Don't Bleed For Me, Ferragamo

...'cause I'm not bleeding for you anymore.

Damn these backup boots. Like any woman who's adapted well from small town life to city life, I understand the need for a good pair of black boots. And, given that part of the bargain of my new hometown includes crappy sloppy frozen weather like today, the need for backup black boots. And I found some. And they're awesome.

Except the new pair that I got (okay, that my mom got for me and brought up from Indy when she came up for a family party a few weeks ago) rubbed my heels raw and made me bleed through my tights. Ew. There's a unique disappointment in finding a really cute, really cheap pair of boots, letting your anticipation build for weeks until you get a chance to actually wear them, and then having them shred your Achilles tendon with every step when you finally do.

(They weren't actually Ferragamo. I just like the way that phrase falls together. But they did look like some really good riding boots I once had.)

What else is up? I interviewed Ike Barinholtz today for The Bastion. He was seriously nice and, let's face it, he's cute. I'm pretty sure he was kidding about visiting Chicago again soon, but if not, maybe I'll to try to bump into him. Perhaps I'll try the old "followup questions" approach. Hee. Naw, probably not. I usually get pretty dorked out and tongue tied when I meet bigger name comedy people. Last week I mispronounced my own name when introducing myself to Morgan Murphy. Oh, well. Someday I'll be cool.

*This post got me noticed by Gapers Block, who called my blog "very well-written."