Bubbles and poo, not poo bubbles.

If you have a weak stomach, or if you see me at work and don't want to flinch when you see me, I do not recommend reading this post. It's about poo, because poo is funny. So are farts, or bubbles as I prefer to call them. 

I won't bother writing about how all girls poo and fart, even VS models. (probably more so, considering their veggie intake..)

I will start with the bubbles. I don't fart, I get bubble. Boys fart. I confess I am a gassy beast. I try not to drink soda, for this reason. If I have soda, there is a time limit on my social activities for that day. Soda means: in 45 min I better be somewhere with large noisy crowds or completely alone. I swell up like Vercua Salt, pinch my ass cheeks together and pray. All hope is abandoned if I am wearing my Industrial Spanks that day. 

(for male reader, Spanks are those hideous underwear shorts "curvy" girls like myself, wear under clothes to appear thin) 

There are multiple levels of Spanks. I have regular Spanks that just put my rolls in an order that looks more like an hour glass and less like Mulholland Drive. I also have INDUSTRIAL SPANKS, these bad boys are like shrink wrap for fat. They hold fat in ways that make my body lie to you when I'm in a dress. Luckily, I am blessed with a fiance' who likes my body. This is essential. If you meet a guy, and you are wearing I.S.'s and it progresses to the bedroom he is in for a surprise. He will learn two things, 1. That's not what your body looks like. 2. Those are the most horrible looking under clothes in the world. 

Girls know you have can look good with clothes on, or you can look good with clothes off. These two side shall never meet if you are more than a size 6. 

Industrial Spanks should be given to every female on her 21st birthday. I love them. Unless, I have recently consumed some carbonated beverage or something in cabbage family. If this is the case, the Spanks will show you the error of your ways. They will bind your stomach into a Gordian Knot. You now have the combination of a stomach being constricted, if you sit it all the air gets pushed down. You have just funneled  the gas into your lower bowel area. Added bonus. The Spanks are so tight trying to keep your ass jiggle in line, that it holds your butt cheeks together. If you think you are going to let out a delicate tiny squeaker bubble, it will turn into a horrendous ass clapping cacophony of mortifying proportions. 

Anyone who has worked in a service industry has perfected the art of the Drive-by Fart. Or, as some like to call it, The Crop Dusting. We have all done it, if you wait on tables, you probably do it to the table of Camels who need a new drink every 4 min. If you work in sales, you probably go "check a price tag" and walk away. You can wait for some unsuspecting customer to walk into that fetid storm cloud. Ideally you should position yourself in an area where you can watch them react to it. It is all fun and games, until a customer strikes back, when that happens we all get offended. 

I have had to come to grips with the fact that when I get stressed out, I don't have some healthy or cute method for dealing with it. My stomach feels that the only appropriate method for dealing with stress, is to produce cramps the likes of which you have never seen before. Usually I get a warning before this happens. It's like a count down. My stomach starts to make weird noises. This usually means you have about 15 min. to find a toilet before your bowls boom like Pompeii. This moment is the stress poo's. They suck. I ate Tums like candy during college to no avail.

They are not the as bad as what I like to refer to as the NINJA Poo's. 

Ninja poo's come out of fucking NO WHERE. You sitting on the couch watching TV, reading on the computer, and painting your toenails and of the sudden BAM! NINJA ATTACK!!!  You end up sprinting to the bathroom wishing you hadn't decided to tie your sleep pants in a double knot. When you are at home, it's not too bad. Unless you are attempting to be seductive to your significant other. There is nothing worse than getting hot and heavy, and having a moment of sheer panic. You know what's about to happen and there is no way to nonchalantly sauntering off for 15 min without explanation. You wish for death.

 

When the Ninja poo combines with Ass rain, you can just kiss that day goodbye. At that point, you know better than to trust ANYTHING  that feels like a bubble.REPEAT DO NOT TRUST THE FART IT IS A LIE. Just grab a box of baby wipes and some Gatorade, it is going to be a long day. Give up on regular toilet paper, your pooper will be so chapped at the end of the day, it will feel like you spent the day doing the doggy ass drag across hot coals laying in a bed of needles. This should only happen rarely, if not you should see a doctor. 

With that, I leave you horrified. Enjoy your day. 

I suck at this

I mentioned in my last post that I was going to start practicing Jujitsu again. I had a brief foray into the sport during college.

My initial experience with Jujitsu was not terribly positive. I was in a huge class with one instructor who was so old his last bowel movement probably looked like sand storm. All of the "belted" assistants resembled the sad kids at the comic book conventions. This was their little world and, by god, they were going to lord their superior status over you.

 I question how a kid who is so over weight he hasn't seen his penis in the last decade, managed to rank as a black belt. If you can't make it 3 solid laps around the mat, you aren't going to survive in a real fight.

Most of them were an odd collection of social misfits who were using the class as some type of fucked up dating game. As if showing a girl the proper technique for repelling a rapist is an excellent opening for some horrible pickup line. (pro tip: IT'S NOT!) Call me crazy, but pretending to be a pervert rapist, while looking like a pervert rapist, is not an aphrodisiac especially if the look on your face is a little too convincing.

Most of the classes were spent watching other people perform various moves and trying to learn the Japanese term for some hold that looked just like that last hold but you moved your ass to the left this time. Clearly I absorbed this knowledge like a sponge.

Ultimately I did glean a certain respect and fascination for the sport. I had researched various clubs that offered classes in my area. The prices were retarded high so I was never really able to get back into it until now.

Sean and I were driving around looking for a pet store ( I like to pet puppies when I am depressed, it's cheaper than therapy, don't judge me) and I noticed that what was previously an empty space in a local strip mall (note: this strip mall actually has a Strip Club two spaced down!) was now occupied by a Martial Arts Dojo. On a whim, I stopped in and met the instructor. We set up a practice evaluation for the next day and I was on my way. The Dojo was clean and had the familiar stink of sweat and mat cleaner. The instructor seemed pretty laid back, no roid-rage eye twitch or pulsing forehead vein that some Martial Arts guys have down here.

I came back the next day and was evaluated by an assistant and I ended up signing up for classes the next day.   I quickly realized how impressively out of shape I am, and how very immature my mind is. There is something awkward about having your thighs wrapped around a stranger’s torso, and trying to perform a choke hold you only vaguely remember learning about 4 years ago, and having said stranger try to encourage the move by yelling, "CHOKE ME, THAT'S IT! CHOKE ME! TIGHTER! GOOD!!!". Mentally, I was saying, "are you fucking kidding me? How am I supposed to concentrate when you are yelling at me like some horny masochist?" I was also telling myself to get a grip and dear god, DO NOT LAUGH!

I eventually got my shit together and was able to lock down the giggles.

The second day of class, I was covered in bruises and had no skin on my knees. But, I was back and looking forward to class. They actually allowed me to spar with other people for a short while. We were supposed to be practicing the moves we had just learned, and I was focused, that is, until someone used a move on me that looked more like a drive by tea bagging than any type of hold. Though I wouldn't know; I was too distracted by the stench of someone’s swamp-nut to notice if they actually did anything. It occurred to me at some point that night that I was paying to get my ass kicked and to have ball juice smeared on me.

I still can't decide which is worse, that I am paying for it or that I really still enjoy it.

So far I have learned:

I can do possibly 3 moves.

I have found out that a kid that weighs 130lbs. can spider monkey climb up my torso and kick my ass in under 3 min.

Double weave Gi's are designed to make you sweat to death, when they aren't choking you against your will.

There is something wrong with my brain that makes it impossible for me to grapple at anything less than 90% intensity.

I cannot regenerate skin fast enough. My knees look like a rookie hookers after her first night.

been a while :-/

Alright, I'm updating. I was worried that I would start blogging and it would get all sad or unfunny. So in the  immortal words of Neil Patrick Harris "..I stop being sad, and be awesome instead.."

Stuff that has happened since I last updated: 

1. I got engaged! woohoo! 

2. I finally moved out of my parents house and in with my new FIANCE

3. I am no longer working the SUCK shift and have been granted access to the daylight hours. I tip my hat to my bosses for that little life gem. Yay, human interaction. 

4. I went on my first grown up cruise. It was awesome. 

5. I'm planning a wedding. It sucks, the TV lies. 

6. I have been diagnosed and medicated for Adult ADD. Adderal is the shit, and totally life changing. 

7. I managed to lose like, 20 lbs, a while back and I have kept almost all of it off. 

8. Starting tomorrow I will begin jujitsu training again. I will most likely be getting my ass kicked by 8 year old children. 

9. I lost a wonderful friend in a horrible motorcycle accident. It only makes me more worried about my friends who ride. 

10. I have recently felt like a total motherfuck'n bad ass because I learned a skill that few people have. No, it does not have anything to do with sex or body functions.

What I have learned from these experiences:
(1) Getting engaged is nothing like the movies. It is much better, and much funnier. I should publicly apologize to Sean for ruining his plan. I may have over slept... and started a domino effect of awesome fails. It was perfect and hilarious.

(2) You cannot hide your crazy from someone you are living with. Things that you may not EVER want another person to see or know are totally going to still happen. And now you have a witness. If you are lucky, they too will be hiding some weird habit or quirk they had hoped no one would ever see. You also have to deal with someone who does everything completely differently from you. I have learned that you can deal with this in one or two ways.
        a. you can learn to adjust and find out which way is the most effective, and adapt to the new method.
or
        b. you can stab them to death for DOING IT WRONG!!!!
I suggest option (a)

(3) Day shift is awesome compared to the long and very lonely overnight shifts. Your brain goes to some fucked up places when you don't have many other people to distract you. I had forgotten how absolutely bat shit crazy customers can be. It's like herding sheep (really horribly dressed, intellectually devoid, sheep) , but every now and then, one of those sheep turns into a homicidal zombie sheep that is hell bent on fucking up your day. I am not saying that the customers are homicidal killers, though some are questionable. It is more like they are harmless herd animals who randomly lose their fucking minds and attempt to injure you in some feckless way, that only makes them look like an asshole and you befuddled at their unnecessary aggression. IT'S FUCKING FURNITURE PEOPLE!

(4) Cruises are awesome. The water in the Bahamas is fucking cold. Two days is not nearly enough time for a cruise.

(5) TLC can kiss my ass. I use to watch every wedding show that they put on. At no point do they warn you that planning a wedding is horrible. Go try on beautiful dresses they say, you are a princess they say. NO!! THAT'S A LIE YOU WILL LOOK LIKE A FUCKING COW WITH A SPOT DEFICIENCY. Until you finally find that dress that is the perfect combination of making you look thin and not like a whore in church.
What ingenious asshole looked at a chair and went, "you know what, I bet we can get these stupid bitches to pay money to put a fitted sheet on that chair.." NOT TODAY FUCK FACE!! I'M NOT FALLING FOR IT!!! My guests can sit their asses on the chair. It does not need a chair condom. The reception site is clean. We had it tested. It will feel better without it anyway. 

(6) I have always suspected that my brain did not function in the same manner as those around me. I could never figure out how anyone could sit through an entire TV show and not have to do 20 different things at the same time. I did think it was weird that I could never get a entire story out, without side tracking and eventually forgetting my point. So I went to a doctor. She told me they have a name for my crazy. She then told me to take some pills. Those pills changed my life. My brain feels like a laser beam. It. IS. AWESOME. I found motivations, direction, and a slight case of OCD that allows me to only let the house stay in disarray for about 2 days before I clean the hell out of it.

(7) yeah, I lost some weight. Still working on it. See #8

(8) Soo excited to start Jujitsu training again. I haven't trained since '09. Which puts be right about at the level of a your average 8 year old who watches to much WWE. I am hoping to shed my last several pounds by getting my ass kicked.

(9) I can't talk about this yet.

(10) I am a fucking Jedi.

Lessons Learned

Things I have recently learned.

Lesson 1.

If you are carrying a cup by only holding the outer rim.. and it is filled with molten lava hot water... you will drop it trying to open a door.

Lesson 2.

If you go back and try and carry yet another cup of Magma, and this time think you have out smarted the cup, you haven't. Even if you wrap the cup with napkins ,you will still spill the scolding HOT CUP OF DEATH all over your hand... It will only hurt slightly at first but the pain will intensify to a degree you had no comprehension of until that moment. It will also blister.

Lesson 3.

Mopping two cups of water off the floor, while your dominate hand is slowly shriveling into a flipper, is very difficult.

Lesson 4.

Burn gel LIES!
 
Lesson 5.
 
As the safety, security and FIRST AID person at your job... you can not wrap yourself up with any dignity.
 
Lesson 6.
You can NEVER tell your coworkers or fill out a Workman's comp form. Your all male coworkers probably won't ever let you forget your hurt yourself. They will probably find the video and replay it constantly while ridiculing you. (I did not do any of these.. I had fore site.)
 
Trying to explain to your boyfriend that you don't continuously injure yourself on purpose will not work. He knows you are walking train wreck and will threaten to take out life and limb insurance policies out on you.
 

Terror

I wouldn't say that I scare easily. But there are a few things in this world that will send me screaming. Mostly, these fears:
1. consist of crunchy flying nature that has a habit of using my retinas as a landing zone.
2. Lightning, because it kills people, often.
3.Commitment, was on this list before I met the love of my life (and I even ran screaming from him a few times.) Good thing he has a tight grip and the patience of Job.
As you can see, I'm what some might think of as a "late bloomer" to the mature adult world. I still read the comics in the paper first, I live at home, it took me a long time to get out of college and I still don't have a "real job".
My biggest fear...
The one that sends me running and hiding under the covers, rocking back and forth in a fit of tears, is money. I hate dealing with money. I hate dealing with anything related to money. I pay my bills and have occasional impulse buying streaks. (I have recently curbed the impulsive trend and I feel better for it.)
I admit that I have never been great at handling money. I have already explained to The Man, who still seems to want to keep me, that he will be the financial planner of our future family. He accepts this! Thank god he has a head for it.
I can't buy any non-essential item without getting a case of buyers guilt. I don't make much money, so when I have surplus I end up spending it on things I "needed" instead of saving it. Please don't misunderstand me, my bills are paid, I have one credit card that will have a zero balance in two weeks and I have a few hundred bucks in savings. So its not like I'm drowning in debt. I just have trouble padding the coffers. I know I need to save and I need to stop spending money on frivolous things. So far last month I did an excellent job at that. But it is hard to tell yourself "No! you do NOT need anything.."
 I live at home and pay a decent amount of rent to get yelled at on a daily basis. This situation has backfired on me in the savings department. You would think that I would be able to save more money because I live at home. Instead, I feel comfortable at home and I know that it's always going to be there. This results in me not feeling the need to save up. Keep this is mind as you read below.
I had mentioned to my father that I might be more motivated to save money if I was on my own and not leaning on their love crutch (that sounded waaaay pervy.. I did not mean it that way... get your mind out of the gutter). He suggested that I save up about $2000 and just go buy a condo or house. Que me running and screaming like my hair is on fire and I'm being attacked by a rabid pack of honey badgers.
 $2000 might not seem like much money to you, but to me that's a huge amount of money to spend on something. Its not the savings that bothers me. Its the idea that I will, at some point, write a check... hand it to someone... and then it will be gone. POOF! gone. $2000 no longer in your possession. Here's a house and a mortgage that you are now going to have to pay for the NEXT 30 YEARS!!, and some taxes that you didn't even know existed. BTW: YOU ARE NOW AN ADULT!! GROW UP!
My response sounds a lot like Scooby Doo.
At first this seems like an doable experience. I researched and realized it was cheaper to put 10% or 20% down on a house, then it is to rent an apartment, or buy a much smaller condo. Eventually, the thought of that much responsibility and the fear that I might somehow screw it up, sent me into a mild panic attack that started with me hiding in my room and ended with me crying hysterically alone in the dark. (Did I mention hiding under the covers in the judgemental gaze of several generations of teddy bears?)
 In the near future, I expect that I will need to come up with money to pay for: the GRE, Masters level college courses, a house of some form, and probably a wedding. All of this and I make.. Drum roll please: $12.97 an hour.  Yes, I could easily start applying to real jobs, that I actually want to do. But the confidence I had in myself in the area was pwnd pretty hard last year. I'm still trying to improve myself enough that I feel worthy to start again. I never want to have someone shake my self confidence that much, ever again. I recognize that it would solve all of my problems if I would just step up. But! I don't think I am ready yet. So hear I am, shaking in my boots and thinking of buying a freaking house!
Honestly, I feel like handing me the keys to a house is like locking a pack of hyper 5th graders in toy store for the night with a crate of pixi stix. Its just not going to end well. At the very least I would question their sanity.
On paper I seem like a decent choice for a home owner. I am in a stable relationship. I have a very secure job. I have a back up job. I have savings (kinda) and great credit (just not much of it). I know how to: remodel interiors, fix sprinklers, maintain a pool, and keep up a lawn.
Once again my life is an on going battle with my self esteem and my motivation. The good news is: I am not alone in this.

It rubs the lotion on its skin...

I just spent the most delightful 4 days on vacation with my perfect boyfriend. I'm not saying hes perfect because he took me on vacation, I'm saying hes perfect because the man is a saint and I'm humbled by his ability to always be an amazing person... and hes better then your boyfriend so there... :p
On this fantastic vacation to one of Florida's many theme parks, I ran into some interesting issues I hadn't realized had cropped up. For example, it turns out that working inside for more then a year has made me much more susceptible to heat. It didn't help that Orlando in the summer is something like taking Satan's asshole, lighting it on fire and sending it to the sun... but with tourists. There was a time when 98 degree weather was normal to me. I had a deep golden tan and glorious natural highlights that I now drop a lot of cash to achieve. Now, I am pasty white, and respond with hissing noises to sunlight. Switching to the graveyard shift at work has not helped my situation.
As a result of all of this I experienced fat thigh chub rub as I have never experienced it before. I could have started fires for every cub scout in America with the friction I was rocking in my Bermudas.. I also could have doused all those fires with the gallons of sweat that were pouring out of me. I was disheartened to notice that I was getting horribly tired from walking around. I have become so out of shape that walking FREAKING WALKING!!!! was making me tired. humans are made to be able to walk for just about forever. I got winded after a few hours.
I don't want you to get the idea that I had a bad time, in fact I had the best vacation ever. Everything about it was perfect. Every moment on this trip was romantic and wonderful.
I was sad to settle for looking NOT HUGE in pictures. I want  to take pictures with my boyfriend and not worry that the angle is down so it makes me look thinner.
It was in retrospect that I realize that I have let myself get to this point. Everyday we read that Americans are getting so ridiculously fat that instead of working to get healthy we are just accommodating the expanding girth.
I think I read the same 10 dieting tips on every news site. They seem to be just retyping the same tired and true tips for getting healthy. I started this year doing really well dieting, I lost about 10 lbs. then my diet went to shit. I somehow have managed to keep those 10lbs from creeping back onto my ass. But, I'm still WAY over weight.
So, I made a new plan. I want to lose 40-50 lbs. by mid November. I am currently 5'9ish and about 204lbs. fml for putting that on the Internet for everyone to read. I want to weigh around 155-165lbs. by November 12th. Don't ask me why I picked this date. There is no significance to this date. It is close enough to Halloween I should look hot in a slutty costume, but far enough after I have time to work off the candy and mixed drink calories.
This whole Idea started when I was asked to be a bridesmaid in an amazing girls wedding. She has since decided to elope so there goes my goal date :) Honestly, I just didn't want to be the token fat bridesmaid at the wedding. Shes built like a gazelle and all of her friends are gorgeous stick bugs. I am fine with being curvy (I wouldn't trade my cleavage in for all the tea in china) but these days, I'm looking less like a coke bottle and more like two marshmallows on a stick.
So here's my plan. I have printed monthly calenders from June to November. My goal is to lose about 8-10 lbs each month. I have to X out each day on the calender as a constant reminder to stay on track. I am hoping that seeing the months fly by will motivate me to that goal. On Sat of every week I weigh in and record my progress. At the end of the month I total my weight loss up and see if I hit my monthly goal. I will also measure the inches on my arms, legs, waist, hips, and chest. This is mostly to make me feel better if I don't hit a goal. It seems that you can lose inches but stay the same weight because of the weight of muscle. I am going to use a calorie counter that's on my cell phone to manage my calorie intake. That helped a lot when I was trying to lose weight earlier this year.
I'm posting this here but not telling anyone that I updated so I don't get random unsolicited advice. There is nothing worse then skinny people trying to tell me how to lose weight. It makes me want to punch them.
I'm at the level of bitchy that I watch extreme makeover weight loss addition and I'm happy if the contestants lose 300 lbs and still weigh more then me. I am happy for them but smug that I still weigh less. As though it justifies the french fries and chicken wings.

rational to your toes...

   I know there is a stereotype that women are all shoe obsessed, fashion junkies, who just want to shop. I can say that I don't shop much. Mostly due to my total lack of funds, but, also because nothing makes you look worse then fitting room mirrors. Those things should just be labeled "dressing room: Peer into your negative body image.." I dont know who thought it was a good idea to angle that thing down so you look wider.. but they need to be tortured.
   I genuinely dislike going to the mall about 90% of the time. There is a small 10% of the time that I enjoy.. and yes that time usually involves buying things that are completely nonfunctional.
   I am a total shoe whore. I own a fantastic amount of shoes. I even try to donate several pairs every year to thin the herd. But there is something about shoes that turns my rational brain off. I think, it's because they are the cupcakes of the fashion industry. Dresses and clothes in general are like giant elaborate statues that have been carefully sculpted to achieve a specific look. Shoes, on the other hand, are like beautiful tiny (well in my case.. HUGE) delicious confections. Think about it, they have bright colors, you get to have them on special occasions, they make you feel pretty but ultimately are bad for you.. like cupcakes. Give me a boring run of the mill little black dress and I will add a pair of Bright Red Snake Skin stilettos and BAM ya got sex appeal. Jeans and a T-shirt? Throw on some 5 inch espadrilles with white leather and a peep toe and all of the sudden that outfit is summer sexy. Any season and any outfit can be amped up with a good pair of shoes.
     This epiphany about my shoe delirium, occurred while shopping at TJ MAX with my friend Kelly. I took an ill advised detour, to the shoe department in hopes of maybe finding cheap dark sneakers to wear at work (VOMIT!! I hate wearing boring sneakers).  Lo and behold; I spot them, like a antelope on the Savannah. Two gorgeous pairs of designer heels.. In my size.. for.. half... off... At this point my brain is completely off. It now becomes an out of body experience. I have stalked through a field scattered with the remains of discarded shoes. Scanning  the area for incoming predators, I have begun my swift attack.
     When I shop I am there for the kill.. I am willing to throw down. I don't care if your grandma still wants to feel pretty and buys her shoes in a size 10 to accommodate her corns.  I will break her hip, if she tries to swipe the heels i am CLEARLY reaching for. The bitch has nasty hooves where her feet once were, take her old ass to Stride Rite and be done with it.
  There I am standing in front of a mirror wearing a wrinkled flannel shirt and cuffed jeans with two different stiletto heels on each foot (always the picture of poise and grace). One shoe is a Jessica Simpson, Leopard Print, stacked platform, stiletto. The other is a Paris Hilton, black patent leather, peep toe, with a giant patent leather bow on the toe. Now, I can try and blame my lapse in judgement on: the fact that I was wearing the shoes of the two dumbest blonde's on the planet.. or, on my recent choice to bleach my hair completely platinum.. But, I know the truth: I just don't act rationally around shoes.
     In my delirium, after seeing how great my feet look in these shoes. I slowly start to look for an excuse  to buy both pairs. Like The retail angel of compromise, Kelly, swoops down and points out that I do not need TWO new pairs of ridiculous heels... one pair will do.
     Now I am faced with a decision.. which gorgeous pair do I choose?  This may  sound like a silly delema.. just remember right now my pupils are blown and I look like a crack addict faced with the possibility of scoring a hit. It is no pretty.
   So starts the most ridiculous conversation I've ever had with myself while shopping.
I start by trying to place the shoes in the I NEED category
ME: "well, I like the black ones"
Crazy ME: "but I neeeeeeed the leopard print ones"
      I must consult Kelly, she votes for the black using the excuse "they are more you!" (I am still not sure if I should be offended by that comment or not.. I have nothing in common with Paris Hilton. thank god.)     
   Like a typical girl, I now choose to walk around the shoe area, wearing a different shoe on each foot.  Scanning for other potential prey.. pretending that the 20 feet I walk, will give me some idea how many minutes I will survive without the need of morphine. When I could actually hear the bones crunching and groaning in my ankles, it occurred to me that the Leopard heels might actually cripple me if in public. (we had the clumsy conversation right?)
So I try to convince myself that my feet are just swollen from all the... coffee.. and salt.. yeah the salt... I had today, thats why my ankles feel like they are about to snap like twigs. A ray of semi-rational thought enters my head and I decided the eventual medical bills, far out weigh, the sexiness of leopard print. We now have a clear winner. Hurrraaaayyyyyy! Black shiny heels! Here's the problem, my comparison for comfort is: If they aren't going to leave me with useless nubs in under an hour, then they must be a good fit!!  And they're shiny!!
    So yes, I just bought a pair of heel based on the fact that they are drop dead sexy.. and don't cause life altering joint pain in my ankles in the first 15 min. I have no idea if they are actually comfortable.. I just know they weren't as bad as the death trap that Jessica Simpson "designed".
This is how I make decisions when shoes are involved. It may explain why I didn't know I was a size 10+ till I was 23..
   Later update: guess who managed to trip over her new shoes and fall flat on her ass?! Oh, did I mention that the fall shattered my cell phone screen? thank god I ordered a new phone a week ago and it will be delivered today.. with an Otter Box protective case that is meant for the military.