"Fuck love, all you need is a great pair of shoes."

I have some shoes coming in the mail. I am very excited. I have something of a fetish (or obsession, collection, packrat tendency), and since my job has negated most of my shoes as options for the everyday... well I needed new ones right?!?!

Everything ordered was sensible and work appropriate except for these. Strippertastic I tell you. I have a fair number of "whore" shoes, 4 inch heels, vibrantly sexual, fuck me now, kind of shoes. These shoes make me more than a little intimidating. I'm 5'8", so they make me a good 6 foot, taller than the average man or woman. I've walked in heels since I was a kid, so despite my generalized clumsiness I can strut with the best of em.

My collection consists of...

My courtesan shoes. Pink, mixed fabrics from velvet to satin, to metal, all in one barely there open toed confection topped with bows around my ankle and toe. Bought with a cash gift given to me at the end of my art gallery internship.

My New York shoes. Candies, Patricia Field designed. Bought after a trade show with my friend Ally. They are incredibly easy to walk in despite their height, and I was once told in detail how Jimmy could see me stripping in them. They have a cartoon apple and the words New York across the toe, and lace up on the ankle. A friend would not let me walk home in them saying they were too sexy and it was too late, she gave me sneakers instead.

My office shoes. Diesel, bought at a sample sale, half a size too small. Black, leather, pointy toed, spike heeled, sling backs. These are the type of shoes the corporate bitches wear, with good reason for in them one could take over the world. Unfortunately after about an hour in them I want to clutch my feet and cry.

Now, there are many more in the collection. But I can't enumerate them all. It would be boring for reader and writer alike. Plus I need coffee, and a shower, and if I could a cigarette. But damn, I don't smoke.