Shoes are to Women . . .

. . . as Cars are to Men.

I. Love. Shoes. There - I said it. Hello, my name is Katie and I'm a shoeaholic. And hello my sister friends surrounding me at the Nordstrom shoe department like a flock of friendly birds, all entranced by the same shiny objects. I know, I know - almost all women love shoes. This is nothing new. But what most men, and some women, don't realize is - WHY. Well guys I'm gonna tell you: Shoes Always Fit. Unlike our dress size, our shoe size never changes. And as any woman will tell you, there are so many wardrobe issues that have to do with our weight, or perceived weight, that make having an option that never fails an absolute thrill. So there you have it guys. Mystery solved. When you see your girl come out in an outfit that you think looks great on her and the first thing she says is "Look! Look at my new shoes!" try not to shake your head and say, "What is the big deal with women and shoes?!"

Besides, men have their 'shoes' as well. Only they are cars. Just as slipping on a pair of lovely leather slingback heels can transform you from serious-girl-at-work by day, to fun-loving-vixen by night, a car can make a man feel more like the guy he wants to be, or maybe just enforces who he is. The cliche is that shoes and cars say something about personalities, but I do believe that. And when a man gets behind the wheel, he is inside the car, and therefore gets to take on the perceived characteristics of the vehicle; just as women do with shoes. And I'll admit that a guy's car sometimes makes him more attractive then he actually is. It's like beer goggles or something. I've had Mercedes goggles before. You see the guy in the SLK convertible at the stoplight and you are thinkin', 'He is hot!' But had he just been in line at Home Depot = 'meh'.

And so I give you my list of shoe types and their equivalent in cars and what I think they mean.

Ballerina Flats ========> VW Jetta ========> I am down to earth and low maintenance, but still enjoy being hip.

Platform Pumps ========> Chevy Camaro ========> I am classic and traditional, but have a naughty side.

Peep Toe Heels ========> Any Hybrid Car ========> I want the best of both worlds. (part pump, part sandal; part gas, part electric)

Knee-High Boots ========> Mercedes SUV ========> I am not afraid to stand out. I appreciate style, but still want some function and practicality.

Gladiator Sandals w/Ankle Straps ========> Mazda RX8 ========> I am unconventional and adventurous.

Stilettos ========> Lexus SC ========> I like to be noticed, am confident and fun-loving.

Tennis Shoes ========> Toyota Tacoma ========> I am sporty, practical and outdoorsy.

Sandals with rubber, fabric, or plastic ========> Toyota Prius ========> I am earthy and environmentally conscious. I also probably live in Boulder.

Night

The night was lonely. It was the most alone I have ever felt. It was similar to lying in the hospital bed unable to move or speak, but different in that this time I was in a body that could move and speak and feel, yet I had no control over when I could do these things. It was almost more frustrating than my previous situation. I heard the girl softly snoring, and the breeze ruffling the curtains at the window, and the incessant locus screaming outside. And now everything was dark. When her eyes closed, I lost my sight too. This amounted to extreme boredom. I didn’t think too much about why I couldn’t sleep along with her. I neither felt tired, nor the biological need to sleep. I figured that if I wasn’t really alive, then I didn’t need to sleep. But that didn’t make the long-reaching night any easier. Several times I tried to will her awake. I pathetically tried yelling ‘wake up!’, even though I knew by now I couldn’t bring the words to life and she couldn’t feel them. Next I attempted to share my emotions with her, as she seemed to do with me. I tried to send her a feeling of alarm, hoping to rouse her from her deep sleep. But she slept on, unaware of my presence. If this is what my eternity is, I thought, I would have taken the fire and brimstone of hell, just to have something more interesting to see.

Thou Shalt Not

This photograph from 1940 is poking fun at the era of censorship in movies started by Natty Will Hays. His list of movie taboos is shown in the upper right.
Good thing Mr. Hays wasn't around when Pulp Fiction came out.

Art: In the Eye of the Beholder. The Evil Red Eye.

If you live in Colorado, or have flown into DIA, you have probably seen the huge blue mustang sculpture that rears its veiny head outside the airport. This single piece of public commissioned art has probably brought about more controversy than any other in Denver. A lot of people hate this sculpture with a passion. I am one of them. It's ugly, vein-ridden, too masculine, seems to be a nod to the Denver Broncos with its choice of coloring - but it's not, and has glowing red eyes that just look plain evil. There is even a Facebook page dedicated to hating the Mustang and rallying for its removal. The horse's nicknames include 'Satan's Steed', 'Bluecifier', and 'Blue Devil Horse'. Also - it is Not a myth that part of the sculpture fell onto the artist in the final stages - and killed him. Seems like an urban legend, but it's not. So this is what our visitors see when they first get to our City:

"Welcome to Denver. Our evil blue horse just put a hex on you."

I have learned that publicly commissioned art pieces must stay in place for at least 5 years. I'm not sure after that, but I think it's probably a pretty big ordeal to have them removed due to public outcry. Now, of course art is in the eye of beholder and one person can see something totally different than another when viewing it. And one person can be offended by a piece, while another is inspired. Take for instance, a sculpture of a man and woman fused in mid-dance that was placed inside a roundabout in a Denver suburb. The woman's breasts are bared, in rough-hewn bronze, and because the sculpture is in an area where lots of children are, many people want it taken down. We can't expect every complaint about an art piece to lead to its removal, but at what point is the public outcry enough? When does it lead to a vote?

Now DIA has another sculpture that is raising eyebrows. This one is Anubis - the Egyptian god of the underworld. But people are incorrectly naming it the God of the Dead, and claiming it's morbid to have a statue representing death right outside the airport, making friends with Bluecifier and all. We know that the Egyptians put a lot of stock in the afterlife. You could say they almost took it more seriously than life itself. So Anubis does not really represent death - but the wonderful world awaiting on the other side. And he's there to help you to it. But people shouldn't get too upset: this statue is only temporary. It is there to promote the upcoming King Tut exhibit at the Denver Art Museum. I have always been fascinated by Egyptian life and mythology, so I am anxious to see the statue, and even more anxious to see the exhibit. So I don't mind Anubis hanging out at DIA. But if given the opportunity to vote on the removal of Satan's Steed, I definitely would voice my opinion. But that's all it is - an opinion. So can you really remove art that was specifically chosen, and worked very hard on - just based on people's perceptions? The artist of the Mustang said the piece represented "the wild spirit of the plains". But if the majority of others do not see it that way, when are they eventually heard?

Nippin' Out at VS

Okay now that I have your attention . . .
Are you wondering what the hell you are looking at here? Well I sure was when I was in Victoria's Secret after work yesterday and came upon this scary sight on the shelf. When asked about it, the sales girl rolled her eyes and said they had just gotten them in. Um, hold on. Back the lingerie truck up please. VS is serious with this? I just had to snap a quick picture with my phone when no one was looking.

Women have tried everything for years and years just to cover these suckers up. Lined bras, padded bras, breast petals, even band-aids. (yes, I had a friend in high school whose Mom did that) Not to mention women being taken seriously in the workplace among their male counterparts who get distracted by even the slightly slitted skirt, or gapping button. Is VS attempting to reverse all that we have worked for in terms of being seen by men as more than just sexual objects? Can you seriously see a woman wearing this - where?? A night on the town with the girls? The attention it would gain you would not be the kinds of men you want to date anyway. Church on Sunday?? I'm pretty sure nippin' out in God's house is frowned upon. Monday morning staff meeting?? CEO: "We had a hard second quarter, err, I mean, strong. And we saw a pointed rise in revenues when we released our headlights - I mean - headquarter's earnings." Moreover, whose boyfriend or husband would want their woman to actually wear this? Sure, they might find the sight sexy as you flit around the house in it, but they sure as hell won't feel comfortable about you wearing it on girl's night out. And rightly so.

No, we know WHO this bra is made for, and it's not for women, or even their boyfriends and husbands. It's for the OTHER men. You know the ones. And that is just not a healthy way to project yourself, to those other men, and to the world in general. It's VS saying "Go ahead, exaggerate this intimate part of you and use it to your advantage! Screw the message it gives young girls!" Not cool VS, not cool.

So by this rationale, shouldn't we soon see jeans in Abercrombie & Fitch that have built-in bulges? I mean, really - if we are taking away the mystery, putting it all out there, and emphasizing sexuality over all else, why not?

Would love to hear your thoughts.

You say boyfriend, I say . . .

I have a word dilemma. And being one who likes to write, a word dilemma is quite bothersome. In today's society we have endless labels and nicknames for everything. 'Man-bag', 'Gold Digger', 'She-Male', 'Fashionista', 'Cougar', the list goes on. (Although my personal favorite is 'Mandals' = man sandals. hehe)

Anyway, I am at a loss as to how to assign a label to one of the most important areas in my life: my man. Those who know me know my love is older than I, and me being out of my twenties now, I'm no spring chicken myself. We are not married and so we seem to be stuck with the 'boyfriend' and 'girlfriend' labels. Well, I'm sorry but 'boyfriend' does not begin to cover the depths of what this person is to me. Further, we live together, have made a life together, and you know - it's serious! So what does one call their love when we are past the high-school sounding 'boyfriend' stage? And I must say, I'm not particularly a fan of labels for the people in our lives, but it seems that you always come across it in everyday conversation and end up needing to assign one.

So I ask you - what are some other words instead of boyfriend that make sense for this stage in life?

Sight

Note: The paragraphs from my book will always have a one-word Title in the post.

My brain recognized sunlight immediately, and yet I did not feel the need to squint. Directly in front of my eyes stood something I wasn’t prepared for. A large brown horse. A horse so large that its head towered over me so that I could see up its enormous nostrils. I had never seen a horse so big and intimidating. My first thought was that this must be heaven. Was this a chariot of sorts? The horse exhaled loudly into my face and stamped a hoof, and I took a step backward. Or at least, it seemed like I did, but I did not feel my body move. Instinctively I tried to look down at my legs but I found I could not move my head. I felt the same as I did lying the hospital bed except now I was standing upright and somewhere in a sunlight field with Mr. Ed. I was thoroughly confused and willing myself not to panic since it seemed that I had just died and wherever I was had to be better than imprisoned in the dark in a hospital bed. Suddenly a voice behind me said,

“Oh for heaven’s sake Jenny – he won’t hurt you!” the voice must have kicked my brain into working my legs because I turned around to face the voice. A middle-aged woman stood near me, her thick red hair was secured in a low pony tail under her cowboy hat. She was very tall – unusually so, just like the horse. At my 6’0 height I had never felt so short in my life. I didn’t recognize this woman, nor did I recognize the landscape around me. I was also trying to make sense of the fact that she had just called me Jenny, and then I heard my response to the woman.

“Mom, I just don’t want to yet.” I mumbled quietly. Only it wasn’t me who spoke.