Christmas Special

Today, I received an email from "Santa's Slave" asking me if I wanted to get laid on Christmas. No, I really don't, but thanks for the offer. I find that at this time of year, it takes too much effort to go through all the trouble of being a top. I mean, gathering the toys, making the time, let alone thinking of creative ways to use lumps of coal is enough to make my head swim.

Instead what I really want is to see Joel McHale at GSR. And...I think I might be able to swing it. Todd is going to give me half the cost of the ticket, and I am fairly certain I can come up with the other half, as I just received a rebate in the mail reimbursing me for a club membership fee that was done away with.

So, I must apologize to Santa's Slave, for instead of filling up her "stocking" with lumps of coal, I must spend my time with Joel McHale. But, if Santa's Slave really needs it, I'm sure there's a willing reindeer out there somewhere.

Druish

Tonight before class began, one of the owners of the store said she had a funny story about a couple who came in earlier. When the girls asked if they could help the couple find anything, the man said "Yes, we are looking for books on Wick."

"Wick? Are you sure?"

"Yes," replied the man. "Wick."

"Perhaps you mean Wicca? Or maybe witch?"

"No...Wick. My wife, she's Druish and wants a book on Wick."

"That's funny," muttered another customer standing by. "She doesn't look Druish."

We had a good laugh at the couples' expense and decided that maybe it was time to design a Druish tradition. I'm sure it would involve lots of magical latkes and eight days of candle magic in December. As long as I could still wear a Yarmulke in a skyclad ritual, I suppose I'd be happy.

Inertia

After sleeping until 9 a.m. four days in a row, and staying in my pajamas until late afternoon, it's official: I'm depressed. I have no energy. I feel like a zombie and I don't want to do anything. Not even drink. And when I can't even muster enough energy to open a bottle of wine, I know I'm in trouble.

The problem is, I'm not sure what to do about it. When I lived with Todd, I couldn't afford to be depressed or experience massive amounts of time spent in Inertia Land. No matter what happened while I was living there, I got up every day at a respectable time, let the dogs out, made some coffee, and got myself moving. Most days, I went for a walk in the morning. This involved getting dressed...something that seems foreign to me now. The other day when it snowed? I went outside - twice - and shoveled in my pajamas and fleece robe cover. The only reason I didn't wear my slippers was because I didn't want them to get wet.

Today is a better day than yesterday. I got up earlier than usual (okay, it was because Schmutzy threw up a pile of slimy tinsel on the side of the bed, but I still got up). After cleaning it all up, I took a bath and got dressed. Okay, so I'm wearing sweats (one level up from jammies), but I am dressed. And clean. That's progress, right?

What isn't progress is the fact that my resume remains unwritten. I have these wonderful books full of expert guidance, and here I sit surrounded by them with absolutely no desire to actually open them.

How does one shake a bad case of inertia? It obviously takes more than a bath and donning a pair of sweats...although the bath is probably a step in the right direction.

Hi, My Name is PJammy

My friend Carmen told me that she believes any one who drinks alone at home is an alcoholic. If that's the case, then I'm definitely an alcoholic. Cheers to me.

Last Wednesday, I was laid off. One of the first things I did (after crying) was to call my parents to inform them of my bad news. Before we said good-bye, my mom and my dad both encouraged me to run a bath and drink a glass (or two) of wine to settle down. Does this make them enablers or just wise? I'm not sure what Carmen would say to that; I chose to believe they were wise, and so I followed their advice.

After opening up a bottle of wine and running a bath, I do admit that I felt a little calmer. Carmen might say numb, but you know, she's not writing this, is she?

One week and two bottles of wine later, I am in a slightly better head space. I realize that the job itself sucked the big red one. And while of course I hate that I'm without a job now, when the economy is in such bad shape, the constant heartburn I had has gone away. So has the feeling of dread and the fear of making a fatal mistake.

The atmosphere at QuadNet was not a good one; in fact, my faux boyfriend kept telling me the atmosphere was toxic and I should get out as soon as possible. But, the steady paycheck and solid benefits kept me there. Or rather, my fear of being without kept me there. When I think of it now, I had so much fear in me (fear of being without a job, fear of making a mistake, fear of not being liked, fear of not fitting in) that I am surprised that it took a layoff for me to hit the bottle. I probably should have been imbibing all along; it might have made the ride easier.

During the last two days, I received calls from friends wishing me well, validating my worth, and sending their love. After two such calls just today, I find myself drinking water and feeling better about my future. The bottle of wine I opened last night remains untouched. The wine did it's job; now it's time for me to do mine.

I think it's time to cork the bottle and get on to the next step...whatever that might be.

Masks

As class was winding down tonight, my instructor told us that the store would be hosting a Yule Ball this year. The ball will be a fancy affair...very dressy, and everyone must wear a mask. It's a masquerade ball! The kind depicted in movies. I found myself getting excited.

And then it hit me that I wanted a date for this event.

A date. A live actual date. Yikes. I haven't had a date in, oh....well, too long. (Or is it not long enough? I can never keep it straight.)

I immediately knew who I wanted as my date, too. The only problem? I've only seen this guy twice; once he waited on me when I was buying something at the booth he was manning at PPD. The other time in passing at the psychic fair.

In other words, I don't know him.

Okay, so this guy is obviously not a viable candidate, as I didn't write down his license plate number or get his name so I can stalk him like I do most guys. (Kidding. Kidding!)

But seriously, back to the ball. I must go, and I must have a date. And come on...seriously, who wouldn't want to go? I mean, there are masks!

Can she do it? Can she have a date before Yule? Only my hairdresser in the sky knows for sure.

Trading Spaces

When I was living in my own home in California, I used to dream of places. And not just the place, but me living in the place. Often, I dreamt of the same place. One place seemed to be in Portland, Oregon. It was a raised home - by that, I mean the home was on top of the garage. The home front had huge windows, and the home also had a tree which grew inside the house.

The dreams were fairly boring...nothing really ever happened in the dreams, or at least nothing that I remembered come morning. The only part of the dream that stood out was the place itself...the details of the home, how I felt in the home, and an overwhelming desire to go back to sleep so I could go back to the home.

Of all the places I dreamt of, I would say that the home in Oregon was one of my favorites. When I moved to Reno, though, the dreams stopped. For a while.

When it became clear that Todd and I were not going to be married, I started dreaming of places again. I often dreamt about the place in Oregon, but then sometimes I would dream of other places. Each place felt nice...the decor was usually welcoming, the homes bright and spacious.

It wasn't until I moved into my new place that the dreams stopped...well, that is, until a couple of months ago.

Oddly, the place I dream about now is really kind of dilapidated. It has some nice rooms, but it has an odd-shaped basement, and one must go down some crooked stairs and walk through an angular hallway to get to it. The basement is both enchanting and off-putting. The enchantment comes from the fact that it seems to be a fairly secret room, and could be made into anything I wanted it to become. The off-putting part comes from the fact that it is difficult to get to, and in quite a state of disrepair.

I do not understand why I'm having these dreams again. I know that I started having the dreams in California about the time I was contemplating leaving. And then the dreams started up again when it became clear that it was time to move out of Todd's home. Now, though, I'm not sure why I'm having them.

Even if I wanted to move (and honestly, I do think about it sometimes), I could not afford to do so now. I have a home, and as we all know, homes are not selling these days. I feel stuck in Reno...and maybe that's why I'm having the dreams. I'm stuck, and the only way I can get away is to dream myself away.

If that's the case, though, why in the world am I dreaming of a dilapidated home? I would much rather dream of a two-story home in Oregon, with walls of windows and a tree that grows inside the house. I don't care if it rains...I'd take rain over a broken-down home any day.

Spanking Good Time

"Come on, spank me! You know you want to!" This was said to me by a very young man at the 20 500 East Bar last night. The guy had obviously had a lot to drink...but then again, so did my friends and I. So what did I do? I spanked him.

He then proffered his buttocks to every woman at the table, but was denied by the rest. So, he came back to me, and I obliged him once, twice, three times again. Before I knew it, his friend came over and begged for a spanking. For some reason, it was different with this guy...and so I did not. It turned out my instincts were correct; the guy was married, and his wife was no where to be seen. He told one of the women at the table that it was okay...his wife was into it and wouldn't mind. Despite his best efforts to sway at least one of us to give him a spanking, we all denied him service and he went on his merry way.

Shortly after Married Guy With A Yen For A Spanking trotted back to his loud, drunk friends, the real entertainment began. The DJ was given his leave, and in his place was Chris, a one-man band. He started off with some disco, and we were soon all on the floor.

While we were grooving, the young man who had received a spanking, came up to me and said "This is for you!" He danced in front of me, and then he did the splits. Within seconds, he was back on his feet, beer still in his hand, and he danced away with a great big smile on his face.

Not to be outdone, the Married Guy With A Yen For Spanking danced over to the floor. He got another friend to join him, and they started a line dance. He shimmied, he shook, and a line of people joined up right behind him. When dared to do the splits, he did...he split off the dance floor and his merry band of drunkards joined him back at the table.

For the rest of the evening, we danced to the one-man band's music. Once in a while, one of the drunken young men would join us and beg for a spanking. When told a spanking would be theirs if they could replicate the splits move of their friend, they would sheepishly leave the dance floor. When we left, they were still there...drinking beer, making jokes, and toasting their friend, the spankee.

Betrayed

Tonight's plan was to stop by Todd's house to pick up a video, and then head home. When I pulled up in front of the house, I knew instantly something was wrong. The window of my old office had something in the window...I knew someone had been in it, but wasn't prepared for what was going to hit me when I walked through the door.

Todd greeted me at the door, and he said "I have a note here for you." I said "What does the note say? That you love me?" He said "Well, it does say that, but it's mostly an apology."

An apology? For what?

It turns out that he let Danielle have free reign in the space that used to be my office. She disconnected the VCR, unhooked the TV, and in other words, wreaked havoc in the space that was once mine.

Todd PROMISED me he would let me know before he ever let Danielle in there. He said if worse came to worse (scheduling wise) he would at least give me a week's notice, so I could remove whatever I didn't want a stranger to rifle through.

He did not.

Instead, some woman I don't even know went through EVERYTHING that was mine that was still left at the house. And, she wasn't even careful with any of it. My stuff is piled all over the room...books thrown on the bed, heaven knows what stuffed into garbage bags, and most of my furniture gone.

Words can't even begin to describe the amount of anger I feel. Anger that my stuff was just thrown around, as if it didn't matter. Anger that Todd didn't follow through on his promise. Anger at Danielle for being so careless with my things.

When I expressed my surprise and anger, Todd said "Well, it's been almost a year." And in fairness, it has. However, the times I have expressed wanting to come over to pack things up, he has either said he has had plans, or didn't want me there that particular weekend, or had seduced me away from packing to spend time with him instead.

Even in the last couple of weeks, I've expressed an interest in packing up. However, he has things going on, and didn't really want me there. So, this sudden desire to expunge me from his home has come as quite a surprise.

In my life, Todd was the one person I felt as if I could trust to stick to his word. Now that he hasn't, I feel as I can't trust anyone. I'm lost and angry and...and I guess a little depressed.

I cried all the way home, and cried some more at home. I hate that Danielle went through my things. I hated seeing everything piled and tossed around so carelessly. But most of all, I am most disappointed in Todd and his carelessness with his promise to me.

This will take a long time to recover from.

Steamed

I have a "friend" whom I meet periodically for a "latte." She has a latte addiction, and so she always assumes that when I meet her, I'll have one, too. I usually opt for herbal tea instead, because Dr. Atkins wouldn't approve of the latte.

She contacted me earlier this week to meet for a latte at Borders. I agreed to meet her there at 2 p.m. on Sunday. However, the plumber didn't leave until until just after two, so while he was playing around with my swamp cooler, I busied myself looking for her phone number. I found it and called; the number was disconnected.

What to do? I was pretty sure she gave me her cell number once upon a time, but I couldn't find it anywhere. I crossed my fingers and hoped I'd find her still at Borders by the time I got there.

When I arrived, I hurried to the cafe, just in case she was still there sipping her latte. No luck. I took a look around the store, starting in metaphysical (her usual hangout) and worked my way to sci-fi (her next favorite place to look). I didn't see her.

I found myself actually breathing a sigh of relief that I couldn't find her. Oh I knew she'd be mad at me for not being on time, but on the other hand she's one of those "friends" who isn't really. I am not sure why I feel so obligated to her, but it probably has something to do with my sense of loyalty. She has never done anything egregious; she just isn't the best friend a girl could have.

I ran some errands and emailed her when I got home. Sure enough, the reply was short and not-so-sweet. I could tell she was furious, and actually seemed to accuse me of not looking hard enough for her.

I feel slightly awful...but on the other hand, again slightly relieved. I figure it'll be another month or so before she wants to meet for a latte...if ever. Could this be over for good? One can only hope.

Hot and Sticky, Part 2

I waited and waited and waited and the plumber never did show up yesterday to fix my swamp cooler. So, me and the cats got naked in our little sweat lodge. We sat around cross-legged as we passed the peace pipe and tried not to curse the plumber for forgetting us.

This morning I called again, and the guy was apologetic. He sent someone over right away. Apparently he wasn't too apologetic, because he still charged me full price. Still, it was nice to feel the cold air coming out of the cooler.

As I started getting ready to go meet a friend, I heard a "kerplunk" sound come from the direction of the cooler. All of a sudden, the pump was noisy and erratic. I went outside to have a look see. Water was still coming through, and the pump seemed to be working, so I went on my merry way.

As I was putting on the finishing touches in the bathroom, I started to feel hot. And sweaty. And not in a good way. I went into the office to check the swamp cooler. Uh oh. No more cool air. Just warm outside air.

I called the plumbing company, and got my friend on the phone again. He said he'd send someone right over. And right over it was...someone was at my house within 15 minutes. He checked the swamp cooler, and for some unexplained reason, he took my garden hose and started "washing" the unit. Water came spraying into my office, and even though I've cleaned up, I still am finding watery dirt specks on the furniture.

A few minutes later, he told me it was fixed. Turns out the spigot that turns on the water to the pump had been turned off. (And no, I didn't do it!)

Tonight me and the cats are almost too cool, but believe me, we're not complaining. It's so much easier to get warm than it is cool. Of course, now that the temperature is more comfortable, the cats have forgotten the peace pipe ritual and are back to chasing each other around the house, and sparring face-to-face. Don't get me wrong; I love the cool. But I sure do miss the quiet!

Hot and Sticky

t's 95 degrees outside, and so of course my swamp cooler picked today to stop working. Well, wait...I'm lying. It works...the motor comes on, the fan blows...but the pump isn't working. So instead of nice, cool air flowing into the house, hot, dry Nevada air blasted through the house with glee.

I called the plumber, and he actually remembered me. He asked if I could wait until Monday. As I choked on my tongue, he said "Well, wait...it is pretty hot outside. We'll send someone over today." He took down my address and phone number, then said "Hang in there; we have a couple of people ahead of you."

That was four hours ago. I have not yet received a call, and the house is an oven (just call me Biscuit, butter me and eat me!). The cats are panting, and much too hot to bug one another. Big Chief does yell at me occasionally, though, asking me where that nice, cool air went to.

An hour ago, the regularly scheduled afternoon breeze started up, so I opened all the windows. However, unlike many afternoons, this time the breeze decided it was too tired to flow for long, and died down.

So here I am, hot, sticky and shiny, waiting for the phone to ring with the good news that the plumber is on the way. I'm glued to my chair, but not because I'm entertained. Because my pants are wet with sweat.

Aren't I attractive?

I could have...

Today I went walking with a friend. We normally walk at Rancho San Rafael, but decided to try Idylwild Park for a change of pace.

As I was driving to meet her, I thought again about how I haven't bumped into my old boss from Acme Consulting Company. And after I had that thought, another thought pushed itself to the surface: "Piepa, you've been thinking about this on and off for a week...you are about to bump into her. Somewhere. Some place. Get ready."

The next thing I knew, a great song came on the radio and I completely forgot to get ready to bump into her.

I parked, and soon after my friend pulled up. I wanted to go eastward, but she felt west was better, so off we went. About a half mile into the walk, I saw two women approaching us, and one of them looked really familiar.

Oh no. It couldn't be...could it? But it was. Thankfully, the path was really narrow, so I just continued my conversation with my friend as I moved to the right to get behind her so the ladies could pass on the left. I didn't look...just kept walking and talking.

I could feel her eyes on me, but she didn't say anything and in seconds we were out of eye sight of one another. When there was a lapse in the conversation about 10 minutes later, I told my friend about my feeling, and how I was pretty sure that was my old boss I passed. I said I didn't want to look too closely, but was pretty sure it was her.

We walked and walked and finally came to a turning around point. We headed east this time, and kept talking. Soon, though, I saw two ladies approaching us again, and I thought "Oh gawd...they turned around too..." This time the path was wider, so even though I kept my eyes on my friend during our conversation, I didn't have to move over.

My friend said "She was staring at you! It must have been her." I said "Ye gads...she is one person I had hoped never to bump into."

I could have said "Hi." I could have at least acknowledged that I knew her in a past life. But I didn't.

Strangely, I don't even feel badly about it...I just feel thankful that when it did happen, I was with a friend.

Ass Backwards

You know you're having a bad day when you go to the ladies room and discover that your underwear is on inside out...and has been all day long.

My Favorite Time of Year

It's August 1st, and tonight is the official pre-start of my favorite event in Reno: Hot August Nights. For many it's Artown, which goes on during the whole month of July. Now, I want to like Artown, I really do. I like to think of myself as an artsy person. But this year, just as last, I have plans to take full advantage of Artown, and I end up not having gone to one event.

That won't be true of Hot August Nights.

I love old cars. I suppose I get that from my dad, who was a mechanic. But just not a mechanic...he could see a car and know whether or not it was a 48 or 49 model. He knew the nuances and changes in cars through each incarnation. Probably not any more; most cars these days look the same, which I HATE. I despise how modern cars are so uniform in look and color and lack originality.

Tonight, though, I'll drive my rather ordinary looking car with vanity plates down to The Summit for the Show and Shine. I can't wait! I can't explain why, but I love the old cars. I have since I was a teen, and even though I don't know a Model T from a Cadillac, I am pulled to these events every year.

So, if you're in Reno and see a lone woman walking around admiring the cars with a look of lust on her face, that's me. Feel free to say hi, because you won't see me at an event again until next August!

A Night of Rest?

I was so looking forward to last night. It was my first night "in" in quite awhile. I had all kinds of plans...watch a few episodes of Big Love (from Netflix). Make a nice dinner. Catch up on some reading. Play with my new tarot cards. But of course, none of that came to fruition.

For one, I'm still getting used to my new hours. At my previous place of employment, I had flexible hours. However, at my new job it's strictly 8-5. So, after work I found myself with a "must do" errand, and by the time I found what I was looking for, and got home, it was after 6 p.m.

That nice dinner? Oh, I still made it...but it took so long to make that I actually had dinner while I was making it. So, after the dish was done baking, I slapped some aluminum foil on it and stuck it in the refrigerator for...tonight? No time. Tomorrow? Won't be home. Breakfast on Saturday? Perhaps.

When dinner was finished cooking, I sat down to watch Big Love. But wait...I couldn't relax. There was too much cat hair and too many cat toys around for it to be relaxing. So, I cleared all the toys off the floor, grabbed the vacuum and went at it.

Thirty minutes later, I thought I could finally relax. But then I remembered the reason for my errand: buying an answering machine so my phone wouldn't ring and ring and ring and ring when I wasn't able to answer it. So, I sat down and set the thing up. Thirty minutes later I thought it might be time to finally relax...

Of course I was wrong. One of the cats threw up, so I had to get off the couch to clean that up. By then, it was 9 p.m. and I was exhausted. I made sure the cats had food, water, and then I went off to bed.

I had hoped I would pass out...unfortunately, I got up three separate times last night. But that's another story for another time...

Guess I'll have to wait until next Wednesday to have another night of relaxation. Maybe next then I'll really be able to rest.

I Must Be Evil

About two weeks ago, I met a bunch of local bloggers from the singles site I belong to. I had a great time with everyone who showed up. However, I will admit that there were two guys to whom I found myself slightly attracted to. One was clearly in like with someone else at the event, and the other guy put me into the friend category.

Well, today I found out that the bloom is already off the new romance and this guy is back on the market. The minute I heard, I felt something move in my pants. Huh? What are my nether regions thinking? After all, this guy was going out with a kind of friend of mine.

Okay, so we're not close. And we only met each other once. But we have talked in the chat room and we do comment on each other's blogs, so it seems like we're friends. However, for all intents and purposes and of course, we are friends.

But are we the kind of friends who must honor the Girlfriend Law? Would it be okay for me to get involved with this guy? Or only my pants? Or neither?

I have no idea what the honorable thing to do is. I only know that my pants are kind of happy right now.

Roses and Wine

On Friday night, I received a dozen red roses. I know what you're thinking: "Piepa has someone on the hook." Well...I don't. But, since I'm an equal opportunity receiver, I'll take flowers from just about anyone who's willing to give them to me.

Unfortunately for me, my cats love roses so I had to bring them to work. And, once they were on my desk I had to field a bevy of questions ("Who are they from?") and also smile politely whenever someone said "Oh, you must have been a good girl this weekend." News flash: I'm always a good girl except when out on a date. Or driving a car.

I digress...

Flowers on my desk always cheer me up. Always. So much so that some weeks I'll forgo a grocery item or two so I can buy flowers instead. This week started out rather brutally, as I'm still in training and on Monday I had trouble "getting it" as they say. I hung in there as long as possible, and even though the flowers helped to take the edge off, I knew I needed wine that night to really relax me.

The good news: I was supposed to meet a bunch of my ex co-workers for free drinks at GSR. As soon as the whistle blew at 5 p.m., I was out like a light and headed for GSR. I kept thinking about how good it would be to sit down with old friends, talk about work, catch up on their lives, and drink free wine.

When I got to the 20 500 East Bar, I took a quick walk around and did not see any of my friends. Figuring I was the first one there, I saddled up to the bar to get my free drink. I think the bartender really hates giving out freebies, because he made me wait. And wait. And wait. I finally got my wine and snagged a table.

And waited some more. And some more. And some more.

Finally, I dialed up the co-workers for whom I had numbers. Lany: no answer. Carmen: no answer. Christine...wait, she wasn't going anyway, so I didn't call. Played my portable Yahtzee game. Still no friends. Had I been stood up?

After I finished my glass of wine, I decided to go home. The brave part of me wanted to go to the cafe and grab a bite. The lost soul part of me wanted to retreat to the safety of my home. The lost soul won, and home I went.

When I got home, I debated about opening up a bottle of wine. I bought an extraordinary wine from Cost Plus, and was saving it for a special occasion. Wasn't being depressed that my friends stood me up special? While I was debating this in my head, my phone rang.

I heard "Hey girlfriend..." and was instantly warmed by Lany's voice. Turns out I had the night wrong; our get-together isn't until next Monday night. Strangely, I felt instantly better knowing I was a bonehead, as it meant that I wasn't stood up. Or forgotten.

After the phone call the only thing I needed was some chamomile tea. I put the bottle of wine away for a special occasion...

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Well Groomed

I received a rather odd compliment from someone recently. He told me I was rather well groomed.

Now, like most girls I would hope to get compliments like "Gee you're hot" or "hubba hubba, I like your legs." And personally, I prefer compliments about my personality and/or how enjoyable I am to be around. So, being told I am well groomed, while obviously a compliment, has left me feeling completely flummoxed.

I suppose I should stop chewing on that and just enjoy it. Instead, I feel as if I must now work harder to become memorable for something other than my washing ritual and mad ironing skillz.

Claim Jumper Friends

If I've said it once, I've said it way too many times: Claim Jumper is probably my most favorite restaurant EVER. The reasons are varied...the service is almost always top notch, the food is plentiful and good, and I just like being there.

That said, my love of Claim Jumper is well known to those that know me and love me. And even those who don't love me. (But I won't focus on them now...) So, my boss, who won't be at work on my last day, took me to lunch today at Claim Jumper. He also invited Lany (my next-door cube neighbor) along.

These are two of my most favorite people at Acme Cardiac Safety Services. Mike was a great teacher, and really showed me the ropes when I first got to Covance. Lany also taught me a lot about how to succeed at my job. I'll be sad to leave them behind.

We had a nice time at Claim Jumper. We talked about work, people at work, next steps, the grief we felt over the lay off, cars, kittens, children, and the Independence Day. At the end of the meal, my boss insisted on buying me a brownie (something I normally don't indulge in, as Dr. Atkins would slap my hand if he knew what I was eating) to go. Frosted brownies are one of my favorite indulgences, so I was touched that he remembered and got me one.

I have two more days left at work: tomorrow and Monday. Today before I left, I packed some of my items up and as I placed them in a box I found myself tearing up. I wish I could have stayed at Acme. The people there were some of the best I'd ever worked with. I will really miss them (and my paycheck).

Hopefully I'll fit in at QuadNet and make new friends and be as highly esteemed as I am at Acme. I know one thing, though: Acme will always have a place in my heart, even after its doors are closed for good.

Sexy Red Shoes

Unlike most girls, I am not a shoe hound. I don't get excited about shoes, I don't spend much money on shoes, and I prefer flats to heels. Every once in awhile, though, I feel the need to get a little sexy with my footwear. Saturday was one of those days.

I have a few outfits which have been begging me to buy them a pair of red heeled sandals. So, feeling a bit restless and getting tired of hearing my outfits complain, I left the house Saturday afternoon to look for a pair. I only had forty minutes, so I went to my one of my favorite stores hoping I would find what I wanted.

I did.

Almost as soon as I walked in, I saw a pair of 3-inch red heeled strappy sandals. There was only one pair available...and they were a half size too small. I tried them on anyway, and they actually fit.

Wait. This was too good to be true. Not believing that they fit, I started walking up and down the aisle in the shoes, thinking that they would begin to hurt. They did not. A couple of women told me the shoes were sexy and that I should buy them. So I did.

I couldn't wait to wear them. On Monday, I pulled out one of my outfits and showed them the new shoes. My outfit was happy. I got ready for work, and on the way out the door I put on my new shoes. The total effect was marvelous.

But after 9 hours of work wearing those shoes, my feet started to cry. What looked like sexy straps to the average eye were actually small leather torture devices. I couldn't wait to take them off.

When I got home, I couldn't get them off fast enough. As soon as the shoes came off, I noticed my feet were bruised and chafed where the straps were. I soaked my feet in water, while Big Chief played on the edge of the tub.

Today my feet are not so sexy looking and still bear the marks of Monday's all-day torture session. It's been said that beauty hurts, and I have to agree.

It's back to Easy Spirits for me...at least until my feet heel and my outfits start whining at me again.