Footwear is a complicated choice. Although I would say that I'm definitely a shoe person, I'm not exactly a stiletto heel kind of person, or any other type of shoe where the odds will constantly be against me making it to my destination without falling fifty times. However, I've been noticing something weird this year at the opera, and it makes me wonder what's going on, and why I didn't get the memo.

Way less people are wearing hilarious heels.

It's sad, because for me, half the fun of the opera lies in watching women wearing ridiculously high heels totter down the stairs, looking like they're really, really drunk, and then making their way to either sit on a bench or lean on a wall, and then waiting until the very last minute before getting up and doing it all again to get to their seats in the theater. I know it's sad, but I wait for it every year. It's hilarious.

But it's just not happening this year.

Maybe one or two people a night. There have been a couple of people in really poorly-fitting formal gowns, as well, but it's not the same. Usually it's like ten people a night or more. Seriously. But this year, everyone's dressed way down, and even those who went so far as to wear dresses are wearing flats, mostly.

Come on, ladies. I look forward to this all year. We have one more opera, and I really want you to go for it. Stilettos. Anything higher than three inches. Come on.

Yes, my life is sad, but that's beside the point. It really is that fun to watch. 

The men are stepping it up this year. I'm seeing bow ties and brocade jackets, seen a few in low heels, which is delightful, as it's not seen as often and it looks awesome, and some really amazing hair and makeup (yep, I'm progressive that way....if women get to put themselves through all of that beauty stuff, I think men should too...equal opportunity fashion). At any rate, they're totally winning the mini style war going on in my head.

So, ladies, this is our last week. Let's do this. For my sake. I'll wear heels, myself, and then we can all laugh as I fall down the stairs.

So here's my two cents about opera, for what it's worth.

Not everybody is going to like everything.

Wow, I know. Mind blown, right? Seriously, though, no two people are going to experience anything in life the same way because everything we see and hear is subjective. So art is going to be felt and heard in a totally different way by every single person exposed to it.

I think that's the point.

Maybe we should all try some art ourselves. Try some activities that don't involve careers or making money, but put in some time and some effort, pushing ourselves past the point where it ceases to be fun, and really create something that does nothing more than beautify our souls.

I know, it's a bit much for a Monday, but I can't help it.

There are so many people that defer to "professionals" in any field of the arts, and just try to feel the same way that person feels about a picture or a sculpture or a play. For me, I get asked, "Well, what do you you think of her voice? I don't know anything, you're the professional."

(Am I really? Because jobs in music are getting fewer and farther in between...sigh.)

I get this comment probably once or twice a week, and every single time, it makes me die a little inside, because it just serves to illustrate that we've taken art away and made it into some fancy schmancy thing that only belongs to certain, very boring, people.

IT'S NOT MINE. I DO NOT OWN IT. I DO NOT HAVE ART SUPER POWERS. 

Boo for that last one, but for reals. I don't get to tell you what you like. You get to decide what makes you feel something. Art isn't about pretty, it isn't about happy, and it sure isn't about me.

It's about someone putting their guts into something that makes you feel something in your guts. And then you guys are gut buddies forever. Ha ha ha...gut buddies.

But really. Stop asking me what's good. You should know what makes you feel all of your feelings. I don't want to know because gross.

I mean, you can totally hear my opinion, because, hey, I've got more opinions than commas. That's a lot. And I do like to share them because I do tend to think they're super cool. But really, take the time to see and hear things yourself. We're all getting stupider because we're being force fed this mass produced crap that is watered down and then told how to feel about it. Let's not do that, mmmkay?

And Monday. Blech.

I am having a big old, "Thank you, thank you, thank you God!" moment right now, so I'm typing this while my mind is still in this place.

This beautiful, silent, clean space.

I realize that I have much to be thankful for, AND I realize (as do all of you who are, for one reason or another, childless) that there are moments where it sucks to be in this state, and so many times when we question ourselves and second guess every major life decision that led us to this Santa-free Christmastime and Grandkid-free future.

This is not one of those moments.

I just had two girls come to start piano lessons today, and it was a real eye-opener. The older one was awesome. Talkative and curious and eager to try and learn and just so super polite and adorable.

The younger one? Totally awesome, too, but in a different way and not so much for her Mom. Her Mom was dying a little inside as the thirty-minute long tantrum ensued, wondering if her offspring was going to break one of my delicate thingamajiggies or make me lose my mind. I believe the high-pitched screaming was even making the bird crazy, because he was doing his alert scream and seemed a wee bit panicky when I finally finished up and went to check on him.

No worries, Mom. I can totally deal with other people's screaming kids for thirty minutes. For the record, I grew up with the tantrum champ, and I have come to admire the spirit of all the kids out there who won't just suck it up and do as they're told. Those kids grow up to be completely ferocious.

However, as we decided that lessons just aren't a good fit right now, and Mom hurried the girls out the door, one totally excited about her new activity and the other just anxious to get as far away from me and the whole idea of sitting still as was humanly possible, I got the best gift of all.

I got to shut my door on the crazy and have 30 minutes of uninterrupted quiet time.

I adore these little people. I love my time with the small kids so much it just kills me sometimes. BUT.

Quiet.

I like that, too.

In my life, I've learned many things. I've learned how to make a protein shake taste less like poo, how to crochet a super-fancy bookmark for when I'm reading super-fancy books, and I've also learned how to say many, many bad words in multiple languages.

Just in case I ever stub my toe in France.

At any rate, I want to pass on a bit of really important information that I seem to be alone in possessing. Take note: If you're in TV show where they're doing a murder investigation, and there's a perfect suspect, but he or she couldn't have done it because he or she is in a wheelchair, that's your person. They're faking it.

Always.

It blows my mind that no one ever asks the person in the wheelchair for an alibi. Never. Well, Jessica Fletcher does, but she's just plain smarter than everyone else. It's not that hard. Ask for an alibi, and maybe set up a trap so you can see if the person does, indeed, have to stay in the wheelchair at all times.

I don't think this rule applies in real life, but it for sure does on TV.

So now you know. Once again, you're welcome.

I really like facts and figures. A lot. I like to see a table, with scientifically-backed numbers. I like a good pie chart. Therefore, when trying to figure out why my weight went up seven-tenths of a pound this week after two weeks with solid one pound or more losses, I went to the numbers to see what I need to tweak.

Apparently, I need to cheat more and eat more crap.

That's right, I actually ate almost 500 more calories over the two previous weeks than I did this past week. I also walked fewer steps, spent less time on the rowing machine and generally just did "worse."

So that will never make sense to me.

It's less than a pound, so I'm not going to die, but eating more to lose has never made sense to me. Also, I did eat a carb this week on no-carb Monday, so I would also like to blame it on that. 

But it's not that. It's just life.

And that stupid My Fitness Pal app that gives me false hope with its overly optimistic weight loss estimate every day. Yeah. Down 10 pounds in five weeks. That's totally happening. 

Liar. 

I may also need to work on my attitude. A bit. 

I've been doing a lot of googling for weird pictures lately and today I found what might be the awesomest video ever, just by accident.

It's awesome, mostly, because if you watch it once I can pretty much guarantee that you will be singing the song in it from now it until the end of time. So don't say I didn't warn you. 

Are you ready for the awesome? Can you handle it on this brutal no-carb Monday?

Here---

You're welcome. 

I'm going to run for President. Yep, I've decided it's time. America needs its first President who stands for cereal, dignity for everyone, and no perfume.

The "no perfume" part is really the most important.

I have been having a lot of trouble with my eyes this summer; I'm not sure why, because the pollen counts are really pretty low, but it's been awful. I'm having to use allergy drops and Benadryl cream around my eyes twice a day just so I don't have to scratch out my eyeballs. It's pretty much the worst eye situation ever.

Anyway, I had finally gotten to the point where I could use the eye drops only once per day, and the cream too, and then yesterday happened. Now I'm all the way back to the beginning, thus my need to be elected President.

I'm going to make it illegal. Just watch me. And then I'll throw all the perfumes in jail FOREVER.

Okay, maybe that's a little extreme, but seriously.

I went into work, with fully functioning eyes, and encountered a person who was wearing such strong perfume that my eyeballs immediately turned red and starting tearing up, and I had a lovely asthma attack. Gale-force winds of perfume were smacking me in my face and, as I was at work, there was nothing I could do.

It was really horrible.

By the end of my day in the office, my face was swollen, I had a massive headache, and my sinuses were completely clogged. It was good times. Then I had to go home and teach singing for a few hours, which is delightful when you're a big old snotty mess. With a headache.

At any rate, when I am President, no more of this. No more. I will outlaw all stinky smells, especially perfume, and this will all be over.

The rest of the things in the government may suffer, as I am a weenie and not very assertive. I can't help that. I just really hate perfume.

Alright. It's time for more pearls of wisdom.

I want to share something with those of you that have not had the benefit of growing up with a mom who was all about manners. My mom was crazy with those things; subsequently, I learned a lot about life and not being rude (note that I didn't say I always follow the rules, I just know them).

Apparently, there is a large portion of the population that is unaware that when one is getting married or having a baby, one does not simply throw a shower for one's self and then inform the world that he or she is registered at such and such place.

There, I said it. Nope, you don't.

It is so so so so so so so so super mega rude.

Had to get that out. I know it's exciting to think of all of those delightful gifts and whatnot, but you can't just throw your own "gimme gifts because I'm getting hitched and/or procreating" party.

Shocking, no?

It's really, really, really really tacky.

It's also really rude to post a PayPal link on FB asking your FB friends to give you money since you're having a baby and then send out private messages to your entire friends list (some being people like me, that you only know casually), asking them to contribute because it's been a hard year.

Yeah, I thought all of your vacation pictures (seven sets, but who's counting?) over the last year looked really tough. Going to Europe this past spring looked pretty miserable, as did your road trip to Sedona.

And then you ask people who are pretty much strangers for money.

I think not.

So, now, are we all clear on this? No throwing parties for yourself when it's an occasion that calls for gifts. It's tacky and rude. Get your best friend to do it, then it'll be just fine. 

No need to thank me. Your shame is all the thanks I need.

Okay, enough now with the hot.

Seriously. I feel tempted to wear a tank top out in public, and for those of you who know me, that is the last piece of clothing I would ever wear publicly.

But we're getting close.

Last night, my husband and I went to bed at 8:30, just because the house was so hot and our bedroom is really the only place with air conditioning that cools off decently. We have a portable unit in the living room, but at this point we would need one of those huge factory fans to circulate the air enough to cool off the rest of the house.

So, as I said, enough.

Also, opera season is upon us, which means we're going to be dressing up in fancy clothes on Saturday to be outside in this. If the temperature doesn't drop, that's going to be a lot of sweaty people in non-breathable fabrics. Could get nasty, in more ways than one.

I just want it to stop. MAKE IT STOP.

Am I being melodramatic? I really don't think so. Not when every waking moment that I spend in my house (aside from teaching time, because I don't want to scare the children) consists of me in a beater and boxer shorts, standing in front of a fan. No one needs to see that. It's so hot the air conditioners in the house are only cooling it off to like 80. Seriously. What's the point?

So, summer, enough already. I give. You win, I lose, print it in the daily news. Whatever.

Only please let it be cooler today. Please, oh please.

Yep. I'm a baby.