Rain on my Parade, NOT my shoes!!!*

 

“Oh no! They’re wet! They’re soaking wet!!!!”

 

I walked onto the elevator, slid the hood of my coat off of my head, and looked down at my shoes. My once yellow mellow Diego Di Lucca “Ladonna” flats were now bluish-green from the rain and the grass I had to walk through to get to my apartment.

 

This was just the perfect ending to one of those really, really long days. Walking up and down the office, I was already worried that I was going to look down and see that the little miniature kitty heel on the shoe had worn all the way down. But somehow, someway, my shoes and I had made it through the day.

 

We’d faxed and filed papers, made important phone calls, sent out emails, attended meetings, and come outside to a brisk night sky that all of a sudden turned to a terror. Without any warning, the sky seemed to open up and all the rain ever created came pouring down onto my shoes and me.

 

When I got in the door, I rushed to the kitchen, grabbed oodles of paper towels and attempted to tap dry the babies, until my roommate walked in with a roaring laughter at the sight of a crazy woman who was soaking wet and only worrying about her shoes.

 

“Get up silly girl,” she said. “The shoes will dry on their own and look yellow in the morning.” Ahh yes, that’s true, I thought… in the bright morning sun, my shoes would coordinate with that flashing bulb in the sky and all would be well… unless that is, they looked more like the rainbow that comes after the rain. Eek!!! I went right back to towel drying until I was satisfied with the outcome.

 

* There’s a STRONG possibility that this story is not 100% accurate!

The Nickname Game (relationships)

 

Flake. LeMichael 9.5. Mercy, Mercy Me. Crack. Voldemort. Chances are, if you’re a guy who’s played even a slightly significant part in any of my close friend’s lives, we’ve given you a nickname. You name it; we gotta ‘em. Some are easier to figure out (if you’re the guy) than others, but really we don’t care if the guy figures it out at all. Lol. It’s more for our pleasure than anything.

 

I’m not quite sure how it began with my friends at the Mecca, but I’ve pretty much always given guys nicknames in my life. My first real crush was Cotton and my “high school sweet heart” was Mi helado (my ice cream) just to name a few. Anyway, the game continued when I moved to the District.

 

Now, I’m not saying I’m the reason my friends and I do it, because I get a feeling a lot of people do it… just for different reasons. I’m just saying I’ve been doing it for as long as I can remember. Shoot, I know guys who give all girls in their lives nicknames… although there’s tend to be strictly physical attributes.

 

Our reasons tend to range, but these are pretty much the basics: 1. you may not be that important, but if you have a nickname, it means we talk about you on a consistent basis enough to warrant a nickname. 2. my friends and I tend to be fairly flirty individuals, so on occasion, we have a lot of names to discuss, for some reason, it’s easier to remember folks by their nickname, as opposed to something random like Peter. Then you’d have to remind folks, “you know Peter? The one who did bla bla bla all the time”… and everyone would hopefully go “ahhh, ok, Peter!” Well, this takes a bunch of the rigamoro out of it, if you just decide that Peter will forever be known as Peter, Peter the watermelon eater… or watermelon eater for short. Everyone will INSTANTLY know who you’re talking about! (and side note: watermelon is another nickname, but I’ll leave that to your imagination lol). 3. It’s a simple pleasure… and my friends and I like simple things. 4. Please note that said nickname must be either short, simple, and to the point or quite catchy as hell. 5. Nicknames are subject to change at any time, however, this can only be done if one of 2 things occurs: a) a majority of the people with knowledge of said nickname okay the change or b) the person who is connected to the nicknamee makes an executive decision.

 

Like regular nicknames, some are flattering, others not. Some are physical traits, others are in relation to something the guy may do or may say, or his relationship to you… like I said, it varies. But it’s good. It keeps you lifted up and gives us a little chuckle when we say them.

 

So what do you think? Will you and your friends go try it at home, if y’all don’t do it already? Trust me. You’ll thank me later. But beware, it will become addicting… and unless the nickname is very flattering and you don’t mind explaining, you might want to not accidentally slip up and call that person the nickname they were given…. Yeah, I’m talk to you, CCB! lol

 

Lost & Found

Have you seen me “Lately”???

 

This 4 1/2 inch black patent leather pump has absolutely stolen my heart. With the peek-a-boo toe and faux cheetah print stiletto heel, Steve Madden’s “Lately” pump is definitely one of those shoes that can MAKE your outfit. In fact, be careful, because it might just cause a slip-up or two as your swag-meter is sure to increase by at least 2 points. (as long as you dont trip on the 4 1/2 inch heel, that is lol)

Last seen at the Georgetown Steve Madden location on major clearance for $20 a couple weeks ago. Was originally $90. Since then, has not been found at any other Steve Madden location in the DC area or on the Steve Madden website. After the villain (ie the sales person) broke my heart by informing me that the only size left was a size 5 (who the hell wears a size 5?!), have been on search for shoe at similar price.

So far, only luck has been on Amazon.com, kaboodle.com, and zappos.com. However, all locations are selling the shoes for no less than $71. A far cry from the $20 deal at the store.

Will you join me on the case? *Disclaimer*: if you find it, you must report back… it’s only FAIR!

The Nickname Game (politics)

 

In graduate school, we had many papers to write. No shocker there, right? But the thing was, supposedly there were two tracks for my department. Either you wrote a thesis or you took the comprehensive exams. I was stupid enough to take the comp track and got that good okie doke, which was that even if you take the comps, you still have a whole bunch of minor thesis papers to write, ie. you don’t have defend them… just get them approved by the department, get your raw data, and write it. Honestly, the only thing that was different was the no-defending part, but by the time you were done, you kinda wanted to defend all this hard work you’d done. Anyway, this is not the point… so let me get to it.

 

One of my minor thesis papers was a prediction paper. I theorized that you could potentially tell who the next president of the United States would be simply by seeing if and how many nicknames that person received. Okay, don’t get lost yet by thinking it’s impossible. Follow me.

 

The theory went like this:

 

First off, it was 2-fold and stemmed from the idea discussed in the Nightly News Nightmare that the media frame candidates as characters, and the public usually acknowledge those characterizations as truthful. My theory took it a step further however, and said that in the election the candidate and the media are in a race to present a certain image or personality of that candidate. For those who succeed in beating the media and presenting a nickname that the public acknowledges, there is success and they usually end up with a pretty likable characterization of themselves. However, not everyone who tries to put forth a nickname will succeed. For those who don’t, if something stands out about him or her enough for the media to seize upon it, they will, whether it’s bad or good. And since the media are looking for short and simple sound bites to represent an idea… how much shorter and simpler can you get then one or two words that represent a caricature of a person?

 

The second part of the theory involved the public and what it means to acknowledge a nickname. If you think about the people you know in your life that you’ve given nicknames to, they are usually either people you know very well or someone that you feel you know something about them well enough to give them or call them by a nickname. The same applies in presidential elections. While candidates are trying to present a certain image of themselves, we the people have to feel as if we know that candidate or know something about that candidate well enough in order to acknowledge said nickname. Taking that to be true, it’s very telling when the public acknowledges no nickname whatsoever, since they are typically pretty easy to come by.

 

The theory basically becomes a numbers game. Who can get the most nicknames (or maybe even slogans using your name)? Now, think about the nicknames of the winners of this game so far: In 1996, Clinton had 3 to Dole’s 1: The Comeback Kid, Slick Willie and Bill vs. Bob. Yet, in 2000, Gore only had 1 to Bush’s 2 and Kerry didn’t have any in 2004: Al vs Dubya and Bushie/ None vs. Dubya. Starting from 1952 (what is called the beginning of the modern presidency), out of 14 elections, the predictor did not “work” 3 times. In those 3 times, the nicknames were a tie.

 

(An important side note to the theory: negative nicknames help the candidate as well. I know, it sounds crazy, but remember I’m trying to summarize 40 something pages of information into a couple paragraphs here.)

 

So with our election coming up right now and this year being billed as a possible monumental year for presidential politics, who do YOU think is winning the nickname game? Will my predictor work this time around? I will say this (and I actually like Hillary Clinton, so bias presented… don’t kill me lol), Hillary has no nickname whatsoever, and she’s sitting at home, hoping “Baracka” calls her to be his VP.

Shop-therapy (the story)

 

It was October 2005. I wont get into all the reasons here, but rest assured it had been an interesting year thus far. The good times… were… good. The bad times—-oh they were so BAD! I mean, I guess that’s life… but this year, just kinda took the cake for me.

 

Either way, here I was in graduate school, trying to get things back in order, put things back into focus. Priorities: God, family and friends, school, pitching articles and freelancing, work on books, men. That’s the order it was supposed to go in… but we all know, that order sometimes gets out of wack.

 

And mine certainly had. With Katrina having happened just months before, the first two priorities remained intact and where they needed to be. It was those other ones. School was okay, though I had formed a little bitter crew by this time: we were the cynical ones (shout out to Mike) in our program. Pitching was a nightmare and freelancing was even worse. I was writing, but not getting paid… how does that sound to you? Book work was non-existent… and the men… oh the men. I had one guy who I thought was cool enough. He was from back home, but was staying here. He was cute, athletic, sexy as hell… (he turned out to be real jack-ass by the end of October, but this is the beginning we’re talking about here… so no more about him). I had another guy, who… eh, how do I put this? We were friends, close friends, probably a whole lot closer than we should have been. No, actually we were much closer than we should have been… cuz you know, he had a girlfriend and all, who wasn’t me. (I’m not proud of it, just being honest.) We’ll call him “Jake.”

 

So things were interesting to say the least. I really wasn’t what you would call happy. Not depressed or anything, but definitely not happy. And if anyone has ever been in a situation where they wanted someone more than that person obviously wanted them (whether it was like my situation or not), then you know that can mess up how you feel about almost everything.

 

One night, Jake and I got into a huge argument about us… of course. I didn’t like feeling like a dirty mistress and wanted to walk away from him, our friendship, and everything. He didn’t understand how I could be so selfish and give up our friendship. The “discussion” went on far longer than it should have and we said some things we shouldn’t have… something no matter how mad we got, we had never done before.

 

I needed something to get my mind off of it all. Anything. Alcohol? No, cuz the side effects the next morning would not be a good look! Crying? I wasn’t going to give him the pleasure. Talking it out with my friends? I wasn’t really one of those girls who needed to do that…. Shopping? Yes, shopping!

 

That next day, I called one of my shopping aficionados, Pimp C. We strapped on our shopping gear: cute but comfy jeans, tank top, and strappy sandals (we’re in DC, it was still warm, even in October) and overly large bag (purse). We jumped in her ride (lol), made our way to the incomparable Pentagon City Centre in VA, walked in, took a deep breath and smiled. We were there for a therapy and shopping was what we were going to do. Store by store, we racked up.

 

Victoria’s Secret: check.

Nordstroms: check

Macy’s: check

MAC: check

Sephora: check

Banana Republic: check

Forever 21: check

Aldo: check

Steve Madden: check

Bennetton: check

DSW: check

 

Store by store, we spent our hard earned money… and stacked up the bags. Smiling all the way. Egging each other on. Finding some sense of relief.

 

By the end of the day, I’d purchased 9 pairs of shoes (along with other items) and she’d purchased 10 (along with other items). And this time, we were actually drained. We dragged ourselves back to the car, loaded all of our merchandize, drove back to my place, and I lugged everything I had into my apartment. The therapy had done well for about 6 hours, but now I was home by myself with all these… things… and none of them meant anything without him.

 

It was then that I realized the biggest con of all when using shopping as therapy. You can have all the things in the world and not have the one thing you want, and I promise you won’t be happy.

 

Now, don’t get me wrong… I still love to shop. I just went shopping the other day in Philly and had a BLAST! But word to the wise, don’t break your bank account to try to fix a breaking heart. It won’t help. If you’re going to use the popular shopping technique, focus on one splurge item (cuz I still think every girl should get one every 4 or 5 months at least). After all Rita Rudner (the lady who said the quote in the last post) said she buys A really great outfit to make her feel better. 100 juuuuust might make you feel worse. lol

Shop-Therapy (the warm-up)

“I love to shop after a bad relationship. I don’t know. I buy a new outfit and it makes me feel better. It just does. Sometimes I see a really great outfit, I’ll break up with someone on purpose.
Rita Rudner

 

A certain Country Club Barbie recently sent me this quote and as soon as I read it, I knew we had a connection. Me and the quote, that is. The Barbie and I realized we had a connection a long time ago.

 

Anyway, the quote was sooo real to me! I love shopping. I mean, really love shopping. Well, I guess you could tell that, with 1/3 of this blog being dedicated shoes and shoe stories. But let me tell you, I am definitely not alone.

 

My friends and I can literally go shopping for hours upon hours, never get weary, walking up and down the mall, the outlet, the store, market… you name it. Looking at us, you’d think we were either rich as the Hiltons, training for a marathon, or trying to do a combination of both. We’re no way close to either… just participating in good ol’ fashion girl therapy. Shopping. (Don’t get me wrong, many times, we go shopping just because, but for the purposes of this post, we’re keeping it strictly as a therapeutic tactic.)

 

Now, with any therapy, there are certainly pros and cons. 

 

You hang out with your girls doing a fun, interactive activity that normally does not involve chunking down ice cream and gaining weight: definite PRO!

 

Your bank account may not be too happy with you at the end of this excursion: definite CON!

 

You get to buy clothes, shoes, and accessories that will make him regret ever letting you go, make you feel better about your stupid boss’s opinions, drive the next guy crazy at the club: whatever your vice may have been… such a PRO!

 

No one really cares about all that stuff, except for you and your girls (and probably some haters, but they didn’t like you anyway)…. Eh, that would be a CON.

 

You can so increase your swag-meter (self-esteem, mojo, juice… whatever you wanna call it) by finding that right outfit or those perfect shoes, the scarf that brings out your eyes, or the bracelet you could wear (but definitely WONT) with almost everything you own… um, I’m sensing a PRO-win here!

 

Buuuuuttttt… you could also decrease your swag-meter by trying on clothes that don’t fit, not properly shopping for sales, and basically falling victim to anything spandex. Ouch CON!

 

So with this pretty much being a draw, what is the draw, for lack of a better word? Why do so many women, myself included, jump for the chance to spend their day or weekend throwing money around? Could it be that you’re looking for something to replace what you just lost? Or is just as simple as new things make everyone happy?

 

Okay, that’s it for now… but for part 2: the shop-therapy story to make you cringe! (good lead up eh? Lol)

In Memoriam: Gold Wedge Heel

 

Have you ever wanted to see someone in concert so badly, the thought of it made you want to do flips around your office? Well I did. That’s why on my birthday two years ago, my friends and I went to see my favorite rapper perform.

 

We get to the club, dressed in our flyest gear. I had on a blue and green flowy top that showed off my bra just enough to make it sexy, but still mysterious. And even though I sported some new Seven jeans, gold hoops and accessories from Aldo, the key element of my ensemble was my trusty Colin Stuart gold wedge heels from Victoria’s Secret. They were sexy, exuded feistiness, but were extremely comfortable.

 

Like Christian on Project Runway, I was fierce—so fierce. Eventually, the concert began and the crowd grew exponentially in a matter of seconds. My friends and I were standing directly in front of the barricades, so we assumed we would be okay. Boy, were we wrong!

 

Within minutes, a rowdy crowd of excited fans turned into a dangerous situation. I was being rocked to one side, then to the next, and suddenly my legs were being kicked accidentally and I was on the floor.

 

Being trampled is sooo not fun. But luckily, this cutie patootie guy, who will forever be my hero, picked me up off the ground and carried me away from the scene. I was so relieved and happy to be alive (and kind of mesmerized in his eyes); I barely noticed the glaring omission to my once pristine outfit. Once I looked down and realized my precious shoe was missing, I knew I would never look at this club in the same way. My key element was now lost to the crowd, forever gone away from me.

 

I still keep the one shoe with me. In memoriam: gold wedge heel.

Mardi Gras Tempstress

 

 

Here’s a tip for anyone planning a party: never mix really good cocktails, petit fours, cute guys, and a wowser pair of purple 3 inch Aldo stilettos. It might just make for an embarrassing moment by the end of the night. 

 

Unfortunately, no one informed me of this critical rule. So, for Carnival this year, my roommate and I decided we would invite over some friends, decorate the place, hand out beads and masks, and make some of the best drinks you can think of. We had everything from Mardi Gras Magaritas to Puerto Rican Coquito to a pitcher of Pink Panty Pulldown that needed to be refilled at least 5 times throughout the night.  

 

The night was going well… people were entertaining themselves, mingling, dancing and basically enjoying life. All was well… and then he walked in. It was like one of those movie scenes where everyone in the background goes all blurry while the two main characters caught each other’s eyes and stared deeply. Well, at least that’s how it felt for me. I snapped out of it quickly though, invited him in, took his coat and introduced him to some of my friends to make him feel more comfortable.  

 

When he was ready to go, I decided I would walk him outside so we could talk a little more. Here’s how that conversation went. “I’m so jealous. You get to go home, while I have to go back up there to all those people,” I said. What was his reply? “Well, you can always stay down here with me for awhile.” Oh really?! Excited would be such an understatement at that point.

 

As we sat in his car and talked about music, I slowly slipped my heels off, revealing my firey red nail polish. You could tell he noticed and our conversation went from Donny Hathaway to what he had to do to get the beads I had on, which coincidentally had 6 big purple, green and gold lips on them. I knew at that moment he would kiss me, but when he actually did it… I don’t think I was quite ready. How else can you explain me coming up for air and saying, “Whew! Wow… I think I need to go back upstairs.” So much for playing it cool, right?   

 

More like sounding like I hadnt kissed someone in years like ol’ girl on Tyler Perry’s Why Did I Get Married. Ewww… remind me never to mix that combination again!….

 

But he was a good kisser though