Wednesday, August 9, 2006
Sunny and pleasant
Yes, they really exist. And I now own a pair.
It started because I wore a dress to work. Normally, I don’t – if I’m on set or working a show, I have to be able to move and contort and don’t want to worry about the Panty Flash. Even when it’s good lingerie. But yesterday, I knew there was no way in hell I was staying to work the show, so I wore a dress – a brightly patterned one I made ten years ago when we took Roadkill to Australia and I couldn’t afford new clothes, so I made a bunch – and I’m still wearing them because they turned out so well.
With this dress, I wore a pair of my favorite red sandals, which matches the red in the dress. These shoes are probably twenty years old now, wood lower, leather upper, remarkably comfortable, very chic. I bought them in Europe at some point. Probably Italy.
I’m traipsing across town, feeling good, getting complimented by strangers, etc. when . . .the strap on my shoe breaks. In such a way that I can no longer wear it, especially going up and down concrete stairs carrying armloads of clothing, and getting on and off trains.
I look up. I just HAPPEN to be standing in front of Nine West.
There IS a goddess, and she loves shoes.
I walk in and say, “Do you take Discover?”
Even though I’m on a schedule, I have to look around. I need a shoe with a back or a back strap so I don’t go tumbling down the stairs or lose it on the train tracks (I’m a klutz).
Then, I see them.
Metallic cobalt blue ballet flats.
“Do you have this in my size?”
They were on sale.
I wore them out of the store, put my red sandals in the box for the Magic Shoes (because I am GETTING them fixed, dammit) and continued to work.
Where everyone shrieked with delight over the shoes.
I am also very, very, VERY grateful that I could walk into a shoe store and buy a pair of shoes (on sale) when mine broke. There have been plenty of times in my life when buying a pair of $3 plastic sandals on the street would have been a stretch.
And today, I was lucky enough to buy The Magic Shoes.
Work was fine. Several colleagues needed a listener today, which I was glad to do. They’ve certainly listened to me enough during The Situation. I’m glad to do something in return.
On the way home, people were literally running out of stores (Kenneth Cole and Cole Haan, to be specific) to compliment me on my shoes.
I stopped at Sephora, across from Rockefeller Center. I was in to refill my Stila eyeshadow in Jezebel (hey, it’s lasted two years, I’m entitled to a refill) and pick up a tube of Sephora’s shimmer gloss in Rosy Glow – a make-up artist said I should always keep a tube of it in my purse because it goes with everything on everyone. And it’s relatively inexpensive.
Then, right next to it was a tube of “Faintly Berry” which looked good, so I grabbed a tube (although I couldn’t read what it was on the packet due to the packaging). In summer, I’ll wear sheers and neutrals, but the rest of the year, it’s plums and berries.
And then . . .
Urban Decay’s Goddess eye shadow.
Navy blue sparkle eyeshadow.
I have a Stila gray and a Lorac violet that will blend beautifully with it. It’s definitely for making an evening statement and I was in love.
So I bought it.
When I got home, I realized that instead of getting “Faintly Berry”, I’d picked up “Rusted Rose”. And it’s the best damn lip color I’ve ever had. I may go back and buy six or seven more tubes of it.
I don’t wear much makeup, but I always wear lipstick. I can be stark naked, but if I’m wearing lipstick, I’m dressed.
Moving right along . . .
Dashed across the street to Barnes & Noble where I found the perfect dark green Celtic-inspired journal for the Satire Project. Because, you see, I need a separate paper journal in which to figure it out. If I try to work it out here on line, it won’t work. I need to be able to say whatever comes in to my head, no matter how offensive and horrible and out there in order to find the voices, themes and ways to make the satire work. If I’m worrying about offending someone who wanders past and “hears” something out of context, I can’t do the book. And this book feels special somehow. It will take a long time to do it, especially in and around other projects, but it’s different and special and Must Be Done.
So it’s got its own Journal. With a capital “J.”
I’ll do updates on the process here, but I need safety and complete freedom in this process, something I would not have online.
Newly glossed, with a brand new journal begging for use and Magic Shoes, I had a cocktail with a colleague (how much do I love the Sidecars at the Algonquin?) and then ran into a neighbor on the train home, and spent the whole trip chatting about Wimbledon and Australia.
Quite a day!
My grandmother is home from the hospital, up in Maine. She’s better, but still tires quickly, and I worry about her. We had a long talk about my grandfather, a lawyer. Many of the books I now have were acquired because, when people couldn’t pay him in cash, they paid him in books. He also loved sports, and my grandmother thinks he would have been proud of my writing on horse racing and ice hockey.
Day 31 of Home Om. Hop over – full moon to full moon.
A new exercise – a Phrase Exercise – up on the Scruffy Dog Blog.
Many thanks for the ideas and opinions regarding forgiveness yesterday. Good points – one can forgive and yet not allow the person to repeat the hurtful behavior. I believe that X and the Third Party Courier want the type of forgiveness that gives license to repetition, and I’m not willing to give that. I AM willing to say, yes, this happened, what a shame, have a long and happy life away from me, much happiness and success to you, please stay over THERE.
Brenda C., my lovely mediation buddy, pointed out the need for self-forgiveness. She hit on something important. Several years ago, I was involved in an extremely emotionally abusive relationship a mere whisker from turning physically abusive, with a guy we’ll call L. Not his real initial, but it’ll do for now. L. is a non-entity in my life, and has been for many years. However, I’ve never forgiven myself for being stupid enough to get snared into his web by his chameleon-like, short-lived charm. Until I forgive MYSELF for believing love would be enough to make it all right, even though there’s no way it could ever be “all right” without me ending up dead (literally, not figuratively), I can’t truly put it behind me. And you know what? I showed bad judgment. It happens. There were some good times. The bad times far outweighed them. And I managed to untangle myself and build a life independent of that. I learned, and I have not repeated the mistake. I’ve learned how to cut losses, how to give up the fairy tales we’re fed on and deal with the real human being. I think that deserves some credit, don’t you?
And now . . .
PS You must hide the new LL Bean catalogue from me. I want one of everything in every color, except for two things that come only in orange. I gave up orange for Lent one year and never went back. Interesting, since I’m not a Catholic and don’t observe Lent.
Seriously, though, I love the color but it looks awful on me.
LL Bean used to be very boxy, but now they’ve fitted their clothes properly and added nice but simple detailing. Their fall stuff – great. And their customer service is beyond compare – absolutely the best.
Hide that catalogue!