All posts tagged shoes

It can’t be Armageddon; I’m wearing the wrong shoes

Published April 20, 2017 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

Batman says I drive myself to distraction and I tend to get myself all wrapped up around the axel. (I don’t know why I expect non-automotive metaphors.)   I am trying to reduce my anxiety.

I am! I really am! Who says I’m not?!

One of things I do to amuse myself when I get extra stressed because of my job and my elderly cat possibly dying while I’m at work and wondering if our Cheeto- in Chief is going to do away with funding, peace on earth and safety for all humanity is watch various reality suspending TV shows. I’ve been re-watching The Walking Dead from the beginning. Sometimes I root for the Zombies. (I have also noticed, not for the first time, that Lori and Andrea are just the worst, and overall, everyone would have been better off if they had made their exits earlier in the series.)  One of the major things I have noticed is that everyone on the series is wearing sturdy, and I’m assuming, comfortable shoes.  It makes me wonder if on the day they had to flee they put actual thought into what shoes they needed to wear.

Seriously, if you a had to get up and run, literally run, for your life, would you be satisfied with your choice of footwear?  Especially if you didn’t know when you would get to change shoes, and who knows if there will be the Cobbler of the Apocalypse? (World’s worst extreme dessert.)

I have actually picked out the shoes I want to be the last shoes I every own. They are $350 Frye Harness Boots in white. (I have a white boot fetish, and yes, I have done a lot of thinking about this.)

I was at school the other day and reviewed the news headlines, and, like always, I had pre-anxiety tremors thinking about how our current administration is quickly buffooning us towards doom. As I turned to put my phone away, I stepped out of the shoes I apparently bought a size too big.

I find that reassuring.

It can’t be the Apocalypse, I’m wearing the wrong shoes .

The truth out there

Published February 2, 2014 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

I really don’t plan some of the things I say or do. I mostly just bumble around like a wind-up toy and bounce away from the stuff that might stop or crush me. Sometimes things become completely clear and too real for bouncy avoidance.

Top of the list is the fact that I am being dragged kicking and screaming into the grown-up world.

Yesterday I had to stop myself from buying a pair of shoes I don’t need. I didn’t and later on I went grocery shopping and the amount of money I spent to make a week’s worth of lunches was exactly the same amount I would have spent on the shoes.  I felt like I should be given a fan-fare in recognition of my rational behavior.

And then I saw this article about Wal-mart and its customers suffering from the cut in food stamps. A lot of people can not afford the bare minimum essentials at a notoriously inexpensive store.

So now I feel like a chump. But this chump has food.

In other news, I am also compiling more information for my eventual tirade on education. I keep notes on everything. Last week I subbed in a Content Mastery class at a high school that has a sketchy reputation.

I had a great day. The staff was so positive and enthusiastic that it had a trickle down affect on the students. True, I only saw a handful of students and they were all volunteering to come for extra help, but it was still a good experience.

I also did a half-day in a Kindergarten ESL class. Not entirely frightening. I did get a little nervous when I discovered that it was the permanent teacher’s last day in the district.    I got even more nervous when I arrived and found out that the first language of most of the kids was either Hindi or Vietnamese.  Tiny kids are not good with the language anyway, but tiny kids who are not good with a foreign language and have a virtual stranger try and keep things from going kerfluey is a lot confusing.

There were about twenty kids.  That’s a lot of little kids.  It was also the first day the kids were able to go outside for recess in three weeks.  I had also forgotten that it takes a little kid three times as long to do anything as it would take an older child. Multiply that by twenty and add a teacher who is terrible with names, any names, and also refuses to point and call a kid, “You” because it’s demeaning and insulting and divide by the number of kids who are trying to curry favor by tattling on each other but can’t remember the teacher’s name.

Yeah. Big fun.

The worst part is that Kindergarten eats lunch at 10:30 AM.  Really. Then they don’t get another big break until school is out at 2:50.

The regular teacher had “Snack ” on the main schedule, but not in the notes she gave me.  I understand. Kids will be hungry about two and half hours after their ridiculously early lunch.  Apparently she forgot about snack for that day. I think it’s something she usually provided and the kids were most disturbed when it didn’t appear. Several of them reminded me and then showed me where snack was usually kept. Nothing there but craft paper.

It almost broke my heart when the child who was line leader looked up at me with her big brown eyes and said, “Miss, I’m hungry.”

Absolutely nothing I could do in that situation.

And that’s the truth.


Published May 12, 2013 by Lynda Christine Rodriguez

This is the third time I have tried to write this blog; Google chrome keeps crashing, and I’m already feeling rather stabby, so let’s see if it actually makes it.   This week has been a weird salad.  I know weird salad. When I was in the hospital in Farmington, NM; you know the sixth circle of hell sans shoe department, I was served a blended salad. Blended as in whirred in a blender and served chilled in a glass.  Why would you do that to someone who just came out of a coma? That doesn’t really give anyone the will to live and is possibly the first in a long list of evidence that I actually died and am now fighting my way through purgatory.

I don’t think that I have done anything productive today,unless you consider keeping myself isolated so I don’t run amok and start a Fight Club in the Starbucks parking lot, or generally just run shrieking down the street with frustration and pent up fury because, in addition to all of the other strange, soul robbing inconveniences of the week, I am tense because I don’t get to see my kid on  Mother’s Day and that some other person, ok, the AWT is going to spend this Mother’s Day and every single other one in perpetuity with MY husband because they both broke all of the rules, social mores and possibly some blue laws, and I don’t think any one has properly kissed my hiney enough in apology.  (Why yes, it does take real skill to put Mother’s Day, social more and hiney kissing in the same sentence.  Just ask me about my Grad school interview at UT.  None of my degrees are from UT, BTW. I love Acronyms.)

And speaking of ranting immaturely and Hineys, I want to make a suggestion for an appropriate response to Abercrombie and Fitch CEO Mike Jeffries ( notorious feelings on the ugly and the fat (World’s worst Hemingway novel, movie version directed by John Huston)

It is my suggestion that those of us uncool, unattractive people with free time and disposable income head on down to the mall. Stop by the food court and get a yummy fat/sugar/salt laden tranquilizing handful of yummy take it down to the Abercrombie and Fitch, fight the fog bank of cologne, drop trou and give the store a good old fashioned pressed ham.

Pressed Ham: Pressing one’s butt cheeks up against a window or glass.

(Definition provided by the good people at Urban Dictionary)