I’m basically Kanye right now.

In the past week I’ve been told I have a “nice writing style” and also a “good voice,” the former for professional writing and the latter for this blog.

Pfft. Even the Stray Cats don’t strut like me today.

The peacocks at the zoo WISH they could step to my preening.

#FilthyComplimentWhore

A woman’s right to shoes/”It’s blamin’ men, hallelujah!”

One more on last night’s yoga class:

It was all women in the class, and at one point the instructor had us rotate our ankles, because “a lot of your acupressure points for hormonal issues are in your ankles. Makes sense, doesn’t it? No wonder we have those issues, men make us wear those high heels!”

Ahem.

1. You don’t even wear high heels, Hippie, I can tell. You wear Birkenstocks if you wear shoes at all. You just walk around on a groovy hemp-based cloud.

2. No man has ever MADE me wear anything. I wear heels because I’m 2 feet tall and chubby, so if and when I CHOOSE put on heels, I’m taller, and my legs and ass look AMAZING, and they add bonus sway to my Olivia Pope strut. Do I wear heels to attract men by tricking them into thinking I’m sexy? Absolutely. But they don’t MAKE me. (And yeah, I know I’ve been raised by male-controlled media to think all this is true, but…I mean, it’s true. Heels make me feel sexy and bad-ass. Blow me, Birkenstock.)

3. Ever leave heels on for a guy? That right there is how you get pancakes after.

#HellOnHeels