So lets talk about my day.
Well, the NYC has ravaged my feet. Badly. By ravaged I don't mean ravaged in the good way, the asphault jungle has done no such thing. It hasn't been gentle on my virginal tootsies, oh no. It's swallowed them alive. With vengence.
They kill.
I get up and go into the city around eleven am, wearing the bcbg night mares. They are gorgeous shoes but comfortable, or practical, I think not. I already had blisters from the coach fiasco, and in a city where style ought not be comprimised, I had no other choices.
I will admit it, I don't own a pair of flat shoes...well, okay, I own three pairs but they're never worn.
Two chuck taylors picked up in amsterdam over five years ago, and a pair of polkadot vans which really haven't even been broken in yet.
Fine. I'm a shoe whore. Fine. I own more vintage pairs of bruno's and stuart's then is prudent or reasonable. This is why I'm Monroe, and I'm loved.
Back to the day. I get off the subway my feet feel as if they're about to bleed, surging with pain, throbbing, every step closer to the office bringing me nearer to a boiling point.
My father is standing outside of the building, he greets me, I'm ready to rip any mans head off, with the exception of drag queens, because they're my only male comrads in the fight against pain.
Instead of going up to the office as I've stated I'd like to do we have to walk two blocks to a shoe store...aerosoles, like I'd buy a fucking pair of those. Barefoot before aerosoles. Barefoot.
By this point I don't get what the hell his problem is, we squabble, he heads back I go get a pedicure. Anything to stop this insanity.
The bitch pours acetone into my open wounds. ACETONE! I scream, she continues, not giving two shits.
Just for future refernece, I think all manicurists must have a sadistic side, especially your run of the mill on the cornor, typical chop shop kinds.
I get through it, I'm letting the feet dry, and they don't take american express. Well shit. I'm out of luck, my dad comes back, taking his sweet time, he's yelling in the shop, beause he can't or doesn't know what an inside voice is. I pay them, put the evil shoes on and leave. I later find out that in doing so, and being forced to walk more at this point, i'm begging to go to the office, I have smeared my polish and there goes thirty bucks down the drain. Pointless. She didn't take care of anything, she's a useless cunt. I hope she has acetone poured in her wounds someday.
Honestly.
We walk around some more, I just want to leave, we end up at a drug store, purchasing cheap panty hose, I pray I don't get a rash, insole things, and blister bandaids-and cigarettes because by this point it's niccotene or homicide.
Finally, we head toward the office, and he's still trying to keep me away from it. "What the hell are you hiding up there, all I've wanted to do since I've got here was go in and you won't let me, you're not being helpful what the fuck do you want!?" I scream at him, I blow up at the man, but all he's done since I've been here is nudge, and drone and bother me. Clingy like a spider. He tells me he has to pee, and we go up. I go to the ladies room, smear my polish, and put the panty hose on. I loathe them. I loathe the way they feel against my skin. Granulated nylon in beige. If I wanted to be beige I'd spray tan or move to Miami Beach and be a republican yenta with big hair. I don't want to be beige. I get out of the stall, check my makeup, which is practically falling off of my face, this city is a workout. It's humid and there are potholes. I'm completly disenchanted with every aspect of it's being.
My father is sitting outside chatting with someone, who invites us to a cinco de mayo party, I'm biting my tongue, literally, just to muster my rage. We finally get into the office, sit down, FINALLY, and I take my shoes off. We discuss the torah, biblical codes, and it's like none of it happened. Why couldn't we have just done this to begin with. I don't fucking understand him sometimes.
I want to go home. I'm tired. My feet hurt. I'm done with this city.
And I'm finished that's my good vent, I'll write more later. <3
Well, the NYC has ravaged my feet. Badly. By ravaged I don't mean ravaged in the good way, the asphault jungle has done no such thing. It hasn't been gentle on my virginal tootsies, oh no. It's swallowed them alive. With vengence.
They kill.
I get up and go into the city around eleven am, wearing the bcbg night mares. They are gorgeous shoes but comfortable, or practical, I think not. I already had blisters from the coach fiasco, and in a city where style ought not be comprimised, I had no other choices.
I will admit it, I don't own a pair of flat shoes...well, okay, I own three pairs but they're never worn.
Two chuck taylors picked up in amsterdam over five years ago, and a pair of polkadot vans which really haven't even been broken in yet.
Fine. I'm a shoe whore. Fine. I own more vintage pairs of bruno's and stuart's then is prudent or reasonable. This is why I'm Monroe, and I'm loved.
Back to the day. I get off the subway my feet feel as if they're about to bleed, surging with pain, throbbing, every step closer to the office bringing me nearer to a boiling point.
My father is standing outside of the building, he greets me, I'm ready to rip any mans head off, with the exception of drag queens, because they're my only male comrads in the fight against pain.
Instead of going up to the office as I've stated I'd like to do we have to walk two blocks to a shoe store...aerosoles, like I'd buy a fucking pair of those. Barefoot before aerosoles. Barefoot.
By this point I don't get what the hell his problem is, we squabble, he heads back I go get a pedicure. Anything to stop this insanity.
The bitch pours acetone into my open wounds. ACETONE! I scream, she continues, not giving two shits.
Just for future refernece, I think all manicurists must have a sadistic side, especially your run of the mill on the cornor, typical chop shop kinds.
I get through it, I'm letting the feet dry, and they don't take american express. Well shit. I'm out of luck, my dad comes back, taking his sweet time, he's yelling in the shop, beause he can't or doesn't know what an inside voice is. I pay them, put the evil shoes on and leave. I later find out that in doing so, and being forced to walk more at this point, i'm begging to go to the office, I have smeared my polish and there goes thirty bucks down the drain. Pointless. She didn't take care of anything, she's a useless cunt. I hope she has acetone poured in her wounds someday.
Honestly.
We walk around some more, I just want to leave, we end up at a drug store, purchasing cheap panty hose, I pray I don't get a rash, insole things, and blister bandaids-and cigarettes because by this point it's niccotene or homicide.
Finally, we head toward the office, and he's still trying to keep me away from it. "What the hell are you hiding up there, all I've wanted to do since I've got here was go in and you won't let me, you're not being helpful what the fuck do you want!?" I scream at him, I blow up at the man, but all he's done since I've been here is nudge, and drone and bother me. Clingy like a spider. He tells me he has to pee, and we go up. I go to the ladies room, smear my polish, and put the panty hose on. I loathe them. I loathe the way they feel against my skin. Granulated nylon in beige. If I wanted to be beige I'd spray tan or move to Miami Beach and be a republican yenta with big hair. I don't want to be beige. I get out of the stall, check my makeup, which is practically falling off of my face, this city is a workout. It's humid and there are potholes. I'm completly disenchanted with every aspect of it's being.
My father is sitting outside chatting with someone, who invites us to a cinco de mayo party, I'm biting my tongue, literally, just to muster my rage. We finally get into the office, sit down, FINALLY, and I take my shoes off. We discuss the torah, biblical codes, and it's like none of it happened. Why couldn't we have just done this to begin with. I don't fucking understand him sometimes.
I want to go home. I'm tired. My feet hurt. I'm done with this city.
And I'm finished that's my good vent, I'll write more later. <3
VIEW 14 of 14 COMMENTS
We will be meeting at the main desk at 6pm.
The EVENT!
Afterwards we will be headed to the Willow House for Coffee and whatever else strikes us as interesting. It's located right near by on 3rd St. & McDowell.