Everything looks more disastrous when you're in heels. If someone in tennis shoes is frantically running, you figure disaster (or running) are part of their every days. They probably carry frozen lunches in their purse, and "office shoes", and they surely own a scrunchie in some cabinet at home. BUT, when you see some chick in heels and a pin skirt, running, a chick who looks like she probably waxes, spends too much money on accessories, and meets people for "drinks", you know shits gone awry.
To add insult to injury, there was no way in hell you were going to catch me in a coat, even if it was bone-chilling below zero. Puffy Northface ski gear would have made my outfit look, fucked. Why don't you just throw a pair of muck lucks on me too?
There's a certain skill, a certain knee bend, purse clutch, hair flip, that goes along with running in damn heels. Oh, not to mention the toe clutching that happens inside the heels.
My personal belief about running is that I should only have to if someone is chasing me, with a chainsaw. I would take on a bat, maybe even a machete.....but a chainsaw? My ass is gonna run like I'm on fire.
So, when I had an interview with a VP at a seriously important company (that if I gave you the name of, you would surely know of it) today in regards to future, employment/internships/direction/whatev's and in the writing/entertainment field... the address I cabbed to....was the wrong, damn, address. I even Googled it. Apparently, you can't Google everything. I would marry Google if it were a person that's how much I love"Googling"...I am a faithful Google maid, today however, Google cheated on me.
"I'm here to see BLANK"
Oh shit, the doorman's expression is not good...why is he looking at me like that? Do I have a bugger hanging off of my nose ring? "I'm sorry miss, ("MISS" makes me feel like a five year old at a tea party, by the way. )BLANK is no longer at this building, they moved...."
Naturally, he had no clue where they moved to.
This is where the heel tapping comes into play, the frantic, one heeled..click click click click.....which is really all the heels were good for today, or maybe ever- unless you are not moving, or standing. Heels are only a nice idea.
I'm making phone calls, flipping pages in my planner...looking for "answers" of course, or magic.... when FINALLY. I got a hold of someone with the CORRECT info....and. I start the fucking running, again.
The atmosphere: Times Square, a cluster fuck of tourists with their heads towards the sky, looking for the top of the building maybe? and running into me and in all my coiffed, tailored perfection- with their fucking fanny packs and 300 pound lenses- taking pictures of glittery McDonalds signs. MOOOOVE, 'lady on the verge' coming through, the verge of a meltdown or the verge of greatness is a fine line my friends.
Can we also talk about the snarky cab drivers who don't want to let you pay with your credit card, because the "machine doesn't work." Ok, you fucking liar- you just like the sweet feeling of dollar bills in your hand, but don't we all...
The cab stops at an ATM, the running begins again....due to the half-off, happy hour margaritas that I had, four of, last night, the magic that SPANX would usually work, didn't have the same power on my ass. Not to mention, the sunlight just hit my calves and I DEFINITELY forgot to shave the back of me legs...and oh no, you could see it, no one's touching my legs at the moment so they've been neglected and it's cold....I've needed the extra fur. Don't judge.
I finally made it. It went well (so now we wait?), the office was perfectly- swankyesque, my feelings are that any place that can afford to have white floors, look nice, is a good company.
I kept my composure and didn't cry in any cabs....I had way too much eye makeup for crying today. However, when I got HOME, a ridiculous case of queasiness took over my body like an alien and I have been in bed-sick all. damn. day. Maybe some insomnia cookies would make me feel better.....have you heard of these guys?? The deliver cookies. 24. hours. a. day. That sounds like danger to me, daaanga! but, oh so tasty.
And in closing....after my (very strong) margaritas last night, I went to Amadeus' show (the composer from the bookstore has a band- I found out from Googling it)....what is my obsession with musicians, is there a medication to help me kick that, that's stronger than previous musician induced heartbreak?? I fucking wish. Maybe he'll be sweet....but not as sweet as the cookies I'm about to order.