Ok, I know I just promised that my next blog post would be meaningful, but maybe this is meaningful, in kind of an abstract way…

It’s @wondroushippo’s response to my shoe post:

What’s funny is that I really do pretty only wear the one pair of sensible shoes & don’t own very many. Which is a travesty of justice, dammit. A travesty.

But this was fricken’ funny, was it not?

Yes, it was.

Now thank Carter.

Get On Your Boots, Yeah

The stereotype that girls like shoes is, unfortunately, true. It’s your fault, though. Well, if you’re a guy reading this, it’s your fault. You like our legs when we wear cute shoes, and you do notice cute shoes, even when you claim you don’t.

Case in point: I wear a sensible shoe to work because I work in medicine, & there is a lot of running around &, because I’m on a medical campus, it takes me 7 minutes to get from the parking lot to my office. I am usually in a sensible shoe. Even if I didn’t have fibromyalgia, I would probably be in a sensible shoe. Rick works with me, and he never notices the sensible shoes.

Last Saturday, I wore a heel for the first time in ages. Rick, absentmindedly, said, “I love the sound of those shoes. The tock tock tock of your footsteps.” Men. Love. Heels.

It’s going to be autumn on Wednesday, according to the weathermen in Reno. Yes, specifically on Wednesday. On Tuesday, it’s going to be 89 F. On Wednesday, 60. So naturally, thoughts turn to boots, and while looking for boots, we find shoes.

I am so not a Western crap type of girl, but these are kinda hawt:

God I love these:

These are so bad ass:

These are kinda cute, but sensible:


Fierce. I would kill myself in these because the heel has no curve:

Nice. Spendy.

These. Are. My. Favourites. And. $1k. I can haz sugar daddy?

These. Are. Fucking. Ludicrous. In a good way:

Simple, elegant:

I don’t wish to bore you any further & I could spend all day searching for $1k shoes (and, you know, go homeless). Next time I swear I will try to write something relevant that will be of meaning to you, the nation, the world, the universe, ok? Or at least be funny. You guys seem to like when the pretty monkey dances.


I like a 40s-pin-up-girl red lip. You know, slightly orange, totally matte, in your face. It says power, it says, “Respect my authoritah”, but most importantly, it says “Pardon me, boys, is this the Chattanooga Choo-Choo?”

Depression Sandwich

Notre Dame won yesterday. I only saw the last 2:14 of the game, and it was enough to make me create this sandwich, which is 3 Trader Joe’s gluten-free, dairy-free pancakes, each layered with almond butter, mascarpone, & blueberry whole fruit preserves. It still managed to be under 400 calories, and was pretty much all I ate yesterday, so not bad, not bad. But this is how wildly football affects my mood, especially when the winning team clearly sacrifices babies, puppies, and kittens to the Dark Lord in order to intercept. Catholic school my ass.

I Can Haz Beer

I left my home! To sit in someone else’s home. And drink my own gluten free beer like product. But, I left my home!!! I also realize that wearing pink makes me look pinker, and I don’t need to look any pinker than I already do. I am a freakin’ azalea. Are azaleas pink? Well, whatever’s pink, I’m that (not good with plants).

Fluffy, Stupid

Persephone was trying to merge with the phone, as I was paying attention to it. Don’t feel bad for her. If I paid as much attention to Persephone as she wanted me to, she would physically have to part of my body, like a conjoined twin, which, as she is extremely furry, would be uncomfortable, pointy, and gross.