Your Heels Are Too High, You Can't Walk. You Can Only Drive!

As I mentioned last week, one of my co-workers was in town from Tennessee. I had promised her that when she came to town I’d take her shopping at Bergdorf Goodman. I was to meet her there.

Ahhh!

How amazing it felt to be back in my favorite store! I had not been in a while due to my poverty.

As I stepped through the revolving doors, entering the handbag department, I swam in the smell, the look, and the feel of the surroundings. Colors and sound and beauty everywhere. As I passed through the Chanel department, on my way to the escalator to the shoe salon, I stopped and scanned the merchandise. I was on the lookout for my 2.55 quilted turquoise metallic flap bag. It was no where in sight.

Then, I stepped onto the escalator. Headed to the shoe salon. As the escalator glided up, I could see more and more of the salon in my vision, on the horizon. Inch-by-inch. The Christian Louboutins are the first off the escalator. As they came into view, my heart raced more and more. I gasped a little when I arrived. Looked right and left at the hustle and bustle of the department. Beauty everywhere.

When April arrived I proceeded to show her around. Here’s the story about our little adventure at the shoe salon that day. During the tour, I noticed folks taking photos. Then I noticed handsome waiters in white jackets, passing out champagne on silvers platters. Hmm.

Shop. Shop. Shop.

It looked as if the people were taking pix with a handsome grey-haired man in black.

Hmmm.

Shop. Shop.

We found shoes we wanted to try and sent a salesman to find them.

The grey-haired man was sitting on a couch.

When the salesman returned, with shoe boxes piled high above his bald head, he gestured for us to take seats on the couch next to the grey-haired man. We did.

I only tried the Christian Louboutin black leather peep-toe bootie. They were gorgeous (like butter) but the heel must have been 7 inches. I was wearing a blue silk mini dress. The shoes looked amazing with it. My legs looked extra long. Oh, and I should mention, I was having a fabulous hair day during which I received a marriage proposal from a stranger. I was on fire!

April proceeded to try on her numerous selections.

Meanwhile, Mr. Handsome Grey-haired in black man eyed us. He kept looking at me in my stilettos and shaking his head “no” in disapproval.

I was just walking around the store, looking at myself in each mirror. Admiring the beauty on my piggies. Then, I’d sit back on the couch next to April and friend.

The grey-haired guy finally said to me in a thick French accent, “Those shoes are too high!”

I replied, “The higher the better!”

He said, “Do you have a car?”

I said, “Yes.”

He said, “Good. Because your heels are so high cannot walk anywhere. You can only drive!”

I said, “I can take a cab. I don’t have to walk! I only need to get from the cab to the door!”

He shook his head in disgust.

Then after a while he continued, “You have beautiful legs, but the shoes are still too high!”

Waiters offered us champagne on a silver platter. And of course! We accepted! I asked one of them what the occasion was. He said they were celebrating a shoe designer, Carlos somebody with a French name. I asked which man he was referring to. And he pointed out the Mr. Handsome Grey-haired guy in black as the shoe designer.

We both tried on a design of the handsome grey-haired guy in our sizes.

We hated them.

I Don't Know What it is, But I Got It!

Did you ever have one of those days when everything was going great? Well, I don’t get them often enough, but last week, I had one.

I was extremely busy at my new job that week. Team meeting was being held in Manhattan and folks were in from out of town and staying on the upper west side, so I was jetting around from one part of the city to the other.

I looked cute that day, but nothing really out of the ordinary. Mostly, I was sweating a lot because it was the end of October and something like 75 degrees outside. There are some days when I know I look fantastic and the day winds up like crap. Other days, not so much, and the day turns out terrific. So, it’s not a matter of looks or what you’re wearing I guess. But I know that when I feel like I look good or I’m dressed the way I like, or I’m having a great hair day I feel better and then I give off a certain vibe.

This day, everything was average; average outfit, average make up, average hair. I was, however, feeling good because I was doing some cool stuff with my job and I do enjoy flitting around Manhattan.

Oh, I guess I forgot to mention …

… one minute detail.

Shopping.

Bergdorf’s.


Yes, I know. I’m not supposed to be shopping. (Who died and made YOU the shopping police?) Let alone stepping my foot into Bergdorf Goodman. But I’ll tell you why I was there.

One of my co-workers was in town from Tennessee. I had promised her that when she came to town I’d take her shopping at Bergdorf’s. So, we carved some time out of our busy schedule to do it and we did.

Ahhh!

How amazing it felt to be back in my favorite store!

As I stepped through the revolving doors, entering the handbag department, I swam in the smell, the look, and the feel of the surroundings. Colors and sound and beauty everywhere. As I passed through the Chanel department, on my way to the escalator to the shoe salon, I stopped and scanned the merchandise. I was on the lookout for my 2.55 quilted turquoise metallic flap bag. It was no where in sight.

Then, I stepped onto the escalator. Headed to the shoe salon. As the escalator glided up, I could see more and more of the salon in my vision, on the horizon. Inch-by-inch. The Christian Louboutins are the first off the escalator. As they came into view, my heart raced more and more. I gasped a little when I arrived. Looked right and left at the hustle and bustle of the department. Beauty everywhere.

I waited for April to arrive at which time I proceeded to show her around. There’s a whole story about our little adventure at the shoe salon that day, but I will give you details in another post. All you need to know for now, is that April bought three pair of shoes…None of them under $795.

And I bought one.

Feeling guilty, we left Bergdorf’s, lavender bags in hand.

We had dinner plans in about an hour, but I needed to stop by my neighborhood to a) move my car b) change oh, and c) drop off my Bergdorf bag.

So, I moved my car and was entering my building, glowing I guess, from my purchase and from the great parking spot I just got. When I saw this cute guy from my building talking to the doorman. I say “hi’.

He says, “hi”. And “Wow! You look amazing! What did you do, get married or something? Is that why you look so fabulous?”

I was surprised this guy even spoke to me. He usually ignores me in the elevator. “No. Not that I know of.” And I kept walking.

“Why?” He asked.

“Because Anthony (the doorman) didn’t ask me.” I kept walking.

“Well. What about me?”

“You haven’t asked me either.”

“Ok then, Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” And I kept walking. Now I’m way past him half way down the hallway.

He kept talking. “Great!”

I turned back and yelled, “Since we’re engaged, what’s your name again?”

“Dan.”

“Mine’s BSM.”

“Hi!” Dan said.

Now I’m at the elevator. “See you at the wedding!” The elevator doors opened. I stepped in and they closed.

I giggled to myself. What was up with that?

Went in. Dropped off my purchase. Changed. Left.

As I passed Anthony on my way back out, I began ask him what the heck had just happened, when he handed me a business card. It was Dan’s! He had left it with Anthony for me.

I asked Anthony what Dan’s story was. “Is he a player?”

“He ain’t got no game to be a player!” Anthony replied.

I laughed and grabbed a cab to dinner.

At dinner, I told the ladies my story. I said to April, “Between Bergdorf’s and dinner, I got a marriage proposal!” I was taking out the card to show them it really happened, when I saw writing on the back of it.

Hi BSM

It would be nice to chat!

Dan

I said to April, “What’s going on today? I don’t know what it is!”

She snapped, “I don’t know what it is either, but you got it!”

Armrest Anyone?

I’m flying home from a business trip tonight. Of course, when I arrived at Buffalo airport my flight to Philly was delayed, which was going to make me miss my connection. I was re-routed to get to my destination via Washington DC. This whole thing was going to extend my trip about five hours. But who’s counting?

After waiting around a while at the airport, and changing gates a few times, we boarded. Now, the airline had taken it upon themselves to choose my seating. Now, I’m a little particular about my seating. So I’m sure to check-in and print my boarding pass up the night before a trip. Which is what I did for this one. I choose my seat wisely. I’ve learned to get an aisle seat at all cost so as not to be monkey in the middle or squished up against the window by Biggie Smalls next to me. Also, I don’t want a seat near the bathroom. So, it’s a whole thing.

Last night I was trying to choose a seating row which could maybe be empty today. Should I sit in row nine? The exit row? Or should I sit in row ten, where there are two empty seats next to me and hope that they don’t show last minute? I finally made a decision on my seats.

Now that I agonized over my seating last night, I would have no choice in the matter today.

So, I board the plane and walked back to my assigned seat. It was going to be a window seat.

Damn.

I get to the row and see my seat near the window – 10A. Next to my seat is a seat without a back. There’s a sign on the seat cushion, which reads, “Not for passenger use” That’s the seat I’m next to. There are two seats in the row, and one of them is unsittable. Cool! I’m in a row by myself. I can spread out!

As people passed the seat they made jokes about it. Like, “That’s the cheap seat.”

The guy behind the cheap seat was also psyched because it gave him more leg room. And we know the men need their damn leg room. He was actually nice.

So we spread out. I elbowed the nice guy behind the cheap seat a couple of times by accident. We joked some more.

When the plane landed, people said some more stuff to the nice guy and they laughed yet again.

I got up and headed toward the overhead bin to grab my turquoise carry-on. (Yeah, it’s turquoise. But that’s another story for another day.) As I did so, I hit the cheap seat’s armrest. And it fell off!

I held it up in the air and yelled, “Armrest anyone?”

The whole plane cracked up laughing!

More comments started to circulate; “Did you pay extra for that seat?”; “How’d we just get here in one piece?”; “I’m glad the inside of the plane works better than the outside.”

You get the idea.

When things like this happen, it opens up conversation between strangers. The guy behind me was traveling because he was on his way to visit his girlfriend. He had a ring in his suitcase to ask her to marry him. He was staying on the plane to his destination to do so. I had overheard him telling his neighbor this exciting news. I hated to appear that I was eavesdropping on their conversation. But on my way out of the aircraft I turned back and exclaimed, “I hope she says yes!”

The plane giggled again.

It appears I'm funny at twenty thousand feet.

Mind Over Back Pain

I previously mentioned my back went out a month or so ago. I’ll tell you the whole story, as it is less painful for me now. Both physically and emotionally.

I was helping my niece and nephew pain a room in their apartment. I hadn't actually painted much, so I decided to pitch in. I made about eight strokes of the roller when, SNAP! We heard a snap. I felt a snap. I felt a sharp pain. And the next thing I knew, I was face down in a platter of blue paint. Paralyzed. I mean, like, I couldn't move. My sister and nephew were stepping over me. "We have to finish, otherwise the paint will ruin

It took about two weeks to get back on my feet again after the back attack. I had another business trip planned. I’d better be ready. !" Snookie announced.

I just looked up at her from the floor in disgust.

It was pretty much all downhill from there for the next two weeks.

It was bad because I was at a new job and wanted to be on point, not laid up. So I was determined to get better. It was just taking so long!

I’d heard Howard Stern talk, for years, about Dr. John Sarno’s book, Mind Over Back Pain. Sookie had it. But I never read it. Howard had said that if you read the book your back pain will go away. I always thought that was pretty hard to believe. I mean, how could that be?

But I was becoming desperate.

Thought I’d read Sookie’s copy. But turns out I didn’t have it. She did. I thought she’d loaned it to me a couple of years back.

She called me. And started reading excerpts from the book to me over the phone. She’d said that it had described my attack, like to the ‘t’. She read on.

After the phone call, I decided to look the author up online. I was able to read some excerpts there. It was really interesting. I figured I had nothing to lose, so I ordered a couple of his books. Logged off and went over to my suitcase to pack for the following day’s trip.

I was sitting on the floor, next to my bag, packing..I was movin kinda slow. But I needed something a little farther away, but I didn’t want to get up. So I reached. Which could have been a painful proposition a while earlier.

Yeah, I reached. Got the thing and kept on packing.

After a few minutes, I did it again. Then I thought, ‘Why didn’t that hurt?’

It didn’t hurt!

I twisted right. Then left. It still didn’t hurt. ‘That definitely would’ve hurt minutes prior. Why doesn’t it hurt?’

I stood up. Still no pain.

Picked up the phone and called Sookie. Told her what happened. She was amazed too.

I was a believer. It was mind over back pain. And I felt better!

Blue Butterfly

I miss my Poppy.

He passed five years ago.

We were very close.

I will never be the same.

My heart is broken.

On one of the days following his passing, I looked up to the sky. Asking for a sign, that my Pop was near. It was a cloudy, rainy night. Then, all of a sudden, I saw a lightening bolt.

“Huh? Could that have been the sign?” I thought. “Probably.” But I could not be sure. It didn’t seem like a miracle had just happened. I mean, if one did, wasn’t it supposed to be a bit more dramatic than that? I thought it, saw it, looked around. Wondered. Thought about it some more. And it was over.

Days later, friends came to call, as they had been during the days after the fateful day.

My friend’s child had passed months prior. She said that she’d asked her daughter for a sign following her passing. She asked that if her daughter was there, let her see a blue butterfly. And then she went on with her day.

Minutes later, she passed a store, where she saw a blue butterfly picture in the storefront window. She had received her sign. After that, every time she saw a blue butterfly, she felt it meant that her daughter’s spirit was near.

So I asked her, “Was the lightening bolt I saw a sign? Or was it just a coincidence because it was raining?”

My friend replied, “It was a sign. So, it was rainy. The sign has to come from somewhere.”

A day or two after their visit, Sookie was downstairs, in the basement, looking for something at my Poppy’s work table. He was in the middle of working on a few things when he fell ill. On his desk was a picture…

… of a blue butterfly.

We accepted the sign.

I miss my Poppy.

But when I see a blue butterfly, I know that he is near. Watching over us. Protecting us. Comforting us.

And then I know…

Everything’s gonna be alright.

My First Crush

I mentioned my Pop commuted with my across the street crush in a previous post about the Long Island Railroad. The crush’s name was Tommy. Tommy Mickens. I’ll never forget the first time I saw Tommy. I was eight years old, or however old you are supposed to be when you go to third grade. It was the first day of school. My family and I had just moved from Queens to Long Island in August of that summer. I had never taken the bus to school before. In Queens, everybody walked. I was pretty nervous, as one always is for the first day of school. But even more so because it was a new school in a new neighborhood, and I didn’t know anybody.

My Mom walked me to the bus stop on our corner. There, I met Mary, who was also in my grade and class, and lived just around the block. My new best friend. Then we saw someone walking toward the bus stop. Mary was talking, but her voice went into the distance as I stared. He was a bit chunky. As he came closer, I saw two beautiful crystal pools of blue coming toward me. I stared. I never saw anything like it in Queens! Are they real? Is that possible? How could a person’s eyes be so blue? I stared and stared some more as he came closer.

It was Tommy Mickens. Our neighbor from across the street. As our Moms introduced us, I barely heard what they said as I was hypnotized by his eyes.

I mean, I was only eight. Could I really understand anything about attraction then? I don’t think so, but there it was. I had such a crush. But I didn’t even get it. I just knew he was beautiful. It took my breath away.

I had a crush on him ever since. I still do. It never went away.

Our families became very close and we all saw each other all the time. The crush definitely got worse during puberty. And I think he may have had some kind of attraction to me too at some point. But nothing ever happened other than a friendship that lasts til this day. But I was just a buddy on the block to him.

He’s since married and has teenagers of his own. But the last time I saw him, it was as if I was eight years old at the bus stop again. Lost in the blueness of the pools of his beautiful eyes. And there, it would stay.

How the LIRR Helped Me Find My True Love

I am sitting on a Long Island Railroad train to Penn Station, Manhattan. Spent the weekend on Long Island with Mom. I love Long Island, but I hate the Long island Railroad. I mean, it’s great that we have the LIRR, but I have the right to hate it, don’t I? I’ve traveled on it for the past 30 years. The LIRR is the reason why I now live in Manhattan. I was so sick of using the damn thing that I moved out of Long Island because of it!

I hate it for several reasons; it is expensive, during rush hour you can’t get a seat, even though you paid an arm and a leg for your monthly ticket, if it drizzles out the trains stop running, it is seldom on time, ticket prices increase every year and service stays the same, you can’t get a parking spot in the parking lots of the stations, changing at Jamaica, the gap.

Shall I continue?

I suppose that’s enough for now.

My relationship with the LIRR began many years ago, when I would spend the summer at temp jobs in the city. I’d travel in with my father, who commuted daily. He was very regimented, to say the least (OCD is more like it). We’d have to sit on the same seat in the same car every day. The smoker car. Well, actually, when I first started riding they ALL were smoker cars. You could cut the smoke with a knife.

After a few years, smoking was limited to a certain couple of cars, “The Smoker Cars” or just “The Smokers”. The smoke was even worse in there. And through the tobacco haze, there I was, I inhaling all the lovely toxins that the smokers exhaled. It didn’t really bother me at the time. I’d grown up with my father’s second hand smoke all my life.

I remember, a woman would bring along her five-year-old daughter every day. In the smoker. I think back on it now, and can’t believe she did that to that poor child! I can just imagine what the girl is like now; wrinkled, grey skin, and hacking up lugis.

Back then, I’d wear my most fabulous pumps with my most fabulous outfit and walk through the streets of the city that way. All the time, trying to catch up with my Pop, who was power walking in his most fabulous shoes and most fabulous suit. Never slowing down for a moment. I was mostly behind him the entire way. We’d stop for coffee and a cinnamon bun, and continue on our way.

Pop taught me a lot, those summers. How to maneuver the city as well as the commute. It was an education. He educated several of us over his 40 years of commuting; me, Sookie, our across the street neighbor (and my first crush) Tommy, and our cousin Sam.

Years later, after Pop retired, I’d do the commute on my own. That’s when I taught myself how to use the subway system. It was a difficult commute, as I had to get to the Upper East Side once arriving at Penn Station. So, then, sometimes I would drive instead. That was also no picnic either. Sometimes taking two and a half hours door to door. I would think, “Which was the lesser of the two evils? Driving or training?” Both sucked.

After twenty years of this, I tried reducing my commute time by moving to a town which had the shortest LIRR commute, like Rockville Center and Merrick, Long Island. I also looked for apartments in these towns, but walking distance from the train station, so to lessen the commute time even more. But even this was not good enough. Better. But not good enough.

That’s when I decided to bite the bullet and try my luck in Manhattan. That’s when the love affair began.

Alien

Last week I was away at a business trip. The meeting took place in the home of the presenter, specifically, in her living room. She has very high ceilings making for a little reverb. There was myself and four other co-workers present at the meeting. On the very first day, breakfast and lunch were catered. Breakfast was an egg taco, fruit, and yogurt. I took a little of everything, keeping in mind my quest to lose the eight L.B.’s I gained in the past two months.

Breakfast is done and we are listening to the speaker. It’s quiet, other than the sound of her voice.

My stomach grumbled a bit. I paid no mind.

Then,

GROWL!

‘Huh?’ I thought. ‘Was that me?’

‘I think it was, but, whatever.’

Then my tummy moved a little bit.

Hmm?

Then, a louder,

GROWL!

I turned to the woman next to me, “I’m sorry,” I said.

I hoped that that was the end of it. We would just move on. Until >>>

GROWL!

Oh no! Not again!!

Someone on the other side of the room yelled out, “I heard that!” Then everyone started laughing.

‘Shit! What the heck is going on?’

I felt like the Alien was inside of me, trying to get out. Well, I just wish it would come out already and stop this!

I stepped out to the washroom, hoping that something in there would stop the noises. I got back to my chair. Sat down.

‘Ok,’ I thought. ‘I’m fine now. It’s not gonna happen again.’

A few minutes later.

Yup.

Oy.

I mean, this went on all day!

I thought I’d eat light at lunchtime. It didn’t help. The alien in my stomach could not get free.

It growled so much, that the rest just stopped commenting on it. But I was still squirming in my chair every time it happened.

Finally it was dinnertime, and we were off to a restaurant. Thank goodness it was a noisy restaurant, so that my unborn child could make all the noise it wanted.

And it did.

That night, in my hotel room, I took a Tums, went to bed, with hopes that this alien nightmare would be all over by morning.

Battle of the Muffin Top

I knew I was going to probably gain a couple of lbs. with this new job. I mean, it’s only natural. I would be traveling a lot and therefore, eating out often. Then, you know, whenever you have a lifestyle change, your weight can fluctuate.

I just didn’t anticipate gaining so much so soon.

My first week on the job, I wore my True Religion ‘Billy’ jeans on the plane. You know the ones, with the white stitching? They’ve always been snug. But I bought them that way. I like my jeans tight. I mean, there’s nothing worse than a baggy jean. You gotta buy them a little snug so when they stretch out, they look perfect. Well, as you may know, True Religions are $$. But I’m willing to pay it because they make my bum look terrific. They are my favorite jeans.

So, I wore them to my first business trip, along with my denim Gap vest. A really cute outfit, if I must say. That was Sunday. By Thursday, those suckers were so tight, that I couldn’t breath. And my muffin top was workin over time!

But I wasn’t worried because I figured I’d lose it back as soon as I got home. I didn’t weigh myself when I got home.

I also made sure I didn’t wear those jeans to another business trip.

But that was not my only trip. I was traveling every other week all summer long. And I kinda felt like I was on vacation. So, you know how you eat when you’re on vacation? You over indulge, right? You try new foods from different cities. I mean, why deprive yourself of the experience?

I wasn’t exercising because I was afraid I’d hurt my back while away from home. So, I was eating more and sitting a lot.

Then, my back went out. It was so bad that I couldn’t get out of bed to eat anything or buy anything to eat. So I lost back a few. However, once the back was better and I was up and running again, I made up for lost time. So whatever I lost during my incapacitation, I gained back. And then some. I thought. But I wouldn’t weigh my self, so I didn’t know for sure. My clothes still fit. So, what, they were a little snug.

I was trying on dresses for a wedding last week. Some of the dresses that had fit nicely when I got them were really unwearable. What? How could that be? I was going to just have to wear the one that I could push myself into!

Never a good sign.

And the True Religion ‘Billy’ jeans were now a disaster!

So I decided to do the unthinkable.

Get on the scale.

>>>>

>>>

>>>

Omg!

Could it be right?

Yup.

I was almost 10 pounds up.

Seriously?

I’d been there before, but never wanted to go back. And there I was.

I really actually look good. I kinda like a more voluptuous frame. But then I can’t wear my fabulous clothes! And that’s just out of the question.

So….

Back to the old drawing board. I’ve been working at it all week. Let’s see what the outcome is when I get on the scale on Saturday.

Is There Life After Shopping?

My life is empty.

Since I was forced to give up shopping.

As you well know, I live and love to shop. For clothing. Footwear, in particular. And not any old footwear, mind you. Very expensive designer footwear.

Clothing comes second.

Food shopping.... last. At the hate end of the shopping spectrum of my love for shopping.

If that is at all possible.

My fetish for fabulous and fantastically expensive footwear got me into a little credit card debt, as my pockets lack my lavish fashion sense.

As you also know, I not onlyl had to stop shopping, but I was forced to return some of my prized posessions, including my quilted turquoise metallic Chanel 2.55 Re-Issue classic flap bag. Which, I might add, I miss very much 'til this day. And continue to dream of the day in which I can buy it back. the thought of the return still haunts my dreams. But my bank account balance haunted them more. The the dreaded, emotional return.

Since then, I supposed it's less than a year now, I have more or less quit shopping. As one quits smoking or drinking or crack.

In the words of Whitney Houston, "Crack is whack."

Needless to say, it has been very difficult.

So, I'm in better financial shape right now, but I'm still an addict who missese her fix.

The new job's been a good thing because I'm traveling a lot. So much so, that I literally have no time to shop. No place to shopo. Various family birthday gifts have consisted of aipport T-shirts and refrigerator magnets that say, "Welcome to Iowa!" with like a picture of a giant corn on the cob or tornado on it.

Birthday cards have been replaced with postcards from Minneapolis or Idaho, with a huge potato on it.

I bought a really cool cuff bracelet for myself at the Indiannapolis airport in June. I mean, really, that's the extent of my shopping sprees. And I really don't count that at tall. Bergdorf Goodman it is not!

Therefore, my life is empty.

I believe I was shopping because my life was empty. I filling a void. The void of no man, no Pop, and no children. Now, to that, I add no shopping. And no quilted turquoise metallic Chanel 2.55

Re-Issue classic flap bag.

So, I have a void from filling my void!

No wonder I have chronic back pain.

However, I am well on my way to zero credit card debt, what with all the changes. And I surprisingly occasionally do not have the urge to shop.

I am able to cheat a little bit. With this new job, I had to buy office supplies to set up my home office. All of which the company reimbursed me for. So, hey, I'm not buying Christian Louboutin Prive pumps, but it IS still shopping none the less. And I've had a love of office supplies since I set up my own play office as a kid. (While other girls were setting up a play kitchen, I was setting up a play business in my basement.)

I need to buy a laptop business rolling luggage bag. I get to spend $150 on it. Haven't bought one yet. I'm holding out for the perfect blue one. Whick doesn't exist because, they are all black. My theory for this is that men invent those for businessmen, not business women. Therefore, you can't find them in cute colors. Maybe there's a market? Maybe I need to start a business, like the Spanx lady!

In the meantime, I can't bring myself to purchase an ugly black bag to travel with, even if somebody else is paying for it. Instead, I continue to use my blue and purple leopard print Betsey Johnson tote.

In a few months I will be paid more. I'm not as yet, because I needed to go through this training process for the first three months, and then pass an exam. Well, I have passed, which hopefully means I will be back in the black in the near future. Hoopefully, by Christmas, so that my fam can get better gifts than they did for their birthdays this year!

But the first thing I want to do is buy back my quilted turquoise metallic Chanel 2.55 Re-Issue classic flap bag.

I Left My Change In San Francisco

I’m in. Well, yea. You guessed it. I wasn’t looking forward to coming because I was here last summer. And I froze my booty off. I hate going to California and then it’s cold. It seems very wrong. It’s not supposed to be cold in Cali.

Got in early yesterday morning. My room wasn’t ready yet, so I walked over to Fisherman’s Warf. It was sweltering hot! I had brought a sweat shirt and jacket because I was still freezing from the plane ride. But I stripped down and enjoyed the heat. I don’t think the people there liked it very much, but I did.

I looked in the shops. Explored a bit. Sat on a bench to listen to some live street music. There were lots of homeless around though, begging. It was close to lunch time and I was starting to get hungry. So, I stopped at In and Out. I usually don’t eat that stuff, but you can’t get that in New York, so I decided to try it. Got my stuff and sat at an outdoor table to eat. I passed a little homeless woman holding a cup, on the way.

So, here’s my thing with the homeless. I pass so many homeless folks at home in Manhattan, that I can’t give to everyone. Therefore, I really don’t give to anyone. It’s a shame, but you can’t give to everyone.

I didn’t give anything to the little woman with the cup. But I sat down and kind of ate across from her. I felt a little guilty doing that. But I did. There was no place else to sit.

Half way through my burger and fries, a woman came out of the Sunglasses Hut across from me. She started talking to me about a dog she saw in the eye glass store. I answered her and smiled. Then, she asked me for money to buy some In and Out. I’m thinking, Oh snap! She got me. I told her I spent my last dollars on what I was eating. She asked for a nickel or a dime. I reached into my bag and pulled out some change and gave it to her, then offered her my fries. She turned it down.

I just wanted to get rid of her without a fight.

I look across at the little homeless woman across from me, and I could swear she shook her head at me. But, no, she couldn’t have.

The woman I gave the money to left, then came back and spoke to me again. I answered again. Looked over at my little lady, and sure enough she gives me a dirty look. I think she’s pissed at me! I can’t believe it. This lady is annoyed with me. I guess she was pissed because I gave the one homeless woman a dime and gave nothing to her. And to boot, I sat right in front of her and ate.

I high tailed it out of there after a few moments. I didn’t want an altercation with her just in case she was feisty.

I think I like the homeless folks in New York better. They are much more polite.

Eat Shit Purge

The movie, Eat Pray Love is out, with Julia Roberts. I’m boycotting. I boycotted the book too. I boycott all of Oprah’s books.

I was intrigued when I first heard of the book because everyone was reading it. But then I saw the author’s interview on Oprah. And I didn’t get it. So big deal, she ate some pasta, walked around in bare feet for a couple of weeks, then met some old, hot Latin dude and went home. What the fuck? What’s all the damn fuss about?

Do you think she would have given two shits about the pasta if she had met the hot Latin guy first? Nope. If she met the hot guy in Italy before gorging on bow tie pasta in pink cream sauce, she would have avoided gaining twenty pounds and been done with it. Screw praying with the monks. I’m outa here!

But no, she had to go on her journey. Gain ten pounds. Find peace. Then, meet the guy. Like she was never gonna meet the guy until all that happened?

I think it’s bullshit.

It all sounds so philosophical until she meets the hot dude. Then, it’s bullshit. Because why are we never happy until we meet a guy? Why couldn’t Julia do all the stuff; eat the pasta, meditate. Then go home? And write the book.

No. She wasn’t happy enough.

Until she found a man.

Gee, ladies. Whatever happened to us not needing a man to fulfill us? I guess that’s all out the window. ‘Cause Oprah says so.

It's Raining Cats and Dogs. Not Men.

I know that people are animal lovers. They love their dogs. They love everything about their dogs. They love their dogs’ poop. They love their dogs so much that they don’t mind touching their hot steaming load of poop with their bare hands. So much that they’ll walk around holding the hot steaming poop for while, until they find a proper place to put it.

They love their pooches so much they'll step over a homeless person to be sure man's best friend shits in the place of its choice.

Sometimes I think many folks love their pooches more than people.

I don’t want to offend anybody here because I am aware of how people feel, but I’m just stating some observations.

I was out to dinner one night with my BFF, Tara. It was like 500 degrees out. We sat outside at an Italian restaurant. We thought we’d have a relaxing dinner. And we were. But all of a sudden we both heard whining. Where was it coming from? The table next to us. These two twenty-somethings were kvetching about God knows what. And they wouldn’t stop. It wasn’t just me. They were making Tara crazy too. Then, a friend of theirs drops by. The friend has two dogs with her. What the…?

This isn’t the first time I’ve witnessed this. What’s up with people bringing their pets to restaurants? And what’s up with them being allowed in with their pets? I don’t get it!

I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love animals as much as the next guy. But I don’t want them at my dinner party. For various reasons. Hair in my food, being one of them. A trip to the emergency room being another.

Listen, some people are very allergic to animal dander. My sister, Sookie, has a serious allergic reaction to dogs and cats. If she’s exposed, un-medicated, she can’t breathe.

People come into restaurants with their dogs. The dog may be on a leash or in their purse, but they’re in. And the weird thing is, the restaurants allow it. I have a problem with it. I love my dog too, but I don’t feel it’s appropriate to bring a pet to a restaurant. It is unsanitary, impolite, stinky, and people have very bad allergies to pets. So, it’s wrong for people to bring them there, but even more wrong for the owners to allow it. That’s all I’m saying.

The same thing goes for airplanes. I was on a flight with Sookie a few months ago. She is highly allergic to animals, including house pets (cats and dogs). If she knows she is going to a home with pets, she needs to medicate prior to the visit. If she doesn’t she has a severe allergic reaction, which could land her in the hospital. So it’s serious.

So sue me.

Families & Babies & Strollers. Oh My!

The Upper East Side is over populated with families pushing strollers. So much so that you can’t even friggin’ walk down the street without tripping over one of them. You can’t even get past them. They take up the whole damn block.

The hot husband, the frumpy wife, the three-year-old and the stroller. I hate them. I hate them all. Is that wrong of me? Am I a bad person? Am I just bitter because they are not me? I don’t know. But that’s the way I feel and I’m not the only one. My other single BF’s on the UES also feel the same way.

You can’t spit without hitting a pregnant woman and her stroller. What’s up with that? I thought there was an influx of single women in Manhattan. Why do all of them seem to be pregnant or breast-feeding? I’m sick and tired of it. And they are all over 35. I’ll tell you that. They are not young.

And the fathers in their plaid shorts and flip-flops are so attentive, they really piss me off.

Not to mention, the kids are brats. On the bus, on the train, on the street, in restaurants. The kids don’t shut the fuck up. Their parents or nannies let them be loud and disrupt the whole place. Whatever happened to, “Children should be seen and not heard.” Whatever happened to that? That’s how I was brought up. If I made a peep in a public place, I’d get my head handed to me. Right there. In the public place. And then again when we got home.

Now, the children run the roost. We value their opinion. Why? They’re two! What the hell do they know? They don’t even know right and wrong. They’re never taught it.

Time out my ass.

And I’ve learned not to go to a restaurant at six o’clock. If you do, you’re in for family night. Frumpy Mom, hot Dad, screaming two-year-old, breast-feeding infant. So much for a relaxing dinner.

I hate them and I think they should be banned from restaurants, along with the people who bring their dogs out to eat.

Reasons 2

When I got home, I immediately got on my computer. I had tried searching for him in the past, without luck. But those times I only used his first and last names. I got the idea to add his middle name and see what came up.

I looked on Facebook. No luck.

I Googled his full name. A few names popped up. But how could you tell if one of those was him?

My Space? Nope.

I typed in the high school name and graduation year. But you had to sign up and pay in order to get info.

Then some sites came up which do credit checks, etc. One gave several names and relatives names.

I was getting closer.

Then a site gave several partial email addresses that he might have. That gave me an idea. I could type in is first initial and last name, then do “...@hotmail.com, ...@aol.com, ...@yahoo”, etc. So I did.

I did like six emails like that. I wrote, “Eric? Is that you? I just heard “Reasons” tonight on WBLS Quiet Storm and thought of you. If this is you, please write back. I’d love to hear from you.” Something like that.

I did it. Then, just forgot about it.

The next day, I received a few emails saying that those emails didn’t go through. Something about, “Undeliverable” or “Error” or something.

“Oh well,” I thought. I’ll have to think of something else. I just didn’t know what that was yet.

After 11 PM that night, my Blackberry chimed. I had an email. I ignored it. Probably Shecky’s telling me there was a big shoe sale on. And God knows, I do not need one more pair of Christian Louboutins. Come to think of it, can one really ever have enough Louboutins? I think not.

And further more, now that I have two Blackberries, I’m flippin’ tired of looking at that damned thing all day long. (Is the plural of Blackerry, ‘Blackberries’?)

I digress.

About 20 minutes later, I took a look.

The email said. ‘I only know one Blue Shoes Manhattan. Who is this?”

Hmmm. Maybe I’ll write back. Maybe it’s him. How many people even know anyone named Blue Shoes Manhattan? My heart was pounding.

I wrote on my Blackberry, “Did you live on Sesame Street in xxxx Town?”

He says, “Were you best friends with Sookie?”

I’m like, “Were you buddies with Bill Compton?”

“It’s me! Blue Shoes Manhattan!”

“I can’t believe it’s you! I’ve missed you forever!”

What? My high school crush missed me forever? He ignored me throughout four years of high school!!

I wrote back, “I’ve missed you even longer than that.”

It was really him. My high school crush!

This went on for hours. It was really so exciting. I can’t believe I really found him and he was receptive and didn’t delete me!

I fell asleep writing to him.

The next day we started again. He asked if he could call me. I agreed.

So, I spoke with him the next day. It was so surreal. Like a dream. His voice was the voice I remembered, just a little more polished. He would never call me in high school. How I longed for him to. And now, 30+ years later, there he was, on the other end of my phone, speaking of how nervous he was to talk to me. How happy he was to hear from me. How lucky we were to have found each other.

I didn’t want to get off the phone. I didn’t want to wake up.

Turns out, however, he was married. Has been for 20 years. Two grown children.

But of course he was. It’s me we’re talking about! If he were available, he probably wouldn’t have missed me or he wouldn’t have written back, or something. (Not that there’s anything wrong with me, but that’s just my luck.)

One thing I know, if I died tomorrow, I’d be satisfied in the fact that Eric, the love of my life, liked me too.

Oh, My Aching Back

My back went out last week. Holy mother of God! What a nightmare! What pain. It’s a week and a half later and I’m still on my back, and not in a good way.

It is not the first time this has happened. It happened twice; once about five years ago, and just three months ago. It’s really weird. It’s not like it happens when I’m doing something strenuous. It happens when I’m placing down something light or reaching for something. This time, I was at a painting party. Painting about four strokes with the roller. When,

Bam!

Snap!

You can hear it pop.

When it snapped the other day, my nephew told me he heard it.

So, I was perfectly fine … and … Snap! … Next thing I knew I was on the floor, holding my neon green paint-filled roller in the air, as my sister, Sookie, stepped over me so not to ruin the painted area I was just working on. I asked my niece to give me tequila shots in order to numb the pain. She reluctantly did as she was told.

Sookie is so over me. She is always picking up the pieces of my messes. And I get into a lot of trouble. Always have. The first time this happened, I was alone in my apartment, dressing for work.

Snap!

And I fell on my bed. Excruciating pain! Took me two hours to crawl over to the phone. Sookie came from Long Island, mind you, to help. She took me to the chiropractor. I couldn’t get any clothes on without pain, so I went to the doctor without a bra or underwear. Talk about bacteria on my couch! I was wearing a ripped T-shirt and unzippered pants. Well, what can I say? I couldn’t get them zipped without hitting the ceiling. And my hair. My hair immediately goes from soft curls to wire spikes sticking straight up.

Sookie’s like, “Aren’t you going to do anything about your hair?”

I’m like, “No!”

When it snapped this time, Sookie told me the same thing happened. My face contorted and my hair, which I just had gotten done at Ouidad earlier that day, went from pretty to shitty in a matter of minutes.

I went for an MRI today. I’d never gotten one before. I figured just the bottom half of my body would need to go into the thingy. But the technician started setting me up headfirst.

Side note: I had to strip for this. I was only wearing a hospital gown. Mind you, my hair was plastered down in a clip so that it wouldn’t just stand straight upward. Like a caged wild animal. But she asked me to remove it for the test. Up it went! Oy! Then I remembered, as I lifted my legs up onto the slab, that they are not shaved and they still have a little paint on them. Now, let me explain. My legs are hairy because I’d been growing them out in preparation for waxing. When the incident happened no waxing was going to be happening. There’s some blue paint on one leg because I haven’t been able to reach down to wash it off. So sue me.

So, as I lie down on the slab, I make a joke and say, “Listen, my legs are hairy. I need a waxing. Do you think you could wax them while I’m here?”

The technician really didn’t get it. But I thought it was hysterical.

I lied down. She was giving me instructions and earplugs, when I glanced back at the mummy’s tomb I was going to be rolled into for twenty minutes. I freaked. I began to panic. I didn’t think that I could get in there in that space and be still for twenty minutes, or for twenty microseconds for that matter. I sat back up. I tried to compose myself, and breathe. But I really didn’t know if I could handle it. I was ready to walk out. Then I thought, ‘If I had a blindfold, and couldn’t see anything, maybe I could do it.’

And just then, the tech suggested the same thing. I placed the blindfold on and immediately began to calm down.

Tequila probably would have worked just as well.

Reasons

The other night I was parking my car, in a really great spot as a matter of fact. It was around midnight. WBLS “The Quiet Storm” Show was playing on the radio. That’s a popular New York radio station, or at least it used to be, that plays R&B and soul. It used to be the home of the late, great DJ, Frankie Crocker, who passed too soon about ten years ago.

Well, as I said, I was parking. It was a warm summer night. Stars were out. I had my windows and moon roof wide open. I was enjoying the beautiful New York summer night, when Phillip Bailey started to sing “Reasons”, by Earth Wind and Fire. I’ve loved the song since high school. When I hear it, the same thoughts always come to mind, but this time they hit me hard. I was back, at a junior or senior high school party, slow dancing with my high school crush, Eric. I could smell his cologne. See his hazel eyes looking down at mine. Feel his arms around my waist. My head resting on his shoulder. I could feel my heart race. The feelings I had when Eric was near. The memories were so vivid, they brought tears to my eyes. I missed him so.

I closed my eyes and let the music take me back there. Let it waft over me like an ocean wave. Over and over. I hummed along. I felt the pain of unrequited love, 30 years later, as if it were today.

Oh, Eric. Where are you tonight?

I don’t know why, but I really don’t think I’ve ever felt the way I did for him, for any other man who entered my life later. I wonder if that feeling’s been what I’ve been looking for all of these years. The feelings I never found again. Someone who made me feel the way Eric did. No one ever did. No one ever measured up. I wouldn’t settle for anything less. And so, now I’m alone.

Eric and I never went out on a date. I only loved him from afar. I believe he cared for me too, but he was always too shy to show it. But every so often, at a party, we would dance. And the world would go away. And my world only consisted of him and me.

I’ve thought about Eric often over the years. Wondered how he was and what he was doing. I looked him up online, with no success.

But that night. That night … was different. After hearing the song, getting out of the car, on my walk home, I decided I was going to try harder.

And I did.

I’m Late for a Very Important Date

This is the largest mall in the US. The Mall of America. I’m in Minneapolis.

I have a rented car and a 9:20 AM flight to ,,,

wait for it ,,,

Omaha, Nebraska.

What a thrill.

My mentor suggests I leave the hotel at around 7:30 AM to make it on time. I figure, she’s done this before. She knows what she’s talking about. I thought it might be cutting it a bit close, but I thought I could do it.

So, I woke up at 6:30 AM to begin the metamorphosis, which takes an hour. And I leave at 7:30. No coffee. No breakfast. I’ll pick something up at the airport.

I’m driving to the airport, reversing the written directions given to me by my mentor. The GPS Hadassah loaned me didn’t work. But that’s another story. I’m doing good. Then I start to see signs for the airport. There was an exit. I took it.

Hmmm. This doesn’t look familiar. I was lost.

I checked the directions, I checked Google Maps, but you need an address for that to work and I didn’t have a street address for the airport. I asked directions and got back on track.

I find the airport. But which terminal am I? Terminal 1 or Terminal 2? It didn’t say on the signs along the way. So, I just picked one and then tried to find the rental car return. The women then tells me I’m in the wrong terminal. So I drive to the other Terminal to return my car.

Done. It’s now 8:40 AM, which was boarding time.

I followed the directions of the woman at the rental car area to the tram which was supposed to get me to the gates. I waited for the Tram. Once on, I saw a pilot and asked him if this was the correct Tram after the doors closed. He said, “No. We just left the area you need to be at.”

“What the fu--?”

Now I’m starting to get the sweats. I’m almost crying on the damned Tram.

“What do I do?”

He’s like, “Get off at the next stop and go across the tracks and get the next Tram back.”

“Thanks.” Sniff, Sniff.

“Maybe you’ll make it.”

The next stop, I get out and wait. It’s 8:55.

I was supposed to meet my mentor at the gate. I’m not there! I reach for my cell to try and call her, but I couldn’t get a signal.

I saw some more pilots and stewardesses. I decided to follow them. Then I decided to ask the woman what to do and where to go when we get there. The stewardess was really nice and receptive.

I had a voicemail. It was my mentor leaving a message. She told me that she realized that something happened since I was not at the gate, but that I could take the next plane out if I missed it. She was pretty calm. Then she had to go since the plane was boarding.

The stewardess said, “Don’t worry. Stay with us. We’ll get you through. You’ll make it.”

The Tram came. We all got on. Me and the Delta staff.

9:05.

My heart is beating out of my chest.

The nice stewardess prepped me on our approach to the terminal. Once we got there she led me toward security and let me go first. I zipped through. All they pilots helped me quickly pass through the metal detector checks as well …

… And I was off to the gate!

9:10

I’m running now, to the gate. Did I mention what I’m wearing? I’m wearing my grey Tahari dress, Gucci pumps, Dior oversized sunglasses, carrying my silver Yves Saint Laurent handbag and my blue and purple leopard Betsey Johnson carry on luggage. Can you picture me running through the airport in that get up?

Then I started getting out of breath and my legs started to hurt, because I’m so out of shape due to my back injury. I was loosing steam and my muscles were hurting. But I had to keep going. It was 9:15. The plane was leaving at 9:20.

I see the gate. I’m getting closer! Oh, it hurts. Keep going! Don’t stop! You CANT miss this plane because you are out of shape!! You can rest later. Run, Blue Shoes, run! Go, go, go!

As I approach the Gate 14C I hear an overhead announcement that this was the last call for the flight to Omaha. I got to the gate.

Out of breath, I handed the boarding pass to the attendant.

“Go right through."

“I’m in!!!”

“I MADE IT!” I thought, as I boarded the plane. Still out of breath. I got on and found my seat waiting for me.

I was sweating and still out of breath. I settled in and prepared to take off. Then we waited.

And waited.

And …

,,, Waited.

Ironically enough, we then sat in the aircraft for two hours waiting to take off.

I just lost two years off my life.