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Archive for May, 2011

Like, A Virgin!

posted by Sheva 12:01 AM
Tuesday, May 31, 2011

BTW if you hate to read, just click on the audio link, below. Then once you’ve listened, scroll down to the bottom of this page and listen to my song. It’s groovy.

BatSheva (BatSheva Vaknin) – Like, A Virgin – the BLOG

(WARNING: DAD, PLEASE DON’T READ THIS BLOG AND IF YOU READ IT ANYWAY, PLEASE LIE TO ME AND PROMISE ME YOU DID NOT READ IT. THANKS! PS – KIDS, IF YOU ARE READING THIS, I’M REALLY PROUD OF YOU BECAUSE YOU ARE ALL UNDER THE AGE OF 7, BUT NONETHELESS, STOP NOW UNLESS YOU WANT TO GET MILDLY TRAUMATIZED BY KNOWING TMI ABOUT YOUR MAMA. K?)

Whew! That out of the way, let’s get to the juicy stuff!

I lost my virginity at age seventeen.

Some girls toy with the hormones and patience of a longtime boyfriend before caving in, or ‘giving it up,’ and go on to have a relatively healthy sexual relationship. Others get wasted, have sex with that guy they’ve always had a crush on, then feel horribly used the next day. I think my situation is very unique, in that I wasn’t waiting for the right guy to come along so much as I was waiting for the right age to come along – that age being, unequivocally, seventeen.

What – don’t tell me I was the only girl to read Forever by Judy Blume then decide if Katherine was old enough at age 17, I would be too? [For more on my obsession with Judy Blume, read past blog here] Now that I think about it, why did I assume it was her AGE that was important, not the fact that she was in love with the boy she thought was her soul mate? Hmmmmm…

Anyway, that book actually kept me celibate longer than I probably would have been. From age fourteen my boyfriends were putting the pressure on to ‘go all the way’, and it was so easy to say no – after all, I wasn’t seventeen yet! But then – the magical age finally arrived, and – lo and behold: it was time.

Only problem? I was single.

Didn’t bother me. I had my eye on a particular boy I thought was very cute for a while, but he had always had eyes for my best friend (who dated him a little but basically didn’t care much for him). He was still a virgin… I was a virgin… I have no idea how I got up the guts to bring the subject up, but I do know that we PLANNED it out – losing our virginity together.

The act itself could not have been more of a NON-act. Did it work? I think so, but the fact that I’m not 100% sure is pretty telling….

Looking back, I can say I was happy to have something to barter with – my virginity for a shot at being your girlfriend! (Didn’t work: we did have sex a few times, but he never wanted to be my boyfriend). I guess I’m relieved I only used sex to try and make him mine – versus using an actual baby like some of the teens we see today. (That doesn’t seem to work either, does it?)

I took the hint. Stopped hoping he would want more from me than sex, and moved on to a boy who would REALLY love me for who I was: A 21 year old black Puerto Rican drug dealer who looked like Milli Vanilli.

But that’s a different blog.

c/xo,

Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

PS. Here’s a little ‘feel-good GrownUpGirl anthem’ to help you stop worrying about a 17 year old girl letting herself get taken advantage of:

BatSheva (BatSheva Vaknin) – It’s not the First Time – the SONG

I'm sure my first time looked JUST LIKE THIS

Ladies and Gentlemen, Your (future) President of the United States!

posted by Sheva 3:12 PM
Friday, May 27, 2011

This was the essay I wrote, applying for a $5,000 grant towards my son’s education, sponsored by the Ellen DeGeneres show and Kumon tutoring company. I wanted to share it with all of you – my son is so special and his school, The Kabbalah Children’s Academy, is simply amazing.

My son was always is a bit of a dreamer. He would get lost in nature or playing games, and it was as easy for him to get distracted by friends’ antics as it was for him to be the distract-or.

Until kindergarten, when his teacher, Miss Gail, took the time to get to know him. She figured out how to use his strengths to help him excel. She helped him make a nature book where he kept track of the flowers and the pollen he found. She let him draw squiggly designs in the margins of his papers, and finish his letters with decorative curly cues. Suddenly, he was learning to write and read.

Last year, in 1st grade, his teachers continued to shower him with love while maintaining very strict boundaries and guidelines. His school nurtures the emotional and spiritual growth of the kids, teaching them the importance of caring for others and giving back to their community and to society.

The intellectual and emotional growth spurt my son experienced this past year due to his school was simply phenomenal. He is not just reading advanced books, he is reading with emotion and different voices for different characters! He blows through his math problems, and talks at home all the time about how things in our daily life are examples of fractions, additions, subtractions.

He is playing recorder, singing in the choir, excelling at basketball, and he is speaking and reading and writing Hebrew at nearly a fluent level, all thanks to his school.

Every day, I ask him, “How was school today?” And I am NOT EXAGGERATING when I say that practically every day he replies, “Today was my best day ever!”

What more can a mother hope to hear?

My husband is in construction, and two years ago, his assistant embezzled over $70,000 from our business (she is now being prosecuted). That, combined with the economy, wiped out our savings and our bank accounts. We are both working now, but we can no longer afford to pay for this school without financial aid.

I will do anything to keep my son on the right path so that he can learn, develop – and keep having the “best days ever!” – as he discovers his true purpose in the world.

We would be forever grateful for this prize $$!! Plus, Kumon & Ellen would get the satisfaction of knowing their money was going towards helping one of our future leaders of the world. (He always tells me he will be the President someday – well, that or his second favorite idea, a science teacher – and who am I, not to believe him! :)

Thank you for your consideration!

c/xo,

Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

The Future Leader of the Free World?

Boobs in Training

posted by Sheva 1:08 AM
Thursday, May 26, 2011

If you hate to read, just click on the audio link, below.

BatSheva (BatSheva Vaknin) – Boobs in Training – the BLOG

I don’t know if they even have such a thing these days, but back when I was in 5th grade and had no boobs to speak of whatsoever, I proudly owned my first Training Bra. I say “owned” and not “wore” because if memory serves (and it often doesn’t, for more on that read my Memory Loss blog), once I actually tried on the bra, I found it was far less comfortable than my ten years of no bra wearing.

These days, I still have no boobs to speak of, but instead of a training bra I’ve got fantastic Victoria’s Secret bras, the secret of which I’d never tell for fear of the Victoria’s Secret Mafia finding out, but suffice it to say, it may have something to do with silicone and optical illusions.

My boobs are small. Which is not to say they aren’t functional – see past blogs about breastfeeding and about my youngest daughter’s obsession with/possession of my boobs.

Note to self: Figure out how many self-referential blog references are really “allowed” in a blog before the blog itself becomes one big advertisement for past blogs. Research ideas: watch The Greatest Movie Ever Sold, poke around online, read this blog once it’s done to see if it comes across too Hey look at me! -y…

Ahem. As I was saying, my boobs are gigantic. Wait, sorry – what I was saying? Sorry, I was just looking at myself in the mirror (I’m wearing a new Victoria’s Secret bra) and I got distracted.

That’s right, I was talking about bras and how I’ve never really needed them. And then I started to write a paragraph about going bra-less but I just had a flashback to how my father commented on one of my recent blogs (my acid trip blog) and suddenly the prospect of writing about my own boobs has 100% lost its appeal.

Wow – imagining my dad reading my blog turns out to be a better censoring tool than the FCC! Thanks a lot, Pops. (Actually, seriously – THANK YOU. I really don’t need to be a stream-of-conscious-writer in a public arena where someday my future run for president may be jeopardized. But just in case I decide to write about something racy in the future, I’ll post a “NO DAD GO HERE” warning, k, Dad?)

Well, let me just wrap it up by saying this: I’m not admitting and I’m not not admitting to having naturally large or small boobs… but I will say if I ever have a chance to buy stock in Victoria’s Secret, I just may do so.

c/xo,

Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

This is totally me right now.

Who’s Your Mama?

posted by Sheva 12:41 AM
Tuesday, May 24, 2011

If you hate to read, just click on the audio link, below.

BatSheva (BatSheva Vaknin) – Whos Your Mama – the BLOG

The other day, while my 4 year old daughter was in her ballet class, my 2 year old daughter was leaping across the lobby, capturing all the ballet moms’ attention with her moves. Except mine. I was still watching my 4 year old through the glass window, so my 2 year old called out, “Ima! Ima! Ima!”

I felt compelled to explain at that moment to the confused mothers staring at me, that “Ima” was Hebrew for “Mom”.

What I didn’t explain was how an all-American gal like myself, living in America, with three American kids, wound up being called “Ima” by all of them.

I called my mother “Mommy,” and later, when I was too cool for “Mommy,” “Mom.” I only ever called myself “Mommy” or “Mama” to my firstborn, but he’s never called me anything but Ima. My husband is Israeli and he has always called me “Ima” when talking to our children about me. But that can’t be the only reason.

I’ve noticed that all my kids learned to say “Aba” (the word for “Dad”) way before “Ima.” It’s an easy word, it rolls off the baby tongue, like a happy baby’s babbles of “dadada” or “bababa”. I’ve also noticed that “Ima” (pronounced “Eeema”) rolls especially well off a crying baby’s tongue. This cannot be an accident.

For a while, with my son, I tried to correct him. To teach him. “Ima!” He would cry. “Yes,” I would answer… “Mommy’s here, what do you need from Mommy? Hmmm? Tell Mama. What is it?”

“Ima,” he would correct me, “Come here!”

I like to be in control. I live a completely different life than everyone else in my family – I eat kosher, I participate in Shabbat, I take my Kabbalah studies very seriously. To them, I’m like a ‘born again Jew’ even though I really cringe at being called ‘religious’ because I see everything I do as spiritual – Kabbalah being a practice that, however Jewish it may look – actually applies to anyone and everyone, and is all about consciousness. I’ve never felt comfortable jumping on a bandwagon just because I share a skin color or religion with a group of other people. (Case in point: I was introduced to The Kabbalah Centre by a Catholic lesbian friend and my first thought when she invited me was, ‘if she feels at home there, then it sounds like a place I’d be willing to check out.)

But names are a funny thing. I wrote about changing my name in a prior blog, but in that case, the change was something I asked for, chose to do, and implemented. (“Shana?” a co-worker would ask innocently. “Yes?” I would reply, followed quickly by, “by the way, it’s BatSheva (BatSheva Vaknin).”) In the case of “Ima,” however, the name was wholly given to me by my kids – with some help, admittedly, from my Israeli husband.

It never occurred to me that my kids wouldn’t call me “Mommy.” And for years, I wasn’t completely comfortable with being called the foreign-sounding “Ima.” I didn’t even try to correct my next child, and now, with my third, I find myself calling myself “Ima” (as in, “Give Ima the stick right now!”) which is something I never used to do.

It seemed so strange, for so long, being called the Hebrew name for Mommy.

These days? Fits like a glove.

c/xo

“Ima” Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

The Key To Dieting: Those Three Little Words

posted by Sheva 1:17 AM
Monday, May 23, 2011

If you hate to read, just click on the audio link, below.

BatSheva (BatSheva Vaknin) – The Key To Dieting – the BLOG

Without reservation, I can tell you the quickest and surest way to get me started on a strict diet that I will adhere to no matter what temptations cross my path is for me to hear those magical three little words uttered when I least expect them. Each time it has happened – that is, each time the phrase was uttered to me and subsequently my new diet launched like a racehorse after a shotgun is fired – it came from the mouth of a small child – like a message sent directly to me from an earthly angel. You know what I mean, those big, wondering eyes look up at you with excitement and curiosity, and then without any of the adulterated filters that will come later in life, they blurt:

“Are you pregnant?”

What a nightmare. I can tell you right now, ye who have never been pregnant (don’t need to tell you moms – you grownupgirls already know what I’m saying) – the measure of joy, of being able to tell others that the reason your stomach is enormously fat is because there is a new precious soul growing snugly within, only just barely rivals the amount of anger and fury one experiences, when others suspect your enormous stomach must be the result of a pregnancy because HEAVEN FORBID someone’s stomach looks that bloated and or ginormous without a living, soon-to-be breathing soul taking up space from within.

It’s happened several times to me with adults, too – that is, a clueless adult will ask me how many months I am or some such bullshit, and I have to break it to them that I’m not pregnant, just fat, apparently, thank you very much. As recently as this morning, I attended a bris ceremony, and as I sat down at a packed table to eat my brunch, a man I’ve seen around but don’t know well stood up. “Please,” he offered, as if I needed his chair as well as mine to sit down. “I’m fine,” I smiled back at him. “No worries.”

“It’s okay,” he beamed, continuing up and away from our table. “Anyway, you are eating for two!”

It took me a good second or two to process what he meant. Lucky for him, he had departed by then. If you, dear reader, would like to avoid this & other faux pas, please refer back to my earlier blog where I break down a whole list of Do’s and Don’ts.

But for some reason, it’s when the children start to chime in – maybe it’s their innocence, and my subsequent inability to blame them in my head for being pigheaded, rude and obviously blind – that I suddenly wake up to the fact that if I don’t start and stick to a diet RIGHT NOW, my stomach will go from looking mildly swollen (or “newly pregnant”) to downright round and balloon-like (“5-6 months along”), at which point my hips, butt and face will start to fill in too.

The first time a child graciously helped me start a new diet was about six months ago. Looking straight into my belly (the height her head came to), my neighbor’s eight year old asked sweetly, “Are you pregnant?” Two weeks later my husband and I started the Suzanne Somers Diet, and four months later, I was a lean, mean (just kidding – I’m really nice), dieting machine.

Then I fell off the wagon. Or more accurately, I just felt like, ‘my body looks pretty great now, so why don’t I eat that piece of pizza/cake/cookie/brownie/plate of pasta/you fill in the blank_____ right now since it looks so good/smells so good and I’m really hungry/tired but want to stay up late/I’m bored/I’m with friends who are eating/I’m alone?’

I went from dieting six days a week and cheating once a week (okay, twice), to eating whatever I wanted six days a week and sticking to my diet once a week. I also took a new job three months ago, so with that my gym attendance deflated from the robust 4-5 times a week it had been prior, to the current 1-2 times a week. I had gotten so slim, so in shape that it really didn’t matter, the food, the gym; it didn’t seem to be affecting me at all… until…

“Mommy, you look like you have a baby in your tummy!” were the exact words my four year old exclaimed to me today. Her words tinged, I might add, with the slightest bit of hope and fear, due to the fact that she’s often asked for a little brother but is not quite sure whether it would be exactly the party she hopes it will be if it does happen…

Lucky for you, baby, there is no such life-changing occasion about to present itself in your life (i.e., a new sibling). There is however, a new life-changing event taking place in mine…

Diet starts tomorrow.

c/xo,

Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

Pregnant? Or just REALLY full?

Show FUN

posted by Sheva 12:28 AM
Thursday, May 19, 2011

If you hate to read, just click on the audio link, below.

BatSheva (BatSheva Vaknin) – It’s Show Fun – the BLOG

Remember how I said I only like movies with Happy Endings? (My blog, last week. It’s okay, I’ll wait – go ahead, read it. Seriously. It’s short, just do it. Ok great, back?) Anway, I should have been more specific. I do hate movies that don’t have happy endings. However, just because a movie has a happy ending, doesn’t mean I’ll like it.

Case in point: While You Were Sleeping. This movie had all the elements of a GrownupGirl Fave: Sandra Bullock. By-the-numbers romantic comedy. Sandra Bullock.

But I didn’t get swept away – maybe it’s the fact that I’ve never found Bill Pullman or Peter Gallagher even slightly sexy.

So when I talked to my childhood friend on the phone and told him I didn’t like the movie, I was surprised when he retorted, “Sheva, that movie made 43 million at the box office last weekend.”

Wait – did I mention he was also the movie’s producer?

“I don’t care if the movie made 20 billion,” I continued. “It sucked.”

His furious reply: “It’s not called Show Fun, Sheva. It’s called Show Business.”

Ooooohhhhhh…. He got me there!

Ever heard of the term “failing upwards?” In showbiz, this is when a person produces a terrible movie, then gets promoted. Like, for example, my friend – who had impressed his bosses as an intern by producing an unwatchable comedy feature which lost money, and then promptly got promoted to junior executive status, with an assistant and all.

Maybe there is a good long term reason for allowing someone to fail upwards – in fairness, my friend has gone on to produces MANY amazing & awesome movies, as well as more crappy ones, each of which I’m sure made at least 43 million each weekend at the box office…

Still, it all kind of depresses me. I’m an artist: A writer. A singer. A Capricorn moon. Which all means I’d prefer things to be FAIR.

Of course the entertainment industry doesn’t care what I’d prefer. It exists to be a source of money, an outlet for talent & ambition, and a place for creative suckers like me to get stomped on by those with more connections and less fear.

Still, a girl can always dream, can’t she?

c/xo,

Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

Acid Trip (Food For Thought – Part II)

posted by Sheva 11:14 AM
Tuesday, May 17, 2011

If you hate to read, just click on the audio link, below.

BatSheva (BatSheva Vaknin) – Food For Thought TWO – the BLOG

Staring at the title of my last blog, I realized there is ANOTHER story that same title reminds me of, that perhaps bears telling… The story of the last time I ate at a restaurant of that very name – Food For Thought – in Washington, DC, when I was seventeen years old.

The story of the one and only time I ever tripped on acid.

KIDS? If you are reading this, Mommy means “fell down when I tripped over some dangerous spilt liquid. Now, TURN OFF THE COMPUTER AND GO DO YOUR HOMEWORK!

Have they gone? Great. Here’s the story:

Back when I was seventeen, for some idiotic reason, I got it in my head that it would be a brilliant idea for me to try acid. Then, for an even greater idiotic reason, I decided not to do it in a safe environment with a group of close and trusted friends like I learned later it’s best to do, but instead, just to take a couple tabs while hanging with my best friend Ingrid.

SIDE NOTE: Mucho props to Ingie for navigating me through that entire night. Girlfriend, you were a trooper!

I can’t remember exactly when I took the acid – whether it was in my car or at the restaurant. I do remember that the first thing that seemed strange was my hands – they looked like they were digital, like they belonged to a computer program.

I went to the bathroom, and on my way back to my table, a guy came up to me. Blocking my path to my table, he proceeded to talk my ear off about my friend Ingrid – how he wants me to introduce him, he has a crush on her, can he sit with us, etc., etc.

Listening to this barrage of crush-talk through my acid-soaked ears, he struck me as supremely hilarious. So, naturally, I started to laugh. And laugh. And LAUGH. I laughed so hard that tears began streaming down my face. And then – the tears streaming down my face must have confused my acid-saturated brain, tricking it into thinking I must be crying, because the next thing I knew? I was sobbing.

Sobbing.

Thus began my whacked-out acid trip ride. Ingrid helped me, got me out of Food For Thought, and got me laughing again. She took me downtown to the Vault and the Fifth Column – nightclubs which – as anyone who remembers those places will know – one should NEVER go when tripping. Full of fake, crazy people, too much music and stimulation, lights, people, movement, sound…

After that, Ingrid got me out of the club kid scene and over to her boyfriend’s apartment or his friend’s apartment, I can’t remember which. All I remember is a bunch of high school boys I didn’t know very well, kind of sweet, geeky boys, hanging out, doing nothing much. Maybe getting stoned. Waaaay too mellow for my crazy acid self.

So she got me out of there too, and brought me finally to the most Twilight Zone place in the metro Washington, DC area: Tastee Diner. (Did they name it that, knowing that stoned & tripping kids would endlessly freak out about the spelling of “Tastee”?) This would be the place you could take a SOBER kid and make her think she’s going insane… so tripping, I kind of felt at home.

The old waitress with the caked on makeup looked like she was wearing a mask that was partially flaking off. The salt and pepper shakers entertained me endlessly. People walking by were in my video game, blipping and bleeping as they walked past and sat down or paid their bills. I don’t think I was actually able to eat the food.

I do remember wishing that I could just stop tripping already, and when I DID finally stop tripping (the next morning, after sleeping it off), it was an easy vow to make, to never touch the stuff again.

Hey – thanks, Earlier Blog, for the memories!

c/xo,

Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

Food For Thought

posted by Sheva 2:08 AM
Monday, May 16, 2011

If you hate to read, just click on the audio link, below.

BatSheva (BatSheva Vaknin) – Food For Thought Part ONE – the BLOG

There’s dieting, binge eating, picky eating, healthy eating and gorging… and now, gentle readers, I have coined a new phrase you may all feel free to use: Redemptive Eating.

I don’t mean eating to prove the worth of one’s soul, though that sounds good, too. I’m talking about eating something satisfying and delicious to REDEEM the nightmare piece of crap disguised as food that you ate prior, and now feel sick about.

Por ejemplo: last week, in a rush to “save money and eat healthy,” I sautéed some pre-packaged tuna steaks. Popped one in a Tupperware, and took it to work with me, with a red pepper. Perfect!

Except… it was disgusting.

Not bad fish or anything, thank GOD… but I over cooked it a little, and this fish already being of the non-fresh Trader Joe’s variety, was none too helped by my overcooking.

I ate almost half until finally giving up. For the next two hours, I was caught in a dilemma: do I now go out and spend money on a second lunch? I wasn’t even really hungry anymore. BUT that last food I ate, the tuna? We all know where the phrase “left a terrible taste in my mouth” comes from, right? And you, who read my last blog, you know I like happy endings, right? (If you didn’t read it, go take a sec, read it now. I’ll wait. Really, go ahead. Enjoy.)

So – I almost made the mistake of ordering an omelet, again. Had it the day prior AND the day before that. A girl can only eat so many eggs. What I really wanted to order was the Ahi tuna salad. (From Blu Jam, on Melrose, they are fantastic.) But it was so expensive! And… you know, I just ate half a tuna already!

In the end, I took a chance, and sprung for the Ahi salad.

Friends, you are reading the blog of one happy customer. Salad was divine. Tuna was perfect. The whole meal? Redemptive.

Redeemed my overcooked Trader Joe’s sorry excuse for a piece of tuna, that is.

Made me think about other times I’ve indulged in redemptive eating – like when a meal is so gross you just have to finish it with a huge latte, or thick piece of chocolate cake.

Anyone else get what I’m saying here?

c/xo,

Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

Happily Ever After

posted by Sheva 1:25 AM
Thursday, May 12, 2011

If you hate to read, just click on the audio link, below.

BatSheva (BatSheva Vaknin) – Happily Ever After – the BLOG

Don’t talk to me about Blue Valentine. That movie sucked. I love Michelle Williams as much as anyone, and what girl hasn’t fallen head over heels for Ryan What’s His Name, and actually, there was so much that was so cool about the movie… BUT IT SUCKED.

Did I mention I hate unhappy endings?

What in the world do I want to go and spend 80 bucks on a babysitter, then 28 dollars for two movie tickets, plus another 15 for popcorn, drinks and candy, and we’re not even factoring in parking or dinner here…

Just to end the night feeling like shit?

Thanks, but I can stay home, surf the web, look up long-lost friends and boyfriends on Facebook then stare at my bank accounts and credit card debts all night if I want that kind of a night. For FREE.

I like happy endings. A movie can take me through just about anything. Blood, gore, destruction, gut-wrenching sadness, utter stupidity… the whole nine yards. But – if I’ve got a smile on my face at the end of the damn thing? Worth every penny. AND I’ll recommend it to everyone I see.

Moviemakers, are you taking notes?

Enough, already, of these critical darlings that leave you feeling like the world is meaningless and we are all utterly alone. I’ll take a by-the-books Romantic Comedy any day.

My kingdom for a Sandra Bullock and Hugh Grant reunion! P.S. Friends, there is no better movie than Two Week’s Notice.

NO THERE ISN’T.

I feel the same way about every day life, by the way. My day can start out amazing, go along pretty well, but if, at the end of the night, I have a fight with my husband or stare into the abyss of a bank account that seems to shrink by the second? SUCKY SUCKY day.

On the other hand… I can start out with two cranky kids, a short-tempered husband, continue with a rough day at work and three surprise bills… but if I watch an amazing episode of The Good Wife, write a good blog entry, and find out someone wants to produce one of my songs? BEST DAY EVER.

Most nights, if I’m ever too worried about something to be able to fall sleep, I always get up, write a bit to ‘take the sting out’, then follow it up with anywhere from one hour to three hours of comedy (TV, internet, whatever I can find). For me, getting only two or three hours of sleep can be tough, but beats finishing off my day in a heart-wrenching panic. Not that I’d ever fall asleep in that state anyway.

Feeling better already…

c/xo,

Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

High Heels

posted by Sheva 10:55 AM
Tuesday, May 10, 2011

If you hate to read, just click on the audio link, below.

BatSheva (BatSheva Vaknin) – High Heels – the BLOG

My oldest daughter (now four) started wearing my shoes at 12 months, just after she learned to walk. Correction: wearing my heels. She really didn’t have much use for my flats after the first cursory tries. Boots – yes, she liked those too… but the heels were her favorites.

She walked better than I did in my heels. I am not kidding. Initially, my husband was upset. “Don’t let her take your shoes!” he would admonish. “She’ll ruin them!”

What he didn’t understand is that you can’t get between a girl and her obsession with shoes. I walked in my mother’s shoes, my daughters walk in my shoes, and someday, their daughters too, will walk in their shoes. Right now my four year old has a pair of “heels” (Hannah Montana brand kids’ heels, I’m horrified to admit), and she insists on wearing them every second of every day. I know it’s not “good” for her feet. But I get it…

My whole life, I never really wore heels except to weddings – I’m already 5’10”, and heels just aren’t comfortable, you know? After a night of wearing them my lower back would hurt, my knees would pop, my feet ache… And I never liked towering above everyone else.

Until.

About five months ago. Not sure what changed. I finally lost the remainder of my 3rd pregnancy weight which was a BITCH to lose. My feet had actually grown almost a half size thanks to said 3rd pregnancy, so I needed new shoes. For Christmas, my mother gave me a fat gift certificate to DSW. Not sure what possessed me, but when I went to the store to buy four new pairs of shoes – I walked out with four pairs of heels.

I’ve been wearing them almost daily every since.

Cause now? I get it.

THAT’S why women wear heels! No – they still aren’t comfortable (though somehow my body doesn’t hurt anymore after wearing them, so I guess the pain from wearing them before was ½ mental and ½ me not being in shape). No – it’s not really fun for me to tower over my husband and everyone else around me except my 6 foot 6 friend who no longer seems like a distant image in the sky when I wear my heels; more like a next door neighbor (though it is kind of cool to stand tall above the rest and NOT suffer from a Napoleon complex)…

It’s what my one year old instinctively knew, what every Shoe Dazzle member knows, and what most of my girlfriends and most women of the modern world have known for years…

High heels are fucking sexy.

My girlfriend, whose husband has been a tenured professor of Gender Studies for over 20 years, told me that it has been proven that high heels put women’s bodies in the same position that an orgasm puts them in.

Hmmmmmmm….

Well, with all the pain, misery, and uncertainty in the world… there are worse positions for the body to hang out in, eh?

c/xo,

Sheva (BatSheva Vaknin)

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