I rarely wore heels with my husband. I never wore stilettos. Now, I want to have a presence in the world that says I survived, I will persevere, I will not be knocked down nor held down by what life has dealt me.
And the women who try on my shoes, and there have been many, they get that same look in their eyes, that look of confidence, joy, something magical—from a pair of shoes. They stand taller, look prouder, can’t believe they’ve done it.
Shallow? Yes. Judge us? Go ahead. We’re used to being judged.
I get judged for everything. I get judged for the clothes I wear, what I feed my kids, when I feed them, what’s in my refrigerator at any given time, what my children wear, what hours I’m home or not home, my travel schedule, my friends, my iPhone usage, my internet habits, my sleep patterns, my garden, the content of the obituary I wrote, how I carried myself at the funeral, whether I cry enough, my financial habits, whether I write enough about how much I loved my husband, my parenting, my mental health, and on and on and on.
So, judge my shoes. They can take it. So can I. I obviously put up with far worse.
And if you see me wearing my Loubi’s, don’t be afraid to ask to try them on. I will always say yes. I want you to know what it feels like to stand tall.
If you have a picture of yourself in my shoes, add it to the flickr group I created for the Sisterhood of the Traveling Louboutins: http://www.flickr.com/groups/louboutin/.
Lets mix up this journey a little. Today we’re going to have a picture and a procedure. The procedure du jour is an echocardiogram. Bob’s going to be having a regular shit-ton of procedure in the next week in preparation for his stem cell transplant.
Another name for an echocardiogram is an ECHO. Echoes make me think of Marco Polo. The game. Not the dude. Two Saturdays ago I got to play Marco Polo in a cab in San Francisco while trying to find 150 of my nearest and dearest imaginary Internet friends. Here’s a picture of me in the back of the cab.
It’s hard to find 150 imaginary friends in a big city when all you have is a bunch of iPhones and a cranky cab driver who doesn’t want to drive in traffic (WTF?), but we did it. To see proof of our shenanigans, you can peruse more of these riveting photos in the SFTU Flickr pool. No, that does not say STFU. It says SFTU. Sheesh, people. San Francisco TweetUp. Even if you don’t want to stare at pictures of people you don’t know, there are a bazillion pants-dropping jaw-dropping shots of San Francisco taken by some of the most incredible photographers.
Here, I’ll sneak one in for you, as a teaser. The photographer said I could, because he’s awesome like that. He also brought us chocolate. From Venezuela. He brought himself from there, too.
That’s a picture of our hotel. Most of us stayed at Hotel Vertigo, which was surprisingly inexpensive for a hotel in the City ($125/nt. with tax) and not surprisingly overwhelmed by our use of their bandwidth. It’s rare a hotel of large scale can handle an Internet group hitting their network, much less a boutique place like Hotel Vertigo. Aside from that, I heard nothing but great things from my fellow travelers. The refurbished rooms were hip and fun, and we all enjoyed piling into the lobby for impromptu gatherings between trekking off to our next meal. The oversized orange and white sofa was a favorite hangout.
Since my kids' educational IRAs have plummeted along with the rest of our investments, the only hope we really have of making a sudden mountain o' cash rests on a one-liner I have featured in Nick Douglas' book, Twitter Wit, which came out today.
Whether you're looking for something to read on the shitter, stuff in your loved one's stocking, or give to that family member who needs to grow a sense of humor, Twitter Wit is the book for you. With over 600 witticisms of 140 characters or fewer (I can't say "less" I just can't), there's sure to be something to please even that ol' codger down at the Five and Dime.
Plus, who doesn't want the opportunity to knock Glenn Beck's ass off the New York Times Best Seller List this week? Huh? That should be incentive, enough. (Sorry, Dad, I know you love the guy, but you love me more.)
So, hop to it kids. Grab your copies of Twitter Wit. For the price of a slab of meat, you can be the proud owner of your very own pet Twitter Wit.
Not sure who needs a copy of Twitter Wit? Let me help you out:
- your shrink
- Johnny's kindergarten teacher
- your hairdresser
- the hobo on Market St., okay ALL the hobos
- the bus driver (to read while he's NOT driving, duh!)
- your barista
- your boss (but just slip it into the ol' office mail anonymously)
- the staff lounge
- the office shitter
- the receptionist who puts up with greeting your cranky ass every day
- the pizza delivery dude
- the WalMart greeter
- anyone hooked up to an IV
- anyone with something stuck up their butt involuntarily
- bald people
- people who need to get laid
- people in chronic pain (trust me, it makes us cranky)
- the terminally ill
- your mama
- hos, but not pimps. pimps are assholes.
- anyone working for The Man
- Santa (leave it out with a beer and salami sandwich)
Despite ample coaxing, my parents rarely read my blog. Shocking, I know. I can’t imagine why they don’t race over here to see what I’ve strapped to my head this week. Alas, they don’t.
They’ve known me my whole damn life, it seems. So, this shit just doesn’t impress them much. They knew me when I glued cotton balls to my brother’s face in the middle of that cold winter night, climbed upon our snowy rooftop, and jingled those bells to bring about a little Christmas spirit for them. Unimpressed. A little pissed, actually.
They knew me when I shoved my children into oversized flower pots in a wagon and called it a Halloween costume. (Hey, we won that damn contest, and my mother helped make the hats. So, don’t let her tell you otherwise.)
And, they know me now. Now, that I’ll be featured, along with others, in Nick Douglas’ forthcoming book, Twitter Wit, “a compilation of Twitter aphorisms and witticisms, celebrating a medium that has enabled millions of users to broadcast their lives and quips within Twitter's 140-character limit, thus reinventing wordplay in the tradition of Dorothy Parker and Oscar Wilde.”
In my case, it’s probably a tweet about poop, or sex, or something respectable like that. And, since my parents haven’t read this and aren’t on Twitter, guess what Mom and Dad will be getting in their stockings this year. Thanks, Nick!
Image by califmom via Flickr
It’s that special time of year when I pack my bag, my laptop, my stack of business cards, and my sexy comfortable cute shoes, and head off to BlogHer’s annual conference.
Last year’s conference was in my own back yard, San Francisco. This year, I get to ride on an airplane all the way to Chicago. The last time I was in Chicago, it was the coldest winter they’d had in decades. I was there on business, just flying in to rent a car and drive to Joliet, where I spent a week in a motel that offered a delicious room service menu offering of chicken fried steak. Mmm, mmm, good. The driver’s side door of my rental car kept freezing shut. So, I had to climb in through the passenger side to kick it open. Fun times.
This time, I’m going to have more fun. Way more fun. Boat loads more fun. So much fun, I’m going to take pictures of the fun and post them right here for y’all to see. I’ve already started taking pictures of some of the fun. See, it’s my personal project to take pictures of all the sexy, cute, comfy, and downright adorable shoes that make there way to BlogHer. Then, I collect them all into a Flickr Group called BlogHer Shoe Porn. Here’s what’s been uploaded into this year’s group, so far:
If you’re going to BlogHer ‘09, you can upload your shoes to the photo pool by clicking here.
One thing I won’t be doing much of while I’m at BlogHer ‘09, ironically, is blogging. No time. I will be microblogging—Twitter and Tumblr, mostly, maybe a little Facebook. Otherwise, I’ll “see” you when I get back. No wild parties while I’m gone! That’s my job.
Image by Steve Rhodes via Flickr
I haven’t talked about politics here in a long while, but I wanted to take a moment to give you all a link to a great resource for information about what’s happening in Iran right now. It’s some of the best coverage available, both from the people on the ground, and from professional journalists.
Truly amazing footage, commentary from journalists, bloggers, raw feeds from Twitter interspersed with articles about the events as they unfold. It’s written in a blog/diary format. So, it’s easy to find the most current information. Text that highlighted in green signifies tweets written by Iranians.
I urge you to utilize this is a resource for your information gathering. I don’t necessarily recommend watching all of the videos or images of the violence unless you feel you need that information to understand the situation.
I do not know all of the most effective ways to support the Iranians, but I do not the kind of support I am able to provide, which is the dissemination of information. That is what I am trying to do here with the link to Andrew Sullivan’s work at The Atlantic. Hopefully, from that point, you’ll be able to figure out what you feel called to do to help our fellow humans on this planet.
Please share any ideas or suggestions you have in the comments section. I’m always looking for new resources I can pass along to my readers.
In an effort to keep my ADD as far out of check as possible, I've added another blogging platform to my set. I use Typepad for Califmom, CalifmomHomeschools, and CalifmomReviews. I use Twitter for my inane ramblings, potty-mouth rants, and sit-down comedy. But, lo. I had nothing for that in-between space. Nothing for my over-140-characters-yet-not-quite-a-full-blown-blog-post ramblings. Oh, where was I to turn?
Tumblr fills that space between microblogging and blogging. Most of the themes don't include a comment function, the interface supports quick uploads of every media format imaginable (photos, links, video, chats, text, quotes...), and it's a sleek, uncluttered space. Unlike my mind.
For those of you who'd like to find out what it's like to live inside my online-brain, I give you my new space on Tumblr, Pocket Contents, where I dump the snippets and lint that collect as I surf through my days. It's not cohesive, it doesn't flow, and it will probably change in appearace at least a twenty more times before I settle on a theme I like.
Enter at your own risk.
I love finding out my favorite authors, musicians, or other 'celebrities' have an online presence, especially when it's in their own voice. It's rare, but so enjoyable when you can develop a social connection to people whose work you admire. It's also nice to find out they're human. I mean, you know they are, but it's nice just the same.
Twitter has been one place I've enjoyed finding some of my favorite celebs. I'm not going to give out their @names because it feels a little stalkerish, even more so than me stalking them twitter, but I will totally tell you that Dave Matthews, Lance Armstrong, John Hodgman, and Adam Savage are the real deal.
On Facebook, I even found John Elder Robison, Augusten Burroughs' brother, and the author of "Look Me In The Eye," a must read for anyone who's dealing with Asperger's. He also has a personal blog, which is fabulous, and totally him.
By putting themselves 'out there' with the rest of us, using social media like the rest of us, not just as a publicity tool, it lets me know what kind of people they are.
And I like that.
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Because I can't do anything without automatic access to the Internets, I watch DVDs with my laptop at the ready. You never know when you're going to need to reference IMDB to figure out who is that familiar looking actor with the bit part.
Last night, as Bob and I were wrapping up our viewing of Ugly Betty, I got a tweet from Robert Scoble about an earthquake in China, which included a link to the USGS site. Scoble noted that USGS didn't show the quake yet. By the time I clicked on the link, mere seconds later, the initial USGS data was up. Minutes later, the magnitude was edited by the USGS.(They continued to make adjustments to the initial earthquake's magnitude for hours after the quake, finally settling on 7.9.)
This was just the beginning of hours of tweets from Twitter users (tweeps) across the globe. By the time I was nodding off, I'd chatted with students and teachers in Chengdu, offered them reassurance that the aftershocks would eventually subside, and posted the link for them to check the aftershocks' magnitudes as they were happening.
It was a surreal experience, not necessarily because Twitter was the first place the news hit the masses, but because there was an instant connection to the people experiencing something a world away from my bedroom in California. There was a sense of humanity that's missing from mainstream news. In the typical news report, even a human interest piece, leaves us, as readers or viewers, in a passive role. We receive the story, but do not interact with it. Thanks to social networking and the efficacy of Twitter, we can interact with the world as events unfold. We are no longer just observers. That is the essential appeal of social networking...no longer being the mushrooms fed the sh*t in the dark. It feels good to make connections. Humans crave connection.
The voice of the world is changing. It's reshaping itself to maintain our need to be active participants. We're using new tools to achieve age-old needs. I heart that about us.