I play a dangerous game–I am attending the RWA National Conference today, and I am wearing shoes with a heel. Will I be hobbling by the end of the night? Or looking fresh, fabulous and fantastic?

I am hedging my bets by bringing a pair of flats, too, just in case. But I have worn these shoes all day before, and I hope they do not prove traitor.

(These are, indeed, the shoes in question).

Okay, so I did say I didn’t have time to post much here, but the lovely Carolyn Jewel said she wished I would post more often, and I’ve got something really important on my mind: Namely, my shoes.

See, I bought these cute purple pumps from Aerosole, like the ones pictured here, only in a nice dark eggplant color. And they were on sale! And the first few times I wore them, they were really comfortable!

So today I put them on when my feet were still damp from the shower–I think that was the issue–and all of a sudden my shoes went nutty, and caused me extreme pain and gouging.

What the hell, shoes? Why you gotta be a bitch?

So tomorrow might be Birkenstock day. Just sayin’.

Oh, and some gratuity:

You know, I hate blogs like this one has become: A person who does the same thing all the time and has no time to discuss anything even mildly interesting. Blame it on the job, or what-have-you, but all I can say is, yeah, well here I am, in Self-Loathing Blog Form.

But wait! I’m here now! The Spouse is out at a Knicks game, the Spawn is (hopefully) asleep, and I’m catching up on some work. Let’s see:

–Champion Agent is out with all sorts of projects. Yay!
–Work is great, although hella busy, and I’ll now be working FIVE days a week.
–I am heading to a conference next week, which means I have to work in advance. I mean, I love myself a good deadline, but this is just plain silly.
–Oh, and reading up a storm. Loving my commute.

And leggings should never, ever be worn as pants. Just no. But you knew that, right?

Nothing new, right? Right.

Ruh-roh. I am becoming one of those batty ladies who dismisses things and people out of hand, just because I’ve taken an inexplicable dislike to them (as in, Julia Roberts. What has she ever done to me?)

But in this case, I think it’s entirely explicable. Because really, Mariah, would it kill you to go up a size? Talk about your golden globes:

Plus she does that dumb diva wave thing, where she waves like a three year-old, flapping her fingertips against her palm instead of waving like a normal person.

I took my son down to his grandparents’ yesterday, so I had a whole half a day to myself, which was awesome. I ended up buying a dress:

got to hang out with Alpha Sparkle Dog (aka Liz Maverick) and met the Able to Leave Work At The Almost Normal Time of 7:00 pm Spouse and went out for Thai food and then to see The Hangover.

Oh my goodness. The Hangover was one of the funniest movies I’ve ever seen, so funny, and so incredibly wrong. Just great. I howled during the whole thing, and was a lot more relaxed than I’ve been in a long time.

Today I have to do a ton of advance work so I can take next week off to attend RWA National in DC without losing my daily freelance pay. And then tonight the Spouse and I are going to a Those Darlins show, which should be fun.

So if you review, you will see no writing has been done by me. I am going to have to, again, knuckle down and figure out a better schedule for myself and my writing, since summer vacation is no vacation for one of us. I mean, I love hanging out with my son, and all, but it means I have to jam that much more other stuff into fewer hours.

Oh, and by the way? The pad thai I made turned out really meh. But I twittered about is failure, and my next-door neighbors, who are foodies, gave me their pad thai recipe, which they say is good. And it looks better than the one I used, even just reading the ingredients and their amounts.

Okay, back to freelance.

I went to pick the Son up from school. By then, the snow had turned to a sleeting, icy rain. Not festive at all. Anyhoo, we decided to wait for the bus, which never came, so we walked the 14 blocks back home.

When we finally got home–an hour after school had let out–we were both drenched. So now, before all of you, I must confess. I am wearing:

Purple fuzzy Hello Kitty lounge pants. With sparkle thread.

A thin black silk undershirt.

A pink Old Navy cardigan

A cardinal red Brooklyn sweatshirt.

I definitely look like a Technicolor Yawn. Or my mom, going out for a special night on the town.

If you follow Boing Boing, you mighta seen their post about Baad Sheep, which sells ridiculously hideous sweaters online. Apparently they also host  “Baad Sheep Ugly Sweaters” parties, which would be awesome to attend if one lived in California. Which one does not.

Anyhoo, I was telling the Spouse about it, because he sometimes appreciates my taste for the godawful, and I told him about the Festive Collection, which has those themed holiday sweaters ladies of a certain age wear when going to the mall to get all ooey about Precious Moments figurines, or to pick up the BOGO sale at Bath&Body Works.

“Should we get matching sweaters for the holidays?”

My heart skipped a beat. “Dude, don’t tease me. You say the word, I’ll go to Kohl’s right now and order us some matching sweatshirts. I would love that.”

He laughs, and shakes his head, as much in dismay at my tacky bent as to say ‘no, are you kidding me, woman, it was a joke!’

Maybe someday. Someday when he’s lost more of his marbles and has to drive with his mouth open (notice sometime: All old men drive with their mouths open. Why is that?).

And no, ‘I’m With Stupid’ shirts don’t count.

Any and all opinions are welcome. I love them, especially in that dark blue, but I’m not sure if I’m just channeling my new wave past.

Today I am wearing red snakeskin boots and black velvet pants. Not so much to prove that Shoulder Guy was wrong when he said I looked like a mom in her 40s (meaning to insult me, natch), but because it is cold in the house and I am too cheap to raise the heat just for me. And I’m about to go slog out in the rain, so red snakeskin seem like the way to go. Black velvet is always cozy.

In related news, one of my young-ish relatives (20s) said I had distinct way of dressing. If ‘distinct’ means odd, then I think I do.

First, thanks for the nice responses to my dad post. I really appreciate all of you responding to what can only be termed a prickly post.

Second, I am writing! Consistently! And I think it’s going well, although I’m not sure, of course; every day I think ‘well, that wasn’t too hard,’ which makes me think I’m doing it wrong. I’m almost at 10,000 words, only 75,000 more to go.

Third, I am getting progressive lenses in my glasses. TRI-focals. Anyone have them yet? All I know about them is that they’re wicked expensive.

Fourth–and yes, there is a fourth–why do women wear t-shirts with Betty Boop on them? And these women, just saying, are not women who would look at all good wearing a tiny, flippy skirt anda conspicuous garter? I cannot help but make the comparison between the luscious cartoon character (and I’m not saying I like the way she looks, but ‘luscious’ is an apt descriptor) and the woman wearing the image. And the live woman does not do well in the comparison.