Tag Archives: shoes

A Few of My Favourite Things…

I’ve been thinking about positive thoughts and where they come from.  I really have to force myself, everyday, to think of myself in positive ways.  I thought I would try to come up with a list of my favourite things, not necessarily about me but maybe it will tell the world and me what I like and love.  So, in no particular order…

  1. Blue.  I love the colour blue for so many reasons.  I sometimes gasp at a new shade that makes me wish for the tropics or paint a picture.  Neither of which I’ll be getting to do soon.  The best blues are cobalt and music.
  2. My daughter’s smile.  It lights up the whole room.  It’s a rare thing to be seen since she became a teen.  Her brother and I spied on her while shecarly was working the drive thru at her work and oh, she smiled at everyone!  We both were astounded by the transformation.  I love her more every day than I did the day before.
  3. When she laughs it’s like bells
  4. My son’s energy.  Oh man he makes me tired!  Always smiling is that guy.  Very social which is the opposite of me.  He’s always talking and getting a deal going and has high ambitions.  I am immensely proud of him.  He is definitely one of my favourite things.  I love him dearly.
  5. My Mom’s paintings she left behind.  I just love them because she 000_0131never really knew her talent until she was in her 40’s, 50’s and she still painted until she died.  She had a passion.
  6. I love when people aren’t afraid to tell me what they think.  Sometimes I’m afraid of it, thinking it might be bad but it rarely comes out that way.
  7. I love colour and beauty and movement.  I love the ballet.
  8. I love the symphony.  The music sends me somewhere else.  I fell in love with the symphony at the same time I fell in love with the ballet.
  9. I love the kindness of others.  So many people have shown me how good they can be.  I’m truly lucky to know them and I’m a better person because of them.
  10. I love cats.  So cute, especially my Lucky who is, thank goodness, stilllucky2 with us.
  11. I like dogs too but not as much as cats. 🙂
  12. I love chocolate.
  13. I love lilacs and the wonderful aroma they leave in the air during Springtime.  I don’t think we’ll be having Spring this year.
  14. Spring and Summer
  15. My favourite flower would forget-me-nots.  I think.  If I was to make a bouquet it would be made up of many different kinds.  Orchids are always an option.
  16. I love long car rides.
  17. I love going out for supper.
  18. I love new clothes.
  19. And Shoes
  20. Reading and reading
  21. I love watching movies where I get totally lost.  I really don’t have a favourite movie, there are too many.  It always depends on the mood of the movie; for action movies I love the Terminator series; for love stories my favourite has to be The Notebook.  Whatever it is it has to be good.
  22. I like that I haven’t cried in weeks and weeks.
  23. I like Dr. G.  He saved my life along with Dr. H who died way too soon.  He found me Dr. G before he had to go though.
  24. I love my father’s face when he wakes up and sees me and the joyIMG_0292 that’s there, even though he doesn’t know its me.  He knows its someone he loves and who loves him.
  25. I love my grandchild.  She’s adorable.  I love when she holds out her arms for me even if her mom is holding her.  I love when she makes me feel special like at Easter when I was giving her strawberries and she said, in her 19 month voice, Mo Gamma.
  26. I love my younger sister and her family.  And all their dogs.  And all their cats.  Those kids have been brought up right and I stole a lot of things to use to bring up mine.
  27. Student Led Parent Teacher Conferences.  I was just at my daughter’s yesterday and finally got to see her amazing photographs.  She has a passion.  All her teachers said the same thing.  She does excellent work and it’s a pleasure having her in class.  They are all sure she will go on to do great things.  She didn’t want to go because she couldn’t see the point as her report card was excellent but I made her.  I felt it was important for her to hear the praises and make plans and goals.  She was very proud of herself and could see me bursting with it as well.
  28. I like when I make good decisions.
  29. I love to laugh and laugh until I cry or a little bit of pee comes out.  Well maybe not that but you know what I mean.
  30. I love how I’ve been able to get along for more than 3 years without a car.  Maybe it’s 4.  I don’t know but it doesn’t matter much anymore.  The only time I’ll miss it is during the summer because I won’t be able to get to the beach when I want to go.
  31. THE BEACH!  OMG I love the beach so much.  I love how it smells and the sounds and love looking at the water.  In my teens, I used to have a secretdsc024061.jpg place in the cliffs where I could be alone, write in my journal and watch the water while burying my feet in hot, smooth, white sand.  I can still feel the sun on my face and arms. The spot is gone now as everything has eroded away.  My memories of it though always fill me with comfort.  No one could find me.
  32. Driving.  I know I said I didn’t miss having a car but I really like driving.  I used to drive a lot in the summers, especially, to get to my ex’s cabin, sometimes just for the day and it would be a 4 hour drive then.  2 hours each way. Oh you know what I mean.
  33. I love the show Friends and the Joeyisms.
  34. Days of Our Lives and Dr. Phil and Ellen are my friends during the day.
  35. Wine.  Yeah.
  36. Writing of course. That’s my passion.
  37. Sleeping
  38. Eating
  39. Loving
  40. No more fear

I think that should do it.  Its been very interesting making this list.  Thanks for being interested enough to read it.  I’m sure there are lots more and I’m sorry if I left out anyone. I’ll leave you with a video someone sent me today on Facebook that has become one of my favourites.



PS:  The pictures on this page belong to me and I do not give permission for anyone to copy them without my consent.  Thank you.

A Good Week…

Well, this was a good week.  I’ve discovered a few more things about myself, some of which I have to face and get a handle on.  Most though, were good or,  at least, good enough.

I finally started walking outside as the weather has been cooperating and the ground has dried up nicely.  I think this is the main reason for my good moods.  shoesExercise is so important for one with bi polar as it helps to even out everything.  I found myself becoming bored at home for, really, the first time in over a year.  Thinking about my future brings a dose of reality.  Dr. G and I are talking more and more about finding work.  I keep imagining myself in a tiny bachelor apartment after Carly turns 18 (1 more year!).

She and I have been talking about her post secondary schooling.  She is eligible for so many scholarships and bursaries as well as student loans.  Hopefully she’ll be able to stay living with me when she goes to school but she’s not so sure what she wants to do yet.  Take a year off, move out with a friend or stay home and go to school.  So many decisions she has to make and it’s so great to have so many choices.

Now for a change of subject…I’ve always known I have an addictive personality.  I don’t mean people get addicted to me although, hmm.  Nah, that’s not what I smoking-PAmean.  It’s like when I used to smoke like a chimney until I quit in 1987.  I quit while I was pregnant with my boy too but started again right away.  Wow, I smoked a lot, more than 2 packs a day sometimes.  I loved everything about it and, as I said in other posts, I still dream I smoke almost every night.  Booze was a problem too at different times in my life. I pretty much stay away from it now.  I smoked weed in the latter part of high school and as a young adult until I was pregnant with my son in 1985 then never touched it again.  It was hard to quit so if people try to tell you there are no withdrawal symptoms from marijuana, they’re lying to you.

My ongoing battle has been with food since I turned about 20.  Food is always there.  One needs food to survive.  It’s starting to get bad again mostly because I live next to a 7-11 and they have everything that’s not so good for me.  I’m making super-bad decisions when it comes to food.  Chocolate is my weakness and diet Pepsi.  Chips for supper sometimes.  They’re cheap and filling.  The nights with chips are the nights my daughter eats at work so I don’t feel so guilty.  I never figured I was an emotional eater because when things are bad I just can’t eat.  It’s when things arefood pyramid going well I eat more and badly.  I guess that would qualify as emotional too.  I need strength to get through this.  I don’t want to gain weight after losing so much.  Dr. G is thinking it might be the new medication I’m taking at night to help me fall asleep.  Although I’m on a really low dose one of the side affects is weight gain.  I’ll be watching.

My mom’s cooking was pretty basic and good most of the time but sometimes kind of dangerous as she wasn’t too careful with health standards; leaving pots of soup or stews on the stove for days and serving them to us; meat left on the counter for way too long and some stuff just tasted bad you know? We all got the “Grand Beach Flu” at the same time and it was usually after her “Grand Beach Stew”.  I love her dearly but not the bugs that were in the flour that went into the gravy or the stuffing or the cakes or whatever.  I survived though and I’m sure it was why I was so skinny until I moved out.

I did so well with money this week.  It helped that the government sent out our quarterly GST refund so there was more money to work with.  I actually had food in the pantry and the fridge and still had money in my wallet by the time Child Tax Credit came in.  What a great feeling buying a bus pass and veggies and fruit for my girl who looks in the fridge and says, “Wow”.

My plan is to walk every day for at least 1/2 hour and increase it.  I need to invest in a good pair of runners as Carly and I are sharing mine right now (!).  I know.

She needs them for work and I need them for volunteering so one of us is using them all the time.  Hopefully at the end of the month I can get another pair for her.  My shoes are actually too big for her.  She’s a size smaller than me.

Shoes I should be getting...

Shoes I should be getting…

So the plan is to walk, eat better and get new shoes.  Those are pretty good goals for a week…

Shoes I want...

Shoes I want…


A Stint, A Strip and Veronica

I’m a people watcher (nosy).  It’s just the way I am.  I had the perfect opportunity in the last 24 hours.  Best seat in the house even though I did change seats a few times.

I watched a group of people who came and went, sat and stared, stood and suffered.  The elderly woman with her arm in a homemade sling and bruises on her chin with her son by her side.  There were three then four toddlers at different phases of crankiness, one with a weeping cut on her head that made my own head ache.  There was the young woman who was so sunburnt I thought I could see melanoma appear before my eyes.  Then there was a young woman who came out of the emergency room to the waiting room where I sat.  She was crying with so much anguish, so openly and with everything she had, all the while searching for someone.  A staff person quickly found her and led her to the family room connected to this waiting room.  She was soon joined by at least 10 others, all young like herself, women and men  crying so hard, the staff member had to lead them by the hand into the room.  In groups of threes they were led back through the emergency department doors where they, mysteriously, did not come out again.

I watched this tragic drama unfold from my seat directly under the plasma TV blaring a Max and Ruby cartoon. I was so overwhelmed by this family’s anguish.  Eventually the cartoon turned into a simple melody with words that were so suited to these moments I was choked up.  I sat there and wept for all the hurt in this place and tried to convince myself I was just wasting everyone’s time.

“Not a chance Momma” says my first-born.  He came with me to make sure I went this time.  And that I stayed too.  My kids are great.

He eventually had to go and I was trusted to stay there and get checked out.  Soon it was my turn to go through the big bad door, get blood work done, have my painfully swollen legs poked and my feet prodded, my heart hooked to monitors that not only reported every beat it took but every move I made as well.

I never knew anyone as brazen as the nurses who attached my heart monitor.  Nor have I ever had my clothes ripped off me quite like this.  As ordered, I undid the top string of my gown and lay back on the bed waiting for the expected discreet maneuverings under my gown.  They each grabbed a side of the gown and literally whipped it off me and, before I could protest or attempt to cover myself, they began sticking their own kind of sticker things all over my upper body.  One lifted a boob while the other shoved the other one out of the way.  Then the electrodes were attached, both nurses working at lightning speed.  I was laughing so hard at how it must look.  It got even better when they started ripping the sticker-things off me.  ow ow ow ow ow ow ow!  I think I said it 14 times and laughing the whole time.  Oh it was funny but I guess you had to be there.  I’m glad you weren’t though.  When the one nurse came back later I asked her if she was going to rip my clothes off again.  She smiled and did just that.

She gave me more stickers which stayed on for a while. Have I mentioned before I’m a fidgety person?  The monitor would scream every time I moved and even when I tried not to move which convinced me I was going to die. It was drama if I had to go to the bathroom; I would tell one nurse, she would yell out to “Lance” that #6 had to pee. 

Nurses, doctors and residents and even some guy with a broom just passing by cubicle #6, oohed and ahhed over the size, shape and the glorious shade of red that were my legs and feet.  The visit would usually end with a quick poke and some with downright ferocity.  I don’t think the guy with the broom poked, he did look though.  I wished I had shaved my legs before getting there.

After months of swelling legs and now heart palpitations I had finally relented about getting it checked.  After 5 hours with my feet up and actually resting, my symptoms were easing a lot.  I kept telling people how much better it was now but no one said anything about sending me home. 

No, I had to stay the night.  Without my cPAP.  Crap. Can’t sleep without it and I will for sure snore in an “unholy” manner (quote from my friend Corrie who has lived though a few nights of my snoring).  My best son had gone home and had a couple too many beers so couldn’t bring it to me.  I organized my daughter’s immediate life for her by secretly texting then called my fella to tell him the latest.

He’d had a couple of beers too and had no idea what I was talking about; insisting I told him I was just going to the doctor.  I know I had told him earlier in the day I couldn’t get into the doctor and was going to the hospital. So he was shocked to learn I was in the hospital. Great, here I was thinking he was worried about me.  That would be a FAIL I guess.  Good thing he’s so cute.  I keep telling him that.

I was put in the observation room and told I would have a real bed, my own light to turn on or off and peace and quiet for the night.

The bed was nice with a thicker mattress than the gurney and heated blankets to further relax my still thumping heart.  I was put on a portable monitor so I could get up whenever I liked and sleep better.  I prepared myself for the embarrassment that will come when my snoring wakes everyone, including me.

I did fall asleep for a while, waking up with a snort or two echoing in my ears.  At one point I woke to someone saying, from the very next cubicle, “Veronica” over and over and very fast.  This went on for about 10 minutes.  I could hear the other person breathing but not waking up.

Then I heard “Code Blue Observation 6.  Code Blue Obv 6”.  Now wait a minute.  I think I am cubicle 6.  Oh boy, this is too much to think about at 3:30 in the morning.  Soon the formerly peaceful area that was the Observation room was in chaos.  Well to me it looked like chaos.  My curtains/walls that looked so solid in the gloom of my room now billowed everywhere.  Lights came on with a glare, carts of all kinds were being transported at the speed of light.  All the while I heard the patient breathing and the nurse repeating “Veronica” over and over.

I was in cubicle 5.

I had to go to the bathroom and couldn’t help glancing that way.  There was Veronica, eyes wide open and still breathing that snore-like breath.  When I came back I eavesdropped of course and found out the medical term for what Veronica was going through was “unresponsive”.  She eventually woke up with absolutely no memory but had the best sleep in a long time, she told me later.

There was another Code Blue an hour later.  This time I heard the all to familiar “CLEAR”.  After awhile everyone clapped and the patient talked.  Seeing both of these patients later, I was kind of creeped out how one can be dead then not be dead or, like Veronica, go somewhere else completely.  These people should have badges.  Not just the staff but the patients.  They worked hard to get back too.

My tests eventually cleared the way for me to go home by lunchtime.  All major things were ruled out and I left with a prescription for a diuretic.  In less than 8 hours of taking that, my feet are looking good.

Not the way I planned the day.  You know? I’ve started a few of posts with that line.  I guess I should stop planning my day.

In My Place

I walked through the door of the free Legal Clinic and gave my name to the receptionist who added me to a very, very long list.  He waved in the general direction of the waiting area.  I searched for a chair that would allow me to stretch my legs and protect my aching, swollen feet at the same time.  I had just worked 3 jobs in 2 days and I was there because I wanted this madness to end.

I brought my book, knowing anything free was going to take a while to get.  One by one, names were called, people went through the little door.  Surprisingly, no one came out.  Undeterred, I focused my attention on not falling asleep and on the powerful words of Mr. King.  Stephen, not Martin Luther.

Finally it was my turn.  I entered a tiny office that smelled of stale sweat, and old booze along with the pungent odor of cigarette soaked clothes.  I sat across from a young man, named Gordon; a law student.  He looked as tired as I felt.  He barely looked up as he pointed to the chair in front of his desk.

An interview started; why was I there, what did I expect the Clinic to do, what other avenues have I tried.  He expected brief answers.  I do not do brief very well but I gave it a shot.  He kept getting my name wrong.  He finally asked me to expand on why I was there when his cell phone rang.  Well, it buzzed.  He spoke into it briefly then hung up.  I hadn’t lost my rhythm at all.  He hasn’t looked at me once.

He shuffled papers, yawned openly, blew his nose and asked me questions I already answered and in a bored voice too, I might add.

He was getting a glazed look in his eyes.  I asked him a question.  He didn’t answer me.  Keep in mind I had been at that place for 3 hours already. I was anxious about going and this wasn’t helping.   I was feeling some tension and I frantically picked at my hangnails.  I felt stupid and in the way.  He got my name wrong again.  I asked him if he had the right file.

I said his name so he would look me in the eye.  He did finally.  “This may be just another case to you or another stat you need for the funding of this clinic, but I assure you this is the most important thing in my life right now and I resent the fact you are ignoring just how important it is.”

“If I was paying you, would it be different?  Is it because I am not a human to you with major problems that someone like you is supposed to fix?  Does your knowledge make you superior to me?  I work hard to empower myself, and take care of my family and just keep going.  Because of this legal issue, I have lost power in my life.  I need an expert who would be there to give that power back to me and my family.  I didn’t expect to be demeaned and have my self-confidence whittled away by the very person who is supposed to be dedicated to help.  me.”

Great huh?

None of it happened though.  Yet.  Don’t be mad at me.  I plan on going to the Legal Clinic (as soon as a day off I have coincides with when they are open)where I truly expect to be treated with contempt, much like I outlined above.  Based on my past experiences with Legal Aid and a private lawyer, indifference is what I will face. This is a good exercise for me or even therapy; create the scenario and it helps to be just about ready for anything.

I want to stop working so many jobs, soon it will be down to two but I will still have long, long hours.  I want the family home that my daughter and I do not live in, sold.  My ex has everything.  Everything.  I want child support every month.  I want food on the table.  I want bus fare for Carly and gas and repairs for our car.  I want furniture for fuck’s sake.  I want what is fair.  I want to spend time with my daughter instead of working 7 days a week, 14 hour days.

I’ll make it, I always do.  I say this more to myself then to readers.

What started all this?  Today I saw a woman I used to be very good friends with while my ex and I were still together.  That would be almost 20 years I knew her.  She and my other friends all encouraged me to leave him and as soon as I did, they disowned me.  Blessing though really.  Bad friends.  Anyway she was ahead of me at the check out with her $300 shoes and her $300 purse and her $300 tally at the register.  There I was in the shoes I just wore to my job at Superstore ($15) that don’t fit because my feet are so swollen, my Winners $10 pants covered with dust and stains from the job and my sweat soaked $3 white shirt from Value Village.  Glad I left the red vest with “Ask Me” in huge letters on the back in the car.  My cart consisted of lettuce, a cucumber, salad dressing, ground beef, burger buns and peanuts (a treat for Carly).

I didn’t notice her at first until she walked over and looked into my cart.  I don’t usually pay attention to people at the checkout but her shoes were something.  After the second time she approached me, this time to look at the gum, I finally realized who she was and looked AT her.  She was looking back at ME then she  deliberately turned her head away from me. Next she showed me her back.  My ex goes to her place and has dinner with her husband and family at least once a week.

This is the third time I’ve met someone I used to know from my former life.  It all ends the same.  Funny how it seems they want me to feel ashamed, take away from my self and “put me in my place”.  They have no idea that I feel so much better knowing I am away from that crowd and their narrow-mindedness. I haven’t missed them at all.   They knew me then and are missing out on the person I am now.  I, on the other hand, am missing out on nothing. They have money, I have happiness.

“Everybody’s Got Something to Hide Except Me and My Monkey”  Lennon/McCartney 1968

Empower, enable, filled to capacity. I will not fall.  – Marie Boomer

Thanks, dear readers, for letting me vent.  Feel free to let me have it.

Bloggers Unite!

When I heard about http://morningerection.wordpress.com/2011/04/15/i-would-like-to-publish-your-favorite-blog-post/ I was excited.  For one thing, it means I get to go through all my posts and find the right one to send in.  I’m calling on my readers to help me.  If it were up to you which post would you pick?  Take a look through my last 5 or 6 posts (less or more if you want) and leave a comment if you find one.  It’s not a contest for me or for you but something that will help my words fly out of here!

You, too, are invited to participate! Click the project name above for more info.

Shoes Dancing Through Butter


Okay, let’s get down to it.  I promised in my last post the story of my favourite shoe occasion and my butter story.  This is it.  Hang on ’cause it gets lively!

Okay a brief recap.  I had shoe trauma which made me weird about shoes.  I found friends, Corrie and Kris, who shared this weirdness.  Not sure about the trauma part though. 

Before Kris got married or even met her loving fella, she had a hard time getting dates.  For one thing she was (is) the most physically breathtaking creature I have ever seen.  Men were actually afraid of her.  One told me he figured she wouldn’t even look at him. She had good reason for setting off that vibe.  For the other thing, she had an obsessive ex-husband who was a cop and woe to any man who looked at her.  They would find tickets on their cars for parking 18.2 inches from the curb or get a speeding ticket for going 52 km in a 50 km zone.  Never mind getting pulled over for “spot checks”.  So it was hard for Kris to date.  Between her beauty and the Bozo it was down right impossible.  Corrie and I were happy in our relationships (at the time) and wanted our most beautiful friend to be happy too.  For us that meant finding her a man, preferably the man of her dreams but we would be happy if she just got laid.

The 3 of us planned to go to bars and pick up men.  Just for Kris.  We would be her manager and screen out the obviously bad ones.  We took taxi’s because all of us planned on drinking.   So we went to a lounge first to get some liquid courage then called a cab (I’m totally making that up because I don’t remember what we did first).  In the cab (this is what I remember now) we asked the lovely man who drove the taxi what bar we could go to where we could have a really good time and maybe dance.  First he took us to the Palomino Club where the line was down the block and nobody was over 18.  We were older than that.  So our trusty taxi guy thought about it for a minute and said, with a very proud and surprised (?) look on his face, “I know where to take you!  Sit back.  Seat belts ON!”  We were almost giddy and couldn’t wait to see where he was taking us.  He was such a nice man.

It seemed to take forever to get there.  I kept saying “are we there yet?” thinking that was really clever.  Actually it took about 35 minutes, there were airplanes flying very low over our heads and if we took the time to notice the lack of cars we would have not let the lovely taxi guy go.  He waved at us merrily as we headed for the door.  I think he was counting our money.  And laughing?

We walked into the bar after asking directions at what I think was the front desk.  The lobby had fake, dusty palm trees and something smelled really funny.  And the guy there looked at us real funny.  He also looked at our boobs.  Blatantly.  We headed through the door he pointed to with his mouth and was met with pulsating light and loud, loud loud music.  At first we seemed to be the only ones there.  After our eyes were adjusted to the

BRIGHT                    low                                
                                                              BRIGHT                                       low 
                                BRIGHT                                      low                                 BRIGHT                                                      low

lights we found a table right by the dance floor.  We figured we were pretty lucky to get one.  Everyone wants to sit by the dance floor.  We 3 started to scope out the possibilities not realizing we had already caused quite a stir.  The place wasn’t empty like we thought.  There were men there.  And they were coming this way.

The first person we met was the waitress.  I like having a good relationship with waitresses because if they’re happy, so am I.  She looked at us funny too.  She didn’t look at our boobs though.  We could practically see hers.  Now there I go again, making stuff up.  I don’t remember if we had a waitress or not.  It seems logical that we did.  After our first drinks arrived, so did the first man.  He looked kinda nice but was kinda dirty.  I mean work dirty.  And he couldn’t take his eyes off our Kris.  I was all “Oh goody!” but, typical Krissy slumped down in her seat, hiding from the world.  NO no no, my dear, we have a mission.  The guy sat down and introduced himself between glugs of his bottle of beer.  We all shook hands.  Very civilized.

The next guy came over.  Staggered over and plunked himself beside me.  I think he passed out after I gave up trying to understand what he was saying.  And not to smell him.  Oh yeah, it was only 8:00.  So we kind of ignored him when along came another man.  He too was carrying a beer bottle and drank from it liberally.  He seemed to have taken quite a shine to Corrie.  He was sitting upright and was easy to understand. 

I’m getting to the shoes.  Just be patient. It means nothing without some background.

It gets a bit garbled for a bit but I do remember the Paralyzers, my favourite of all time.  After about 3 of these the DJ asked for judges for their contest.  Corrie immediately took the arm of the fellow who was by now openly staring at her nether regions.  And she was sitting down.  Quite a feat.  She raised his arm and he giggled like a little girl.  The DJ came over to us and asked us if we wanted to be judges.  Our guy giggled again and tried to order another beer from the DJ.  The DJ ignored him.  We all said sure we would love to!  Silly me thought to ask what we were judging.

Wet T-Shirt Contest.

Oh.  Where the hell were we?  I looked around the bar again.  Still pretty empty except for about 20 men and 4 women not counting us.  What bar was this?  Wet t-shirt contest?  And we were judging it?

“Corrie, what the hell do we do?  How do we do this.  Oh my GOD nobody from work could ever find out about this!”  She smiled that amazing smile at me.  “We can only judge what we know.”  I never wore a wet t-shirt so what the hell do I know about judging one?  Nothing at all.

Kris really brightened up.  “Marie,  what do we know best?  What do we have in common that we love?”


It was so simple.  We would judge the contestants based on their shoes.  Corrie’s arm candy thought that was very funny.  He said he would judge on their t!ts like normal.  Charming.  Nothing normal going on here.

Okay, big announcement and we were ready.  We were introduced which started a steady stream of drinks sent to our table.  Ah, bribes.  Okay, that I can handle.  The DJ said we were there to add a little class to the contest.  That’s when the comatose fella beside me threw up on his shoes.  Classy.

Out they came.  One at a time.  At first, all they did was dance around.  Big prize too; $100.  I think.  Not so bad.  Not a lot of footwear of note.  Except one woman.  Her’s were stunning.  Shoes, her shoes were stunning.

There seemed to be more drinks on the table then gals on the floor.  I was starting to get the hang of things in spite of the aroma of puke and drool on my shoulder from the fellow passed out on it.  There were 28 rounds. I think.  During each round  someone was eliminated.  No wait, make that clothing.  Clothing was being eliminated.  Eventually there were only 2 woman left.  Our girl with the spectacular…shoes and poor Robin.  Now I don’t know why I remember her name.  I just do.  You could tell she had never done this before and she wore Sneakers.  Dirty ones. 

A dance-off and the wet t-shirt part was coming up.  Oh dear.  Both women came out in white t-shirts and not much else.  They had a kiddie pool at their feet and used a sand pail to pour water all over the front of them.  They danced and splashed.  Our shoe-gal whipped around the floor, splashing everyone.  Now I could see this woman was a professional.  She ripped off that wet t-shirt and panties and frolicked naked across the floor and…and…shook them at us.  Corrie caught my eye and mouthed “the shoes” and pointed to the woman’s feet.  My focus was reinstated.  She was still wearing them.  Poor Robin did not fare so well.  The guys were yelling at her to “take it off”.  I didn’t want her to.  I also noticed the place was now packed.  With drunken, yelling, smelly men.  I think I was going blind.

It was humiliating watching Robin.  Finally it was over.  The DJ came over and explained how the judging went.  He had to be kidding me. There were actual rules.  We told him our table was only going by footwear.  The men sitting with us were leering and downright salivating.  Made us look like liars.  Couldn’t get them to remember footwear at all.  More men came to the table.  More drinks too.  Corrie and I gave up on screening out the bad ones.  They were all no good for our Kris.

Because of my overindulgence of liquor, including paralyzers, shooters and I even think a shot or 2 of tequila, I got to talking to the one who wanted Kris.  I tried to give him some dating advice which was useless.  In our conversation I let slip where we all worked.  Well I was bragging about it.  I was quite proud of what we did.  He seemed fascinated.  The paramour who had Corrie in his eye was also listening.  For the first and only time, Corrie slapped me really hard.  I didn’t know why. 

Okay, so you know already the one with the spectacular shoes won the $100.  She was happy and bought us more drinks.  I stopped drinking by then and was giving them away to the poor.  Along with the condoms I had in my purse.  We did a little outreach while we were there.

Now the ride home.  We called a taxi.  It was 2:00 in the morning and we were darn right tired.  We waited and waited.  Many offers from drunken men, putting their wedding rings back on, who wanted to drive us home but we didn’t go.  The DJ came out.  The lights in the bar were shutting off.  He offered us a ride too.  We told him it was okay, we called a cab.  He started to walk away but stopped and turned around.  “Cabs don’t come out here after 11” he said.  Holy whatthehellarewegonnadobatman!!??  By now is was past 3.  We called the cab company again but they wouldn’t come.  I gave in and called my fella.  He asked where we were.  I admit I didn’t know until Corrie found the sign.  “Bumpers” I said.  “BUMPERS!!??!” He practically shrieked.  “What are you doing there?  Do you know what that place is?”  I just said, “Honey, we are tired and really drunk and a man puked right beside me.  I just wanna get home.”  He would be there in an hour  he said.  An hour.  Yeah, apparently we were out by the airport.  K, I wonder how he knew about Bumpers?

All the way home I could not shut up.  I had so many stories to tell.  We all did.  That man drove everyone home.  He was a really good sport.  We got home about 5:00.  For some reason I needed a long, hot shower.  I finally shut up and went to sleep.

At work the following Monday, Nanci called us out to the lobby.  There they were.  The two guys.  Kris and Corrie’s aspiring beaus.  They were a little cleaner than when we last saw them and maybe a bit more sober too.  I couldn’t believe it.  Kris quickly got rid of her guy.  Really quickly.  Actually I think her ex was on his way to do a kid exchange.  Good thing the guy left.  Corrie’s suitor, well that was another story.  As I came through the lobby he was looking anxiously at her and all around him.  She shot me many dirty looks so bad it was like being slapped again.  But he did leave.  She gave me quite a talking to.  I think he came back once or twice but we told him she died.  Okay, not died.  I think Nanci talked to him.  That must have done it.  He never returned.

Okay that does it for shoe stories for a while.  I think I might write while pretending to be other people.  That should be good.  Always more exciting to be someone else.  Hopefully somebody makes me a paralyzer first.

Oh yeah.  We should have voted for Robin.  She could have gotten a nice pair of pumps for $100.

Oh.  Butter for another day.

Shoe Butter

This is part two of “Treading Softly Through Butter”.  For some reason the last post had a record amount of viewers (for me anyway) and I can only guess it’s because of the word “butter” in the title.  I mean really, if you want to read about something a little weird (and who wouldn’t) try typing “butter” in a blog search engine.  So I put it in this title too so that the viewers who read my last one won’t miss out on the second part of this almost-a-series.

So, yes, if you remember my first experience was rather stressful and very disappointing.  I was left wanting more.    I realized I had to think about myself when it came to getting what I want.  Go out and get it. Don’t be shy, be descriptive.  Fight for your rights!  Demand to be satisfied.  Don’t take the pleasure of the hunt for granted ever again.

We’re still talking about shoes right?  I have a bit of a warped view of footwear because at a very young age I experienced shoe trauma.  Now I want the best that I could afford and scheme to get the ones I cannot.  I am shy about a lot of things but never about shoes. 

I have been known to embarrass family and friends in public washrooms because I always had to look at what was peeking under the door of the stalls.  I didn’t peek under the doors, that would have been rude.  But a little tilt of my head while a-tinkling and I could almost always see the shoes in the stall next door.  If there was a gem in there, I told the otherwise invisible owner that I loved their shoes.  This was usually after consuming at least 3 alcoholic beverages.  Since the other person on the other side of the wall was probably in the same condition, my greeting was usually met with enthusiasm. After all, she would have to be a fellow shoe lover to own such amazing footwear .  We would have a wonderful conversation through the stall wall until one of us finished our tinkle.  Then off they would go, out into the world, without me, with their shoes.  Click click click.

I searched for others with the same passion as mine.  I once worked at a community health centre and the majority of my co-workers were female and then gay men.  I soon discovered my kindred spirits, my sole mates; one of whom had smaller feet than I.  There was originally 3 of us with others clicking their way in and out of my life but with these 2 women I shared many happy lunch hours shopping.  Many occasions to buy shoes.  Sometimes it would be “Who the heck needs an occasion?”

Three occasions stick out in my mind.  One of my pump-lover friends, Kris, became a boot lover for a while.  We went on a hunt for red boots.  Not a red-brown or pink or garnet even but RED boots.  After weeks of lunch hours at various malls together, she finally walked in one morning wearing THE RED BOOTS.  They were amazing.  I could smell the leather and my mouth actually watered.  I coveted those boots but they could only belong to her.  They were HER RED BOOTS.  I was not worthy.  I walked by her office a lot just to experience the aroma of fine leather wafting through the halls and bask in their fiery glow.

After a while, Kris announced her engagement.  She had her dress planned; pretty easy.  Food, hall, catering, flowers; a snap.  She was in agony over the footwear.  She wanted WHITE BOOTS to go with her dress.  You wouldn’t think white boots would be hard to find but it was ridiculous.  She was getting married in November and there was no white boots anywhere in our city.  You basically had to fly to Hawaii to get boots.  She search the ‘net, mail order catalogues, called family in other provinces.  No dice.  She did find something about 2 weeks before the wedding but they weren’t WHITE, they were off white and they looked so amazing on her.  She was a beautiful bride and mostly it was because of her walk down the aisle in those boots.  Wow.

The other occasion was kind of sad.  Kris had left her job under stressful conditions and my other friend, Corrie, and I were in deep mourning.  We developed a hate-on for our boss.  It was getting to be impossible to work with her more and more.  One day, Corrie cornered me.  She had figured out a way for us to try to feel better about the situation with our boss.  Shoes.  We would take her shopping for shoes.  I didn’t know if I could do it.  Corrie took me by the shoulders and shook me and said we had to do it. Kris would want us to do it!  Our jobs depended on it!  We had to go shopping with her to try to bond with her in some way.  I said okay but I only said that because she was messing up my hair.  I hoped it didn’t have to be that day.  Oh yes, that very day Corrie made me go to our boss’s office with her and knock on her door.  I seemed to have blocked from my memory of who actually asked her but I do remember the suspicion on her face, her question of “You want to buy shoes with me?” and then a huge smile erupting (good word!).  We made the date for the following Tuesday I think.  Not even a payday.  I was grumbling but I was going to go through with it.

We shopped with her.  She bought amazing shoes.  I bought nothing.  I just couldn’t.  There was no pleasure in this.  This was a sacrifice.  Just like when I was 5 in the shoe store with my sister.  I watched my boss buy the nicest and most expensive shoes.  I tried on  a pair and then gave up.  I noticed she had the biggest feet I had ever seen.  Corrie was a good sport.  I think she bought a couple of pair.  Took one for Kris.  Atta girl.

My favourite occasion did not involve shopping for shoes at all.  No, this happened on a night which started out ordinary and became extraordinary. 

This will be continued in my next post.  This is turning into One Thousand and One Nights.  I will keep you coming back to hear more adventures.  Well, one more at least. 

Oh and we have to still talk about butter!  I’m going to need Nanci’s help with that since I was in a manic phase at the time and my memory is rather distorted and therefore subject to being wrong.

Please leave me a comment and let me know how I’m doing so far or click on the “LIKE” button if you don’t feel like writing. 

Back soon!