Since the hater in me is alive and well, I thought I could share the next leg of my journey into the bewilderment of things I hate.
I hate department stores. I know lame, right??
You see, I grew up being a mallrat, just because, in a small town, that's all there is to do. I also did not know the beauty of boutiques, resale/thrift shops and all the rest in the bevy of the unknown for duds of the wunderkind.
I love clothes, but what I really love are random clothes. Its kind of like being a well of useless knowledge, but it also reigns in my world of clothing. I like the odd and weird and pairing them with the norm. And of course, I love vintage anything, but that's a whole other story.
Anyway. I decided today to look nice. I am going out this evening and chose a comfy but cute dress that looks even better with my favorite black boots. I am a boot girl. Stevie Nicks, the COOLEST woman in rock n roll and possibly evar, got me started on my obsession with boots. I used to have a zillion pairs. Now I have six. They are all black. They are all different. Today's boots are/were the "nice" ones. Fabric-y, stretchy, cozy with a mad heel. Only today, the left heel isn't mad -- it's PISSED.
A few weeks back, I had a weekend of debauchery with a group of my friends and I believe I dropped my vacuum cleaner on the base of my left boot. Yes, long story, different day, but yes. I did it.
And now I have a wonky boot heel. I walked into work this morning feeling the unsteadiness on my left. As the day bore on (and I mean "bore" on) I felt it more and more. After careful inspection and a few crackily shakes, the heel is 'off' -- not quite, but on its way.
While I am opting to fix it, in the meantime I thought I would trot on down to Macy's at the Century City Mall. I don't mind this mall. It's outdoors. There is no pressure. It's not like that mall I call Alcatraz -- the Beverly Center. (After almost six years in this town, I can't park near "Alcatraz" -- it scares me. No windows, no air, no light -- NO WAY. The closest I've gotten is St. Nicks Pub down the street. Fun bar :) Anyway.
I drove to the mall. Parked my metal box of torture and headed upward. The mall is very nice. You don't have to actually go into stores, its just good people watching and star-sightings. But I was on a mission. I browsed thru the make-up department, sprayed some ginger essence and headed on up.
Floor Two is women's shoes. When I arrived, I started my descent into Hell. I was overwhelmed. Dizzy even. Shoes were everywhere, on little leveler-thingys and set out amongst one another like little gangs. After teetering over with the vast amounts of shoeage surrounding me, I hustled among the shoes, to note that there were no boots, not ONE pair. In fact, there weren't even any closed-toed shoes. Sandals mocked me. Flip-flops (very expensive ones, at that) flipped me off in only a way a summer shoe could. I even tried on a pair of open-toed shoes, but realized it was all just wrong, wrong, wrong.
A saleslady came up with her little bespectacled face to ask if I needed help (no comment) and when I asked about boots, she chuckled in only a way an older, condescending woman could and said, "Sweetie, this store is seasonal. It's practically Summer".
I call that seasonal-unreasonable.
Friday, April 28, 2006
Sticky business
On my way home from work yesterday, I tried to go to the gym. As I got into my car, this deep-rooted anger came over me. I just wanted to fucking walk. I did not want to get into my vehicle. I did NOT want to drive. I did not want to pass go. Eff the $200 -- I just wanted to fucking walk and enjoy the breezy, beautiful day. I wanted to walk and get things done, like running to the drug store and window-shopping, but alas, that is not my life, so I trudged to the gym to start 20 minutes of anger-ridden, HATE-lifting while surrounded by the most SNARKY crowd of people I have ever seen. And while my gym is high-fallutin' and all, its also got a nice "Bad-news-bears" thing happening, so its never too pretty. Last night was an exception. And of course, it couldn't have hit at a worse time.
For some reason unbeknown to me, I started to feel stressed out in a way I haven't felt in eons. I felt tense and pissed and a million other foul emotions after leaving the snarks behind. I decided I should just head home and walk in the 'hood, get some errands done, etc. As I started my departure from my gym at a time of night that should be lighter, traffic-wise, I turned as I do into the cluster-fuck of the century. And I sat. And sat. And sat. I started to sweat. My heart was pounding, my fists were tense and I started CRYING. Yes, I started crying like a big freaking baby. R called at this point and I freaked out. I don't know why but I was beyond just "fuck, I'm stuck in traffic," but was more like, "FUCK, I am just STUCK" (poetry, right??)
I moved at a snails pace as I ranted to R about my hate at that moment for all this bullshit traffic and how I could (and have) walked faster than this turtle paced bullshit.
After getting off the tel, I turned down a side-street after seeing ahead that there was more crazy, squished up traffic. As I turned, there was a moment of freedom. I was free. I was able to "drive" -- until I turned back onto a connecting street that was stopped up like a constipated persons stool. And the tears started again.
As I got home almost an hour and 20 minutes later, I was beaten down, pissed off and drained. I managed to get ONE errand done of foot in my neighborhood. I talked to a few friends and specifically felt better when two of them who get the whole "demographics," lack of transportation choices, etc., thing and felt WAY better.
As the night wore on, I finally calmed down, popped open a beer and had a moment of clarity: I HATE being stuck. I hate being stuck with my shoe in gum, I hate having a heel stuck in a grating, I hate being stuck in traffic and I HATE being stuck in life. I need freedom and freeflow. I love being able to control my time and how its being wasted or NOT wasted.
I HATE being stuck.
For some reason unbeknown to me, I started to feel stressed out in a way I haven't felt in eons. I felt tense and pissed and a million other foul emotions after leaving the snarks behind. I decided I should just head home and walk in the 'hood, get some errands done, etc. As I started my departure from my gym at a time of night that should be lighter, traffic-wise, I turned as I do into the cluster-fuck of the century. And I sat. And sat. And sat. I started to sweat. My heart was pounding, my fists were tense and I started CRYING. Yes, I started crying like a big freaking baby. R called at this point and I freaked out. I don't know why but I was beyond just "fuck, I'm stuck in traffic," but was more like, "FUCK, I am just STUCK" (poetry, right??)
I moved at a snails pace as I ranted to R about my hate at that moment for all this bullshit traffic and how I could (and have) walked faster than this turtle paced bullshit.
After getting off the tel, I turned down a side-street after seeing ahead that there was more crazy, squished up traffic. As I turned, there was a moment of freedom. I was free. I was able to "drive" -- until I turned back onto a connecting street that was stopped up like a constipated persons stool. And the tears started again.
As I got home almost an hour and 20 minutes later, I was beaten down, pissed off and drained. I managed to get ONE errand done of foot in my neighborhood. I talked to a few friends and specifically felt better when two of them who get the whole "demographics," lack of transportation choices, etc., thing and felt WAY better.
As the night wore on, I finally calmed down, popped open a beer and had a moment of clarity: I HATE being stuck. I hate being stuck with my shoe in gum, I hate having a heel stuck in a grating, I hate being stuck in traffic and I HATE being stuck in life. I need freedom and freeflow. I love being able to control my time and how its being wasted or NOT wasted.
I HATE being stuck.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
" -- closes another bottle opens"
Having one of your closest friends leave after a visit, especially when you've a) been off of work, b) had SOOO much fun and c) realized that time does not change a thing in your friendship, but make it even MORE clear WHY you're friends, is very hard. Rather than go into a long story, let's just say it made me SO happy to have Buddy here but as always, the party MUST end (even though I must say, we can really keep up -- we're NOT quitters, are we??)
On a different note, my favorite bar in the city of Chicago has closed. There had been rumors for years that it was closing, but its official, 2710 N Halsted St, otherwise known as "GRIFFINS PUB HOUSE" is now just a blank space. Whatever replaces it will no longer mean a thing to me. That sucks.
Griffins was in part of the "triangle" of great little pubs (and yes, Chicago is lined with them, but these were MY pubs) on Halsted. Across the street is Peg Leg O'Sullivans and kitty corner, Alive One. While the other two are GREAT bars, Griffins always had a special place in my heart -- and near a Walgreens, a Dunkin' Donuts (yay) and the Lincoln Park Fire Department (hubba hubba). And you could could show up in sweats and not care.
Griffins was the grooviest little dive in a very cut-throat, hipster area. Lincoln Park is a town of Trixies and Chads, but Griffins had a gentle way of inviting you in, minus any hipster, snobby influence. The bar outside was adorable. It looked like a little elf house with shutters. Inside was a even cuter -- like a happy den. Yummy Irish food was served til all hours and beer flowed as it only can in Chicago. There were Dead bands almost every night and if there weren't, there could be jazz, drums circles OR the jukebox, blaring out favorites. The crowds were always peace-minded folks that were friendly and filled with drinking capacity that could make a regular persons eyes glaze over. And the staff?? Equally fun, equally giving and totally cool. The type of staff that if you and your friends were having the BEST time ever, they would stay open (or close and let you and your friends stay in) until the night or someone was done. So needless to say, I spent many bleary-eyed nights until the likes of 5 a.m., sitting, laughing, dancing and having the best time.
It was close to my old home in Lincoln Park. My own Cheers bar. I was able to walk, run and even rollerblade there, (though the roller-blading took place after a near mugging, I still managed to make it to the bar)!!
Last summer I was in for a visit and had my friends meet there. The bartender got wind of my love of their bar and knew I chose this pub over the other 10,000 bars in the city -- everything changed. No one paid a cent and drinks were flowing all night long -- and I mean ALL NIGHT long. They stayed open until we were ready to leave. There were shots -- not the gun kind, either. There was beer. And there were tons of laughs. And my friends loved it, as did I.
I now will live with my fond little memories and sadly, go back to visit and not really know WHERE to go (okay, that's a lie, but really --). (And who KNEW there was an (ulp) myspace for Griffins ---) http://www.myspace.com/griffinspublichouse
Fare thee well.
Oh and Idol update: While I thought Kelly was awful, I would still like Ace to go home. And Rod Stewart seems like a very nice man (nice like SOSSAGE)
On a different note, my favorite bar in the city of Chicago has closed. There had been rumors for years that it was closing, but its official, 2710 N Halsted St, otherwise known as "GRIFFINS PUB HOUSE" is now just a blank space. Whatever replaces it will no longer mean a thing to me. That sucks.
Griffins was in part of the "triangle" of great little pubs (and yes, Chicago is lined with them, but these were MY pubs) on Halsted. Across the street is Peg Leg O'Sullivans and kitty corner, Alive One. While the other two are GREAT bars, Griffins always had a special place in my heart -- and near a Walgreens, a Dunkin' Donuts (yay) and the Lincoln Park Fire Department (hubba hubba). And you could could show up in sweats and not care.
Griffins was the grooviest little dive in a very cut-throat, hipster area. Lincoln Park is a town of Trixies and Chads, but Griffins had a gentle way of inviting you in, minus any hipster, snobby influence. The bar outside was adorable. It looked like a little elf house with shutters. Inside was a even cuter -- like a happy den. Yummy Irish food was served til all hours and beer flowed as it only can in Chicago. There were Dead bands almost every night and if there weren't, there could be jazz, drums circles OR the jukebox, blaring out favorites. The crowds were always peace-minded folks that were friendly and filled with drinking capacity that could make a regular persons eyes glaze over. And the staff?? Equally fun, equally giving and totally cool. The type of staff that if you and your friends were having the BEST time ever, they would stay open (or close and let you and your friends stay in) until the night or someone was done. So needless to say, I spent many bleary-eyed nights until the likes of 5 a.m., sitting, laughing, dancing and having the best time.
It was close to my old home in Lincoln Park. My own Cheers bar. I was able to walk, run and even rollerblade there, (though the roller-blading took place after a near mugging, I still managed to make it to the bar)!!
Last summer I was in for a visit and had my friends meet there. The bartender got wind of my love of their bar and knew I chose this pub over the other 10,000 bars in the city -- everything changed. No one paid a cent and drinks were flowing all night long -- and I mean ALL NIGHT long. They stayed open until we were ready to leave. There were shots -- not the gun kind, either. There was beer. And there were tons of laughs. And my friends loved it, as did I.
I now will live with my fond little memories and sadly, go back to visit and not really know WHERE to go (okay, that's a lie, but really --). (And who KNEW there was an (ulp) myspace for Griffins ---) http://www.myspace.com/griffinspublichouse
Fare thee well.
Oh and Idol update: While I thought Kelly was awful, I would still like Ace to go home. And Rod Stewart seems like a very nice man (nice like SOSSAGE)
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Mr. Rogers and his not-so idyllic face...
Idol...
Firstly, another week of the most boring performances ever. The fact it took me and neighbor friend over two hours to get thru (she has Tivo, ya'll) -- was truly like watching paint dry. As I said to NF, the nice thing this season is that the kids are ALL consistently pretty good, but their song choices are VILE.
I'm truly a little more rock n' roll than country, but even I could have picked better songs. I think Bucky is going to be sent home.
But let's talk about the former, rugged and good-looking Mr. Kenny Rogers, who was yet another guest host to help the kids and their singing. WHAT ON EARTH did he do to his poor mug?? Gone is the wispy, floppy hair. Now of course. I understand. He's also 20 years older, but the face...the face!! Its like a melted down version of once was a country crooner and a manly-man cowboy. He's replaced his face with a rubber ball...
Very sad. Joan Rivers should be so proud that someone, besides Melissa, is following in her footsteps.
Firstly, another week of the most boring performances ever. The fact it took me and neighbor friend over two hours to get thru (she has Tivo, ya'll) -- was truly like watching paint dry. As I said to NF, the nice thing this season is that the kids are ALL consistently pretty good, but their song choices are VILE.
I'm truly a little more rock n' roll than country, but even I could have picked better songs. I think Bucky is going to be sent home.
But let's talk about the former, rugged and good-looking Mr. Kenny Rogers, who was yet another guest host to help the kids and their singing. WHAT ON EARTH did he do to his poor mug?? Gone is the wispy, floppy hair. Now of course. I understand. He's also 20 years older, but the face...the face!! Its like a melted down version of once was a country crooner and a manly-man cowboy. He's replaced his face with a rubber ball...
Very sad. Joan Rivers should be so proud that someone, besides Melissa, is following in her footsteps.
Tuesday, April 04, 2006
sticking it to the man...
At the risk of being "dooced", one might say I must speaketh in tongue. I am not good at being barked at by humans, nor am I good at taking direction from one who speaks in gibberish. I am less apt to do anything with my heart and soul for one who clearly does not own one or the other. It's hard for me to listen when there is a volume that could force my eyelashes to fall off, one by one. It's equally difficult for me to care when someone's main concern is themself and how they can make more $$$. I feel contempt when said person is not only using this barrage of unbearable behavior, NOT just with me, but with someone who is not even in the line of fire.
Wacky.
Anyway. My Idol predictions for last week were correct -- though I am hardly looking forward to the country version of this evening. What'a girl to do?? It's raining!
Wacky.
Anyway. My Idol predictions for last week were correct -- though I am hardly looking forward to the country version of this evening. What'a girl to do?? It's raining!
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