Monday, October 28, 2013

Goddamn Boots

I will never forsake you...

I swear it was like a science fiction movie backdrop. I was just trying to have a nice dinner with my man. A pleasant window seat at a decent restaurant. Upon the commencement of people watching we slowly became aware that almost every woman passing us was wearing boots. Like up-to-the-knee boots. Like maybe not every woman, but nearly. I think we estimated a reasonable 65%. And it would have for sure been over 85% if we took out women over 60 and the few ladies who were still clinging to their Tom's. Whoa! I started to look under the tables at our restaurant. OMG! They were in here too! Even the waitresses! Boot women have taken over the Short North! I started to laugh an internal maniacal laugh like in the movies where people are going crazy and they jerk their heads back and go, "HAHA-HA-HAAAA!!!"

Dave humored me with a chuckle at our analysis. He's a little more socially-savvy than I. I live under a rock. O.k., I don't  live under a rock, I just live on the outside of a rock placed in maybe a John Hughes film. Boots to me are Dr. Martens. Practical. Comfortable. Air-cushioned soles. And Jesus, they never go out of style.

Or so I thought.

Apparently I now need a pair of these goddamn boots that all of the ladies are wearing. I don't even know where to start. I know for sure that mine will not have heels. Fuck that! You can't make me wear your boots AND expect me to feel like I need crutches at the end of the evening. Here's another obstacle. All of these women are tucking their pants into their boots. Whaaaaaat??? What sort of magical pants are these? I won't do the skinny jeans. Fuck that too! I am 45 fucking years old. I am working my way toward a wardrobe of flow-y clothes, and I'm not about to go back to having my ladybits pinched just to stay fashionably current. I want to imagine that these ladies are wearing pants that stop just below the knee, and if they are not, I think there should be a market for that. I expect there to be an infomercial for pants made for these fucking boots.

I put off my boot dilemma for a bit while we watched the Julian Assange film with Benedict Cumberbatch. Screw the shitty reviews, I really liked this film. But I adore Benedict Cumberbatch. After the movie ended, we passed by the busy lobby filled predominately with Asian kids. I immediately looked at their shoes. Not one fucking knee boot. Not one. But I saw some of the coolest shoes of the whole evening. I am completely fascinated with what Asian kids wear. Is that racist? One time I asked my co-workers if it was racist to like a certain culture more than ours. They assured me that it was. I like to think that it's sort of not. Whatever.

Boots.

I really think boots should have a purpose. I'm pretty sure all of my shoes serve a purpose. Actually I think every stitch of clothing I own has a purpose. I go fucking crazytown with shit that you put on a mantle, but with clothing... I'm completely utilitarian. I have work gym-ers, casual gym-ers (which are also sometimes work gym-ers), warm shoes with wool shit inside, a couple of shoes to wear with skirts/dresses, and I've narrowed my Dr. Martens to one pair. Well, one shoe-pair, and one boot-pair. If I buy a pair of shoes, it's because something's happened to one of the others in the rotation. They take up a tiny amount of valuable closet space. Simple.

I'm not doing it. Screw those fucking boots.

Ladies, your feet have told me that they hate your boots. They understand that they make you feel pretty and confident, but they assure me that they will exact their revenge. Maybe it's via a sprained ankle, maybe it's via you walking around like you were punched in the knees by the end of an evening. Your boots have spoken. They think you need a pair of Dr. Martens. And that you need to watch anything with Benedict Cumberbatch in it! Who just so happens to look good in boots. But probably only has one pair. Maybe two if one happens to be waterproof.

Sunday, October 6, 2013

Shit-ken, I Mean Chicken

Not even fucking kidding. No color adjustment.

What the fuck happened? I used to bring shit to potlucks and plop it down to oohs and ahhs. Eager faces would wait by the door with forks at the ready. What did she bring? Is it curry? Is it some awesome Italian shit? Is it something from some country we've never even HEARD of? And that shit's fucking VEGAN? WTF??? Is she some sort of goddamn WIZARD?

Flash forward.

I have a bunch of stuff going on now and jobs and whatnot. If dinner isn't either made by my amazing husband or cobbled together from leftover leftovers then it usually looks a lot like a bowl of cereal. Or pizza in a box. Or beers.

Sometimes it bothers me about not cooking. I used to really get a kick out of it. Creating things everybody gets to experience AND be nourished by... it's sort of better than art-making. If I look at all of the art I've ever made and all of the food I've ever cooked and compared the positive-reaction-rate. Well, let's just say that food's historically been a much better bet for this girl.

Until recently.

I tell stories to my husband about how I was once a really good cook. I've had a couple of successes which make me at least not look like I'm completely crazytown. But maybe he sort of feels sorry for me and "goes along with it".  "Yeah, this is really tasty! I'm sure if I was into _________ then this would TOTALLY be something I could make a meal of." He puts some in a bowl. He is very nice.

And then I think, "I'll make chicken and dumplings!!! What human does not like chicken and dumplings?" I don't even add vegetables to my recipe because I want everyone to be able to add what they like. I like peas. Mine should have peas.

Fuhhhhhck!!!

A normal cook can make chicken and dumplings from chicken and shit they have in their pantry. Unless you're me and you somehow manage to make the most unattractive greenish-gray gunge that just happens to be made out of food. "Herbed" dumplings, I thought.

Indeed.

Why God? Is it because you're mad at me for eating chickens? You seemed to be into the squash soup I made two weeks ago. That went over well with two whole people. Maybe you have cursed me to never again make anything good unless it's vegetarian. There are whole parts of the bible where people eat the shit out of animals. Why me? Why can't I cook animals?

Oh, because I've never actually cooked animals. I've pretty much only cooked not-animals for almost all of my cooking life. Animals are literally a "different animal". It's actually a lot harder. They are like adding a whole different medium to an art piece. Like making an oil painting into a sculpture.

But you know what's good? Chicken wings. You can get them at the store or at the places that make wings.

"Please don't try this at home, Sharon."

"I won't."