Jeff was last because I meant Jeff is not on this list AT ALL. Get your ass to Germany if you want some.
Remember, we have decent Christmas candy too. Those marzipan tree trunks and Mozart balls.
Dad: I’m bringing home a case of Kinder Eggs for Andrew.
Miranda: Don’t even think about it. Kinder Eggs are for school only. Should I bring some for Nancy’s kids again?
Get me those lists, people.
Love,
The Christmas Nazi… Heil!
I finished my Hamburg project last week. A new project is in the pipeline. I like being a working girl these days. Thanks, Ace1 for the advice. It was exactly what I needed.
So Monday, a routine minor outpatient operation turned into a nightmare five day stay at the hospital.
I’m home and I’m fine. I have fifteen stitches and two five-inch glued gashes spread over both legs. I also have a fantastically gorgeous pair of old lady compression hose (and I use the term “hose” loosely) that I get to wear for the next two months. And this wasn’t even plastic surgery. I’d have done this willingly if my thighs would look like Heidi Klum’s in two months, but no. Just a boring “it’ll make you healthier” sheisse.
What color hose you ask? Why a lovey shade of caramel. The perfect color to go with absolutely nothing in my wardrobe.
After finally getting to take a shower and washing off all the oompa loompa iodine, which went delightfully with the french pedicure, my toes stopped looking like rindswurst on Thursday.
Last night I was on the phone in the hallway outside my room. I was wearing a little chemise because I really do not own hospital wear. To my credit, i was wearing a matching bra, so the girls at least looked good. Totally forgetting my rindswurst toes, mummy legs wrapped in ace bandages from my ankles to my muffin top thighs, I smiled flirtatiously. The bandages had rolled down my legs like thigh highs gone AWOL, exposing my bruised, sharpei-like upper thighs. It was only when the doctor smiled back uncomfortably, trying hard not to look at my thighs and failing, did I remember what I was wearing. It was another one of those moments I wished the floor had just swallowed me whole.
But in my defense, I had dropped my drawers for so many members of the medical staff over the last few days, I was kind of comfortable. And the ace bandages were their fault, not mine. I have to take credit for the thighs though.
Anyway, that’s where I’ve been. I’ll try to post more this week.
I’m tired and cranky because one can never sleep for more than 2 hours at a time. I still don’t understand that. My blood pressure goes up just thinking about it. I had an all time high this week of 90/50. A low of 70/40. Surprised the hell out of me too.
Sparky was fantastic while I was away. He did laundry, including folding and vacuumed and dealt with the Ollie issue. The Ollie issue is the 3 am wake up call we get with his entire nose entering one nostril with a strong shove. We’re having to lock the doors now because he can open them if they’re not locked. Yeah, those doors. The doors that lock people inside. He can open them and do the nostril-nose shove.
Sparky even brought my roommate and I movies because I think I have finally OD’d on Gilmore Girls. At least until November 13th.
In other news, where the hell is Lisa?
People ask what Sparky does. He does things like this. Now he’s not directly responsible for this particular viral, but this is a good example. I love this clip and think the Dove spots are fabulous. This is not an advertisment, so don’t get your panties in a knot. Just a clip I really like.
Two things popped in my head as I watched it. One, it was really powerful and kids like Twinkle Toes are overly exposed and I love that Dove threw the doors open on it. And two, wow, I need a lot of plastic surgery.
This is a disgusting week at Heisse Scheisse. First we had the shocker, then castration and now snot. I promise something less tactile tomorrow.
But today I have questions and I need answers and if I ask Sparky, he’ll walk away because he knows I don’t want some boring medical scientific explanation. He knows I want to hear about the snot fairy who visits when the humidity factor is low. The snot fairy gently blows common cold dust up your nose while you sleep thus ensuring a human factory of hard to evaporate moisture. This moisture is added to the climate in massive amounts thus effecting the barometric pressure and then in Japan a butterfly has to sit that day out because of rain.
Magic is the only way to explain the unending amounts of snot. I feel like Rumpelstiltskin, except instead of straw into gold, I turn a perfectly good Kleenex into goo.
How does ones body produce so much? Is there a never ending supply because it seems to me, in the last week, I, alone, could have provided the ectoplasm for a ghostbusters trilogy.
Okay, okay, let’s just say that its a normal amount. Why am I not losing tons of weight in the production? I mean, calorically, my body is busy right? And its not normal so there should be an increase in metabolic activity, right? So what’s the deal?
Okay, one more. Shouldn’t I at least be losing water weight? I drink my 2.5 liters a day. I produce 15 gallons of nose-related Kleenex filler. Where does it come from?
My only answer is the snot fairy and her very close association to Ironus, that rat bastard.
Now, how do I separate used Kleenex, in a garbage sense. You know krauts and their adherence to procedure. Are used Kleenexes Alt Papier? Technically it is a paper product. Bio? I think it can be composted. Medical bio-hazard? I have a neighbor who looks at our trash, making sure we separate correctly and cleanly (wash out the yogurt containers people), so I want to make sure I get this right.
Here’s a link to make slime without nose involvement. Kinda of cool.
So, today was the day. Olli is free from crazy male cat hormones. He also had a small hernia fixed and was micro-chipped. He is official with an international passport and as soon as he recovers can go just about anywhere although I think he prefers to stay home.
I have always fixed my cats. Never felt bad about it until Olli.
It started over the weekend when he was totally out of control, Sparky and I started the “If you don’t stop walking on our faces at 3 am, you’re going to lose ‘em on Monday morning!”
We didn’t actually say that to him, but I felt guilty thinking it. It was really mean. I’m a mean lady as it is, but for some reason this was just too much meanness for me because regardless, he was losing them on Monday and it didn’t feel right making it into a joke. I don’t know why.
So then I started cuddling him more and snuggling him more and kissing his little head. This morning when I brought him to Frau Dr. Minck, I was a little scared for him. Granted it was a 3 minute procedure and really in ALL of our best interest, but I still felt bad.
I picked him up a little later and the Dr. pulled me into the examination room to discuss the procedure. All went fine and according to plan, but Olli went wild as the anesthesia started to wear off. She said cats have one of two reactions. Either they sleep or they get crazy. Scrunchy was the sleepy kind and Olli is the wild kind. She suggested I leave him in his bag in a darkened room for a couple of hours to calm him down because she didn’t want him to hurt himself.
So I did. I sat with him in the dark for a while. He was wild until I held him to my chest. Then he tried to lick me, his little freckled face bobbed a bit and then he promptly fell asleep. I held him for five more minutes then gently laid him down. He’s been calm and asleep since. I think my heart broke a little.
You know, that kitten has been through a lot in his short little life. From god only knows to Volvos to Megan to me. I was worried when we got him because he seemed so scared and so mature in a tiny little body. But he’s grown. He plays with Scrunchy. He gets kisses and loves before he goes exploring because all explorers need kisses before they hunt down plastic mice and rabid feathers. He’s well fed and he sleeps with the rest of us on 300+ count sheets and down pillows. He knows he’s loved and he knows he’s safe and that is the best feeling ever.
Mini-meet-up Review:
Carol, Elisabeth, Geoffry and Rich rule. I met them all for the first time and as usual, I’ve never met a blogger I didn’t like. Well that’s not exactly true, but the one I didn’t like was an exception to the rule and it was more of a personality clash than anything. And given my personality, that there was only ONE is amazing. Blogger rock.
Back to the positive, Geoffry was awesome and fascinating. His quiet voice and interesting stories kept me on the edge of my seat the entire time.
Carol. I have no idea what to say about Carol except it feels like we’ve been friends forever and ever and ever. She so freaking awesome. I wish she was here this morning to have a coffee on my balcony and we could chat all day. I’ll try to arrange this year’s Girlie Weekend around her schedule so she could possibly fly out for it. It would be worth it for all involved.
Elisabeth is a lot like her mother, for which she can thank her mother.
Gorgeous and bright, the two of them. And the relationship between them is fantastic. If I have a kid, I want to be a mom like Carol and I want a kid like E. E was particularly interested in Sparky’s line of work, as evil as it is. She understood the dead mother joke so she’s automatically cool in my book. And by the way, E, nice bra! Nice touch with the Bavarian Blue.
Rich. Rich my partner in crime. Rich and I decided smokers are way cool. We were the only people smoking and removed ourselves from the group as to not filthify their air. We had some deep discussions about pornicures (french manicures) and high heels. To his credit he tried to talk about football/soccer/fussball, but it was all lost on me. I have trouble differentiating Klose from Klo (Klose is some soccer player and klo is toilet). Rich lives close to me so I anticipate some more face time in the near future.
And J as always is the best organizer and sweetest man on the face of the earth. I absolutely adore J, but that is old news.
Sparky, well, he was “on” all night. E asked him about his work and neuroscience, and as Tat can tell you, once you engage Sparky in a subject he likes, he won’t stop, not even to wash his hands or polish something.
And he was in a very tight shirt for which the waitress was thankful. Its nice to have an incredibly smart and hot husband. Sometimes it takes going out and seeing him outside our normal routine to remember, but yeah, I got pretty lucky. Next time you see him ask him to to do his Mr. Incredible impression, its hysterical.
So the meetup was fantastic if too short. But they all are. I can’t wait for Dresden.
Oh and my mysterious Belgian didn’t show up. Is that because you’re a serial killer or because you forgot?
*E introduced me to a new hand gesture that I didn’t previously know. It’s called The Shocker. I collect these fine and classy phrases/gestures. I am nothing if not a lady. The krauts will be getting more than a thumbs up on my next drive.
