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Friday, June 24, 2005

Why Men Are Like Shoes.

My feet are killing me right now. I've been sitting in my office in my socks since noon. As Sade once—somewhat disingenously—sang, it hurts like brand new shoes.

I'm not sure how the topic came up—perhaps it was the second glass of white sangria talking—but I confessed to some friends that I only had four pairs of shoes. Two of which I didn't wear. They looked at me oddly. I didn't tell them that one of those two pair has fallen apart to the point where I removed the cushion from the heel because it was so badly damaged. (Hey, at least I'm fortunate enough to have shoes.) They expressed that the situation was unacceptable and that I should go out and get myself something nice.

So we went shoe shopping the next day and I bought four pairs of shoes. The woman at the register looked at me with bemused mockery; You could just hear her saying "Hello, Imelda!" inside her head. So I doubled my wardrobe of shoes in one purchase. It was a shoe orgy.

Now normally it's the Doc Martins that take a month and a half of wearing (and blisters) before they feel comfortable enough for everyday wear. But somehow I found the most comfortable Docs in the world. Easy to wear from day one. I could kiss these shoes, if I were into that sort of thing. No, the bear shoes on my feet today are the slip-in patent-leather look in burgundy and black swirls. They're great looking shoes. But they hurt like hell. I find myself repeating my old mantra: "Fashion is pain, fashion is pain."

I'm dreaming of slipping into the Shoes That Look Just Like The Boyfriend's. Whenever I put them on I do a shoe audit over on his side of the bed to ensure that we're not becoming one of those couples who dress alike. That's a slippery slope that I'd rather not slide down. Might mess up the shoes.

I am yet to wear the reddish-brown, boring ones. They're very comfortable but...bland. And very brown. They don't go with a lot of my usual wardrobe choices (usually black with...more black.) I don't like brown clothes, never really have, but I'm trying to make inroads to new color choices. No, really, I am. Someday I will wear them out of the house...I think.

My advice: Don't waste your time with ugly ones, but remember: if you choose them based solely on looks, you're going to be in a lot of pain. Make sure they make you feel comfortable, no matter what they look like.

Why men are like shoes? I have no idea.

04:55 PM PST (link)

Thursday, June 23, 2005

When Did You Know?

Aaron asks: When did you know? What was the moment when you knew you were gay?

At 8 years old, I grabbed a friend's package as we were playing at his house. I knew that I wanted to grab it. I didn't know why. I certainly didn't know what to do afterwards. We sort of looked at each other uncomfortably. I let go, and we went back to playing with trucks.

At 10 years old, I had a crush on another boy in school. I wouldn't have given it that name at the time, certainly, but in retrospect that's exactly what it was. I wasn't certain what I wanted from Jonathan, but I knew I wanted something.

At age 12, I finally knew what to call it, but I didn't know why it was happening to me. I didn't know what to do about it. I thought about dying a few times, but I also didn't know what that would accomplish.

At age 14, I experimented with another boy for the first time. I didn't know why I hadn't done this sooner. I didn't know why I'd ever thought dying was a better choice than this.

At age 16, I first told someone else. I didn't know if it would explode in my face or not, but I felt like I had to. (It's been OK so far.)

At age 18 I first kissed another man—something which happened long after I'd first had sex with one. Again, I didn't know why I had waited so long.

When did you know?

03:06 PM PST (link)