Stilett-NO's

So apparently, in Chicago, people occupy more than enough time doing this strange and screwball thing: It’s called walking. No seriously, they walk everywhere. I mean everywhere. It wasn’t long ago, in Vegas, that I was spending my days in Spin class: riding miles upon miles week after week. I’d perch there: sweating and laboring in a calm, confined room to the beat of Tina Turner. As she’d sing “Rollin on the River”, I would push the pedals faster til my lungs were burning, and I was mesmerized by the sight of my large quads shaking in the mirror; all along envisioning the thought of my miniscule, rhinestone G string. It may have been just a strand of sparkles, but it taunted me, and haunted me to the point of keeping me in the gym daily. You see, like a scorned woman…a showgirl’s G strings is: unforgiving, cruel and literally not willing to budge and inch. So, exhaustedly, I’d run, spin, and step my way through my work week, then hop in my car and drive wherever it was I needed to go. But here, folks use walking as a mode of transportation!!! Can you believe it? Walking actually has a purpose aside from the gym?!

Let me begin by saying, Carrie Bradshaw is a damn liar! Yea… I watched Sex and the City for years, dreaming of the day when I would be a single girl in the City. I imagined myself trotting down Broadway at 12:30 pm, on a lunch date with my very own Mr. Big; all the while looking spectacularly snazzy. Sure, I’d be wearing ballet pink stilettos, and a matching pink lace A line dress with an 4 layer tulle skirt and boning to make my waist look: sport’s illustrated swimsuit model: small. My hair would be in long blonde extension-esque waves, and my eye lashes ceremoniously arched towards the heavens dripping in heavy black Dior Runway mascara. Hand bag would be: a compact Coach clutch, and I’d be sporting a MAC lipstick that was a rouge color: matte, but shiny enough to tie the entire ensemble together. (by the way: if you didn’t get any of that, STOP reading, you are NOT my target audience!)

However, now living in the big city, with my personal, Mr. Big, I have decided that the writers of that show must have been seriously smoking crack, or just seriously delusional because NO ONE could survive a walk down Broadway, or any street for that matter in 4 inch stilettos. It hurts my heart to say this: but it is virtually impossible to sport anything even moderately fashionable for a long walk in the city. I guess there are a few exceptions: maybe you are, A: newly giddy in love, or B: 5 of Bull Eh Dia’s famous sangrias deep. And either way, you will have the same exact consequent pain as any normal person, but you will be either A: strung out on the idea of Mr. Right, or B: just plain strung out. In any case, the blisters will still be there in the morning.

Which is why, I feel need to declare: I have found a new love in the city: The CTA: otherwise known as the Chicago Transit Authority. Speedy, shiny, never stoppin, always poppin trains that run around town unconditionally. Unlike a man, this train will always show up, and tell you where things are headed. It will be dependable, there for you, and only slightly messy. It will never ask you to get into its Audi after one two many showoff Gin and Tonic’s. It will always see you home at the end of the day, and allow you the opportunity to meet new interesting people in your neighborhood. My girlfriend, Jen swears by the 8 am Brown line, she says all the “hot ones” have to be to work by 9. Those are the kind, she says that: “actually get up, take their job seriously and wear suits.” I can only imagine the playground that awaits a single girl, where she may start every workday by practicing some good old fashioned eye sex with average, ambitious and somewhat beautiful commuters . In addition, the CTA or “L” as the locals call it, will allow you to wear your most glam attire, while transporting you to your “destiny-ation” in a quarter of the time. All you have to do is purchase a small card: similar to a Visa. Lets face it, we ladies are familiar with plastic! You slip it in a gate and in seconds you have just bought yourself a one way ride for a mere $2.25. That’s better than a 75 % off sale on Memorial Day! Cabs are a waste of time and often smell like “new car smell”, which really doesn’t smell like anything; or anything good for that matter. Show me an air freshener that smells like first date jitters or, new bikini in Cabo and I’ll gladly pay the $10.00 per 5 block fare.

Easier though, imagine yourself: strutting up a few: cold, hard, steel stairs to a plank looking plateau, or as we divas like to call it: RUNWAY, where every single investment banker, sales whiz, wannabe actor/tress and jealous local Chicagoan can witness you in all your glory, and that perfect pair of: celestial, deeply coveted and scarcely ever urbanly seen 4 inch shoes!

Therefore, lately, I’ve come to realize: home may be the place where you lay your stilettos, but it’s the walk, or the ride, that makes all the difference…and some girls follow all the rules, and other girls find ways to bend them…at least far enough to never stop wearing really cute shoes.