Heels on your hardwood floor

A friend and I were talking recently about parties in people's homes. For the most part, a get-together at someone's house is a lot of fun--good company, good conversation, good food, and my personal favorite, board games.

The thing about going to someone's home, though, is that you have to follow their rules. If they have kids, you can't exactly play strip poker. If they're vegetarian or don't drink, it's unlikely you'll be having hot dogs or beer.

And if they ask you to take your shoes off, you have to comply.

I've never had a problem with the no-shoe rule. In fact, I almost expect that I'll be walking around in my socks when I visit a person's house for the first time. If they've just put down new floors, who am I go traipsing through their living room in my Uggs? (Note: I don't own Uggs.) If they live an apartment building, of course they don't want people stomping around in heels. And I even humor the "we have kids and god knows what you drag in from the street" excuse. It's your house, I'm just a guest.

But a line must be drawn somewhere. There are instances when asking guests to remove their shoes is rude and/or tacky. And that line gets drawn when your guests show up in ties and gowns.

A couple of years ago, I accompanied a friend to his co-worker's house for a "formal gathering." The event was at a big, fancy house on Long Island and the attire was not casual: my date wore a suit and tie, and I had on a cocktail dress and high heels. We arrived at the house and were immediately asked to remove our shoes. I remember hesitating for a moment and fighting the urge to ask the hostess if she was kidding--she definitely was not. We left our shoes by the door and I spent the next three hours in my stockings.

Now let me tell you something--being barefoot at a friend's house is a lot different than being barefoot at a party filled with strangers. For one thing, you're usually sitting on the couch at a friend's house, not walking around a mansion with tiled floors. For another, you're not wearing a party dress and pantyhose while shaking hands with business executives. You want to know what awkward is? Awkward is watching your date make nice with a bigwig attorney while you compare toenail polish with his wife. Awkward is trying not to laugh when you see a drunk woman in a short dress fall a flight of hardwood stairs. Awkward is taking your pantyhose off in a stranger's bathroom because they have multiple runs from being snagged on the floors. The only way that party could have been more awkward is if the host handed out slippers at the door. (And don't doubt for a minute I wouldn't have worn a pair. I hate cold feet.)

No one should ever have to endure that kind of awkward. Guests shouldn't feel like they're at a hotel after party with their boss while in your home. Someone will inevitably forget to wear their good socks and be embarrassed to remove their shoes. And that chick who's 5'2"? I'm sure she doesn't appreciate having to take her heels off. So please. Before you ask people to remove their shoes at your next party, ask yourself one question: do you enjoy the feel of creamed lobster and cheese squished between your toes? Chances are your guests don't, either.

If only he got knocked unconscious

President Bush spent his evening dodging size-10 shoes in Iraq. What did you do today?

While on a "surprise" trip to Baghdad, Bush declared that "the war is not over" which apparently upset a reporter from an Iraqi-owned television station in Egypt. Before Best President Ever could say say nucular miseducation, the reporter flung two shoes at him while yelling, "This is a farewell kiss, you dog!" Throwing shoes at someone is considered highly disrespectful in Arabic culture. Calling them a dog, however, is considered flirting.

Let's watch a reporter flirt with our president while a very bored-looking prime minister looks on.

Trying something new on for size

I was looking through all of my photos a few weeks ago and noticed something interesting: I have a lot of pictures of shoes. This isn't surprising, considering my borderline-psychotic obsession with footwear. When I first noticed all the pictures of shoes I had, I was like, "I have to post these." But how? My inner editor was all, "You can't just post 30 pictures of shoes. You need an angle. What's your angle?" I answered, "Approximately 45 degrees." An Irish-style brouhaha ensued when my inner editor accused me of being cute. "Cute?" I retorted. "You know what's cute? These Kenneth Cole boots in your ass!" "Why don't you take a picture of it?" my inner editor mocked.

Aha! An angle! And thus the idea was born. What if I went through some pictures, cropped out everything but the bottom part, and let the shoes tell the story! Surely that would be entertaining! BRILLIANT!

The best way to tour Venice is a Gondola ride on the Grand Canal. The worst way to tour Venice is hungover in 95 degree heat.

To avoid falling on slippery cobblestones when walking through a city founded in 1279, one should (a) not wear flip-flops, (b) not be drunk, or (c) pee before leaving the restaurant.


True or false: those pink water shoes cost me $4 at a store in the city where my mother was born.
FALSE! It was the city where my father was born.


What's going on this picture? Am I (a) kissing a dude wearing a fanny pack, (b) trying make a dude in a fanny pack stop squeezing my head, or (c) getting suited up to take a ride on a motorcycle?


My favorite purchase from the Motherland.


Choose the correct answer: In this picture, (a) the girl on the right has one hand up in a crossing guard STOP-like motion, (b) the guy on the left looks like he knows he's about to get on a boat full of Germans who know every song ever made, EVER, (c) the dude on the right is about to moon me, or (d) all of the above.


True or false: I wear these in public.
Absolutely true.


Babies dancing! (Those killer black heels on the left are mine.)


My male cousin is wearing a sarong because (a) he's gay, (b) he loves making his friends laugh, (c) he's doing something that ultimately ends in an imitation of the Statue of Liberty. (The correct answer is (c).)


Which train am I waiting for? (a) The G line in Queens, (b) the Red line in Boston, or (c) the S-Bahn in Berlin.


I chill with pigs.


And Spanish frogs named Señor.


Ah, the Dutch. They've given us so much.


The weekend after I took the bar, I went a little crazy and agreed to go upstate with my dad, aunt, and grandma. The weekend after I took the bar, I apparently had no regard for my personal appearance.


Another shot from that fateful weekend. I was clearly a train wreck.


My favorite pair of shoes. Have I redeemed myself?


Pop quiz: are these guys (a) stomping out a fire, (b) doing the hokey pokey or (c) using a Coke bottle as a guitar and making up their own dance?


Volcanic rock=black sand=feet that look dirty but really aren't. Costa Rica.


The night before this picture was taken I slept outside on a cliff overlooking the ocean. Sounds romantic, right? WRONG! No tent, no shelter, no bug spray, just me and a blanket. And the mosquitoes. And the wild boars.


We got smart the following year. Yay for tents and pillows!


After the Berlin Wall came down, there was this line of rock and rubble that separated East and West Berlin. Rather than pave over it, cobblestones were laid in certain parts of the city where the wall used to be. This photo is the real reason I wanted to do a post about how shoes can tell a story.

Now please excuse me while I try and figure out which of these shoes I still have, and which I must replace with a trip to DSW. I wasn't kidding when I said I was obsessed.

It's not OK to wear a speedo. Unless you're European. Or my dad... wait, that's not OK, either...

I like men. I enjoy them very much, actually. Especially the more scruffy-looking ones. Finals time in law school was always my favorite people-watching time of year because for 3 weeks, no one cut their hair or shaved. So it goes without saying that I don't exactly prefer the pretty boys. You know, the ones that get manicures and and shave their chests. But that doesn't mean I'm attracted only to bums and surfers; there is definitely something sexy about a man in a suit.

There are, however, a few qualities about the way certain put-together men present themselves that I really dislike. Like refusal to wear flip-flops. What is that about? Do they think it's un-manly to expose their feet? Flip-flops are not just for chicks, which may be the reason Old Navy and American Eagle have an entire wall dedicated to men's summer footwear. To the dudes who think it's girly to wear thongs: get over yourselves. (Unless you're wearing actual thong underwear, in which case I should probably direct you to the women's shoe department.)

It also really bothers me when men don't wear belts with shirts tucked into their pants. My eye immediately goes to their waistline and I get an irresistible urge to grab them and take them to the nearest Macy's and introduce them to their new favorite leather accessory. This may be the reason I don't like suspenders--not because they look funny, they don't at all; I actually think they make a man in a suit look distinguished--but because if you're wearing suspenders, you're not wearing a belt.

And please. For the love of all things holy, STOP WITH THE THUG WEAR. It's not 1997 anymore. Timberland boots should be worn only on construction sites and by loggers in northern Oregon. Additionally, please pull your pants up. Because our president said so.