Annecy: a Love Letter to France

I know I haven't been prolific on this thing at all. In fact, since I last posted, several important events have happened in my life. I ran another marathon. I moved to France. I spent 3 seasons on a women's soccer team. Xavier proposed. And we got married. 3 years ago. Plus now I have the world's cutest dog.

As a lot of my friends and family know, France has been a... let's say "varied" adjustment. I didn't speak French when I got here, but now I do. I didn't have a job, but I now have that as well. And for a long while, everything was a blur of counterintuitive and often frustrating experiences. The gears of bureaucracy grind at a maddeningly slow pace. In fact, everything in France seemed to take forever during that first year. If you need something repaired in your apartment, best hope it's not about to imminently destroy everything you own, because nobody is in any great rush to come and sort it out. We've had a leak in our closet for approximately two years and it seems it won't be fixed before we move out. Applying for the simplest things can take ages. A year and a half for a health card. 6 months in advance if I need to go to the prefecture to renew my residence card. Transferring information to the electric company. Buying property. Booking an appointment with a doctor. They can easily take weeks or months. Ironically, about the only thing that isn't painful is subscribing to a phone plan, which, as an American, always blows my mind. So to put yourself in my place, imagine everything you do is like working with your phone or cable provider. That is my life.

The truth is that the French are just not always in a rush to do anything. I had to let go of my ideas of time and accept that things just take a lot of it. Irritating bureaucratic things, but also beautiful and fun things: weddings, vacations, birthdays, parties, meals, and even pre-dinner snacks and drinks that they refer to as "apéro."

Other than time, I had to learn a lot about the many, many contradictions that make up the French mentality. It turned out that they were as conflicted as my own culture, but I wasn't used to it yet. In the beginning, I was so confused about their casual acceptance of their politicians' girlfriends and mistresses.  Things like that destroy careers in the US, but here, they're just met with a shrug.  One might imagine that they are nonchalant about all their relationships, the true embodiment of all our European tropes... taking a drag from a cigarette, a sip of wine, and saying "bah, c'est la vie." However, it took a short time for me to find that the French are, in fact, deeply familial.  There are a million and one little family events that you find yourself caring, or at least pretending to care, about.  All the dinners and anniversaries and birthdays and baptisms for people I've barely even talked to... but it's because they're my family, or they're family of a friend, which is also quite often a thing here.

Their culture is full of little dichotomies like this that I found difficult to understand at first. They don't wave flags or post patriotic images, but watch what happens when it's World Cup time. They don't have to get to work "on time" and God help you if you try to interrupt their breaks or lunches, but somehow they don't miss deadlines. They have some of the best healthcare and access to rights in the world, but studies show that they are deeply dissatisfied. They tell you that France is the greatest country in the world and that they have the best quality of life anywhere, but they complain about their country, as well as every other minute aspect of their lives, constantly. No, I'm not exaggerating.  Complaining is their national sport.  I mean, literally, it even trumps football, which many people might mistakenly think is their national sport.  Their national football team actually refused to play during the World Cup due to some grievances involving the coach and each other.  Grievances?  Another word is complaints.  Yes, during the biggest sporting event in the world, they decided their complaints were too great to overcome, and just refused to get on the pitch.  It was, by and large, the most French thing one could do.  In front of the world.  But don't get them wrong... the average French person was very critical of this decision.

Oh, and the criticism.  I probably shouldn't go too far with that because you would never finish reading, but that was probably the hardest thing to adjust to.  A friend of mine posted an article about the French and their feelings toward a football player.  He was booed whilst entering the stadium for a match, which seemed a bit harsh since he was at one point revered as a hero.  But the journalist's reflection on this was spot on... he said that the French would boo a children's play if they thought it wasn't up to snuff.  Yes, they are perfectionists, sometimes in the most excruciating ways.  Nothing is good enough!  Even if it is excellent, they will find at least one detail that they didn't like, that could have been better.  The flipside is that a lot of things they produce are excellent.  They dress impeccably.  They work incredibly hard, much harder than the rest of the world gives them credit for.  They have very good taste.  They expect the best, but that doesn't just apply to others -- they themselves could always do better.  And if you haven't had a genuine French meal in all its neurotically perfect glory, it is my belief that you haven't truly lived.

I could say more, but I'll stop.

Because this post isn't really about French culture. It's about Annecy.  Or rather, one tiny beach in one tiny city not that far from Annecy.

I spent the past very long weekend with some girlfriends in this area of the French Alps. To give you an idea, this is it on a map.

I don't really know why, but my expectations were mild. Living in Paris does that to you I suppose. You know there will be nice things about the trip, but your mind also goes to the inconveniences. Oh, it's the hottest summer we've had in years. Oh, getting around will be hard without a car. Oh, what if the house isn't very nice? Or we have a crazy neighbor (referring to our ski trip in March).  Oh, and there will also be French people to complain and be neurotic and just generally annoy the bejeezus out of you.

But what I found was unexpected.  Tucked away not 200 meters (yes, I do metric now) from our rental house, was a beach on the lakefront.  I should probably mention first that the woman who rented the place to us had already surprised us with her friendliness.  We always forget that French people are normal and helpful and kind and fun/funny outside of Paris, and that first interaction usually comes as a surprise.  She suggested the place to us, and perplexed us a little with her reaction to our questions about activities nearby.  She didn't seem to think we would need them.  When we went to the beach, it was clear why.

You had to pay to go in (2.50, but you'd be surprised by how many people would be deterred by this), but there were trees for shade, a food stand nearby, steps that led you into a lake, a diving board, and different kinds of pools for all ages.  It was well-worth the money.  We spent day after day on that beach, each one more perfect than the last.  Having grown up on beaches, I spent a lot of time reflecting on why I liked this one so much.  It wasn't any bigger, and not even necessarily more beautiful.  After all, it's hard to compete with the Pacific Ocean at sunset.  But then on Sunday, it hit me all at once: I liked it because it was so French.  Because all those cultural quirks I find so annoying in Paris have the ability to be pleasant and beautiful when they're turned on their side.

The families and family time.  Everywhere we looked, there were people with children, and I started to see the other aspect of family being important for family's sake.  Sometimes they're up and about playing and swimming and jumping in the water (seriously, that diving board was never left alone) but my observation was how good the French are at just being with each other.  They don't necessarily have to be doing an activity, though they love that too.  Often they just talk, they sit and eat, or they do nothing at all, and don't seem to be in any hurry to change that, because that is the point -- to be together, quietly or loudly, as long as possible.  It is deeply refreshing, because their lack of pressure to go somewhere or do something because just being seems like a waste... that feeling, it seeps into your soul.  That feeling that relationships can and should be cultivated without distraction or movement... that feeling is powerful, and makes you want to love the people you're with more.

Lack of fucks given about body image.  This was possibly the only time in my life that I started to feel my insecurities about my "bikini-ready" (or not really, because I love my beer) body melt away.  My dear friend made an interesting declaration... every body is a bikini body -- you will always look better in two pieces than in one.  People may disagree or simply prefer to wear one, but I appreciated the spirit behind it.  No matter where you stand, I will say that the French live up to their reputation about minimal clothing on the beach.  Boobs everywhere.  Young lady boobs, old lady boobs, man boobs.  It probably sounds weird to you if you're American, because we simply don't accept that.  However, when it's everywhere and it's normal and nobody is yelling at each other to put them away, a weird thing happens... it suddenly becomes not a big deal.  No, really.  The disparity between that kind of freedom and American culture was shocking to me.  We're always saying we should cover up because there are children and it might badly influence or confuse some poor adolescent boy.  And of course, because nobody wants to see THAT!  But often, what we really mean is that women whose bodies are less young or fit or beautiful should cover up, because there are far fewer objections to hot women's bodies being thrown all over the place in film or TV, in advertizing, or in music.  Or porn.  Which is everywhere if you have the Internet.  We don't seem to be in a big rush to ask them to cover up to preserve those poor innocent boy brains.  I would say it has something more to do with the idea of "everybody wants to see those hot women, but nobody wants to see Grandma in a bikini."  But I will posit something from my observations... maybe it's a healthy thing to see women as they are.  For men, for children, for me.  Because all those women I saw this weekend are just like me, or fatter, or thinner, or older, or younger, or you name it, but don't feel that they should be ashamed of it.  Before I start to sound sexist, the same principle applies to men... they do love their teeny tiny suits, and I found myself just thinking that they should wear what they are comfortable in, because it had nothing to do with me.  Their lack of shame started to chip away at my own shame.  With every set of bare boobs I saw attached to a woman sitting and sharing a glass of wine with a man who was not making a big deal out of it and was just treating her like a person, I questioned why this was such a big deal in my own culture.  I saw boys of all ages walk by women of all ages, and strangely, they didn't turn into perverts.  And I didn't see evidence that their ideas about sexuality shattered in presence of grandma boobs.  In fact, they didn't even stare, or do a double-take.  They were too busy talking, or having a sandwich, or jumping off the diving board.  It occured to me that, maybe when they're older and start to love someone with boobs in the future, they might not have an outrageous fantasy that they don't sag, that we don't get rounder, that we don't have weird inexplicable shapes and blotches everywhere... because, clearly, all women do.  Go on the beach and see for yourself.  Maybe that wouldn't be such an indecent thing to have back home.

And let's talk about apéro.  Most people are familiar with apértif, but if you aren't, it is essentially pre-dinner drinks and snacks, and it is a huge part of the French dining experience.  If you have dinner at someone's house or share a big meal during a holiday or special occasion, you can expect to spend a long time on apéro.  Sometimes hours.  In some cases, that's most of the meal.  Getting to the meal is not the point of apéro... sharing the time is.  Keep in mind that you can expect to have a large meal after, but the name of the game is quality rather than quantity, and usually you've spent so much time eating at the table that you find yourself hungry again once you get to dinner.  Since this beach was in France, bringing your own food for a picnic was expected, rather than buying it at the snack bar, and alcohol is most certainly allowed.  How can you have apéro without wine, after all?  So as the sun started to go down and the air started to cool, people went and pulled out their supplies for this evening ritual.  In these moments, you see groups of people huddled together, laughing and/or playing with the children, not at all concerned with dinnertime or someone being bored or even bedtime.  Everyone is snacking happily, passing drinks around, and watching the sun go down.  It goes on and on because in the summer it takes a long time for the sun to set, but you don't watch the time, or even think about it.  It's in these moments that the French shine to me, because they are so convivial, so loud and spirited yet without disturbing each other or hushing each other.  They're so connected and satisfied with this moment, with their food and drink, with their surroundings, with each other.  They're so alive.  Alive in ways that I have trouble feeling outside of these moments, when their cultural oddities all collide at once.  And all of it happening by the clean, green-blue water of the lake as the sun sets over the mountains.  That is perfection.

Despite my frustrations and anger from living in Paris, from being an outsider, from language, family, stress, job, responsibilities, it is these moments of vitality that make it all fade away.  It is these moments I feel I've been looking for all my life, that I've spent my adulthood wandering around the planet to find.  As much as I sometimes hate it, it is these moments that being here feels like home.  These moments that make me love myself.  That make me love the people with me.  That make me love France.

What an appropriate feeling to have on Bastille Day.  Vive la France, bitches.

i keep trying to tell myself i'm not angry, but i so am.

still lazy, and still lame. i keep wanting to believe that maybe i expect too much, but i don't. i really, really don't. why am i so bad at being angry? i could understand it if it didn't bother me anymore, but it does. and i could understand it if i had a poor reason to be, but i don't. or even if it didn't hurt that much, but it does. no matter how many times i've tried to find a loophole in this whole being angry thing, i can't.

which, of course, isn't about just one thing, but about many things, some related and some not, which simply make me tired, angry, and consequently determined.

truly, i was excited to be back, and i like america okay, but i'm realizing how foolish it was to believe that there was anything to be anxious about here. absence makes the heart grow fonder, but it also makes you forget all the important stuff that drove you away in the first place.

and why all the same problems, re-disguised as something far more interesting or forgivable, aren't okay anymore.

prague is in january. and at last i will be away, relieved, past... whatever you call it. because i just can't stand it.
again.

我是 AWESOME

"i wouldn't marry you if you were the last man on earth!"
or so the saying goes.

so tonight, after chinese class (which, surprisingly, i truly understood today), chris and i caught an opening night showing of will smith's new film "i am legend." despite spending most of my childhood afraid of my own shadow, i love me a good thriller-slash-horror film.

i was totally excited for this film, which is a lot like 28 days later, though not quite as scary, i think. 28 days later, the introduction to which i can thank the great film majors of chapman university, is among some of the few films i truly appreciate. this is partially because the cinematography is edgy and raw and exquisite. but also, the opening scenes depict perfectly the one thing i've always been most frightened of. it's as if someone opened up my brain, love for london and all, and chose to stream my thoughts on film!


it's deeply, beautifully, pit-of-your-soul terrifying.

the truth of the matter is, my deepest fear is the uncontrollable, inexplicable extinction of mankind. when i was a little girl, if my mom disappeared to do something unspeakable like take a shower, i would go into fierce panic attacks, which i could never quite explain. even then, i felt silly telling her that it was because, for a few minutes, i'd actually let myself believe that she'd disappeared and i'd never see her again. and not just that she'd disappeared, but that the rest of the world had disappeared with her, leaving me hopelessly, desperately alone. probably irrational, but true nonetheless. it's likely that this is why God didn't choose me for that whole great flood business, among other things, i'm sure.

when i lived in london, one of my favorite things to do was walk along the south bank. i liked that it allowed me the freedom to be. on a nice day, i also enjoyed crossing the bridge to parliament, just because everything was so lively, yet so separate. i liked that i could be disconnected and just observe, as in poe's "man of the crowd." it felt like i was dreaming, because i'd seen it so many times in the movies. it also had an uncanny ability to make me feel okay without the people i loved the most. i felt that i couldn't possibly be lonely; not here - it wasn't physically possible. i also replayed that scene in my head a few times, thinking about how frightening it would be if nobody were there with me. how desperate and unnatural it would all be if all signs of life were to suddenly disappear.

"i am legend" follows a similar plotline, with a sudden and incurable outbreak of a virus that destroys everything in its path. an abandoned new york is very much like an abandoned london, and people with this disease are not dissimilar to people with the "rage" virus. any way you toss the dice, it looks excruciating to be infected. the two biggest differences are that the infected in "i am legend" are extremely sensitive to uv rays and more importantly that, despite their aggressiveness, they're still capable of logic and, i suspect, affinity for and community with each other. it's a compelling twist to the world as we see it, as will smith's character is driven more and more deeply into hopelessness and frustration. his need for interaction slowly wears on him. i've always found the concepts of solitude and "othering" rather interesting. even when a person feels most misunderstood, it's almost unfathomable to exist without some sort of "presence." look at me; i barely understand chinese, but i'm strangely comforted by the mere fact that there are others around me here... that i will walk out my door and somebody will walk or drive by me. there's something that feels natural about presence. this is also probably why i don't understand atheism. it seems counterintuitive to die and be plunged into nothingness. we can't even handle nothingness here. if such a thing were true: if we really do die, only to see and feel nothing, then why bother with understanding or relationships here? if nothingness is where we came from and where we're going, being alone, experiencing and feeling nothing, would probably be the most natural feeling we could have. it's like reproduction... every being on earth figures it out because it's natural. if nothingness were the same, i don't think it would be so disconcerting. i think something would feel strangely right about it, not uncomfortable.

and as for "othering," i've always considered it interesting that "others" are simply that which the majority doesn't understand. usually, we understand this within the context of language, race, religion, sex, education, or sexual orientation. i've always appreciated how lost explores this idea: how the others are considered brutal because we, as an audience, don't understand them as well as the equally brutal survivors we meet in episode 1. and in terms of will smith, it's interesting how this turns in the film. how we empathize with him because we understand him, but how the film opens up the possibility that these logical and communal mutants see him as an "other." he captures them to find a cure, but all they see is him capturing them. he dwells in the light, something that seems crude and unnatural to their severely altered minds. i read in an article that this is a more profound theme in the original book, and i must admit that it intrigues me. the fluidity of what determines monstrous. evolution and destruction. majority and minority.

okay, so the zombies were cheesy and a bit cliche, but this is not what i find terrifying about films like "i am legend" or "28 days later." it still bothers me that they can run so fast and have so much strength. it also bothers me that they look like a less-refined version of lord voldemort, who is a lot like i'd always imagined satan; kind of charismatic and creepy, but very well-spoken and completely arrogant. it was like voldemort with rabies, which is never a good idea, because he'd have definitely avada kedavra'd that dog before it ever bit him. and the zombies in 28 days later are possibly worse with all their super speed, except they still look human.

what i do find interesting about the infected in both films is how painful the whole process looks. there's one scene in particular, as they're quarantining new york city, when a woman begs will smith to take her baby and save them. she claims that she's not infected and she needs someone to help her child. and he pauses for a second to look at her, because he wants so badly, as he says, to fix it. he keeps saying over and over that he won't let this happen. and though she's pitiful and sincere, you see plainly that she's completely infected. her hair has fallen out, she's pasty, and she's bleeding from every orifice on her face. and she's still holding her child. yikes. and the sad thing is that it pales in comparison to how painful the whole "rage" disease seems, with all the incessant vomiting of blood. i can't handle vomiting the plain way, much less projectile blood vomit.

i'll admit, i often find films like this difficult to watch, not because of the shocks and the twists, but because of the advances we're making in genetics, bio-terrorism, and warfare. fighting no longer means meeting each other on a battlefield, or blowing each other to smithereens. it's about dismantling. disarming. breaking morale. working from long distances. being silent until it's time to hit them hard. and as the souls of this generation and the ones to follow slowly disintegrate, things like this worry me, not because of what science can do, but of what truly, deeply evil people can do. we live in a world that is, on all levels, falling away from direct human interaction. the battles we fight aren't face-to-face anymore. how long until we've become so desensitized that fighting for a cause or a country means opening a vial?

wow, this was long. moral of the story: i don't like desolation, but i really, really like will smith. and london.

of all the things...

"all you need is love."
or so the saying goes.

i'm not a weeper.

anymore.

i would say that i never have been, but as i think about it, this isn't true. i cried enough to nearly drive my parents to insanity as a toddler. i spent an entire summer and then some crying when i came back from england. partially because i wasn't in england anymore, but mostly over boys. that was a lot of reshaping, and i think crying was the only way i knew how to release whatever confusion or frustration i was feeling.

but when ivan and i broke up 13... almost 14 months ago (wow, it's been that long?), i think i flipped a switch inside myself. i spent exactly one day crying over it, and never did again. in fact, i didn't even cry when i got a little bruised by recklessness during semester that followed. again, boys were involved. sure, i got my feelings hurt, but nothing that ever drove me to tears. then i cried... i mean, really cried... the day layce left. and again when arlee passed away.

but i sold or gave away everything i owned back in the states, said goodbye to everyone i loved, and missed aaron and kirsten's wedding and still didn't shed a tear. i even thought i would get a little misty when chad left (rinjani + 10 hours a day, 5 days a week might do that to a person), but nothing.

so why did i cry today over something so silly? thanks to the glories of technology, i've been able to stay in close contact with a good number of my friends back home. e-mail, text messaging, skype, facebook, blogging... i still feel close to them even when i'm so far away. this and the fact that i was so ready to be away have made adjusting to taiwan extremely easy. no need to cry, because my friends are just a skype call away, right? today, when i logged onto myspace to check some messages, i discovered an e-mail from matt. anyway, it was simple: "seriously, i miss you so much. come back." him being a man of few words in general, and even fewer words that aren't teeming with sarcasm, this was a surprise to me. and what surprised me even more was that i got all choked up and started to cry a little.

yeah, what?

he's always told me that one of the beauties of our relationship is that he can say anything to me, for no other reason than because i'm joy. over the years, the honesty has been helpful, especially since he simultaneously drives me crazy and provokes an unnatural (like spending 24 hours with k1 students and not yelling at them unnatural) amount of patience from me. and vice versa, i think.

that was a rabbit trail, but i think the reason i'm saying all this is because his comment and my reaction represent how much i miss the honesty of my friendships back in california. i lived an emotionally reckless existence back home. i wore my heart on my sleeve, never afraid to tell people that i loved them or what i thought. yes, i can tell matt anything and not worry about what it'll do to either of us, but i feel the same way about many people back home. they're the kind of relationships that allow me to be vulnerable and protected at the same time. the kind that made me feel absolutely comfortable with being myself from day one. the reason why college was such a beautiful experience... because i didn't feel like i was pretending, not even from the very first day i spent in orange. i have always felt that my friends, my true, lasting friends, have had my very best interest at heart.

despite being very happy in taiwan, i've found myself to be especially guarded. i keep things to myself that i normally wouldn't, because i'm afraid, very afraid, of revealing what i really think to anyone. i make jokes. a lot. or i say nothing. my capacity for being closed off surprised me most a few weekends ago. i noticed that i was actually trying to keep others outside my "self" bubble. and my commitment to doing so seems to know no limits. if i feel exposed, i throw out sarcasm or irony or disdain as a shield. i, joy, someone who always made it a point to be fiercely open and honest, found myself recoiling. and then i thought about it, and i've been doing it for a few months now. and i've realized that most of the things i say or do are simply incomplete. a half-hearted version of myself, because, for some reason, i think i'm just too afraid. that's so silly, but it's as if i've had a taste of what it feels like to play my cards close to the chest, and now i'm addicted to my half "self." as if i simply hope to protect myself, from what, i'm not exactly sure. but the idea of being anything else doesn't feel like an option right now. oh man, it's like being in 8th grade all over again.

and thanks to my shields, i'm definitely not a weeper.

anymore.

not gonna lie, the power feels pretty good.








.......but i much prefer the vulnerability. how do i go about trusting people enough to get it back?.....

an ode to steve

"the only person you can ever count on is yourself."
or so the saying goes.

let me be transparent for a moment. since i graduated from college, i've been dealing with bouts of depression. on occasion, it was "i don't want to get up" kind of depression, albeit that only lasted a few days, or maybe a week. i am not and have never been, however, a defeatist. i think that, if i really concentrate, i will probably be able to take control of my depression (or almost-depression, depending on how you look at it), and channel it into a more productive life. because i have extra time on my hands, i've concluded that this is now the perfect time to concentrate on aspects of my life to which i have not had time to attend during school. as i spent four years as a chronic insomniac due to stress, the absence of such stress has now presented the perfect time for me to polish up my life. i was happy to hear that my good friend nichole is doing the same. of the many things i would like to accomplish, here are a few short-term goals:
1) cultivate a more disciplined lifestyle
go to bed earlier and wake up earlier. this is hard for me, but i'm really trying. i don't like it when i lose a great deal of the day because i'm sleeping. i also am not fond of hangovers or a disorganized/dirty living space. i now rarely go to the bars with my friends because i prefer to have a quiet conversation over a cup of coffee or dinner. but i also acknowledge that everyone needs a release on occasion, so i don't condemn those who enjoy the bar scene more than i do. i'm slowly discovering that it requires a lot of discipline to maintain a tidy living space. while i can't control my roommates' living habits, i am making it a habit to keep my room exceptionally clean and organized. i make my bed much more often and am more deliberate about where i put paperwork and clothing. i have found that a tidier environment makes me a much more relaxed person, and has turned my room from a place to crash to a private haven.
2) deal with my acne
i'm 21, and i think my face is still far worse than it needs to be. while it's not severe enough to require acutaine or another harsh medication, it drives me crazy. i wash my pillowcases often, am disciplined about cleansing my face, and don't wear any heavy make-up, yet i still deal with break-outs. i've also realized that half my problem is simply scarring, but it makes my face look uneven, splotchy, and pubescent at best. my friend struggles far more than i do (she's turned to the 'taine), so i asked her for some advice. she recommended a few products to me, so i am hoping that some better make-up will give me a better complexion.
3) learn to cook
this is ridiculous. i've been living independently since i was 19. england. and while pasta and soup was acceptable there, it does not suffice here anymore. i'm tired of eating the same foods over and over with no tangible recipes in mind. i'm smart enough to know how to cook. so i bought myself a vegetarian cookbook, and i'm hoping that i'll be able to provide myself with more nutrients and variety.
4) improve my speech patterns
i have a degree in english. i know how to express myself, but i would like to be as articulate in person as i am on paper. paper is great because it is forgiving of pauses and omissions, while life is not. i use the words "like" and "um" far more than i should. so my first goal is to eradicate "like," and then move on to "um." i am speaking more slowly now, but i know that it takes practice. eventually, i think that i will be able to express myself with eloquence and speed, but it is going to be difficult for a while.
and finally...
5) lose a few pounds and stay in shape
it's self-explanatory, really. i'm not fat, but i know when my body isn't right. i would be extremely happy to lose 5 pounds or so. and i used to be competitive. it's weird not to be competing anymore, and i want to feel good about my fitness again.



on another topic...
for those who don't know, japan hasn't completely come through for me. this doesn't mean i'm not going, but it's also not absolute that i am. as a result, i'm looking into some other work options. let's face it: i'm about ready to bid the bux adieu. i'm attending some career fairs in my spare time, seeing if anything materializes. unfortunately/fortunately, i needed to do some shopping to find appropriate clothing. while it wasn't difficult to find clothes, since i do already have the necessary black skirt and tops are prolific, shoes were another story. all i wanted was plain black pumps. that's it! it's not hard! but there are no black pumps to be found anywhere. they're all peep toe. not quite professional, and we all know that styles come and go. peep-toes will be out soon, but most plain heels won't go out of style. i went to all the usual discount stores to find them: payless, target, ross. i did find some at target, but they had a bow, were already scuffed, and i didn't particularly care for them anyway.

then i gave dsw a try. for those who have never been, it's a store that sells designer items on a discounted price - a sort of shoe warehouse, if you will. i wandered through the numerous aisles of shoes: colored shoes, peep-toed shoes, strappy shoes, wedged shoes, thong shoes, open-toed shoes, close-toed shoes, ugly shoes... none of them particularly appealing because they were the wrong color or a far too casual style, until--
















there they were. the shoes for which i'd been searching. the shoes that had been eluding me for two weeks. who knew it would be so damn hard to find plain black pumps, no bows, no frills, no toes? and they were perfect. they were courtesy of none other than steve madden. okay, so they weren't $25 like the ones i found at target, but i see them as an investment. given that they'll never truly go out of style, they're extremely comfortable, they're versatile... good for the office or with a pair of jeans, and they're a better quality so they won't break down as quickly, i'll probably wear them several more years.

now that i've said these things, i think it would be a good time for me to gush about how much i love steve. i'm slowly starting to realize that it's one of my favorite shoe designers. steve's shoes are classic, sexy, and exceedingly comfortable. i always stop by the steve madden table when i'm shopping, if just to look, because i always love the simplicity and the sophistication of steve's designs. i, like any bargain-lovin' college student (or former college student) i know, can appreciate a cheap find. while i wouldn't include the shoes i bought in europe in the equation, i have been known to dance all night in my red wet seal peep-toe pumps to save a few (dozen) bucks.

nevertheless, a few months ago, i was fortunate enough to acquire these, also courtesy of steve.















so they were a bit of a splurge, but note the massive heel. 4 inches, people! yet they're so comfortable, i can wear them all day and still go dancing in them at night. my much less expensive shoes numbed my feet for days after merely one night out with the girls. but not these. these went all over houston with me, in and out of museums, and got numerous compliments in the process.

in short. i love shoes. i think european shoes are the best. but if europe is too far away, steve is pretty awesome, too, and i'd definitely wear them in europe. or asia, if that works out. or both, if life works out the way i hope.