If we've met in person, you've probably noticed that I'm pale. Really pale. Like sparkly vampire pale.
There was a time when I tried to entice my Sicilian half to express itself in ways other than threatening to "take care of" anyone who crosses me, or a "friend of mine". But those 47 days were a long time ago (summer of 1986 to be exact, when I baby sat for the Hurd girls at the Whoosic Club pool). Today I'm at peace with, protective even, of my pallor.
But I still hate wearing sunscreen. It's greasy and slimy, the mineral stuff makes me even whiter. It's gross. And pretty much everything I put on my face makes me break out.
Plus I've always struggled with the moisturizer vs. sunscreen thing -- it's all I can do to get some Lubriderm slapped on my legs on a regular basis.
So I wear hats, long sleeves and stay indoors. Safety first. I don't want to burst into flames or anything.
Meanwhile, Erno Laszlo has been offering me stuff for ages, and I always say "Yes, please!" because I'm no dummy. And their stuff is fine, but nothing's been so good that I needed to replace my beloved Guerlain and tell everyone.
I’m a frequent flier, a planner/worrier, and a shoe fetishist. The search for the perfect pair of airport shoes is an inevitable obsession.
Lately I’ve been wearing a pair of black leather Lucky Brand clogs while traveling, and they score an amazing 6.5 out of 7 on the Wishbone Clover Seven Point Perfect Airport Shoe Scale. They are a little higher than I anticipated, so they’re bad if I need to sprint from one terminal to the next to make a connection (#2, Mobility). However, both shoes have a four leaf clover lucky charm on them, which provides double luck for good connections.
These clogs score 6.5/7, which is the highest I've ever found.
The Wishbone Clover Seven Point Perfect Airport Shoe Scale
They have to be comfortable enough to wear all day, including if I drink too much Diet Coke and get The Swollen-ness of The Ankles. Also, no heel blistering, toe pinching or instep crushing.
When I only have seconds to spare between connections, my shoes have to be mobile/secure enough to walk-jogs through endless terminals. Falling off your heels is mortifying in a crowded airport!
3. Fast on – fast off
All about the security line. I travel with two bags, a coat, and my computer – I don’t have time for zippers, and forget about laces.
4. Sock Compatibility
You need socks in an airport. This is what disqualifies flip flops. When I'm sock-free, I can feel the disease boring holes through my bare soles as I stand on the rough grey security area carpet, waiting for my shoes to pass through the x-ray machine. Feet need protection!
5. Be Pretty
This disqualifies Uggs and Crocs. Goth Crocs do not exist. I’m wearing heavy black eyeliner and possibly last night’s false eyelashes. At 8am. Foam rubber shoes or round toe sheepskin boots are beyond incongruous on me, even when they’re black. And if I wouldn't wear them in real life...well, this is real life. So
6. Class Factor
Be acceptable first class upgrade shoes – I’ve only been upgraded twice in 20 years, but it’s so worth it! I believe in being prepared, so usually no to sneakers, and I always have a drapey scarf to distract from my jeans – I mean my "designer premium denim trousers."
Must go with all outfits packed – there’s no point wearing a pair of shoes on the plane that you can’t wear once you get there. Versatility is the watchword of travel outfits!
Past Perfect Airport Shoe Contenders:
These are possibly my most favorite shoes ever. I’ve had them for about 10 years, and consider it one of my worst failures that I didn’t secure them in black when I had the chance. They are now completely out of stock, even on Ebay.
They score off the charts on characteristics 1-4. And while I appreciate their sort of mod-hipster appeal, they are in essence white tennis shoes. Their outfit pairings are limited. So they fail on 5-7.
Isaac Mizrahi Kitten Heel Ankle Boots
I dread the day (and I know it’s coming all too soon) when these Isaac Mizrahi kitten heel ankle boots are hopelessly dated. I paid all of $30 for them at Target at least six years ago, and have reheeled and resoled them several times.
They score very high on 4-7, and are pretty good for #3 – zippers require one extra step past slip ons, but it’s negligible.
However, the top of the list is a tough one. These boots are okay for limited periods of time, but the combination of the pointy toe and sodium swell means they can get uncomfortably tight. Also, the little heel looks like it would be an easy walker, but it’s a little spindly, and a little slippery, so I wind up tippie–toe-shuffling across expanses of polished airport floors.
Pretty Much Any Running Shoes
In the interest of saving suitcase space, I wore my running shoes on a trip this summer. Hands down the most comfortable, stable, practical shoe for getting around. High scores on 1 and 2. And 4.
Sadly, they fail on all of the other categories. Slow at the security line, only moderately cool looking (except for this one pair of green suede Tretorns and similar novelty styles). You can’t wear them in first class, and they make every outfit, except workout gear, look kinda dorky.
The Search Continues
I’m pretty pleased with the 6.5/7 Lucky Clogs, but I also won’t let that make me complacent. There is always another shoe to try, in the elusive hunt for the traveler’s Holy Grail of a shoe that scores a perfect lucky 7/7 on the Wishbone Clover Seven Point Perfect Airport Shoe Scale.
Did you realize I have a review blog? Well, I do. It's called "Lucky
Cat Reviews" and I'll be posting there more often. Right now,
thanks to BlogHer and Pepperidge Farms, I have a new review posted and a
contest. With a prize!
You know when you meet a pair of shoes, and there is that moment of recognition, like you were together in a past life, or an alternate plane of existence, but somehow you were separated through time and space? But thanks to all of the photon energy in the universe aligning at the right moment, you were magically brought back together again, and are now complete?
Today I had one of those moments. Behold my new green shoes: DKNY clogs with a perforated design on the toe box.
Yes, those are stars on the toes. Also, they are green. Green like grass in a codeine induced dream.
I can just tell we're going to be very happy together, at least for a season or two. I might sleep in them tonight. I mean, I might forget to take them off "by accident".
And because I would want to know: yes, extremely comfortable, Loehmann's, under $50.
This is Dolly, my DIL. She wants to make you do her bidding.
It's that time of year again, when my in-laws plan a vacation, and at the last minute their dogcare plans fall through. So guess where they turn? To me, because they know I adore one of their dogs*, plus they know I'm a soft touch.
So that means Dolly the Dog-in-Law (DIL) is keeping me company this week. And I love the company, but man is she a manipulative little shit!
I've written before about her foxy good looks and fluffy tail. About how she calls me a pink ape and dares me to drop little blue bags of dog poo in mailboxes. And about the evil, stone-cold, killer heart that beats in her adorable doggy chest and makes her want to DESTROY other dogs, birds, garbage trucks, Fedex dudes ... the list is long, and in Dolly's mind unified by the belief that she MUST KILL THEM ALL.
Really? You think you're in charge? We'll see about that.
Since I believe in my own evolutionary superiority, and I've watched several episodes of Cesar Millan's Dog Whisperer show, we work things out. She's not allowed to pull on the leash. I make her sit and watch the other dogs -- and not lunge/growl/snarl -- as they walk by. She has to sit before we cross a street, and she's not allowed on the couch.
For the first few days of each visit, every single one of these rules is tested. Repeatedly. But by the end of a week, Dolly has come to terms with my way of doing these things.
That's when she gets creative. Like, today when she tricked me into taking her for an extra mid-day walk.
Hey! I gotta show you something! It's outside! C'mon, quick, before it's gone!
Dolly had me utterly convinced that an explosive dog diarrhea attack was imminent. She followed me around from room to room, sat outside the bathroom door, made little whining noises, and even barked a couple of times. She's not a barker, so that really got my attention.
When I picked up my shoes, she jumped around and did an excited dance. I didn't even finish tying them, just grabbed my keys and got her out the door. I fully expected her to make a beeline for the nearest patch of grass so she could poop or piss or whatever else she needed to do.
She stuck her nose in the air, and skipped down the street, pleased as punch to be outside on a nice day. We went almost a full block before she bothered to stop and squat, and then hardly anything came out -- barely a dribble of pee!
In other words, that entire "follow-Cat-around-and-whine" song and dance was an act she cooked up because she was bored. And I fell for it.
That's okay. In fact, it's part of the fun, to get tricked by this crafty little dog. Plus she was right. It was more exciting to go for a walk than to watch me write for another hour.
Indeed, an afternoon papasan chair nap is much more enjoyable after a nice brisk walk in windy San Francisco.
*The Other Dog-in-Law
So yeah, there is a second DIL, whom I call "Other Dog". Because when I visit my in-laws it sounds like this:
"Hellllloooo Dolly!!!!!! How's my girl? Did you miss me? Oh yes you did!!!!!"
Tail wagging, hugs, and a general lovefest ensue. Then a sharp, nasty little bark breaks through the happy reunion Dolly and I are enjoying.
"Oh. Hello Other Dog."
I just never took to the little guy. Maybe it's his messed up tooth. Or maybe it's his piss poor attitude. Anyway, I don't know where he's staying this week, and I don't care. Because he's Other Dog. I don't even know his real name. It could be Tyler or Romaine or Queen Elizabeth. Don't ask me.
Of course my father-in-law loves Other Dog. He probably even knows it's real name.