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Old School Kicks: Sneaker Hell

21 Aug

So I was at the gym last week and realized that my feet were starting to hurt a little after running on the elliptical. I looked down and saw how nasty my sneakers were looking these days. I loved these things… Nike running sneakers, white with a black swoosh, little bit of red and black details. Did the job, looked decent. But they were ancient, so I decided to go to the mall where I could hopefully pick up a new pair (without having to refinance my home to pay for them).

Now I’m not an overly boring person. I like a flash of color in the things I wear. But the visual assault I encountered when I walked into Foot Locker made me want to run for the nearest food court dumpster and rehash the details of my lunch:

Can someone please tell me what in the actual F is going on here?!

Can someone please tell me what in the actual F is going on here?!

Instantly I needed a Tylenol. I couldn’t look directly at the wall of sneakers or I would run the risk of torching my corneas.

With a general distaste that I could not only experience in the back of my throat but was also wearing visibly on my horrified face, I bee-lined it out of the store and headed over to Champs. Yeah… Champs must have something for me…

I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.

I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.

It was like déjà vu. I was stuck in every woman’s 80s flashback nightmare. I was wondering if the store also sold neon snowsuits and Aquanet. I did not stick around to find out.

I made it back out to the mall walkway to catch my breath after being exposed to the neon diarrhea on the walls of the shoe department. Dare I attempt another store?

This time I just looked inside the window to the Finish Line. My dreams of new sneakers drifted away in the sea of neon vomit splattered along the shoe shelves inside.



At the risk of permanent damage, my fiancé dragged me into Dick’s Sporting Goods for one last shot. It was there that I found one, and I mean ONE, pair of shoes that didn’t make me want to dry heave. They were the last pair in my size. I snagged them immediately.

We have a winner! No 80s flashbacks here. My appetite is slowly returning.

We have a winner! No 80s flashbacks here. My appetite is slowly returning.

Thank goodness. Guess there will be no need to run into Walmart and hunt down a can of Aquanet (do they still sell that stuff?), a curling iron and some stick-in shoulder pads. I can cancel the perm appointment too. Phew.

Off to the gym in my new sneakers!


Sun Blockers: Poolside Party Poopers

8 Jul

It was with a sigh that my fiancé and I walked into the pool area of my apartment complex on a lazy Sunday afternoon to relax and catch a tan, only to discover that two of my earthy-crunchy neighbors thought it would be a fantastic idea to have a poolside family reunion. I’m talking the WHOLE family here, full attendance.

Now normally my neighbors and I live in relative peace, and this convention of happy morons may not have bothered me except for the following:

Some of the general wrongness occurring at the pool… Not to mention the odd discoloration of the pool water coincidentally located by the kids?

Some of the general wrongness occurring at the pool… Not to mention the odd discoloration of the pool water coincidentally located by the kids?

–          What with the dozen plus in attendance, one entire side of the pool was completely occupied, and no one was permitted to maneuver past the patchouli-emanating bunch to walk around to the other side of the pool.

–          After bypassing them at the other side of the pool, I thought I was at least spatially safe. And perhaps I was, until one of the granola-tastic parents decided to offer the pack of kids wagon rides around the pool. Around, and around… and around the pool. It was even more special for me that I was an apparent DC monument-style attraction on this tour around the pool, as the kids whooped and yelled at me every time they passed. (The free-loving driver found this adorable, and encouraged the children along at every pass).

–          The other miniature spawns of these guests floated around and screamed on their giant pool rafts which made swimming, or, I don’t know, trying to even think about swimming, really lovely. I was betting money that there’d be a couple of loose brown floaters in the pool by the end of the day.

–          And, when I thought it couldn’t get worse… It did. One of the fabulous hosts busted out an ancient boom box and pressed play, and the sounds that came out created a sense of true terror in my soul. Children’s music on full blast. Wheels on the bus going round and round, you know what I mean.

My fiancé and I were thinking we ought to bail as we were considering helping each other to a little assisted suicide by drowning in the pool to put us out of our misery.  Just when we were talking each other off the edge (of the deep end), the first pair of Birkenstock ladies gave each other what appeared to be hugs goodbye. Our salvation was near… they were leaving.

We stayed put on our towel-covered lounge chairs and watched with growing anticipation as the coolers were slowly packed, rafts were fished out of the pool, and tie-dyed skirts were tied around waists. My bleeding ears felt a small bit of relief as the vomit coming out of the radio was silenced. The moment was lost when the kids began screaming again. The edge of the pool was looking really tempting again.

Finally, thirty minutes later, Woodstock left the pool once and for all. And of course, as with any festival, the participants left a trail mix of remains. Seriously, these were the worst. hippies. ever. The non-recyclable water bottles, wrappers and other unidentifiable consumables (no doubt purchased at Trader Joe’s) littered the pool area, and who knows what deposits the kids left in the pool.

My only relief came when I saw the teenaged lifeguard put chemicals in the pool. Chemical cleansers make everything just a little bit better.

Well, as the Doors (my music of choice if I had lived during that era) said in one of their songs… “The time to hesitate is through.” Tilting my head back in my lounge chair, my fiancé at my side, I closed my eyes in the sun and finally dozed off with swirling visions of peace and love… but mostly, peace. Finally. 🙂

Cold meds and 80s flashbacks

15 Jun

On the couch, sick as a dog, on a beautiful Saturday afternoon. I can’t even rummage up the strength to go out by the pool and get a tan. That’s how I know I’m really sick.


So I’m sitting here watching the movie Mannequin, circa 1987, with Andrew McCarthy and Kim Cattrall, and several things are crossing my mind:

–          Hair styles have certainly evolved over the years, and my non-existent bangs are very thankful for that.

–          There really aren’t that many “new” styles in clothing; the styles just get recycled every twenty to thirty years.

–          And last, but with the most impact on me at the moment, this movie is 25 years old. And I was alive and just about old enough to remember when it was cool.

This last thought kind of unsettles me. I suddenly feel like my heart is in my stomach. A part of me wishes I was right back there in 1987, just a kid with no worries, wearing my fabulous neon stylings, black gummy bracelets and curling up my big bangs so that I could try to look as awesome as my big sister.

And so I find myself asking the following questions:

–          Am I allowing what’s left of my youth to fly by without actually stopping to smell the roses a little?

–          Do I spend just a bit too much time thinking about my job, my bills, plans for the future, and not enough time taking all the small pleasures of life every day?

–          Shit, am I about to run out of Kleenex?

I don’t know. Maybe this is just a result of all the Dayquil I’ve been taking in an effort to get some air out of at least one of my stuffed up nostrils. Maybe I really just need a nap.

All I know is, as soon as I get better, I plan to hop in my car, roll down all the windows, blast a sweet 80s mix from my iPod, and cruise through the city while taking a deep breath of the beautiful nearly-summer air (hopefully through my nose by then, haha). And I will appreciate every moment of it, especially since I don’t have to worry that the breeze will mess up my bangs. 🙂

Aww, my first post. How adorable. :-)

8 Jun

Yes, adorable indeed. This first post and all others following it have been a result of some less ‘than adorable’ moments I’ve experienced over the course of my early thirties (and even a few I’d like to forget during my twenties, although when you are in your twenties, at least you have the young and dumb excuse).

Don’t get me wrong, my life isn’t total hell, although perhaps I tend to look like it these days. For example, most recently I’ve managed to somehow survive a major relocation as a result of a promotion for which I will be spending my entire new paycheck to pay for. Good times.

Instead of shelling out money for therapy or risking the possibility of alienating my friends with my newly found neuroses, why not just blog it out, right? Sure, why not.

So please join me on the road to eventual insanity, with a side of douchebags, occasional bright moments, and general WTF. Welcome to my world, and I apologize in advance. 🙂