There are a number of things I missed out on for one reason or another whilst I was growing up. Number one on the list used to be the correct application of makeup. Due to much practice and surreptitiously observing how it should be done, I’ve more or less cracked it (eye makeup that is. Foundation is for another lifetime). Number one is now definitely the wearing high-heeled shoes.

Now, you’d think as a short person, I would have come early to the joy of heels. You would be wrong. I was always a tom-boy growing up and showed very little interest in playing dress-up when heels were involved. Cowboy/Pirate costumes on the other hand… When I was in my early to mid teens, I was at a school with a very strict dress code. 1 inch was the maximum for heels. That isn’t to say people didn’t flout this rule, but both I (and more importantly) my mother who purchased my school clothes were always rule-abiding people. When I was at college, I had no real desire to wear heels. Jeans and trainers were my custom wardrobe. Comfort over style! Uni – more of the same. Oh, I had boots with chunky heels (ah, my beloved New Rocks…) but nothing really over 2 inches, and nothing that would give me practice walking in grown-up shoes. Also, my working life to date has been predominately retail – anyone who has been on their feet for an 8 hour shift will understand me when I say that flats really are the only way to go!

Now, however, I am regretting that I didn’t put in an hours practice every day walking round in some heels. I’m facing grown-up life working in an office. I like to think I have an innate sense of what will, and what won’t, work on me clothes wise. I went shopping the other weekend with Curly Durly, and even now she can’t resist the temptation to try and dress me. She keeps pulling things off the rack that would suit her (tiny, petite 5 ft nothing, uk size 8 ) and is surprised when they don’t look right on me (5 ft, curvy, uk size 14, stocky). I pull things off the rack that she sneers at, but then I try then on and she goes all quite and “oh, ok, yes…” in this way she has when she doesn’t want to admit she was wrong and I was right. I’ve found the style that suits me best. I know what length skirts to wear. It’s not to say I look “fashionable” – I don’t. Fashionable clothes just look silly on me – but I do (on the whole) look good. I’ve worked out my own style and I’m proud of that.

Unfortunately, this style requires heels. Nothing drastic, but something to give me a bit of a lift, or else I look all dumpy. In the winter, this is fine. I have some lovely boots that look perfect. However, girl cannot live in boots alone, especially with spring (and then summer, surprisingly enough) on the way. I need some cute shoes to wear. Never underestimate the relationship between a girl and her shoes. Just because I can’t afford them and currently couldn’t wear them without falling flat on my face, doesn’t mean I don’t want them (If you’re detecting a slight fifties theme going on, then congratulations!)

And here comes my shameful admission. I can’t walk in heeled shoes. Not proper, elegantly heeled shoes anyway with a surface area of significantly less than the standard ‘heel’ area of a flat shoe. I don’t have the balance. It’s a whole different way of walking that is required and, frankly, I can’t do it. If you knew the number of times I’ve turned my ankle in flat shoes, you’d understand how bad my sense of balance is. In heeled shoes I have the potential to multiply my humiliation by a factor of 100. Not to mention potentially serious injuring myself and ending up in plaster with a broken ankle for six weeks (and there’s a look that is guaranteed to make your legs look fat 😉 ). I want to be able to walk in heeled shoes, I really do, but… I can’t.

I’m forcing myself to practice at the moment. I got wolf-whistled at by the road-repair men when I walked past whilst wearing a pair with three inch heels today, which was nice. Yes, yes, I know – all the feminists are currently arming themselves with sticks and preparing to come round and beat me up for that comment, but just hang on a minute – I am not the sort of person who normally (ever) gets wolf-whistled at. I’m just not. I’m sure if you did the stats, tall, leggy, busty blondes in short skirts would come up more often than short, curvy, brunettes, in knee length skirts. Actually, today, I was in a slightly ratty ankle length black skirt, so who knows what the hell the chap was on! I’d say he was whistling at someone else, except the high-street was more or less empty bar me and the little old bag lady. What I am saying is that being oggled is a new experience for me, and rather nice for someone who gets more compliments on her personality than her looks. Let me get used to that oggling before I have to start being demeaned by it, will you? Anyway, I’m forcing myself to practice walking in heels. Rather I make a fool of myself walking round the house and neighbourhood than when I walk into an interview.

I think part of the reason that I find it hard to walk in heels is my breasts. When you’re up on heels, your entire centre of balance shifts from low down around about your waist/pelvis to up around your rib-cage. You suddenly become acutely aware that you have a tendency to lean forward. At least that is how I feel. When I am in heels I am extremely conscious of the fact that I am in a posture with my shoulders back, and (consequently) my breasts out. For someone who spends her life hunched over a computer screen, who is acutely self-conscious, and who tries not to thrust the aforementioned features into the public gaze too much, this takes some getting used to. I need to be paying attention to where my feet are being placed (uneven ground = harder to negotiate in dainty shoes), but instead I am being distracted by my chest. ^*1*

Add to all this, when you walk in heels, your weight is distributed differently. For feet that are used to walking in flats and have the corresponding hardened bits, this opens up whole new unexplored regions to blisters and the like. Don’t believe me? Try walking round on tip-toes for a bit. Yeah, see?

I know the only solution to this problem is to stop being a baby and just get on with it. I am keeping myself going with thoughts of all the cute shoes I will be able to buy when I finally can walk in heels. Ahh, happy day…

Endnotes:
^*1*Turns out workmen are also distracted by said chest, but that’s not really my problem 😉^Back
*2*Oh, and I know that 3 inches isn’t, in the grand scheme of things, unusually high when it comes to shoe-heels, but it’s a lot for me when it’s nearly 5% of my total height.

I’ve noticed a curious phenomena – when I read in bed I have warm feet and am rarely cold. But as soon as I stop reading and turn out the light, I get cold. Is there any rational explanation for this, or am I just unusually odd?

As has been covered in a previous discourse, the naming of things is important. As with my toilet rolls that are, in fact pink, despite being called ‘lilac’ on the packaging, when something has the wrong name it can be misleading and confusing.

Think how awful it is then, when something has no name at all!

Many people have complimented me on the penguin who is sitting, looking down on us all, from the top right of Bright Meadow’s header. Ever since Spooky created him for me back in the summer of 2005, I have been looking for a way to display him that is worthy of his evilness and cuteness, and with the move to WordPress, I was able to give him a design he wouldn’t be ashamed of. Along with my cartoon head, he is probably the most visually identifiable part of the site.

It has come to my attention, however, that the penguin doesn’t have a name.

This is a state of affairs that just can’t be allowed to continue. So, without further ado, I am proposing a competition.

Name That Penguin ^*1*

The rules:
Everyone has a week (the closing date will be the 2nd of February) to propose a name for the penguin.
You can propose a maximum of three names.
Only names posted in the comments field of this post will be accepted.
At the end of the submission round, there will then be a further week where you can vote for the best name from the shortlist I will compile.
The winning name will thenceforth be the name for the Bright Meadow Penguin.

Some other points:
I wish I could give prizes, but budgetary constraints (i.e., my current job-less-ness) preclude my normal generous nature. My undying love and affection will have to be enough for you.
Winning will, of course, entitle the winner to Blog Minion status if they do not already have it.
I am loath to rank my Minions, so existing Minions will just have to make do with the happy glow of knowing that they’ve done something worthwhile to make the world a better place. For after all, what is a named penguin, if not a happy penguin? And happy penguins are less likely to view you as victims in their next plot.
Don’t just limit yourself to traditional penguin names like “Pengu” – I am a great fan of unusual names, hence plants called Sebastian and George, a dog called Jason, a cat called Twigglet, and fish called Chips, Cassandra, Humph, Arthur, Shanks, and Tilley. I’m looking for a name that captures the essential identity of the Bright Meadow Penguin. Go wild!

Now, I know there’s at least 15 of you reading Bright Meadow, so let’s see if we can get at least fifteen names. Take your time, you’ve got a week, and I’ll sticky this post in the sidebar so it doesn’t get drowned beneath a horde of later posts.
Just in case you’re reading this in an RSS reader and have forgotten what the Bright Meadow Penguin looks like, here is what he looks like:

Let the games begin!

Endnotes:
^*1*Now I have the theme tune from “Dastadly and Mutley” going round in my head. Stop that pigeon… stop that pigeon… stop that pigeon now!^Back

Why is Firefox determined to open on my right screen (the 12″ PowerBook screen), and not the left screen (the 15″ LCD)? It used to remember that I liked it open full screen on the left. The last couple of days however, it’s been determined to open on the right. Grrr. Bloody firefox.

Today’s post comprises a few odds and sods I wanted to blog about, but couldn’t quite work into a full post each.

It is time to say good bye to tSPFKAG, and say ‘hello’ to The Queen. Curly Durly took tSPFKAG back to the Homestead when she left this morning, leaving The Queen in his place. The Queen is so named, for from her all my other spider plants have been spawned. She is remarkably prolific – I had to cut upwards of 30 babies off her before she would fit properly on my windowsill! No, this is not being cruel – it was necessary. She is starting to get drained and needs to be taken back a bit so she can return even bigger and stronger.

I’m the top result in Google for something – “cussler sahara” (OK, top result on Google.co.uk, result 11 on Google.com, but still!). Just a shame that the review it links to is seemingly so contentious!

I have a new frog – Avril LaFrog. You can read all about her adventures over at The Adventures of Avril LaFrog: Frog Racer.

And if anyone can translate what I think is Arabic, please go to the my MyHeritage match with Hilary Duff on Flickr and translate the comment someone has very kindly left me!

clive cussler, sahara, google, racing frogs, hilary duff, myheritage

It really is silly how the little things can make your day – taken out of context they can just seem so small, but seemingly insignificant occurrences are what make the world that teeny bit more bearable.

Like turning down the Big Issue salesman (no, this isn’t the good little thing, this bit made me feel bad), but giving him a smile anyway, and them him saying “you have a lovely smile – no, I’m not gonna ask you again, I just want you to know you do have a lovely smile”. Such a little thing, but made me walk round with a warm fuzzy feeling and a secret smile for the rest of the day. The cynic in me thinks it was a ruse to get me to buy a Big Issue after I’d already said no, but I don’t want to listen to the cynic this time.

A couple of days before that, I got a compliment about the skirt I was wearing – again, almost a throw away comment, but it stuck with me and made the day that little bit brighter.

It might be because I so rarely have to field compliments in day-to-day life that the ones I do get gain an importance out of all proportion to reality, but I think it is more universal than that.

So, my Blog Minions, here is your task for the coming days/weeks/months/years:
Make a point of saying something nice to someone at least once week. ^*1* Compliment a shop girl on her earrings. Don’t just walk past the Big Issue seller with your head turned away – smile and say ‘sorry, but no thank you’ to his face. Give up your seat on the bus/tube to someone who looks like they need it. Thank the chap at the supermarket checkout with a genuine smile. It’s remarkably easy, but I guarantee it will make their day a little better, and might even make you feel a bit happier as well.

🙂

Endnotes:
^*1*For this task, it helps if they are someone you don’t know, or don’t know that well. I would hope you are in the habit of saying nice things to those you love on a more than weekly basis without my prompting.^Back

Please put your hands together and welcome two new Blog Minions to the fold.

Joe (the Surly One) has earned his badge for sending me a new Redrick cartoon in my Christmas card (no, I’m not being slow on bestowing Minion honours, rather the card got caught up by Royal Mail and only arrived today). For those of you who know Joe/Redrick from of-old, the Surly Elven Ranger ^tm will need no introduction. If you don’t know him, well, Redrick is an Elf, who is known for being a bit grumpy on occasion. I have always loved Joe’s artwork, which might go some way to explaining why I have some of it emblazoned on my back, and this latest just goes to confirm my jealousy of his talent.

The cartoon is on Flickr, so click to see bigger, and comment.

The River Queen gets honoured for finding the following news story today and passing it on to me over IM:
A parrot owner was alerted to his girlfriend’s infidelity when his talkative pet let the cat out of the bag by squawking “I love you Gary”.
Perhaps I should include Parrots in my list of evil animals?

Both of you get a Minion Badge to display proudly on your own website (if you have one), and are now listed as Blog Minions.

My army is growing. Mwhahahahaaa…!!!!