Bonny, like I said, I totally understand the economics of it, and usually I don't let it get to me, it just stings sometimes when I see really good small businesses struggling.

Amen.

My current burr under the saddle is the number of restaurants that are taking over the local businesses in my neighborhood. The landlords can get obscene rents from the alcohol-based businesses, so everyone except the non-residents loses. So yeah, I'm with you on that.

We are even having to fight off a Walmart in the area. I can't argue with the people who need/prefer to shop at a big box, but there is one exactly 5 miles from here. Totally accessible. Not at all needed in the center of an historic district otherwise populated by my friend's childrens' consignment shop.

I feel ya.

My big issue with shoes is the heel. I suspect that my foot is set up differently than most people's in that the amount of space before my heel bends is very small. So pretty much 85 percent of shoes available and nearly all dress shoes, the back of the heel comes up painfully high on my foot, rendering them unwearable.

Which is why I buy in person, from my awesome friend back in Kansas, because she not only knows me and my feet, but she also knows my preferences for slip ons and black and whatnot, and she brings me the exact shoe I need. Like the earth shoe, for example.

The only thing I buy online are Doc Martens, because she, being primarily a Birkenstock vendor, hates Docs with a fiery passion and mocks me for buying them. And it's true that the sizing is just a bit off for me, but I can consistently find shoes that have an appropriate heel, and they last forever. We're going on seven years with the current pair; the last one lasted a good decade, with hard condition daily wear.

Not a sneaker, though, so unhelpful to the current conversation.

I am now pretty much all Danskos, all the time. They are comfy, last forever, come in cool colors, and now my feet actually reach the floor when I sit in a chair! Today, I have these on: [link]

I just googled and found a local place, which of course I have passed a thousand times and never remember it is there. There open late tonight, maybe if I get my energy back I can go later.

The best sneakers I ever had was a pair of Nike Air Run/Walk, which I bought back in the 80s and they lasted a good ten years. Perfect shoes, fit right out of the box. When I first put them on and walked around the store in them, I heard angels sing. Of course, by the time I needed a new pair, Nike didn't make them anymore, and I've never found another pair that fit that well, from Nike or any other brand.

Mostly I just hate wearing shoes. If they have any structure at all, they're always at least a little uncomfortable, and my little toes get crushed under the next toe. Clearly, the toebox isn't wide enough, but I'm already wearing a size 10.5-11, and Wide shoes are too wide for the rest of my foot. There's nowhere bigger/wider to go. I have four pairs of sneakers right now, from cheap to expensive, and none of them fit right.

ah, my wedge-footed sister! Whenever possible I buy shoes that fasten - buckle, tie, velcro'd straps. I can't wear heels any more (arthritis in my foot), and I was having the problem that anything spacious enough in the toe would come right off the heel.

So I'm looking at one of my favorite Scandinavia and the World comics, about the penis museum in Iceland. [link]

I'm looking at the last panel, where Iceland is showing off his lamp made from testicles. My phone rings, and I say "Company Name Te--"

And my tongue locks up, because my brain just realized I was about to say "Testicle Support."

I'm still fighting to keep myself from bursting into inappropriate giggles and trying to avoid any word that begins with "te".

Forgive me, I need to vent.

Dear 2011, FUCK YOU. Just ... fuck you. The rest of this year better be filled with winning lottery numbers and fabulous book deals and trips to Disneyland.

My Dad just texted me. His mom, my Grandma Vida, passed away this morning. I am so worried about him. I am also tired of crying.

To sum up, fuck off, 2011.

Oh, Jilli, I am so sorry. Your poor dad. And you poor you. Ugh.