Foot Fetish

Warning: this posting may be a bit TMI about my feet. Feel free to read or not read. But if you do, be prepared. Nighmares may ensue.

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I have decided to train for the Little Rock half-marathon. But before I subject my feet to another round of pavement-pounding punishment, I decided to go see a podiatrist to help mitigate my foot problems. And a whole lot of problems there are--my feet are flat as pancakes and wide as a Winnebago. Worst of all, I've got bunions so large that K is convinced that they've got heartbeats of their own.

So, there I was at the podiatrist's office, sitting with my shoes and socks off when the doctor walked in. After he shook my hand and introduced himself, he looked over my feet and promptly exclaimed, "WOW! Look at these bunions! Goodness, they're huge! Do they hurt?"

Me: "Umm...not really."
Doc: "Well those are really something else. They look like they should hurt."

Jeeze, thanks, Doc. Without bunions, you wouldn't be in business, buddy.

As the doctor started pulling my feet this way and that,  I noticed that he was not wearing any gloves. How gross. I can't imagine having to touch other people's sweaty, stinky feet all day long. And that's when I remembered that I had just shaken his hand, which meant that unless he had washed his hands before seeing me, I probably now had a half-a-dozen sets of foot funk doing the happy dance on my right palm.

And then the good doctor does something unimaginable. He gets an itch, and the fingers that had moments before kneaded my feet started inching towards his left eye.

Holy crap. Don't do it, man.

Yet his hand continued to move up, until it reached under his glasses and there he was, scratching and rubbing his foot-funked fingers across his eyelids.

Sweet Baby Jesus. I am simultaneously fascinated and skeeved out.

The rest of the visit was uneventful. After I was measured for my orthotics, I went off on my merry little way to the nearby bathroom, where I fervently scrubbed the funk off of my hands.

Wardrobe malfunction

I had the unfortunate experience of flashing my baby belly to an entire plane last week as I was flying back into Little Rock.

It’s gotten hard for me to sit still for longer than 30 minutes at a time, so after the takeoff, I stood up to go the bathroom. As I was making my way back to my seat, I saw that the flight attendant was serving drinks, so I patiently waited, reaching up for the overhead area to steady myself. I was perfectly content; I was sick of sitting, and it felt good to stretch out my back. I saw a few people look up at me, break into a smirk, and just as quickly look down. “Assholes…it’s as if you’ve never seen a pregnant lady before”, I think. And then I felt a bit of a draft on my mid-section. I glanced down and to my horror, I saw that my shirt had decided to creep its way up, and the belly band on my maternity pants decided to roll down toward the bottom of my belly. Fully exposed was my preggo mound—I could’ve charged people for a lucky rub of my big, Buddha belly.

My face burning, I quickly pulled my shirt down, and did my walk of shame down the aisle to my seat. The guy next to me looked up, smiled, and said brightly: “So, you’re having a boy or a girl?”

Penguins and Opposable Thumbs

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GUEST POST FROM K.
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EB: Why don’t penguins live in the city?

K: Because they can't afford apartments.

EB: Why can't they afford apartments?

K: Because they don’t have any money.

EB: Why don’t they have any money?

K: Because they don’t have jobs.

EB: Why don’t they have jobs?

K: Because they don’t have opposable thumbs.

EB: Why don't they have opposable thumbs?

K: Because they have flippers.

EB: Why do they have flippers?

K: Because God made every creature unique.

EB: Why did God make creatures unique?

K: Because God loves us.

EB: Daddy?

K: Yes, EB.

EB: Can I have chocolate milk when we get home?

K: Yes, EB.

Random stuff from my visit to NYC

I was in New York City for work last week, and stayed at The Club Quarter Hotel in downtown Manhattan. The hotel was nice, business-oriented and clean. However, there were two drawbacks: (1) My room directly overlooked the old World Trade Center site—a bit creepy and very sad; (2) They stuck me on the 14th floor. There's nothing wrong with the number 14, but there's plenty wrong with the number 4, if you are Chinese. This ominous number symbolizes death in the Chinese culture, so between the view and the location of the room, I almost requested a room change.

But...I ended up getting distracted by the water unit that was right outside of my room. It was a purified water unit with a rack of empty plastic bottles for the guests to fill up and take to their room. Pretty cool and convenient. But, I wondered if these bottles were actually clean. Do they re-use these bottles, and even if they don’t, what’s to keep the other folks from putting their dirty bottle in amongst the clean ones? While I liked having access to clean drinking water without having to pay the rip-off fee of $4/hotel-room bottle, I couldn't get over the fact that I could be drinking out of someone else’s saliva/germ-filled water bottle. The solution? I used my own bottle that I had brought with me on the trip. Here’s to thinking ahead.

Are the bottles clean? Dirty? No one will ever know...

Every time I’m back in the City, I realize how much I miss its energy and its different neighborhoods. And the food. Over a dinner meeting, a co-worker mentioned that the downside of living in NYC is the cost of living and the cost of food. The latter puzzled me, because when I lived in NYC, I was always able to find great food for less than $20. To be fair, I did not dine in expensive, see-or-be-seen restaurants. Rather, I loved going to different ethnic neighborhoods and eating at a little hole in the wall where the focus is not on the atmosphere but rather, on making their food well. I didn't have a lot of time this trip, but I did manage to stop in at a Japanese noddle shop for a nice bowl of Udon ($5.75), and swing by Chinatown for some of their pastries (two for less than $5). I was in heaven.

Doppelganger

Being a relatively new blogger, I am fascinated by the vast network of writers out there, brought together by their desire to express their views and share glimpses into their personal lives. They devour and comment on one another’s blogs—sometimes lending a sympathetic ear, other times, poking fun at the author.

So, you can imagine my amusement when K and I became fodder for one of the bloggers I follow. His name is Neil, and I’ve been reading his blog for a few months, enjoying his wit and self-deprecating sense of humor. A few weeks ago, I was reading one of his postings and noticed that he had included a close-up shot of himself. His resemblance to K made my jaw drop; it was so uncanny that I made K pose next to his picture.

This prompted me to reach out to Neil. I'm generally not very forward, but it’s not everyday that you find someone that looks like your hubby. So, I wrote Neil and told him exactly that. He wrote me back, asking me if he can post it in his blog. I said sure, why not. So he did.

Here’s an excerpt from his blog:
 

*****

I received an email from a complete stranger this morning. I was wary of opening it, thinking it might be spam, but something drew me into clicking on the link.

It was from a woman named Twirly:

Hi Neil:
I stumbled upon your blog a few months back, and have been immensely enjoying it. I generally don’t reach out to bloggers out of the blue, but I saw your blog posting and I had to email you to let you know that my hubby is your doppelganger. See a picture of him, next to your photo. Crazy, no? He dressed up as you for Halloween.


And, the similarity does not stop here. He used to live in NYC (the last place of residence was in Queens), and he was a copywriter. Anyway, hope you’re not freaked out by my email; it’s not every day that you find someone that looks like you. Keep up your writing, and happy holidays.


Twirly




At first, I wasn’t even sure if this was from a real person. Or whether I should be freaked out. But it was a real person. And she seemed normal enough. So, I responded back to my new friend.



Dear Twirly,


Thank you for you lovely note. No one has ever dressed up as me for Halloween, so please thank your husband. This is a great honor. And I must admit, that your husband is a very attractive fellow.


Thanks!
Neil

***
 
Such a nice note! Alas, his readers, equally witty and caustic, smelled blood. They circled the prey, and attacked with their comments:
 
"Wow, I think he looks a LOT like you! Just a little older, I’m guessing, and the wrong color eyes. You should definitely meet and pose for pix together."


"At least now you know that if you gain 10 or 15 pounds you’ll still be a charmer."

 
"That dude looks NOTHING like you. He looks more like the dude in Citizen X." (In case you're wondering what Citizen X is, it's a movie about some Russian serial-killer. I know because I looked it up.)

So in the course of just a few posts, they managed to call my beloved K fat, old, and a dead-ringer for some homicidal Russian maniac.


And here is my all-time favorite comment:
 
Just the fact that her husband dressed up as you for Halloween (Where did they go? Did anyone there even know who you are? Was it a sex thing?) is enough to make my creep-o-meter go to 11.


Suffice to say, the commenter quoted above was off. Way off. 'Nuff said.

K, I'm sure it's nice to know that you are famous for being an old, semi-fat Russian serial-killer with a dress-up fetish.

Sarah and Sandra

Sometimes my conversations with K are random and utterly pointless -- just like many of my blog postings. Here's an example of a recent random, pointless conversation that's materialized into yet another random, pointless blog posting.


Me: "They had a segment about Sarah Bernhardt on NPR today. They were talking about how she died, and at first I thought they were talking about Sandra Bernhard. Can you imagine? I thought Sandra Bernhard had died."

If Sandra Bullock &
Sandra Bernhard had a love child...

K (over the sound of the dishwasher): "Sandra Bernhard is dead?"

Me: "No, Sarah Bernhardt."

K: "You mean the silent film actress?"

Me: "Yeah, I guess so. Sarah Bernhardt and Sandra Bernhard--easy to mix up."

K: "It's easy to mix up Sarah Bernhardt, Sandra Bernhard and Sandra Bullock."

Me: "Yep. You think one of them would've changed her name or something, to limit confusion."

K: "So...she didn't die then?"

Me: "Who, Sandra Bullock?"

K: "No, Sarah Bernhardt."

Me: "Wait, is that the comedian or the silent film actress? I'm all confused now."

K: "The comedian."

Me: "Oh. No. I guess not."

Things I learn during my commute

My commute to/from work generally takes about 30 minutes each way, and I actually kind of enjoy it. It gives me time to decompress and catch up on all the important news and info, like the ones I picked up during my drive home last night.

1. The launch of the Kardashian Kard. Kardashian sisters just announced the launch of their own prepaid MasterCard. In just a few short days, you can start carry around their faces in your wallet--OMG!--all Kardashians, all the time! And, as a bonus, you can store up to $750,000 on the Kard. Not sure if that’s enough for me, but it will do for now.

2. The metrosexual look is out, rugged manly-man look is in. I was curious as to what they meant by "rugged," so I checked out the Marketplace Website and here are a couple of their favorite "rugged" looks:

I’ve gotta say, when I think of rugged, I think of grubby jeans, flannel over white undershirt and a pair of work boots. This is more metrosexual-wannabe-rugged. The maize colored v-neck on the left is waayyy too carefully coordinated with the cornflower blue under shift. And the guy on the right…just look at the gold detail on his belt.


And finally, I learned the most important lesson of all from a bumper sticker on the car ahead of me:

3. “Give kids hugs, not drugs.” Well then. I'll be sure to keep that in mind with EB.

So you see, you learn something new every day.

Little things that make me happy

As I was pulling out of my driveway yesterday morning, I saw a big, orange hot air balloon, floating over the neighborhood, getting ready to touch down. It was beautiful.

I followed the balloon, windows rolled down, head sticking out, almost causing an accident or two in the process. But I didn’t care; I found myself grinning ear-to-ear. There’s something magical and special about hot air balloons, I suppose because the only ones I’ve ever seen are those in the movies. In a childish way, I imagined the balloon landing down near me. The balloon pilot would invite me to go around the world or go visit some imaginary place.


I followed it for about a quarter of a mile before it disappeared behind the trees. Sometimes its little things like this that makes me happy.

Fashion Statement

Even at her young age, EB has developed a particular taste when it comes to fashion. She does not like to wear anything with buttons (too constricting) and dislikes jeans (soooo 80's!). And, she has a penchant for matching stripes with flowers and layering bold colors from different points of the color wheel.

Folks at her previous daycare dubbed EB "Punky Brewster" for her fabulously loud, layered outfits. I prefer to think of her as a fashion maven. As a case in point, Louis Vuitton paraded big, bold colors down its catwalk in his showing of Spring 2011 collection. Pfftt. EB had predicted this trend months ago.

EB Spring 2010 Collection

LV Spring 2011 Collection
(courtesy of Vogue.com)

And apparently, mis-matched patterns will be all the rage next year, as showcased by my little girl and the glam model.
Look out, Vera Wang.

Glam model favors black
stripes with
orange spotted pants

EB favors flowered print
with orange striped pants

Cranky

I've been feeling rather cranky this week, so this will be a crotchety post about my top pet peeves. So here we go:

Elevator talk.
I generally prefer the stairs to elevators because I. Hate. Elevator. Talk. This is how it goes each time, without fail.
Random person: "Hi."
Me: "Hi."
(silence)
Random person: "Phhew. Another busy day."
Me: "Yes. Ugh. But at least it's Tuesday." (Or replace with "Wednesday" or "Thursday." If it's a Monday, I roll my eyes and say: "I knoww…and it's only Monday." Or if it's a Friday: "Yes! But at least it's Friday!")
Random person: "Yup, better than Monday." (Or if it's Monday: "Well it's almost over." Or if it's a Friday: "Yes, thank God.")
Me: "Yup."
(silence)

And speaking of days of the week...

Facebook status updates that mainly talk about days of the week. 

You are guilty of this offense if two of your last five status updates include the following: "Ugh, Monday", "Got over the hump", "One more day till Friday!" or "TGIF!" I know what day of the week it is, no need to inform me (or everyone else for that matter). You know who you are, so just cut it out. Please.

Multiple question marks and/or exclamation points 

Ever get emails/instant messages with a lot of these??????? It really irritates me!!!!!!!!! And when folks mix things up a bit with ???!!!???!!! I take cover, because I'm convinced that they're about to jump out of the computer and clobber me, so crazy and angry they sound.

More than two bumper stickers on your car.

For some reason I always find myself driving behind people who like to make lots of statements. One or two bumper sticker is fine, but I don't need to know your political affiliation, that your kid is in the honor roll, your favorite basketball, football, roller derby team, that you ran 26.2 miles, 13.1 miles, 1.37 miles and the five different causes you promote. I know you're an interesting person, but for the sake of all that's good, please find a different avenue to share your passions.

That is all. The end.