SRT #78

I broke down and bought Converses. :-/

To Do List

1. Find/break out my green cords. I am thinking green cords + grey sweater + light brown scarf for their first trip out this winter. But then what? What shoes? I must figure this out!

2. Decide if I can pull off white during the winter. Perhaps if I do an over the top "Where-the-regatta-at?"-preppy it can work for me.

3. Sell off the shoes I never wear anymore to help facilitate my international gallivanting plans. My shoes are in awesome condition, but I never wear so many of them. It's sad really. I'll probably just hold on to a couple pairs of dunks and release the rest into the wild. (Wild = Ebay)

4. Play with the camera more often. Now that it's getting colder (excluding this 60-70 degree Thanksgiving break), I like the look of DC architecture. It all looks so much more interesting when deserted.

SRT #62

I was contemplating the Ugly that is known as sketchers the other day and was driving myself crazy trying to remember a particular catchphrase that irritated me to no end. I have suddenly remembered it:

The S is for ACTION!

There is no "s" in Action. Where the fuck did this come from? Shit drives me crazy. Is there actually an "s" in the word, and I'm just not seeing it? I've been known to miss such painfully obvious things, but I've looked and looked, and it's just not there. Please, someone explain this to me. God, this hurts my face.

Normally, I do not seek out things that hurt me in such a manner, but my cousin insulted a pair of my shoes which are SUPER CUTE, and she wears Sketchers. I'm sorry, that invalidates any opinion she can possibly have on the cuteness of shoes. I'm really bothered by this. Ugh, it really hurts my face. I'm going to comfort myself by staring at my cufflinks. I <3 them.

SRT #56

So I went to the mall to trade in some DS games and get Halo 3. Unfortunately for me, the Kids Foot Locker is right next to the game store I use. On the way from the store to the mall exit, I made the mistake of glancing to my left and seeing these SUPER SHINY SHOES. These pictures do not do the shininess justice. They really are GLORIOUSLY BLINDING.*

Le sigh. Despite the things that make me like these, namely:

1. SHINY
2. GREEN
3. HIGH TOPS,

I think I am going to return them. Even though the dunks that get the most play out of me are my high ones, I don't know if it's worth it to keep these. They are currently in the back of my car awaiting judgement. Do I keep them as an homage to the Catherine that has died? As a rebellion against this creature that loves boat shoes and button down shirts? Do I return them as a potential waste of space in my already Foot Locker warehouse type room? As a concession to this preppy dictator that has made every wardrobe decision for the past six (?) months? What do I do?

I don't know how to feel.


* I apologize for my abuse of the Caps Lock, but I really mean it.

SRT #54

God officially has some sort of vendetta against me. Yesterday, during my after-work walk, the ONE TIME I don't have my camera out and ready to go, a GIANT RED SHOE drives down the street. I'm so mad.

You're Testing Me. I Get It.

Today, my iPod decided that he is sad. While sitting on the bus, I was suddenly overwhelmed with silence in the middle of "I'm Not a Player." Much like tuberculosis, or obesity, the sadness was contagious, and now I, too, am sad. Upon doing some sort of reset thing that has worked in the past, he simply reiterated its sadness and then told me use iTunes to restore it, in no less than three languages. Oh, how iPod thinks I am worldy and educated in such jibberjabber! Despite my repeated dropping and abuse, he has persevered for so long, but this assumption of knowing languages I do not may be the first sign of an illness that I cannot cure.

I truly fear that my iPod will never recover from this blow. The electric Prozac/Morphine of iTunes may do nothing to stop the path to destruction that he seems intent on. Over the past few months, he's been a little slower to wake up in the morning. He needs a bit of encouragement when syncing up with iTunes. His battery life is no where near where it used to be. Is this truly the end? Could a year and half of hard living caught up to iPod so quickly?

Unbeknownst to iPod, I've begun looking at his newer, younger, prettier brother: the iPod Classic. I am severely tempted to get one. Perhaps Nigel will take custody of iPod for the duration of his life while I start a new life with Classic. I am conflicted. I do not wish to take up with a new iPod while mine still lives, but I have needs. I am only human.

The main problem facing me now is my damned embargo. The 160 gig classic is $349. God. That is a glorious pair of shoes. I really believe that God is testing me now. After my declaration of embargo He probably snickered and thought,"Embargo, eh?* Let's see how well you do with this!" And then ZAP. My iPod is on its deathbed. I must resist. I must explore all ways to keep this iPod alive. Like that Schiavo chick, I will keep this thing on life support for as long as possible. I can only hope against hope that he pulls through.**

* Apparently, God is Canadian.
** Is this in bad taste? Has an appropriate amount of time passed for me to say this? Is this reference perhaps the final nail in the coffin God is constructing for my iPod?

Dear Lord, Grant Me Strength

I have a problem. It's not so much an issue I need to resolve or something that needs to go away, as with many of my friends' problems, but something that I lack. In addition to this, it is not merely a single thing that I lack, but a combination of things that will inevitably lead to my destruction:

1. I have no stuff. Now, plenty of people have this problem. Homeless people, for one, and perhaps monks, and they seem to get along just fine. However, this does not bode well for me as...

2. I have no impulse control. In my profile, I say that I have poor impulse control. This is quite the understatement. I don't even think it qualifies as impulse control. It is a mere whisper of self-control; the vague apparition of an impulse control that once was, but will never be again. Combined with my lack of stuff, it's always dangerous for me to enter any kind of store. Or go on the internet. Or open my eyes. Shit is dangerous. "But how is this harmful?" you ask. Oh, I will tell you, faithful reader. I will. It is...

3. My lack of money.

I'm not broke, but I have places my money needs to go. Like into my car payments, or IRA shit that I don't really get, but I vaguely understand that I will need in order to eat when I am old, decrepit, and unemployed.* I need to eat, and I eat a lot. It can actually be quite obscene. Where does a 115 pound Filipino thing even put that much food? (Answer: In her FUPA.) My car also needs to eat, but he doesn't eat that much (thank God). I really do have few things I have to pay for, and I have never not been able to meet these demands. However, in the past year, I have developed a love of stuff that is new and different. It is not simply a love of shoes (which has also, much to my shame, been altered slightly) but a love of STUFF.

Jackets and jeans and shoes and shirts and gadgetry all at once. It's terrible. It really is. My AmEx card hates me from all the wear and tear it undergoes, but American Express loves me. Or they will when my 0% interest stops at the end of the year. ** I can recite my credit card number/security code/expiration date with no thought whatsoever. I can mime typing these numbers in without a number pad. That is how ingrained often this care is used. They love me so much that they more than quadrupled my original limit. I was horrified at this removal of one spending barrier. It's a slippery slope, my friends. A slippery slope indeed.

I am now known quite well amongst certain circles of my endless string of embargos, which are promptly broken whenever I encounter a new pretty/shiny/awesome thing-that-I-must-have-immediately. A couple of weekends ago it was cufflinks (so awesome!), before that it was more Threadless shirts, preceded by random gadgetry, preceded by a new jacket, preceded by new shoes, and so on. Each of these purchases resulted in my claiming an embargo. None lasted for more than ten days. In fact, after the cufflinks, I declared embargo. This was the last weekend of August. On Wednesday, I ordered a couple of shirts online. (They arrived yesterday. SO FAST! But also too big, alas, they must be exchanged.) So I am declaring embargo again.

OFFICIAL ANNOUNCEMENT
I am on embargo until my car is one year old or when it hits 10,000 miles, whichever comes first. I'm currently at about 9100 miles, but I've been quite stingy about driving lately, so the former option will likely come first. Hopefully, this embargo will take hold. If all goes well, my desires for things will try their best to escape from the confines of my mind, much like starving Cubans brave the terrible sea for the shores of Florida.

Pray for me. And for my wallet.


* Assuming that I actually overcome a set of conditions that makes this a semi-unreachable goal.
** I absolutely refuse to pay interest on anything though. So I must gain control by then.

Dear Jesus,

I have so much shit to do, why must you inflict illness upon me? I ask only for three weeks of health. That is so little. Why must you deny me? If you cannot manage three weeks, I will be OK with one. I just need to do this work and then I can collapse into a heap of tissues and phlegm. If that is still too much to ask, I will settle for four business days. Please. It's all I need.

<3,
Catherine

P.S. If, for some reason, you are feeling especially generous, perhaps you could also find me those Paul Smith shoes at an under $300 price. You know which ones. I eagerly await your response.

SRT #48

I hate public bathrooms. Why are the bodily functions involving the most vulnerability on public display? I'm not leaving stall doors open or anything, but my GOD, can I just get some alone time? I don't need to hear someone else's stream of pee nor the plop of their poo; and if I can hear them, they can hear me. Worst feeling EVER. Ugh. So gross.

Is there a reason why the stalls can't extend from the floor to the ceiling? Was there a shortage of materials? This design flaw accounts for much of my reluctance to use public bathrooms. If these things were turned into actual rooms, I'd be much happier. In addition to the sound aspect, it removes the possibility of being identified via the shoes; and with shoes as bright as some of mine are, this is a very real danger. I can only imagine the ramifications:

FELLOW URINATOR: Someone with bright green shoes was peeing for literally seven minutes. What did she drink and why was it all coming out at once?
URINATOR'S CO-WORKER: What a freakshow.
5 PM at the elevator
FELLOW URINATOR: *whispers* Look! It's the freakshow.
URINATOR'S CO-WORKER: Strange. She doesn't look like a sponge.
ME: :(

So I've never actually peed for seven minutes, but sometimes it really felt like it.* In any case, I do not like that I can be identified during a time that no one needs to be witnessing. I get pee-shy. Don't judge me.

* That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.

ADDENDUM: In discussing the remodeling of offices today, my boss mentioned that he can hear the toilets in the women's bathroom from our small library. I. am. so. self-conscious.

Things My Less-Than-22-Year-Old Self Would Hate Me For

1. I actually said this about my wardrobe/wardrobe preferences: I think I'm more golf than tennis. Ugh. I would have been stabbed.

2. I browsed through Teen Vogue and knew who these fucking designers were.

3. I have a nice collection of Nike Dunks and Air Force 1s that barely get worn anymore.

There are more offences to be listed, but I cannot think of them now. They are behaviors so natural to me that I can't even fathom the young me disliking them, but she definitely would. Perhaps I will elaborate when the mood strikes me. Perhaps I will not. It will be an adventure.

Must I Work Now?

My job has suddenly decided to block most navigation within a top-tier shopping site. I feel like throwing up. I suppose it's only a matter of time before all of my favorite places are blocked. No more ordering shoes/jeans/t-shirts at work. I don't know what they expect me to do to pass the time anymore. I get paid to sit in this office with a computer connected to the intertubes. Of course I'm going to shop. Money + internet access = a collection of wonderful things. I can only hope that this is a terrible terrible mistake. Perhaps it will only block things that start with the www1? I am able to click on direct links sent to me, but further navigation is blocked by firedemons. I'm at a loss as to how to move on from this.

Is this perhaps just a general change in the system? The firewall has been very inconsistent in my time here. Sometimes style.com is blocked, and sometimes I can wander through it just fine. All I can do now is hope against hope that the biggest drain on my wallet will be returned to me (during work hours).

SR(Whenever the Fuck I Feel Like It) #46

1. Lately, I've been waking up thirsty. Sometimes I think I'm diabetic, but I hate going to the doctor. If I am, I won't get treatment until I collapse in a public place from insulin shock or whatever it is that happens to diabetics. Since I wake up thirsty, I grab a quick glass of water before I leave the house if I have time. You'd think I'd do this every day, but with my morning routine, every 30 seconds is vital to catching the bus on time. This morning, I did have that extra 30 seconds. Unfortunately, I wasn't thinking straight and just did not use the filtered tap in the kitchen. I now have the worst aftertaste ever in my mouth. Since this time, I've eaten a bagel with salmon/cream cheese/red onion and drank a Snapple White Tea.* The taste still lingers. So gross. Ugh. I'm really mad not only for this horrible metallic taste, but for the fact that if a boy so much as LOOKS at me, I'll get pregnant. I'm not sure how, exactly, the biology of this works, but something in Maryland water gets girls pregnant. Lucky for me, however, that this is unlikely, as...

2. My boobs have gotten smaller. For anyone who knows me, you'd think this is an impossible task. You are wrong. I am officially a prepubescent boy. Thanks, God. I appreciate it. Are you mad at me? Is it my new...

3. Rating system? A rating system that is the greatest to ever be put into everyday use? Essentially, you begin with, "On a scale of one to Jesus," and end with anything remotely related to religion. For example, no more sales tax in NYC, on a scale of one to Jesus, is God dancing. On the other hand, getting your feet cut off at Six Flags, on a scale of one to Jesus, is the Archdiocese of Boston. This need not be regulated to extremes, however; it can be applied to the average day. My shoes are 2nd tier today. They are not shoes I would kill for, nor are they fuckupables. On a scale of one to Jesus, they are the First Letter to the Corinthians. You can use this for any occasion, for all occasions. Just be prepared for God to punish you in strange/effective ways.


* Real Fact #127: A hummingbird's heart beats 1,400 times a minute.

Tiebreakers

If there are any doubts over what I prioritize in life, perhaps this will clear things up a bit:

So You Think You Can Dance is my favorite summer series. I'm not into American Idol at all, but I find its dancing equivalent to be completely entertaining. I'm seriously considering voting for Sara, only because in her little interview tape, she's wearing my favorite pair of premium Dunks. This is not to say that she doesn't deserve a vote based on the dancing alone, but if I had to make a decision right this moment, based only on this one episode, I'd go with the shoes.

Adventures in LA

While in LA, I took random notes in my phone so that I would remember all the random things I noticed. I have a horrible memory when it comes to remembering the random thoughts that occur to me for no reason, strange things that I observe, or anything that people tell me. Well, I have a horrible memory in general. It's a miracle that I can get home every night (for the most part). Now it seems like I have whorish tendencies, but I really do just have a shitty memory. I really don't know how I got off on this tangent, but here are the notes stored in my cell phone:

Wednesday, May 9 5:49 AM
level 2 row 4

It seems as though the poor memory is in my blood, as I took this note for my father so that we could go home upon our return to DC. Without this note, we surely would still be wandering the long term parking at National hoping to see our generic Honda amongst the herd.

Wednesday, May 9 6:03 AM
just saw the first white woman "randomly" selected for screening

This was a historic moment for all travelers everywhere. Apparently, this woman has not flown on a plane for years, as she did not remove her shoes or jacket, left her boarding pass in her bag (going through the x-ray machine), and then proceeded to ask about all of these "new" processes. The person (who was black) that waves you through the little gate then "randomly" selected her for more intense screening. I took great pains to refrain from indulging in gluttonous, self-satisfying peals of laughter. Instead, I simply internalized it, which is probably a good thing, as it (hopefully) counteracted all of the other internalized reactions of the negative nature that will eventually lead to my heart attack/stroke when I'm 26. In any case, this was an excellent moment for me, but a truly glorious moment for anyone darker than khaki.

Wednesday, May 9 12:28 PM
jerks who put their shit in any overhead. it fucks up everyone else.

I really do not like these people. The ones who just shove their carry on luggage into the first open space they see regardless of where their seats are. If you are sitting in 37B, don't stow your bag above row 10. Where do you expect the row 10 passengers to put their things?! It completely throws off everyone's luggage, so at landing, everyone is going up and down the aisles trying to find their stuff. Don't be a jerk. Just use the space allotted to your seat area.

Friday, May 11 9:23 AM
so many open toed shoes with hose!

At the USC graduation, there were some very well dressed people. Unfortunately, the overall state of dress was average due to some atrocities. Open toed shoes with hose are not right. I had no words, just gaping disbelief. While on the topic, there were some really excellent shoes on display. That part was glorious. It's probably as close as I can come to knowing what it feels like for men to graduate from Playboy to titty bars. LIVE ACTION PORN! Besides the shoes, however, there was one theme that so many people embodied at the graduation: skin cancer. For all the creationists out there, how can you deny evolution's veracity when there are BASEBALL MITTS sprouting legs, running around, and sending offspring to college? I DEFY you to explain that to me. The point is, use sunscreen. You are a person, not a leather good used to play sports.

Saturday, May 12 3:05 PM
.

I got my period.¹ Ugh. I had to take note so as to remember putting it into my Grand Calender of Suffering. I don't have anything to add to the already vast library of period complaints. My only real complaint is the cramps during the first 36ish hours or so. However, God did seem to take a little bit of pity on me and only stuck with the (relatively) lighter body blows to the abdomen instead of His usual gut-wrenching uppercuts straight into my uterus. God, is it really necessary for all the pain? I know women are the source of all sin, but I didn't offer any apples to anyone.

Sunday, May 13 5:00 PM
if you need a cane, why are you in heels?

I randomly remembered seeing a woman in heels using a cane during the graduation. (That is how my memory works. I will see something, forget about it, and then spontaneously remember for no reason at all.) I understand a love of heels. I really do. But if you need a cane to walk, maybe you should stick with flats. It just seems self-defeating to me.

Sunday, May 13 9:08 PM
another deflated aero bed

We stayed with fake-me-out family in Vegas on Saturday night, and I got put on the aero bed. Now, it started out pretty poorly filled, but I just assumed that was a time constraint. I was wrong. Something was wrong with the seal, and I woke up on the floor with nothing but a sheet and 2 layers of plastic between my body and the floor. It was quite sad. The only thing that makes it sadder is the lack of novelty. This has happened to me before, except on purpose and with spite/torture in mind. I was trying to get some sleep during a ski trip during which I did nothing but drink and go snow-tubing, when someone decided that they were bored and I would be the one to entertain her. So the seal was broken, and I was on the floor. I hate aero beds.

Monday, May 13 12:23 PM
they almost lost my luggage!

Have you ever gone to the luggage claim area at the airport, watched other people haul their bags off of the conveyor belt while waiting for your own, and then see the stream of luggage just end without yours ever showing up? Yeah. It sucks, right? I'm standing there like a puppy, pouting, willing the conveyor to randomly start up to deliver my one fucking bag. Clearly, my will was not strong enough as that didn't happen. As I began my trek to the luggage services, I began mentally listing all of the items in the bag that I had lost, and how much it would cost to replace all of it. If anything stopped me from replacement, I was going to fight someone. This despondency was only aggravated by the fact that of the 2,109,387 bags my family had checked, only mine was lost. By the time we got to the service area, I had calculated a reimbursement of about $870.² I was all ready to fight someone about my stuff. Fortunately (unfortunately?), they had my suitcase at the service area. Apparently, it got put onto an earlier flight from LA to DC, and no one had claimed it. Thank God.³ Most of me was overjoyed at the recovery of the suitcase, but a small part was disappointed in not having an excuse to fight. I like to find new ways to release aggression.

More than this happened, of course, but these are the only notes I remembered to take. Some good, some bad. Some shitty, some bloody. That was LA.


¹ Sidenote: Few things are more amusing than finding the one other female in a room full of boys and talking about periods so that everyone can hear. The facial expressions are totally worth it.
² I have a lot of stuff. This isn't even all of what I brought for the trip, as I shoved some into my mother's GINORMOUS suitcase when I got lazy in repacking everything.
³ I guess this sort of makes up for the bleeding, but not really. Is the bleeding really necessary though? Nothing should bleed for 4-7 days without dying. It's not right.

I Knew It!

Crocs are demonic beings sent to our world to destroy us! And people thought I was just being a paranoid anti-bad shoes vigilante. In your FACE!

Plastic clogs disrupt machinery in Swedish hospital

SRT #39

I resisted shopping in Georgetown today. This is a triumph.

Priorities

Are my priorities a little skewed if, when someone spills beer near/on me, I wipe my $70 shoes onto $200 jeans?

ADDENDUM
They are my jeans.

I Need More

You know you have a problem when you minimize the windows about clothes/shoes when people walk by. I'm acting like it's porn, but given my plummet into addiction, it's a natural reaction.*

Some recent purchases. Super-cute. I know.

* Well, not traditional porn. Shoe porn is awesome.

I Definitely Have a Problem

I cannot stop buying things; it is getting to be problematic. Is it wrong that within the past six weeks I have bought five pairs of shoes among many many other things? Is it bad to blow through more than one week's worth of pay in at essentially three stores? I'm guessing that for most people, the answer to both these questions is:

Yes, this is a problem. You need to get help.

The first step to addiction recovery is admitting you have a problem, and I definitely have one.

Now the real question is: Do I really want to recover?

I Think I Might Have a Problem