#stupidshoes

[jayecrues]

My stupid fucking day. #myluck #stupidshoes https://www.instagram.com/p/BnUfnl_Am4tFxVMvhBwxt9vbdenUrQ6SEVOpD40/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=o0s7ajom1qpq

[niccib28]

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We are all Melania today! #stupidshoes #walkingintain #melaniasshoes #flotus #shoesforharvey (at New York, New York)

[carbphrek]

When a pair of shoes physically hate you, back in this for a bit. My PF flairs up when I do not wear the shoes that my feet like. So those salomon SC4 are gone. I did love that purple color. Thankfully the night brace is a fix, I can get out of bed like a hominini and not felidae. #plantarfasciitis #footbootworks #runnersproblems #stupidshoes

[nubuslupus]

And finally, I can die in peace knowing someone out there understands me.

[hollygolightlydating]

The Royal Douche Loves the Country Club

I was bartending at an upscale restaurant for a few months after college where many pretentious assholes asked me out. The Jackson family were “regulars” and expected nothing less than royal service. Servers, managers and even the owner scrambled to cater this family’s every desire. If they requested something we didn’t carry, the bus-boy was handed cash and shoved out the door to quickly purchase the requested item as they were never told no. Many times I heard that they were in the building, but I never had the pleasure of serving them.

Until one night…. An older gentleman and his less than attractive son started barking commands at me while I was entering another couple’s food order into the computer. I was used to this kind of treatment since our clientele thought they were some form of gods and goddesses. I gave them my fakest smile and giggle while making their Old Fashioned’s and memorizing their very specific hors ’doeurve and dinner orders. The son was my age and asked several questions throughout the night.

“Do you have a day job?”

“What was your major?”

“Are you skilled in secretarial work?”

“Want to bartend for my restaurant?”

“Want to bartend AND work for my company?”

For some reason I engaged in the conversation, wanting to brag and dangle myself in front of him knowing that I would never give this guy the time of day. But when he was leaving and asked for my number so he could give it to his human resources department, I found myself versing the numbers to my personal cell phone. Ick! First mistake.

I turned and went back to tending the rest of my bar guests while he oogled a few moments more.

The next day, he texted me saying he would love to grab coffee and that he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about me since last night. Umm what? I gave this guy my number to possibly talk about working for his company, not to get 18th century smiley faces and coffee date requests via text message.

After about an hour, I responded that I was far too busy working two jobs and responding to career-like job inquiries and that I gave him my number for professional use. His response was quick and apologetic: “I am sorry, you’re right. How about I take you to lunch on Tuesday and I’ll bring the paperwork explaining the job.” I reluctantly agreed to go with him to see what this mess was all about as I was pretty desperate to get out from behind the bar.

After all, going out for lunches, dinners and drinks had basically become my second job. You see, I recently discovered a curling iron and red lipstick. Let’s just say that these findings have taken my dating life to a new extreme. I am often referred to as “cute” and “sweet”, but the attention the curly, platinum blonde hair and bright red lips diverge from men are quite astonishing and make me feel like a lioness on the prowl, shedding the baby fur and leaping into a more mature body. Maybe I am finally hitting my peak in my mid-twenties or the hormones they are injecting into the water (since I don’t eat the hormone injected meat) are taking their toll on my young bod.

I like to think of myself as the “Smoldering Temptress” from Moulin Rouge, one of Nicole Kidman’s alter-ego’s. The confidence that over pours with her petite waistline, mischievous eyes and vibrant red hair (tried it once in high school… not a good look for me) is almost too hot to handle. No wonder every gentleman wanted to spoil her with diamonds and have her for their own.

Instead of diamonds, this dude thought taking me to his daddy's Country Club would impress me. His attire made me cringe as he was trying to look like a southern millionaire that some brain-dead chicks would find attractive. He was undoubtedly barking up the wrong tree with me. A navy blue plaid shirt, dark navy sports coat with a blue and white floral hankie perfectly tri-folded in the pocket, light blue pants that barely covered his bare ankles and the stupidest shoes I have ever seen with a mountain of tassels on the tongue completed his douchey look.

The hostess welcomed us and asked if he would like his usual table. He told her he wanted a table on the patio next to the gardens where he could watch his beautiful lunch date while butterflies fluttered past. (LOL, I’m seriously dying reliving this.) She giggled slightly as she escorted us to the patio.

The waitress ran over to us with water as we scanned the menu and asked him if he would like his usual meal today. He slammed his menu shut which made me jump. “Yes, and she will take the garden salad with grilled chicken,” he barked at her. Did this guy really just order for me? I couldn’t believe how rude this guy was considering I didn’t eat meat and he didn’t even ask what I would like before ordering for me. He obviously didn’t notice I was borderline feminist (pretty much feminist) and I was fuming.

He went on and on about how he grew up in boarding school, owned his own business, oh wait make that two now that he had a restaurant and that he ate lunch at the country club every single day. “Whoop-de-doo,” I thought as I tried to not roll my eyes. He was lacking some serious gaming skills if he thought his blabber was impressing.

I wanted to change the subject so I didn’t have to hear more egotistical words come out of this guys mouth, and most certainly was not interested in the job if I had to look at or hear this guy every day. Could you imagine the torture? “So, do you have the paperwork for me to review,” I asked hesitantly. “Oh no, I knew I was forgetting something important on my massive desk. I guess we’ll just have to do lunch again tomorrow,” he stammered.

I wanted to shove his face in his meaty sandwich and bolt to the parking lot. How had I gotten myself in such a terrible position with the world’s douchiest loser? I didn’t know how much more of this I could endure and pretend like I wasn’t miserable.

My moment of escape came while I was picking around the chicken when he asked our waitress for a to-go box.  I looked at my watch and gasped that I didn’t realize how late it was and that I must run some errand before my shift. He signed the check and we made our way to the parking lot where he continued to tell me how busy he was owning so many companies and that he couldn’t hire enough slaves to do the work for him. I’m pretty sure I deserved an Oscar for acting like I was impressed or even slightly cared throughout that torturous hour.

I wish I could say this was our last encounter, but somehow I got suckered in to seeing him the next night. Well, it was actually the two dirty martini’s I had at dinner that caused the next disaster.

I was walking out of the restaurant where I had a fabulous dinner with my friends and there he was, perched against the bar, staring me down as I made my way to the door. Did he know I was there and intentionally crashed? (I still don’t know this answer, but my guess is yes.) Unfortunately, this was the only way out and I had to pass him. I thought about pretending I didn’t see him and to just keep walking, but I was in such shock that my fearful eyes never broke his stare. He grabbed my arm and I just didn’t have the strength to be a bitch, even to the worst person in the world, so I acted surprised and exclaimed, “Oh, I didn’t even recognize you without your hankie!” (Okay, so maybe I am a little bit of a bitch, but I blame the martinis on that one, too.) “What are you doing here? Did you follow me,” I insinuated inquisitively.

Somehow, he took that as “follow me” and said he would love to come over and happened to have a bottle of wine in his Escalade.

I was dumbfounded. How do you respond to something like that? Where had my friends disappeared to? I was too drunk to think of a way out and embarrassed by my delayed response said “ok.”

He followed me home and made his way inside with the bottle of 2010 Darioush cabernet. He had good taste, I had to at least give him that.

One glass in and he attacked me like a hawk, kissing (more like salivating) my face, trying to pin me down. “Gross gross gross, get off of me,” I kept thinking, trying to find a way to deter him. “I have to pee,” I exclaimed then darted to the bathroom. I locked the door, ran water from the sink and sat on the edge of the tub with my head in my hands. WTF was I thinking letting this guy barge into my home. First, I gave him my number and now he was sitting on my couch! This was too much and I needed my privacy back.

I decided to be stern with him and tell him he needed to go because I had an interview first thing in the morning, but as soon as I walked back to the couch, he attacked me again. This time his left hand held both of mine above my head and the right hand found its way up my shirt to where I couldn’t push him away. I finally screamed at the top of my lungs, “I’m waiting for marriage!!”

He stopped immediately and stared at me with an astonished face. “My God, you are perfect. A virgin all to myself.” Once again, I couldn’t win. He laid back down on the couch and cuddled up to me, whispering in my ear about how he found The One and was never letting me go. I felt paralyzed, confused and angry. I dare not move an inch as I waited for him to fall asleep.

It took about ten minutes and the sound of him snoring still haunts me to this day. I carefully escaped from his death grip without waking him and stood above him wondering what my next move should be. A Dexter move? “Nah, I’m not cut out for that crap,” I thought. So, I wrote a note and stuck it to his phone.

“You looked so peaceful so I decided not to wake you. I have a long day tomorrow so please don’t wake me when you leave. -Holly”

I then walked upstairs to my bedroom and locked the door.

To my surprise, he did not bother me when he left. However, I did have a text from him when I woke up the next afternoon.

“Hello gorgeous! Hope you slept well. How about dinner tonight?”

To this day, I have only sent one last response to the world’s biggest douche, ignoring all other attempts to ‘hang out’ or let him know if I was working…..

“I’m moving to Thailand so it is unnecessary to see each other ever again. Once I return from Thailand in three years time, my family and I are moving to Canada to be closer to our heritage. Hope you understand. –Cheers, Holly”