Our Crooked Tree

WOW! My first guest post! This is so unexpected! What to say, what to say…..well first, of course, I’d like to thank The Academy. And of course, my entourage, my personal hygiene assistant Rico, Mother Dearest, and God. WOW! I, this, can I say WOW! I mean, I am the LAST person who expected to be up here tonight….I SO don’t deserve this, not with Mr. DeNiro sitting right in front of me, dragging his……what is that, his index finger?….across his throat. Ok, so I prepared this little speech thing, JUST in case I got the call to guest post, so, if Mr. Clint Eastwood would stop squinting at me (VERY distracting, by the way, Clint) we can get on with this whole business of breaking new ground.

In all reality, I appreciate the Jittery Redhead giving me a chance to write on her site; she’s good people. I love to shoot the bull with strangers, so this all dovetails nicely with a little writeup. The question lingering like an unceremonious fart in the room is “what should I write about?” Most of you out there are ladies, and while I love them, their issues are theirs and mine involve things like “dealing with excessive body hair” and “how to get away with purchasing more tools you really don’t need”. I can’t for the life of me relate to carrying a deadbeat renter in my stomach for nine months, I don’t trifle with emotions like empowerment and am lucky to remember where I last left my keys. In a fit of glorious madness, however, I DID stumble on the one topic upon which you and I can relate, perhaps in several ways: shoes.

Let’s get this awkward beginning out of the way: I dig women’s shoes. ON WOMEN. To be clear, let me repeat: I AM A FAN OF WOMENS SHOES ON WOMEN ONLY. I don’t have some nutjob shoe wearing fantasy of my own, I don’t find feet appetizing, and I don’t have some sadistic wish to have my berries crushed by a vindictive dominatrix (at least, not that I’m aware of). I am, on the other hand, a true fan of the form and what a nice pair of shoes represents. My own loving bride knows that she can’t ever get into trouble by purchasing yet another pair of sexy heels. Come home with Crocs or Keds? Then we might have issues (pun intended). To me, a fun, classy, sexy pair of shoes give a woman an edge. An edge of confidence and control. That is, provided she doesn’t walk in them like a drunken gazelle on roller skates. That is just painful to watch, promotes an air of awkward immaturity and comes across like you’ve been raiding your older sister’s closet.

Why do women like sexy shoes? I’ve been told it’s because it makes them feel good to look good, they promote confidence, class and style. Flip-flops do none of these things, nor do Birkenstocks. And, I guess what makes it such a turn on for me is that the same sensations I just mentioned come across to a man as supremely attractive. When a woman takes the time and effort to wear a pair of shoes that look like she pays attention to the details; this sends a signal to most cognizant guys, even if it looks like we last updated our wardrobe in 1987.

In defense of what may be coming across as triggering every creepster red flag on your bizzaro-meter, let me at least qualify the previous statements with some parameters to what is definitely NOT sexy:

• Stripper heels with clear platforms - because, well, they make you look like a cheap stripper. Or Pamela Anderson. Bad mojo either way, and not remotely sexy
• Boots that go over the knee - high heel boots are VERY sexy; however, when they go over the knee, you cross over into pirate territory. Not a good look, matey. ps- if they are ankle high boots, then you just look like a renegade cast member from The Sound Of Music or Harry Potters ancient aunt or something. Knee high, and knee high only.
• Heels that go over 5″ in height - we’re getting back to low-rent hooker status here, and dealing with the need for giant platforms on the front to accommodate the height.  Unless you got real fish tanks under the front, it is a look that rarely comes across as anything other than Victoria Beckham Whoretastic.
• Stockings with open toed shoes - No. Won’t do…..looks like your smuggling grapes in a bank robbers disguise. Gross. Rookie move.
• Ballet flats - If you are over the age of nine, you just look the fool in these things. Go out and find some Jellies for crying out loud. Then send me a note on folded brown paper asking me if I will “go around” with you. Beh.

I guess it is my hope that this sheds some light on one guys perspective as it pertains to a certain element of style. However, as my wife informs me on a regular basis, I’m no prize, so you must take that into consideration when judging my judgments. Some men are “ass” men, “breast” boys or “hairy leg” lovers. It’s all good and relevant, but I just happen to appreciate the fairer sex even more when she is wearing a really good pair of shoes. If this offends you, and we meet on the street,  at least have the decency to haul off and kick me in something other than Chuck Taylors. Red patent leather would do nicely, I should think.

About Uli: Born and raised in Santa Barbara, Ca., the madman went to school on the central coast, then moseyed up to Alaska for a stint on the North Slope, working the oil rigs in what might be the worst job ever. Along the way, he worked as a truck driver, heavy equipment operator, framer, substitute teacher, television station camera operator and whatever other work seemed to demand more of his back and less of his mind. He finally settled into an apparent career as a firefighter in Springfield Mo., where he is the driver of Ladder Truck 2 on the city’s north side (read: ghetto-esque). He enjoys the contradiction of working on Missouri’s third largest, very urban fire department, while living 10 miles out of town on a small plot of land (affectionately named “the compound”) surrounded by his wife, two boys, and the weirdest assortment of rednecks you could ever imagine. Most of his time is spent subjecting unsuspecting passersby with his so called “wit and wisdom” or shaking his fist in the air while grunting at the idiots the city makes him save. On his 48 hours off, you can find him offering a lighter side of firehouse life, pop culture, life in the middle of the middle of the country or just random venting at faceless institutions at Half Past Awesome.