Show Me Some Soul, er Sole

I promised when signing up for this Fun Monday (Thanks to Robin for hosting) that I would show you all the shoes I have. And I will show you all the shoes that are in the hotel with me. In the 7-1-3. (Cuz I am hip like that.) These are not all the shoes I have. There are many, many times this many back in the 5-0-5. But these were deemed worthy enough to travel across 2 states with all my other worthy belongings, 3 cats and sunflower seeds.

I started with the Timbs on my toes. I brought 2 pairs of flip flops, thongs, sandals, etc., with me. Both are from Old Navy. They are the smartest company in the world for selling the cheapest flip flops around. I am pretty sure these are both from their clearance racks at 99 cents a pair.



Further into the hotel room, I came across my favoritest work shoes. Simple black slides. Ya’ll, if you got an issue with thrifting, you may want to click that back button on your toolbar. Cuz these shoes came from a thrift store. Yup. I am wearing some unknown chick’s shoes. Every day. And I love them!



Then I came across my other flip flops. And those things in the last 2 pics are pop-up cubes for cat entertainment. If you find yourself living in a small hotel room with angry cats, may I recommend you pick up some of these. It eases the pain just a bit. That, and Vodka.



At this point, I ran into the wall, not literally... this time….I actually put up some shoes. Had a moment of cleanliness up in here.



I have had these for years. I wear them to work on Fridays and everywhere else every other day that black footwear is appropriate.



These. These are generic pumps from Payless. I wear these only when I have to look a tad taller and more professional. Otherwise, back to the flats.



And these…these are my sexy dress shoes. I have worn these once since I have been here. And they really really hurt my feets. So no sexy for the remaining time here.



And oops, nearly stumbled over these shoes.


Oh Lawsy! There are men’s shoes in my room. Oh Lord, don’t tell my mama. I have a gentleman caller. Oh Lordy! Please have mercy on me.

And don’t tell my mama!

This Post is Brought to You by the Letter Wack

Something odd is amiss at Big Lawyers, Inc.

Months ago, when I left the firm, a strange behavior was coming to light in one of the secretaries. Several times a week, the late staying crowd would receive a call from her once she had left. And we would be asked to ensure that she had unplugged her heater.

First, a heater? A heater? We work in an office. We are nestled from the harsh freezing weather of Houston proper by inches of glass and many, many floors of concrete. And Houston weather? We hope to see 50 degrees once or twice a year. And maybe for more than 2 hours this time, please. And hi, we are in an office, these are Not Difficult Working conditions. Ok, fine, she is a skinny little thing, she does not have The Warming Flesh to keep her insulated.

So, beyond the whole silly cold issue, a bit of OCD was showing its face. But we said, “Yes, dear, I will go ensure that the heater is off”. Again.

So now I have returned from the barren desert. And now, months later? The girl has wised up; she isn’t calling folks anymore to ask if she had turned her heater off. That is definitely an improvement. Wait, no it isn’t. Otherwise I wouldn’t be writing this.

Every day at 5 PM, she strolls past my office, clutching this heater, moving it to her friend’s cube. Clear across the office from her desk, so she can properly sleep at night, knowing that her heater is not plugged in. Every day. And every morning, she goes back, retrieves the heater and takes it to her desk.

Now, this is odd enough to me.

But what gets me here, the real crux of my complaint is that the folks that work alongside her each day are fully accepting of her craziness. And don’t make fun of her. Don’t tell her to man up. We just accept her brand of crazy and allow her to wander the halls with her heater.

We are told to accept differences. Because there are no losers, no freaks, no oddities. We are all equal, no one is weak. We are all wonderful, beautiful people.

NO, WE ARE NOT! Some of us are ugly, and some of us are fat, and some are really stupid, some smell and some are pompous asses that no one wants to be friends with.

And we should make fun of the weirdness among us. You want to make fun of someone because they still wear stonewashed jeans, and they want to make fun of you, because you have funny hair. They want to laugh at you for wearing Christmas socks and you want to point out how their kids are funny looking. We are all weird and have weird quirks and weird clothes and weird accents.

I hate that we aren’t supposed to make fun of people anymore. Political corrected-ness is definitely a creation of Mahmoud Ahbme@nigi6ih%qxajsfad, that crazy dude from Iran. Because they don’t have nukes, homos, or OCD crazies.

Well, whatever, maybe he isn’t to blame, but I bet she has Restless Legs Syndrome, too.

Confession.

I kinda had an agreement with myself over some of the things I would and would not do on this here bloggy thing. And I am gonna break one right now. Because it’s my blog, I can do what I wanna do.

First off, let me confess a few things:

1. I love Real World.

2. I don’t really care for Road Rules, but when they have the Real World Road Rules Challenges. I am all over that.

3. I love crappy talk shows. When I am at home during the day, give me some Maury Povich. I LOVED Ricky Lake back in the day. Oprah, Dr. Phil, Sally and her big red glasses. Love it!!

4. I read Superficial. I don’t care for TMZ or that jackass Perez Hilton, but celebrity gossip, yea, give it to me, baby, uh huh, uh huh.

Shame!

And to think…I was a Gold Cord in high school, 5^th in my class. I have a 4.0 in my yet to be completed college studies. I am Ms. Smarty Pants if I do say so myself.

I rarely watch TV, outside of the aforementioned Shows of Shame. If I do, it is usually CNN, Headline News (Hi, Glenn Beck! I heart you, too!!) or CNBC. Heroes, Criminal Minds and CSI are the only series that I watch. And I learn stuff on those. Like how to fly, be a serial killer and a forensic pathologist, so that is all learning, folks.

I read voraciously. I LOVE reading Supreme Court opinions.

Another thing I like to do?

This stupid crap.

You Belong in 1956

You're fun loving, romantic, and more than a little innocent. See you at the drive in!

What Year Do You Belong In?

But damned if I am not June Cleaver, bitches.

Root, Root, Root for the Astros!

Just got home from a sad loss by the Astros. But I am content.

AWESOME tickets, free parking pass, dollar dog night, and I know where the cheap beer booth is hidden. (Between sections 133 and 150 – which are right next to each other oddly enough).

$11 for a couple beers, a full belly and seats close enough to see Biggio’s nose hairs.

Sweet.

Although dollar dogs? I don’t think it is too far of a stretch to say that they could be made out of real dogs.

I am hoping that it was Schnauzer.

Fun Monday: Art

Sayre has asked us:

Brush off your interview skills. Talk to everyone who lives in your house. I want to know what their, and your, favorite piece of art is in your home. Photographs do not count. If there was a fire in your home, everyone would grab photographs, but what is the non-photographic piece of art you would grab on your way out - and why? (Edit: These don't have to be paintings - these can be wall hangings, statues, lumps of clay by your child, anything that is artistic expression of some kind EXCEPT photographs.)

I am currently living in a hotel. Away from my worldly possessions that I would attempt to save in a fire. Away from the photos I would grab first. Away from my love and my 3rd cat that I would ensure the safety of.

So...if some jackass staying in the room next door fell asleep with a lit cigarette, what would I and my fellow occupants grab?

Well, I interviewed the senior Cat first. Yoda, after she grabbed her bag of weed,



she would grab her favorite fetch toy. My cheesy plastic bracelets that she has absconded.



Kitten, Ms. Chloe, was extremely undecided.


She first picked her mice. Currently residing next to the food bowl. However, their usual spot is on my pillow.


Then, she excitedly changed her mind. And was so riled up that I couldn't get a clear photo. Her choice?

My kitchen sponge. The sponge that I tried to place back in its rightful spot the first time I found it on the floor. She quickly retrieved it and has not left it alone since.



As for me? I have 2 choices....


While the art isn't too shabby. Pointillism is kinda cool. But I am kinda vain and would probably pick the mirror.

Can I just choose my fave possession beyond the cats?



I think Yoda is jealous of Dell.

The Cone of Death!

Well, Houston missed a bullet. A bullet named Humberto who blew into the Gulf in about 2 hours, went from a tropical depression to a hurricane before I could figure out the right way to say UMMMMberto, rolling the tongue and all. And DAMMIT all to heck, it blew right past Houston. I didn’t want to say anything yesterday about how excited I was about this. Well, and the fact that I had only a window of 10 seconds to post since it developed so quickly.

Houston lives for these things. Or at least I do. And so in the spirit of journalistic integrity, let’s just say all of Houston then.

I love the days of preparation. The panic stricken voices of the newscasters. Get your water, stock up on plywood, fill your tank, get a jug of Vodka and a carton of smokes, this one is gonna be a doozy.

But I am also a bit superstitious and am wondering if I should keep typing at all. There is another little swirl out in the Gulf. It would be named Ingrid. Now that is a nice respectable hurricane name. But do I want to put it into the world that I kinda want it to head here. And at least give us a few squalls, a few rain bands?

And a random thought – the saying “Don’t step on a crack, or you’ll break your mother’s back” Did some mother, wearing stiletto heels, sporting a Louis Vuitton handbag, step on a sidewalk crack, break a heel, crash to the ground and break a vertebrae? I bet it is somewhere out on the web, but I am way too lazy to actually do research on this. Integrity, folks. I got lots.

I would rather effuse about the CONE OF DEATH! Come on Ingrid! For me? Just not very strong or damaging, rock me like a hurricane, very gently and softly please. But rain bands! I want rain bands! I want to watch the CONE OF DEATH fluctuate between Brownsville, Honduras, Lake Charles and Corpus every hour on the hour.


The New CONE OF DEATH!




So at work yesterday, the partners gather a quick meeting to discuss what to do, oh my Lord, what do we do! PANIC! And I, in my entire professional behavior, contribute quite maturely to the serious discussion about the potential hazards to our beloved staff, by repeatedly saying “THE CONE OF DEATH!” in my best WWF announcer voice.

Yea, these people love me. Or are worried that if they don’t take care of me, I will be found playing in traffic on Beltway 8.

***Disclaimer: Don't get mad, these are the random thoughts that pop into my head. I know about Katrina. I lived in Houston when it occurred. We saw the effects. Just let me type the stupid crap that rolls around in my head, please, without making me consider the politically correct ramifications. I don't really want a hurricane or flooding or 80 mph winds. I just want the PANIC! And CONE OF DEATH projections! And VODKA! ***

CONE OF DEATH!

Ya Think She's Cute?

Wee baby kitty is so cute!

Freaking Adorable.
With a Capital "A"!
I just wanna squeeze her!
AWWWW!!
The cuteness is irresistible, isn't it!
OMG! Did you see da wee weetle tongue!!! AACK TOO CUTE!!

I am dying here from the cuteness.....




Unless she bites your nose EVERY DAY AT 5:00 A.M. on the dot.

EVERY DAY!

My Church Will Kick Your Church’s A**

I am not a regular church-goer. Until 2 years ago, I hadn’t set foot in a church, except for a wedding or a funeral, in over 10 years. I don’t have a church that I attend in New Mexico, in fact, I have only been to one church one time since I have lived there.

I am staying just a hop, skip and a jump away from a large church in Houston and knew I had to visit it while I was here.

When I say large church, I mean really large. Like escalators in the front. Like thousands of members large. Like several different parking garages large.

At the beginning of the service, while the choir was singing, I looked around and wondered how many people were in attendance.

Ya know how churches put on Powerpoint slides of the lyrics to the song that is being sung? I was hoping that they might show the number in attendance on that screen. And make the congregation guess which was correct.

Kinda like they do at sporting events. Where they have the crowd guess how many people are in attendance. In between plays. Basketball plays, in particular.

The last time I was at this church… I don’t remember it all that well. I was wasted, watching the Rockets beat the Utah Jazz.

My church? The Summit. The Compaq Center. The former home of the Houston Rockets.

My church? Kicks your church’s ass. My church holds 16K. The next closest – holds less than half that. My church has 42K visitors each week. The pastor, The pastor’s smile is 2.4 times as large than any other pastor’s smile.





Lakewood Church is amazing. It is huge. It is beautiful. And Joel Osteen. I have loved watching him on TV. I have heard that his book is wonderful. And well, his dentist is deserving of a large portion of my tithe.



His message today was “Marked Moments”. He preached how God has predestined each of our paths. He knows where we are all going, what paths we will each take. He paves the way and sets up obstacles as necessary, to put us on the proper path. This hit home as I know I have experienced several moments in the past few years where God was intervening. Pushing me on a certain path. Moving me towards my destiny.

Thanks Joel (ya know, we are down like that, first names and all). I’ll be back.

Good Deed Fun Monday!

We have been asked to perform a good deed. We had two weeks in which to accomplish this request. I loved this idea and I can’t wait to read everyone’s posts!

I had lofty goals. I was hoping that I would be able to do much more for this Fun Monday. I have always wanted to volunteer at a food bank here in Houston. I have frequently thought of joining in on the Thanksgiving and Christmas meals for the homeless. I really wanted to help out at the Astrodome after Katrina.

Intentions . . . , yea, yea.

In the past two weeks I have moved a car full of crap and 3 cats across Texas. I have started working at a high-intensity job. I have ate a lot of sushi.

What I have not done is any good deed outside of the default good deed I hoped to not have to use. I didn’t want to pull this card. But I am.

My good deed is coming here. From my home in New Mexico to a hotel in Houston.

I was asked by my old law firm, if I could cover for “Mary’s” maternity leave shortly after she found out that she was pregnant. I stated that if my job at home (if there was a job) didn’t interfere, that I would definitely help out.

I didn’t look for a job in New Mexico until we had lived there over 6 months. I started looking for something just a few months before I was scheduled to come to Houston, and so in my interviews, it was known that I would be leaving for at least a 2 month period, which with the vacation we took at the beginning of August, is actually a 3 month period.

I was eventually hired for a temporary position. The president hired me with the intention of seeing if I was a worthwhile employee. He hired me for a menial position, with the intent to see if I was sane and when I returned to town, he would hire me as a permanent employee in a much higher and much more desired position. Apparently, I fooled him, he intends to hire me when I return.

So this is my good deed. I left my love, I gave up my life in New Mexico, put my life on hold to come to Houston, my old town, and live in a hotel with two angry cats, drink Shiners all alone at night, in order to help my old law firm make it through the time when Queen Bee Mary is birthing a baby.

As for me, I am enjoying green grass, good food, old friends, and humidity. Ah, big city living. Love it!!

Football Season Has Begun

Late, late last night:

Boyfriend: So you are getting up early to go to the early church service, so you can start drinking before noon?

Me: Um...yea...that about sums it up.

Welcome Back, Kotter

So I have completed a week at my old law firm. For those joining the party late, or if I did a crapola job of explaining it, if I ever did, I have returned to the site of my previous employment, the job I left to join my love in the great desert of New Mexico. The job that I was plopped into, stress-filled days of trying to figure out how much to pay the candy vendor and to not screw up the payroll of the hardest working staff in legal. I had also been their star paralegal for some years before I became their wackiest administrator, one of which saw me spending time in a hotel room for an extended period of time.

And here we are. I drove a long distance to get back to my old digs. I started work the next morning and it was simply the same. Nothing had changed except a few haircuts, the kids had gotten a bit older, and I had put on a few pounds.

I am working here while my replacement, the Mother Hen of the firm, the loveliest paralegal/administrator/crap-cleaner-upper, has a kid. She was fully cooked and ready to pop when I hit city limits.

My thoughts on the first week? I love legal. I love this group of crazies. I love big cities. This job is where I fit. It is high intensity, stressful and challenging. The people are the hardest working, driven and funniest fools I have ever seen together.

Yet, I am going crazy. I hate hotel living. I feel like a fish out of water. Flopping around today, trying to figure out what to do. I am not home, even though I wish I was. I wish I could transport my life to Houston again. But my life is in New Mexico. My life is that wonderful man who slaves away in the oil patch. The one that is flopping around my home right now, complaining that it doesn’t feel right without me there.

Babe, I miss you. I would give up daily All-You Can Eat Sushi specials to be back in Oil Capital, NM, with my love.

But don’t check my suitcase, there could be a mackerel in there.

I Love These Weirdos.

Me: It’s a bit surreal. It's like I just slept a really deep sleep, had this wacked out dream of moving to New Mexico, woke up and am just coming to work for the day. Except "Mary" got all fat and is gonna have a kid tomorrow.

Attorney: Or like you were kidnapped, held captive in an underground cave, tortured and then suddenly released at daybreak. Just in time to hit Starbucks and rush hour traffic.

Me: Um, yea. I gotta go...um...um...check the ... Coke machine.

Central Market is My New BFF

Tonight's Dinner:

Roasted Red Pepper Hummus
Pesto
Rustic Whole Wheat Bread
Rosemary Ham
Maple Cured Ham
Basil and Herb Turkey
Crunchy Sunbutter
Onion and Garlic Pistachios

If I had a wine corker thingamajig, I would be enjoying this all with an Argentinian Tempranillo.

Attention Stalkers!

If ya'll want to find me, I will be at Miyako's every day for the next 2 months. Oh how I have missed my dear friend sushi.

Dread

Within 24 hours, I am going to be packing up half my clothes, all my toiletries, 300+ Ebay items, 3 cats, 2 litterboxes and traveling for 12 hours. Sympathy, please.

I am dreading this. So, so much.

I have to clean the house, empty the fridge, wash clothes, load the car, and stop crying.

I have moved into a hotel once before for a significant time period. It sucks. And the thought of living with two cats in a hotel room for two months. I am shaking.

Oh, and two? Yes, just two. Cass is going to spend her fall vacation with my parents in their luxury digs in Dallas. Because the thought of 3 cats in a hotel room. Prozac? No, morphine drip, please.

So, I am taking the two bad ones, the undisciplined, not behaving and very much hating each other ones with me. I may be drinking as I type this.

I am not sure what the next few days will bring. Besides a lot of stress. A chance to see my parents after way, way too long. And a journey into downtown Houston with pissed off felines.

Think good thoughts please. I must be strong. I must get along. I must stop saying stupid song lyrics.