these boots were apparently NOT made for walkin'

So, I love shoes. And I love boots. If any of you have read any of my previous blogs, then you might know that I had a little spat with a very dear pair of Steve Madden cowboy boots of mine (I believe the title is sweet sixteens and charmed thirds). We had since made up, and I have really just been waiting for the right moment to bring 'em out, bring 'em out.

This morning as I consulted my sophisticated weather system (which means I go to the front door and stick my arm out), I pleasantly surprised to find it was so cold. Yay, this means sweaters and boots and pea coats (oh my!)

As I prepared for class, I grabbed a favorite sweater, warm jeans right out of the dryer (this makes me think of that Seinfield episode, you know, the one where Kramer always likes to have warm clothing, so he always puts them in a dryer, but then he sticks them in the oven, and....never mind), and then I pulled on my too cute boots.

I clip-clopped my way into Self Hall, held my head up high and enjoyed my boots. We got out of class a little early, and it seemed like a good day.

Oh, no. Not so fast.

As I was venturing down the hall with my good pal Kristin, I felt my feet do that familiar dance and....BAM!

Right in from under me (you'll remember that they didn't really fall "out" from under me), my knees hit the floor with a thud, my bookbag hit the ground, and my coffee cup smashed against the cold, hard tile.

Granted, no one in the hallway at the time laughed or pointed or kicked me whilst I was down, but no one really stopped to help or check or anything. Kristin freaked out, and I just wanted to curl up into the fetal position and rock myself over into a corner.

So now I have wounded knees, injured pride and a pair of shoes I'm ready to throw into my closet and never look at again.

Needless to say, we aren't friends anymore and it may very well be awhile before I want to go out with them again.

Damn you, Steve Madden. Damn you and your cute cowboy boots to hell!!!!!!!

nothing left to "loose"

I hate that. For those of you that know me, I am a grammar Nazi, and it pains me so much to see lose spelled looose. The real looser is the person who puts it on a church sign, as I have recently observed. There is this one church, on Church St. (ironically, or maybe not) that I like to think of as the Church of Bad Grammar. Every time I pass by, which used to be often, something else is wrong. Now, I know that no one can be perfect all the time, and I make my own fair share of mistakes. However, if you are going to be assembling a church sign that will be visible to everyone, or a banner, or a marquee, or whatever, please please PLEASE make sure it is correct. Gah!

Also. I noticed that it is quite often that children feel the need to run 'round displaying their artwork with spray paint on walls and street signs and such. These "delinquents" have come into contact with several street signs in the area, and my favorite is the person that spray paints the word "DON'T" above the word "STOP" on a red stop sign.

I don't get it. Does this person honestly think that a driver will pull up, look at the sign, and then think to him or herself: "Oh, wait. That's one of those "Don't Stop" signs. What was I thinking putting on my brakes? I'll just cruise on through."

If you want to be a real menace to society, why not just take the whole thing? Cut out the middle man. There is a large percentage of the Alabama population that is illiterate anyway, and they won't take the time to discern what letter means what.

I guess the moral of the story is this: the next time you are driving about your local residential area, pay attention to the signs. If you come across one of those tricky "Don't Stop" signs, and you aren't sure, err on the side of caution. Go ahead and take the extra time to stop. If you decide not to heed this warning, proceed with caution at your own risk, my friend.