My Time Went So Quickly

Look, I tried. Really I did. I joined Blogging 365, and I wrote entries and I tried to keep up. But then.

I went to Arrowmont*, and despite the promises of wifi, the only place I could get a signal was outside the dining hall or in my studio. The entries slacked off. They were all there in my head, just waiting to be set to pixels and the publish button pushed. Really. Then the long ride home from Tennessee to Miami. Sixteen hours, more or less, during which time, I felt the first tickle. Sure enough, by the time we got home, I had a nascent bronchial infection. A-fucking-gain. Enough. I’m not even a smoker.

Last week saw me back on antibiotics, and nasal sprays and reflux inhibitors and steroid inhalators and who knows what else. Since I’d been out of the office for a week, there was crap piled up to the ceiling waiting for me to sort and answer and deal. The weekend was spent trying to find a cocktail dress for a woman of a certain age (me) who has not had plastic surgery or spent every waking hour in a gym for the past few years. I was offered tacky, mother of the bride wear, or ho-wear or totally, ridiculously over-priced baby doll micro minis. I explained, sometimes patiently, and sometimes not, that I am just a poor but honest working girl who had the good fortune to be named employee of the year, and therefor had to spend money I do not have (and which, unfortunately) is not part of the award, to buy a dress to wear to the event. I foolishly believed that I had shoes in my closet that could work with any dress I was able to buy. Needless to say, despite being Miz Shoes, and despite the better part of my closet being devoted to shoes, there wasn’t a pair in there that worked.

I was subjected to endless advice on the glory that is Spanx. Here’s an idea, people: instead of trying to cram my Rubenesque curves into a skin-tight sheath, why don’t you show me something with a full skirt? Non? OK, fine. I’ll just slip on that spandex sausage casing that goes from knee to under my bra (by design, I may add) and try on the shiny, stretchy things you throw in the dressing room. Here’s another tip: I AM beige. Do not give me a beige dress and tell me it’ll be fabulous. It will not. Nor will the newly popular yellow do my skin any favors. It will, in fact, make me look recently disinterred. Not a good look for anyone, and certainly not for someone being feted by hospice.

Finally, after throwing myself on the mercy of the snappiest dressed gay clerk I could find, I had my dress. Chiffon, print, floaty, snug in the bust, covers the shoulder tat and a multitude of other sins, and does not require Spanx. I then went downstairs to the shoe department. A young man with attitude showed me the shoes he thought would look good with my dress. What was apparent, but unstated, was that he also thought I was older than dirt and unable to hold my brittle bones upright in a pair of stilletos. He showed me a low, chunky heel with narrow little straps in pastel patent leather. I looked at him. He smiled sweetly at me and then at the shoes. They’d be perfect, he said. You’re right. They would be perfect, I said, IF I were playing bingo with Blanche Devereaux and the rest of the Golden Girls at the fellowship hall.

Very clever, he sneered and left me to wait on someone more fabulous and less clever. I found another salesman, one who rolled his eyes at the granny flats and sighed, Oh, puh-leeze gurl. Then he led me over to a pair of purple satin pumps with a pink/multi lizard trim around the instep. Fabu! I exclaimed. And bought them and a pair of magenta ombre patent leather spiked heel fuck me pumps. Just because I can.

Anyway, I’m sorry that I’m not keeping you amused in my usual style. Deal with it.

Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) on 04/07 at 10:31 PM in Life? Don’t Talk to Me About Life.

(5) Comments
#1. Posted by Cousin Steve on April 08, 2008

Congratulations on the award and condolences on the illness (yet to be named).  Why don’t you just go to the second salesperson first?  You never seem to have any luck with the first one.  BTW, your mom would love the shoes.  wear them for her B-day.

#2. Posted by RJ on April 09, 2008

I wanted to see a snap of the magenta spike heel things.  Being unused to fuck me pumps since my 20’s, I’m not sure I could hold MY brittle bones upright in a pair of stilletos.  I think it’s a balance thing.  I never could ride a two-wheeler, either.

changes56.  cool.

#3. Posted by Miz Shoes on April 09, 2008

Well, believe me, I have searched all over the interwebs for a picture of those magenta spikes. Does not exist. I’ll have to take my own and post them.

#4. Posted by TN GEO on April 23, 2008

OK, first, you are SO RIGHT about Gatlinburg. Why do these types of places pop up, and STAY ALIVE?

The attract the wrong crowd.

But, as before, go to the Crafts Loop and you will be pleased. Avoid that “one street” any way you can.

They should have angled the place towards hikers.

Yes, you’re amusing. Sorry about the profane insults you had to remove…or was that another blog?

I went to see Allison Krauss and Robert Plant last night. The crowd was mostly metalheads, but about a quarter were AKUS fans. Not a clean and seamless mix. Plant’s voice is not what is was. Not a real coherent sound…Black Dog with a banjo and upright bass. Interesting.

Anyway, get well. Congrats on the award. -G

#5. Posted by Fairings on August 28, 2008

Congratulations! And hope you’re feeling much better now.

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