Monday, July 20, 2009

Chart the Course

So I'm thinking that there should be a strategy behind this blog. A sort of "reason-why-I-am-sharing-is..."

And here is what I am playing with today: News. Trends. Market trends and entertainment news. Shoes. Fashion. Running. Raising. Kids, that is. Bars, too. Raising the bar on expectations. Or setting realistic expectations, really. And venting, inventing and reinventing and maybe even landing a job. But for now, I've got my running shoes on and I'm ready to take one step at a time.

Speaking of running and setting goals and staying the course...

Was it chart the course or stay the course? Or was it really, in fact, our former president who sharted whilst standing behind the podium and facing the nation? Was it Bush or was it Rice? It's been so long and I've been out of the loop...Either way nothing breaks the wind, er, the ice of a new blog, like stinky fodder...

Speaking of stinky situations, Gary, Indiana is more than Michael Jackson's hometown mourning the loss of the silver handed freakshow. It's also the town that has shut down it's city garbage collection in search of something a little less pricey. The mayor of Gary quipped something of the likes of "tax payers dollars shouldn't be used for this crap...we could be spending money on mayoral travel to China or cocaine-binges...but no...not in my town!!" Talk about the pinching of much that city officials are shopping around for better refuse collection proposals in the national media? I bet the good (and stinky) folks of the space shuttle would move heaven and earth (or at least shoot for the moon) for the ability to pay a million dollars for a little clean air. Not to mention a fixed crapper. If you don't know what I am talking about, it's okay. It's a rather down-to-earth problem I'm describing. A testy toilet. A crappy crapper. A shit-hole of a shit-hole. Come on?!? This is copyedit heaven. From sharting to shitting, this day for news is less than ideal.

And the fashion front isn't much better.'s 10 best dressed for this week is a gaudy collection of barely there dresses and way too hideous textiles that even the best strappy heels can't disguise. If the outfit is so ugly that the bones of the models chest take the cake (not literally obviously) maybe the fashion is even less than pleasing than pudding. And finally, my last stop on the trendy fashion train is to proclaim that Kim Kardashian's hardcore thick and vivid color makeup has got to stop already. I walked into my gym nice and early the other day and was nearly blinded by the amount of hit pink cheek stain, lappingly wet nude lip gloss and smoky kohl lash liner this poor little receptionist was carrying on her face. I'm not sure but I think she had real potential to be pretty. Or at least not at all clown-like. The only good thing to come of it was the fact that I was a bit obsessed with exactly how this little ultra-tanned teenager appeared to have to literally lift her heavy blackened eyelids up and off her eyeballs each time a person entered the gym in order to greet them properly and assist in the scanning of membership cards. I watched with such interest for a good deal of time because it seemed that nearly every person who entered the establishment was caught off guard by the mess that appeared before them. Why, it was nearly three miles into my morning run before I realized my legs were going and my shoes were propelling me stride at a time.


Jumping rope. Climbing the corporate ladder. Studying market reports and signing report cards. Folding laundry. Reading, writing, editing and organizing. Staying sharp and sartorially smart. Shopping, shipping and dressing up and down. Ordering in. Picking up take-out. Going out. Coordinating birthday parties and office events. Getting raises. Taking vacations. Cashing bonus checks. Balancing checkbooks. Returning library books.

Getting laid off.

Hmmmm....breathing? blogging? Or rather, blogging...breathing...recalibrating?

Truth be told, I've been aimless for four months now. Where I once was the smartest dressed and the always in the know in terms of world events and trendy topics, now all I know is that I am ready to get going.
It was just the other day when I wandered upon a large bin of high heel shoes in storage. I sat down and plucked out one right after another. Cradling each piece of artwork as a newborn puppy in my hands, I licked up every delicious morsel of ingenuity as the first time I decided to bring each into my life. Leather, open tow, platform, kitten heel, straps and buckles and tiny bows and adornments. Crimson red, crushed velvet, brushed suede, blue canvas, wood wedged, new, older, well-worn and well-loved and secretly kept and kept secret...these shoes of mine have branded me and my brand is one that has provided me with far less stability than the teetering foundation only a Ferragamo could promise.

So I am lacing up these running shoes of mine and I am off. I am Jeni on the run.