My self-loathing is dead sexy

ShoesI wore these shoes. For realz. I put them on my feet and walked out of my apartment, to the subway and through Manhattan.

I got about halfway to the subway before Devon was all, "You walk like a toddler on smack" and offered to let me use his arm to stay upright. Because despite the frequent blog abuse I inflict upon him, he loves me. He even worked hard to hail a cab at the end of the night so I wouldn't have to walk back home. I abuse him enough that it's only fair to not abuse him sometimes.

The reason he had to work hard to hail a cab is because convincing Manhattan cabbies to go to Brooklyn is like convincing Lindsay Lohan to switch to O'Doul's, and the ones who refuse should rot in the hell of first-world problems. But I digress.

These turn me into a bobble-headed doll: Everything is fine as long as I stand perfectly still and don't move too far in any one direction.