The Curse of the Stiletto

A note from SSG:

Lys of Just Anotha Gal (to visit her site, click here) is one of my favorite bloggers.  Hello?  Her little icon thingie is a lemon drop.  Need I say more?  Back when I used to be a Salon Selective using, hair teasing, high top Reebok wearing San Diegan in the 80's, I would frequently watch a certain dance show.  It MIGHT have had the word "dance" in the title right next to the word "party" and maybe our country's acronym right after that.  I'm just saying.  The girls were so stylish.  The guys were so cute.  And EVERYONE could dance.  At SSG's junior high school, dancing looked like one row of guys facing one row of girls and they would all move their feet side to side.  Never did I think, in all of my Aqua Net dreams, that I'd get to know one of the dancers.  But Lys is one of those girls who I came upon serendipitously.  She may think it's the shoes that make her hot, but I don't think so.  She's got that certain something I think the French call je ne sais quoi.  

(And P.S?  If you want to check out some AWESOME photos of that era, check this out.)

First of all, can I say how excited I am to do my first guest blog--ever!!!  Probably will be my last as I'll be cursed to the far isle for bad grammar, Lys-isms or some mess but thanks to SSG who is whisking away to the far off land of all things Paris.  I'm thrilled to be posting in a new spot.

Ok, let me preface this post with the understanding that 99% of the time you will see me rockin' a heel.  My love affair with all things high and mighty started in the 9th grade.  I would run into my mother's closet and put on her stilettos while she was at work.  She had this gorgeous pair of black satin pumps with a starburst of rhinestones on the side that I adored (and, in later years, "borrowed" during the show years.  Hey--I was a rhinestone gal, it was 1988.  Shoot.  Me.)

During my rebellious teen years, I just had to have this pair of iridescent pumps that Madonna wore in the movie "Who's That Girl."  I wore the hell out of those shoes.  These iridescent pumps were the epitome of all things 80's.  That catapulted me into the 2.5" heel range, quite the change over my normal school fare.  See, I attended a Catholic high school who was quite "lenient" when it came to all things shoes as they figured we had to deal with the ramifications, namely twisted ankles, falling on our butts, sore feet by the end of the day, etc.  We won't discuss the heinous nightmare inducing green plaid skirt I had to wear.  The boys didn't care about the shoe policy except for the fact that they could not wear sneakers but the girls, oh we could get away with a lot (and did).  The girls only thought about one thing--impressing the upper classmen (and boy did we, not)!

During my latter teen years, the heels got higher.  My friends often were teased about how our heels were not high enough and since I tend to have a bit of a height complex (I'm 5'5 but thought I was 5'1), I gladly complied.  However, I did briefly flirt with the flats and leggings fad for a bit in the late 80's/early 90's but then it was back to the stiletto--namely a 3.75" granny boot that had the boys come runnin' to the yard.  I could wear those bad boys with ANYTHING and it was like watching a cartoon.  That was until I slid down a hill in the ice in front of my crush at a nightclub I worked at.  That batch of ice capades tragically resulted in a broken heel and a hunt for a new pair.  Which I found.  Which I wore.  However, I never wore those Boys Come Runnin' boots on the icy hill of Annie's EVER again.

When I was with my ex-fiancee, he wasn't so fond of my "hookah" heels and I was told to "behave" (*snort* as if)!  The heels were retired out of his sight, but not out of my mind.  I would wear them on girls nights out and they were my weapons of destruction.  After the finacee years, I would wear heels and such, but not as high as I would have liked.  Then, after I was moving on from a non-relationship, I was walking past a Steve Madden one day and I remember it clear as day.  I encountered a pair of heels that had me at hello--the Steve Madden Pawla Peeptoe Platform.  They looked like Loubous.  The were crazy comfy and, lo and behold, the boys all came running to the yard.  Again.  Nirvana!  And I realized a bonus to breakups/non-breakups.  Shoe shopping.  There is nothing like slipping on a pair of shoes that you know (and everyone else knows) are the hotness.

And so began my journey of higher heights of stilettos and I'm happy to say I can rock a 4" heel like there is no tomorrow.  Well that is, unless I'm in Philadelphia and walking down Market Street.  That results in quite a bit of clumsy antics.  We won't even talk about cobblestone streets.  Then I channel my inner SSG and look for a charming pair of flats.

Mrs. Bob Goes to Paris

A note from SSG:  

Mrs. Bob's husband "Bob", and I met over 10 years ago.  Their names aren't REALLY Bob, they just call themselves, and everyone they know Bob.  Why?  I think I've asked but I can't remember, so I just go with the flow and frequently leave them messages "Bobbies, it's Bob, call me."   So Mr. Bob and I started working for the same company on the same day in the soggy little city known as Seattle.  We hit it off instantly and would often times at the EXACT same moment look at each other and say "coffee?"  Little did I know that I'd get to meet and befriend Mrs. Bob.  The Bobs married a couple of months prior and I used to love hearing Bob talk about how they met, their wedding and the fun ways they used to jam pack their weekends.  When Mrs. Bob and I finally met, it was clear why Bob and I had become such fast friends.  Mrs. Bob and I are THE EXACT same person.  Twins, separated at birth, but oddly still with the same brain.  These days, their weekends are still JAM packed with Little Bob (and sometimes me!) in tow.  And instead of Bob and I trotting of to Tully's ...  or Starbucks ... or Seattle's Best Coffee, Mrs. Bob and I are walking down the street, arm in arm, rattling off  "Oh my gaaawd! Paris! Bistros!  Pastries!  Markets!  What?  Did you say something, Bob?"  It's no surprise Mrs. Bob and I are both head over heels for Paris and I can't think of a person I'd rather share this trip with.  So without further adieu, here she is ... my serendipitously found friend and one of my favorite people ... Jen.

Love at First Sight… we all have heard of it… some of us have even experienced it.  It’s that moment when your eyes first meet and there is that split second of connection and your gaze locks and lingers longer than normal when passing by a mere stranger. It sparks an electric shock that runs throughout your body…you feel it coursing and pulsating throughout your body screaming “wake up, wake up!!” to your senses, your toes tingle, your stomach flips and you feel giddy and light headed at the same time.  You know it is a moment that you will remember forever.   

What about loving something sight unseen?  Has that ever been the impetus of sonnet, song or tale telling of undying devotion and love everlasting?  I have a confession to make…I can attest it is possible.  I know because I have been pining away for such a thing for 20 years or more and have now decided to act on my feelings.  I had to tell someone.  The Catholic guilt in me is too much to live with.

I think my husband had a bit of a clue when we were dating but don’t think he quite understood the strength of my devotion.  Over time, he has caught on bit by bit.  The secret phone calls, closing the computer quickly when he walked in, running to the mailbox to get the mail first…hoping there would be news from my love…he has put it all together and now he knows. I think in the back of his mind he always thought that our love would be enough and I would lose interest in the other and move on.  Really, I haven’t even seen my love in person yet.  He can’t understand how this can be?    

How can you explain love and connection with something…it just happens.  People fall in love with pictures all the time.  Look at all of the online dating companies and the thousands of people falling in love after seeing a picture of someone.  There is something that they see – maybe the color of the hair, the smile, the eyes that sparkle- something that clicks and suggests excitement and adventure are in store if you can only meet.  For others, maybe a fragrance is the spark for them…something so sweet, so intoxicating, just a whiff can drive you out of your mind.  Hearing a story is all it takes for someone else to fall in love.  A story that paints a vivid picture in the mind so engrossing and tantalizing that it takes hold and lives forever with that person.  It just happens.   

I’m not able to pinpoint what exactly did it for me…definitely pictures, some stories… When you hear such amazing and exotic things, you can’t help but fall in love.  I can’t explain it other than every fiber in my being knows I belong with my love and it is time to act. 

Some might call this a mid-life crisis.  I did just turn 40 at the beginning of the month.  It can’t be…I have been longing for this for over 20 years or more.  Turning 40 does, however, bring the finality of your mortality into the viewfinder like somehow never before.  It’s time to act…you know the saying “life is too short,” well, it feels too short now.  I feel it getting shorter every day. 

My dear, dear, husband being the wonderful man that he is realizes that there is nothing to be done to stop this.    I have assured him that there is room in my heart for two loves. His love for me is so strong that he just wants me to be happy…what is that…”if you love something, set it free?” He knows that to deny me, is to deny the very core of my soul… the thing that makes me tick…the thing that gets me up in the morning…the thing that consumes my thoughts.  He knows that it is time for me to finally meet the other.   

So…I have made all the arrangements.  I leave in a week.  I’m dizzy with excitement. I can’t sleep or eat…I’m too nervous.  What if this doesn’t turn out to be as great as it has been in my dreams?  What if my love disappoints?  Even more scary, what if it all turns out to be so wonderful that I never come back?  Too many possibilities…