JIMMY CHOO AND VALIUM

The title of this post is taken from the chief spam subjects to which trolls attempt linkage in the comments field. This blogger is a very patient person;
I live in San Francisco. I'll put up with almost any level of insanity no matter how berserk.

Even footwear fetishes and altered states.

From a safe distance, of course.

Not in my apartment.

Or my life.


What kind of woman (because it just cannot be a normal man) has, as her chief interests fervid fanship for nut-medication and expensive shoes?

I'm guessing a Polk Street woman. Very likely early to mid twenties, from Ohio or Missouri, moved here fresh out of college, and living off a trust-fund her wealthy family set up for her.
She's probably working at a charitable organization, so that she can claim that she is doing something meaningful with her life. The Foundation to Save the Randy Porcupine, or something.

At night she goes out and drinks Jager bombs (a shot glass of German herb liquor dropped into a tumbler of Redbull). Then she makes out with her male equivalent, and both of them go back to their loft south of Market Street to commit indecent acts. It's totally fabulous, omg.
Either that or she does Bikram Yoga twice a week.
Which is spiritual, and just as sweaty.



There are TWO styles which NO ONE should wear.
Yoga pants and bicycle clothing.
Oh well, Speedos too.

We really have no desire whatsoever to judge your tightly rounded posterior, even if it is tautly sculpted. Which it more likely than not isn't. The public sphere is NOT the place to spandexify those ghastly gluteals.
Tight shiny fabric does NOT make you faster or hipper.



The woman who was born here does none of that. Instead, she goes out to a park to feed the raccoons and rabid wild animals, then settles down with Dostoevsky or Proust; entranced by good writing, her wire-rimmed spectacles slightly askew, and a whisp of hair trailing in the breeze.
Instead of Yoga pants, bicycle togs, Speedos, or Jimmy Choos, she's probably wearing comfy slacks, a sweater because it gets windy and cold in late afternoon, and a necklace.
And perhaps Converse sneakers.
Her one concession to hip and with-it is the tall glass of bubble tea.
Because tapioca pearls make splendid spit-balls.
To shoot at hyper-active juveniles.
Someone else's nasty brats.
Who need Valium.


Precisely such a woman must be taken out for vindaloo, rice, fluffy naan, and a spot of masala chai or mango lassi in the evening.
She'd sparkle over spicy food.


Let the raccoons take over.



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