Do you REALLY want to know about my shoes?

*Note to readers and to self ... I've been tagged to divulge my favorite blogs, movies, hobbies, a little of my history, and places I'd like to visit ... by Bubble Girl. And I like her and her blog and her children, so I'm flattered and offer the following contribution ... get a glass of wine and hang in there. This could get ugly.

So, there's this darling blog out there w/ this darling girl and I dig that she shows us every day what she wears. It is due in large part to her that I now so enjoy the thrifty and vintage side of the clothing biz. She's all color and texture and GOD she has a lot of shoes.

So, when I beget this blog, I had this idea that I was going to somehow be so clever as to link all my posts to shoes. Because shoes are just what I do.

"It was a lovely day in my neighborhood as The Big One scampered about in his new Etnies ..."

"The Tall One looked smashing grooming our dog wearing a holey work shirt and his Quicksilver flip flops ..."

I was never going to be able to keep this up. And not even someone w/ a love of shoes like me was going to read it. So I stopped.

There was no way to chronicle the lives of my children, our daily adventures, our milestones, and talk about SHOES in each post. But, dang, I do try.

And in blogging I'm so happy that I've found this network of talented women and men who share, who inspire, who challenge me with their clever, clever wit and grasp of current and not-so-current events. And, they make me laugh. And, they make me think. And, sometimes, they really make me mad.

Like, for instance, on THIS -- ONE OF MY VERY FAVES cuz she's got seven kids and she home schools and she looks like we could totally be best friends because she likes wine and wood floors and IKEA, and because she just ordered an ASH VACUUM online she probably lives somewhere New England-y and probably has very COOL BOOTS -- there was this big ol' debate because she referred to a wall color in her house as "flesh colored" and some commenter expressed displeasure and played the race card. And then, there were subsequent posts wherein the debate raged over "flesh" being the skin or blubber BENEATH the skin, and I'M JUST SAYIN' days later after her clever and ballsy retorts, I had to laugh because The Big One told me he COULD NOT do his science homework because he DID NOT have a "peach colored crayon to color the skin." And I thought I JUST READ ABOUT THAT. And does that make my 8.5 year old a racist? And, does it make ME a racist or a freak because I seemed a little easy on OJ awhile back? (I've decided that now he scares me. OJ, not The Big One.)

And then there's dooce and she scares me w/ her talent. And I love her dog. Mighty Girl doesn't have a dog, but she has a blog, and I love it.

This great gal sold me two trademark necklaces and I learned of her from this blog of a fantastically talented local artist who I just happened to GROW UP WITH and who introduced me to YAZ and drove the greatest Honda Prelude. And I admire both for their artistic dedication, sweet and sensitive dispositions, and if anyone wants to bestow upon me another Superhero or a CAKE, I'll wear it and display it ... next season.

Here's my hometown paper. I read it for the weddings and funerals. They are excellent fodder for how mine is NOT to be written.

I've yet to buy anything from craigslist ... and LORD I've tried.

And Austin Freecycle is just the coolest. Have stocked many an apartment here w/ free goodies. And have found some GREAT neighborhoods. And met more nice people.

I'm able to blog and surf when my children are otherwise occupied. Like watching Hannah Montana. Or reading about Hannah Montana. Or listening to Miss M on the stereo. Or studying the planets.

And if I wasn't sitting in my present locale ... blogging ... I can think of a few places to visit. I would be content, with my family, in any place w/o head lice. I dreamed about head lice last night. I dreamed I was dousing The Short One's head w/ some chemical that was turning his hair into yellow sludge and running off his head. "Oh well," I thought, "He'll be cute bald." I dreamed about bugs because we had bugs for about nine weeks two summers ago. And when someone tells me they "treated and combed," I wanna say, "Don't stop. Combs don't work. You gotta PICK every single egg, carcass, live bug, shell casing, lice poop ... EVERYTHING off the hair and scalp for WEEKS. And you will want to slit your wrists and pour prescription OVIDE, which smells and throws into the air a cloud of vapor like jet fuel, into the wounds." Ovide is made w/ malathion. Malathion kills boll weevils. More about them later.

I'd like to visit a tropical beach-y locale w/ The Tall One. A beach that does not allow fireworks, pork rinds, bean dip, 4x4 pickups, the Confederate Flag or pop-up campers on its sandy shores.

Take me to NASCAR!! Never been. And I don't mean a wimpy little race w/ fast cars. I mean NASCAR. Some big ass track w/ fireworks, pork rinds, bean dip, 4x4 pickups, the Confederate Flag and pop-up campers. I gotta feel that roar before I die. And I gotta feel the love for all things No. 8. (Tho, I think now I've read he's No. 88.) I'm not exactly feeling the love NOW ... and I sure don't understand this "sport" on TV. But, I think with Bud Light in hand, and really loud engines ... and maybe the tee-shirt ... I could "get it."

I wanna go to an event w/ serious war planes flying in formation. One minute I expect there'll be dead silence ... just babies sucking on pacifiers in strollers, crickets chirping, and cameras poised ... and then BOOM ... there they are! Missing man. Everything. Just so damn American. I get goose bumps just thinking about it.

Then, Greece. That would be nice. Do they have pork rinds in Greece?

Now, there is a genuine segue into "where I'd like to be" and "where I've lived." Both can be answered w/ "West Texas." I am deeply happy where I am -- an area where such diverse lifestyles, ages, professions co-mingle so brilliantly. But, a journey north and a little bit west is home. It's hot. It's windy. It occasionally rains mud. There's cotton. Cows. Joints where no one calls a two-step "kicker dancing." It's just dancing. And it's home. And I miss it.

And it was in West Texas that I killed boll weevils. Or tried. Or just talked about killing boll weevils. They were a nasty bug that killed cotton and farmers didn't like them and it was my job to communicate to the public why malathion flying out of bi-planes OVER YOUR HOUSE was a good thing. And it was. But, some of the farmers didn't like ME or us and that could be scary. Farmers are rarely happy about anything, but when they're MAD, they've got lawyers. And big trucks. It was one of the coolest jobs I ever had.

The only thing better than a boll weevil or a cotton shredder is a newspaper press. Running at full tilt, it'll make you wet your pants. If you enjoy that kind of thing ... and I do. I worked at a paper in West Texas. The press and the waxing, rolling machine were the best ... BEFORE desktop publishing. Ad sales was the worst. Sometimes when I have to pick up the phone to make a "cold call" to a doctor, dentist, or someone else unknown, there's a moment of panic. Dread. I hated that job. And for a minute almost quit and became a substitute teacher. Which is worse?

So, it's here I'll admit I'm a bit shallow in the TV and movie-watching bidness. One time I let The Tall One select the movie rentals and he came home w/ the one where Johnny Depp locks himself in a cabin in the woods to write a book and bad things happen and try to come thru the windows. The other was "Mystic River." Being that it was nominated for an Academy Award at the time, I felt it my cultural responsibility to give it a try. My husband does NOT rent the movies in this house ANYMORE!!

If there is a movie I'm to watch time and time again ... "Four Weddings and a Funeral," anything w/ Julia Roberts EXCEPT "Erin Brockavich," since there's cancer, dirty water and dying in that movie. If "The American President" were real life, I want the job as his personal assistant. That little gal w/ glasses, a blue business suit and clipboard. IF the president was Michael Douglas ... or Will Ferrell. And I'm a "brat packer;" "About Last Night," "Pretty in Pink," "Breakfast Club," and both "Father of the Bride"s. The one w/ Steve Martin, Martin Short, and the "keck."

On the small screen, I live only for the news ... and since Peter Jennings died and Tom Brokaw retired, I can't find a comfy home at 5:30. I'm leaning to Charles Gibson. I trust him and I do love the "Person of the Week." And if I'm ironing The Tall One's shirts, I can ALWAYS find a CSI or Law and Order on SOME station and be sucked in during the first three minutes.

Hobbies? Or the way I spend my time? Are they the same? Almost more exciting to me than a roaring newspaper press, is a well-organized home ... car ... life. Organizing, sorting, cleaning. It's an obsession, I suppose. But, it makes my life easier. And when that hobby carries over into lives of the less fortunate, it makes me happy. Caring compassionately for the homeless ... easing their burden ... it's just a thing I have. I read. And I blog. And I iron. And because of my children, I know my planets and my state capitals. I like to shop. Not "buy." Just shop for the best deal ... and get it. I run and I cycle and sometimes I swim, but I'm not very good at it. But, I love all the gear and think exercise is DEFINITELY all about the look.

No good way to end except to say goodnight. There's so much more. I'm tired. My feet are tired. And it's time to watch the news.

Thanks, Bubble Girl.