I was just about to close my eyes for a few hours when I shot up out of bed and thought, NO! POST! Now that’s commitment.

So, what do I actually have to say? I have an early flight to Boston tomorrow, I’m not packed blah, blah, BLAH. OH GOOD GRIEF YOU HAVE HEARD THIS ALL BEFORE. What is it going to take for me to change? There has just got to be a support group for procrastinators out there. Insert joke about how I’d go eventually. Just like I’ll someday read the book on breaking such habits that I acquired at least 5 years ago. It’s called It’s Hard to Make a Difference When You Can’t Find Your Keys. I got through about ten pages and if you know me you know that I grunt, “Where the FUCK are my keys?” a good ten times a day. So obviously that worked out well.

 

*HAH! LATER! I’LL DO IT LATER! GET IT? Sigh.

I was considering a HEY I LOVE THIS STUFF list post, but right now I can only focus on one thing.

 

 

Yum.

That’s Essie’s Mint Candy Apple nail polish. So. Much. Love. I have it on my fingernails right now and while I wish I still had a tan to make it pop a bit more, I got several compliments today. Regularly it’s probably more suited for the pedicure rotation, but I just couldn’t help myself after buying it yesterday.

 

I literally stalked Ulta for this color. Did you know that, like books, movies and albums, nail polishes have release dates? Well, they do. I first saw this shade in what was probably an issue of Glamour, and had been hunting for a mint green polish since. All of the other lines had greens that were too metallic or downright garish. I poked around on Essie’s website and found that they were the only company who could give me what I was looking for. (This was actually rather pleasing since the last two pedicures I got were done at different salons but both were with Essie polish and they lasted OVER four weeks. SCORE.) The color is from their winter line (again- didn’t know nail polishes had seasonal lines) and I set out to get it immediately. After stopping by Ulta(s) and not finding it, I finally asked an employee and he told me it would be out next (this) week and that Essie was VERY strict about when stores were allowed to release their new colors.

 

You’d better believe that I scooped some up this week. And it was totally worth the wait. And if you think my taste is incredibly tacky, check out the rest of the winter line anyway- and the whole site at that. If you have a thing for products, it will be right up your ally.

 

I’m also loving low side ponytails, earrings, and planning Christmas dinner right now, but I’ll save all of that for another day.

 

This girl has been wearing heels for years. In fact from 1997-2001 I wore them most days of the school year. It’s just what you do when you wear a Catholic school uniform. And when you’re only 5′3”. The bottom line is that I’m pretty good at the whole high heel thing. I can keep them on through a night out in the city and until the end of a formal event. I can navigate the often treacherous cobblestones of Boston, keep my footing on the subway, and negotiate slippery, slushy winter streets. I’ll even go as far to say that I could probably beat Sarah Jessica Parker in a stiletto foot race. Yeah. I went there.

That being said, I’ve definitely met some fancy shoes I haven’t liked. Maybe the cushioning under the ball of the foot wasn’t that great. They may have rubbed my heel or the side of my foot in just the wrong way. Or, the worst, they may have been strappy sandals that were a bit too narrow causing my pinky toes to sneak out the sides. But I adapt! That’s why god made insoles, blister block, band-aids, New Skin, and Scotch tape. But with all of that aside, I’ve never met a high heel I could not walk in. Ever.

Until now:

Please stop taunting me.

I found these super elegant, bejeweled peep toes at DSW today. I knew immediately that they’d compliment the black dress I’m wearing to a wedding next week along with a dozen other outfits in my closet. They’re sturdy and well made and just so PRETTY- and IMPOSSIBLE to walk in. No, really. I put them on and squealed a little because I liked them so much. They had great height and that perfect angle that ups the leg/bum sexiness like a good high heel should. I took a step towards the little floor mirrors to inspect them closer and – WHOA. Stumble city. I looked around to see if anyone noticed and then gave it another try. I damn near wiped out. With every step I took the back of the shoe would slip off the second I shifted my weight the tiniest bit forward. The only way to stay  upright and keep the shoes on my feet was to sit back on my heels. Way back. Unnaturally far back. And as any seasoned high heel wearer knows, the second things start to feel unnatural and uncomfortable it looks that way, and you’ll quickly be mistaken for a little girl playing dress up in Mommy’s closet. Not ladylike. Not sexy. Just awkward.

I put the shoes back in their box but didn’t pick out another pair. I’m not quite ready to admit defeat. Maybe I need to try to go down a size. My balance could have been a little off kilter today. Or maybe I’m just blinded by the pretty. So. Pretty!

 

*I may have to reevaluate our friendship if you don’t get the reference.

 

I think I'm masking the slight terror quite well, thank you.

Photo courtesy of Miss Victoria Welch.

 

“That plane is uncomfortably close.”
“WHAT?”
“Shoot.”

I am nine days shy of having lived in Chicago for nine months. I feel like that’s the amount of time hedging the resident label as opposed to new gal/tourist/wide-eyed wanderer. In fact, I’ve felt like that for a few months now. I feel as though I should know all of the landmarks, recognize and use the local slang, and be able to confidently give directions to strangers on the street. Not to mention that by now I definitely should have dropped my affinity for a ketchup drenched hot dog. This is why I thought my window of time on things like the Willis (Sears!) Tower Sky Deck had expired. This probably stems from years of mocking the tourists ambling through the historical sites of Boston and gaping up at the lights of Times Square. But, let’s face it, I love the Freedom Trail as much as the next history nerd, and let’s not even discuss my relationship with bright and shiny distractions. My feelings toward the view of the Windy City from 103 stories up were no different.

Vickie and I spent well over 90 minutes sussing out the exact locations of the local ball parks, museums, and various other landmarks (my theater) from 1,354 feet and we had a damn good dorky time while doing it. We have the photos to prove it as well as the classic shots of both of us in front of the sprawling city and out on The Ledge. I really can’t believe that if I didn’t have a first time visitor in town my ego might have caused me to miss out on all of that. And you know what? While googling the exact height of the Sky Deck I learned that it’s been named one of the seven wonders of Chicago. Now I know better than to even think of missing the rest.

And nine months? Really? It’s high time I change my Brita water filter.

I could not possibly be more exhausted right now.

The photo below is the only one from the race today that is in my posession, but I assure you that my face mirrored the excitement of Vickie’s. Just mentally Photoshop some brown hair on her and give her a super sexy cough. That should give you the idea.

I may have been bittten by the racing bug.

Supposedly I’m going to write every day for a month. Here. 31 days in a row.

Right now I’m exhausted. Once again I’ve left laundry/packing to the last minute along with a slew of work. The NaBloPoMo theme for October is “haunted” and I wasn’t going to go with it but HELLO, PROCRASTINATION. YOU ARE THE MONSTER UNDER MY BED.

Anyway. This will only work out if I have wireless in Aruba. That would be mighty fine. And I suppose I have to live through carting my far too large bag all over creation. It’s one of those 29″ suitcases that I got for a ridiculous deal at Marshalls. Usually I pride myself on being able to pack lightly, but after doing Ireland/Paris with just my backpack and Italy with my teensy carry on I really wanted the luxury of just throwing whatever I wanted into a bag without worrying if it was worth the space. And it’s PRETTY! And RED! And a terrible idea.

But it’s too late now. Not only is it here and in my living room, but it’s now full of my summer dresses and almost every pair of underwear I own. BECAUSE YOU NEVER KNOW.

I may miss my flight tomorrow if I wound up pinned under the weight of my bag in a train station on the way to Midway, but at least when I go to the emergency room I’ll definitely have clean underpants.

I’m off to Italy for ten days! It is high time for a sister reunion!

Dear Red Sox,

It’s lovely to see your faces here in the midwest. Really, it is. It’s just the slice of home that my half-settled Chicago apartment needs. And I actually appreciate the hour I’ve gained on your west coast games. But 2-6? That is not the kind of season I paid $169 to see. Step it up. 

xoxo

You know how I know it was a good birthday? Half-way through the festivities I discovered that the driver’s side window of my car had been smashed in by some hopeful (and subsequently disappointed) GPS hunter, and I didn’t really care. That’s just what some excellent company and a steady stream of pancakes, cheese, cupcakes and beer topped with seventy degree weather will do to a girl. 

On top of all that, I was flooded with love in the form of texts, voice mails, and Facebook messages. Steve Jobs even gave me a present: Hello, iPhone 3.0 preview! For me, Apple? MMS? I’d be lying if I said you shouldn’t have.