Vanquished by blue shoes

I have to admit something.  I'm very vulnerable to seduction by pretty shoes: the more uncomfortable, the better.  Those of you who know about my lingerie shoes can attest to this.  When I came across these pretties at DSW, I knew that I was in trouble.

The moment I walked into the store that fateful summer day, my eyes immediately fell upon the shiny blue heels perched on the plastic display.  I knew that I would be buying those shoes.  I wandered around the store, looking at other shoes and offering opinions on shoes that my roommate was considered.  At some point, she asked me, "Did you look at anything you liked?"

I hadn't looked at anything I liked.  I had fallen in love, head over heels, for the fancy blue shoes.  I was completely, hopelessly, utterly vanquished by them.

I didn't buy them that day.  I like to stew over my purchases, so I went home without them.  I did stew over them, for months, in fact.  They appeared in my dreams and in my waking thoughts.  I couldn't look a black dress in the eye without thinking longingly of how well a pair of blue shoes would go with it.

A few months later, I went to the store again.  I looked for the shoes, and finally, I found them...in the clearance section!  Now that I had found them at a price I was more willing to pay, I wasn't going to give them up, and those shoes came home with me that very afternoon.

Unfortunately, by the time I got around to buying the shoes, the weather had already started getting colder.  However, I decided to tough it out and wear the shoes out one day anyway.  I must say that this was an occasion on which forgetting the prophylactic band-aids on my feet came back to bite me.  My feet were so blistered by the end of the evening that I ended up walking home barefoot from the train station, in Chicago, in December.  It was cold.

These shoes are a great addition to my wardrobe though.  I often puzzle over what to wear with my plainer black dresses, and a pair of colorful, albeit extremely impractical, shoes is a great way to spice up an outfit.  It gives off an air of elegance with just the right amount of fun mixed in.  Of course, since I'm uncoordinated, I tend to trip when wearing heels, which effectively removes any illusion of elegance I might ever have had.

A couple weeks after purchasing these shoes, I came across a pair in purple, which I liked almost as much as the blue.  However, two pairs of the same shiny shoes seemed a bit much, even for me, so I held back.

I highly recommend buying yourself a pair of shiny shoes.  They are quite versatile for outings involving minimal walking.  Plus, they're shiny.  Sounds like a winning combination to me.  Just don't forget to pre-emptively bandage your feet.  Your skin will thank you for it later.

Bartending class

Ever since my trip to Argentina where I met a rather attractive bartender, I've been curious about the profession of bartending.  I've jokingly said for years that I'm going to become a bartender, but I never actually took any steps towards making it happen.  Last fall, I saw a deal for a cheap bartending class at a bartending school a couple of blocks from my apartment.  Somehow, in the midst of telling people about it, I managed to talk myself into buying the class.  So, sometime this summer, I'm going to be taking a bartending class.  It's a 40 hour class and covers different types of drinks that I probably don't know anything about.  I'm excited for it though.  It should be a lot of fun.

As I learn how to mix drinks (and tell different kinds of alcohol apart), I'm going to be posting about different kinds of drinks that I find tasty or flavor combinations that I find interesting.  I anticipate some fun mixology this summer!

Holiday from Hell (part 1)

I've never missed a flight before, at least not that I can remember. My mom has horror stories of losing our passports in an Indian airport and missing our flights to Hyderabad in 1988, but I was only six months old at the time, and I don't remember it. The closest I've ever come to actually missing a flight was when I flew out to Washington DC to start my internship at MedImmune after my second year of college. That experience involved an impasse at security, a mad sprint to the gate from the train at Denver International Airport, and extreme tachycardia. I ran through the gate in truly dramatic fashion, ending up the last passenger to board the aircraft in a scene that was movie-worthy. That was a close call, but I still made it. On the Holiday from Hell, everything changed.

The tale of my trip starts on a Wednesday. I finished up work at the lab in downtown Chicago and slowly made my way home, meandering through stores in the Water Tower mall en route.  Despite the fact that I was leaving for New Zealand in less than twenty-four hours, I was still unhurried.  Around midnight, the reality of having done absolutely no packing for my trip hit me, and I began tearing around my room in search of clothes like a madwoman.  My backpack was crammed to its volumetric limit in the next two hours, with clothes, sleeping bag, toiletries, etc.  Around 2am, I fell asleep on my bed from exhaustion, intending to get up again in a few hours.  I slept through my alarm on Thursday morning.  I realized this with a horrified feeling as I stared at the clock.  It read 10:17, nearly three hours later than my intended wake-up time.  I ran around getting ready and jumped on the train to Evanston to go to lab to finish my last-minute chores.  I gave myself an hour to do them, and by 1pm, I was headed to the train station again.  In my haste, I had not eaten breakfast or lunch, but I had grabbed a couple of granola bars from my lab stash.  I ate one on the way back home, and when I reached home, I raced to pack all of my last-minute things.  I found some leftover oven fries in the fridge that I had made on Wednesday night and tossed them into my pack along with the second granola bar.  Shouldering my pack, I set out from my apartment at 2:30.  My flight was at 5, and I was hoping the trip to the airport would be quick.  I looked like a lunatic, walking down Belmont Ave with a backpack that was taller than me.  A mom with a stroller shielded her child's eyes as she skirted around me.  A couple crossed to the opposite side of the road to avoid coming too  near me.  Standing out as I did, I managed to quickly  hail a cab to take me to the Belmont blue line.  I caught the blue line, which took me to Chicago O'Hare airport by 3:15.

Once there, I was faced with a dilemma.  I had already tried checking in on the United Airlines website but failed because they could not find my trip information.  I had called Travelocity to confirm that my reservation still existed and had been yelled at by a machine that refused to answer my questions.  My leading theory was that since the flight was booked through Air New Zealand, I would have to check in through Air New Zealand.  However, on O'Hare's list of terminals, Air New Zealand was nowhere to be found.  I decided to check with United and hope for the best, and accordingly, I headed off to Terminal 1.  There were people everywhere in Terminal 1, which was surprising for a Thursday afternoon, I think.  O'Hare always seems to be full of people though.  I stood in line at the international check-in for a while, until it was finally my turn.  I then attempted to check in, but an error message appeared on the screen.  The agent who was directing traffic hurried me over to another line where I proceeded to wait again.  There were only two agents working and a significant line.  One of the agents was tied up trying to sort out a group of Telugu people who appeared to have put their passports in their suitcase and checked it in.  I had no idea how to go about finding luggage in the labyrinth of conveyor belts housed in the guts of the airport.  Neither, apparently, did the agent.

When it finally came my turn, I was expecting some drama.  The agent had my boarding documents printed and ready to go before I could properly zip my bag to check it in.  The security lines were enormous, but even that went smoothly.  I began to relax a bit as I walked toward my gate.  Maybe the travel gods were on my side this time.  I knew that my flight to San Francisco was delayed by an hour, but as I had sbuilt two hours of layover time into my itinerary, I was confident that I would I make my flight to Auckland.  Still, it never hurts to make sure, so I stood in line at the desk at gate C10 to inquire about my connecting flight.  There was some drama going on there.  A group of agents were crowded around a computer screen and arguing.  The supervisor, newly arrived, inquired where the customer was.  "She was about to have a nervous breakdown, so she went to the bathroom," one of the agents informed him matter-of-factly.  Well.  Okay then.

The agent at the far end of the desk motioned for me to step up, and I hurried over, sidestepping the huddled group.  I explained my concerns to Pedro, who took my boarding pass and looked up my flight.  He was a tall man with a bit of a belly, a contrast to his short, thin companion Orlando, who was standing nearby.  The two of them were chatting in Spanish about the ruckus, and I amused myself by secretly eavesdropping.  "I'm trying to rebook you through LA," Pedro informed me suddenly.  I was startled.  "You think I'll miss my connection?" I asked cautiously.  "Yeah, it's a mechanical problem with the aircraft.  It'll probably get delayed more, so I wouldn't risk it."  I shrugged, suddenly feeling very fortunate that I had thought to double check.  He began the process of rebooking me.

That's when the expletives began.  At first, it was just as he vented his frustration over the frozen computer in Spanish to Orlando.  After pounding fruitlessly on the keyboard for a few minutes, he stalked over to the phone.  "I can't exchange the damn ticket," he spat.  Thirty-five minutes and two phone calls later, I had my boarding pass for the flight to Los Angeles, departing at 6pm and arriving 8:40.  My flight to Auckland from LA was at 9:45, the same time as my original flight from SF had been.  Pedro assured me that I would have plenty of time to make the connection.  He gave me an itinerary and a receipt and told me to get my Air New Zealand boarding pass at the gate in LA.  "What happens to my luggage?" I inquired.  "It'll get rerouted," he assured me.  I ventured off to gate C9 to find my new flight.

The first thing I saw was that the flight had been delayed by 15 minutes.  I shrugged and sat down, unconcerned.  It was then that I remembered the cold fries in my backpack.  Tearing open the foil package, I wolfed them down.  Never in my life have potatoes been so delicious.  Having eaten, I felt a little more relaxed about life.  I called my parents and updated them, then texted my brother to inform him of my changed itinerary.  We had arranged to meet in the Auckland airport, just outside the international arrivals area.  Since my flight from LA would arrive around the same time as my flight to SF, I wasn't worried.  Pedro had said that there were 9 people going to Auckland and 9 people going to Sydney on the delayed flight to SF, so I assumed they were all being rerouted through LA as well.

I finally got on the plane for the flight to LA, and I had a middle seat.  Everyone sat down, and the doors of the airplane were closed.  We continued to sit.  Finally, at 7pm, we departed.  Shortly after takeoff, the captain came on the overhead, his voice full of sinful promises of an on-time arrival in LA.  The flight was scheduled to be 3 hours and 39 minutes long.  Around 8pm LA time, I began to get nervous that no preparations for landing were being made.  The man on my left continued to snore.  The girl on my left continued to drink bottles of red wine and write songs about California girls so thin you can break them in half and New York girls who don't know how to laugh.  At 8:20, the captain's voice purred that we would be on the ground in less than 30 minutes.  I relaxed a bit at that, thinking that I'd have plenty of time.  At 9pm, the plane finally landed.  At 9:20, the plane finally made it to the gate.  By this point, I was nearly mad with rage and anxiety.  I pushed my way to the front of the plane and made it off at 9:25.  The people on the plane were kind enough to move out of my way when I explained that I had a connection.  I pushed past someone who was connecting to Sydney, and she wished me good luck.

The Genealogy Project

I've always been interested in the fact that I have an enormous extended family. I barely know any of them, and I certainly don't know how I am related to most of them. I've been toying with the idea of creating a family tree for a few years now. Last December when I was in Colorado, I asked my dad to help me make one. I started drawing it out in a notebook, and I didn't make it past ten people before I realized that my methods were not going to cut it. I found an open source genealogy program, downloaded it, and started constructing the family tree electronically. I started with my siblings and myself and went vertically and horizontally through as many generations as my parents could explain.

To date, I've added nearly 300 people into the family tree, but there is still a lot of missing data. We don't know family names, birthdays, etc. for many of the people. This has turned into a much bigger project than I originally anticipated, but I am now currently in the process of putting together a genealogical database for my family. My goal is to trace the family back to the founder of my dad's family, who lived several centuries ago. I realize that it may not be possible to construct a complete family tree because there will always be people I don't know. However, I am going to try my best to make it as complete as possible.

It's been very interesting hearing stories about different members of the family, and I'm going to start trying to document them as I hear them from my parents and other family members. As expected, the data gathering is slow, but it's been fun so far.

Lingerie shoes

I am ashamed to say that I bought the shoes. I was determined not to buy them. I have absolutely no use for them. Seriously, they look like lingerie. Plus, I can't walk in them. I bought them anyway.

There is a little store near the train stop by my house. I walk past it every day going to and from work, but it's almost always closed at the times I pass by. This is probably a good thing. Who knows how many more useless accessories I would have acquired by now if it were always open. One of the windows is always filled with shoes, and I like to examine the shoe selection by staring into the window like a creeper.

I've gone into the store a few times, but for the most part, things seem to be out of my price range, whose lower and upper bounds both happen to be rather close to zero.

One weekend day, a few weeks ago, I was out on the prowl in the afternoon when the store was open, and I wandered in. I examined the shoe selection as always and had a good chuckle over the uncomfortable-looking shoes. Some of the shoes had heels so high that it was physically painful to force my foot into them to try them on. There was a particular pair of shoes that caught my fancy, and they looked so scandalous that I was compelled to give them a try. Immediately after putting them on, I determined that I looked like a lady of the night, and not in a good way either. I also observed that it was like wearing lingerie on my feet. Though I thought the impersonation of lingerie was a count against the shoes, one of my friends astutely pointed out that more people get to see the lingerie if it's on my feet rather than on other parts of my body. At that point, I was caught in a bit of a dilemma. It was obvious that I wouldn't ever be able to wear the shoes without killing my already-injured knee. It was also obvious that I would never be able to wear the shoes in public due to the overwhelming shame associated with spending good money on them. However, they were scandalous enough to be desirable.

I walked out of the store without buying the shoes, and I thought that was the end of the story. Typically, I forget fairly quickly about the various things I agonize over in stores. Interestingly enough, the lady of the night heels were an exception. I looked for them in the window every time I passed the store. I thought about all the outfits I could match with them. Several weeks later, I woke up with the realization that I wouldn't be able to proceed without buying the shoes. So, I walked over to the store in the midst of the hordes of St. Patrick's revelers and bought the shoes.

Now, I own the shoes. I've actually worn them in public once, at the insistence of a friend of mine. They were painful. I've got to find more occasions to wear them though. I have to retroactively justify my reckless purchase by creating occasions to wear them. To be fair, they have significantly improved my quality of life. Whenever I see them in the morning as I'm going out the door, I chuckle and am instantly in a better mood.

Since buying the whore heels, I've started to notice other peoples' footwear more. When someone is wearing an attractive dress, I think to myself, "a pair of lingerie heels would seal the deal on that outfit". I encourage everyone I know to buy these shoes. They come in red and black and are multipurpose. Whether you are looking to make a good impression on a sexy date or just want to be able to reach the chemicals on the top shelf at lab, these shoes will do the job. Once you buy them, let me know. It'll make me feel a lot less guilty about my own reckless spending.

Hibernation

Now that it's been just over two years since I last posted anything, I figured it was about time to revisit this blogging project. I know I basically dropped off the face of the face of the blogosphere, but I had a legitimate excuse. I was sleeping. You see, around February of 2010, the instinct to hibernate kicked in. Unfortunately, my human body is not as good at monitoring timing as many animals that naturally hibernate, and I ended up sleeping through two years instead of through the winter. Those are two years lost that I can never regain. On the bright side, I feel quite well rested now.

I woke up just in time for Leap Day, one of my favorite days to be awake. I fool my brain into thinking that Leap Day is special because it is an extra day that I don't usually have. It is a day every four years that I can spend doing all the things I don't get around to on all the other days. This year, I didn't do anything special for Leap Day, except get things in order to go to New Zealand this spring!

Here Comes the Sun

Growing up in Colorado, I always took the sun for granted. I never realized how much my mood depends on the weather. In Chicago, I've discovered that sunshine is much rarer in the wintertime than it is in Colorado. I see the sun once every few weeks, and when it is out, that usually means it's time to put on all the clothes I own because the temperature is sub-zero with an unthinkably negative windchill. It is getting a little better now, since spring is arriving and all, but the sunshine is very lukewarm so far. In Colorado, it's blazing and burning and people wear sunscreen in the winter. Here, it's kind of like being in the general vicinity of a warm lamp.

I never understood the Beatles for singing about the sun coming out, but now I understand them. I also listen to that song on the most wretched days to attempt to trick myself into believing that the sun will come out soon. Hopefully, summer will be filled with enough sunshine to satisfy my lustful cravings for Vitamin D. I can hardly wait.