Our Lost Boys...souless by our hands.

There is a big flurry of horror going out right now involving some Marines who filmed themselves-
- while one Marine flung a sweet ,innocent puppy to its most certain death off a cliff in Iraq.

I watched the video.
It was, although not “graphic” in nature, truly horrifying.

I watched this poor puppy with its cute little puppy face be killed for what appeared to be nothing more than amusement.
...and I wondered how.

How could (at least) 3 men participate in the random killing of that poor little baby dog?

Hmmm.

We send these young boys to a country where everyone hates them.

Where people are trying to kill them.

Where they do not get the chance to grow up like “normal” kids
~Going to the beach with their buddies, taking a date to the movies, sleeping in on a Saturday, watching the Superbowl.

We put them in a position like that.

We ask them, nee TRAIN them, to KILL people they do not know.

We ask them to NOT have a conscience.

We ask them to blindly obey orders to kill human beings.

We teach them that the life of anyone outside their group....is worthless.

Then we are appalled when they abuse an animal?

This Marine is now under the attack of the people he has been trained to kill FOR....

***I IN NO WAY CONDONE THE ACTIONS OF THESE MARINES***

But I CANNOT ask someone who has been condition to kill for ME,
-to kill only PEOPLE without care.

He has been taught that the life of the MAN across the sand from him,
the man with parents,
kids,
wife,
sisters,
brothers,
and friends—is expendable.

But we are shocked and outraged that he does not value the life of a dog.

My heart goes out...To that puppy yes, but also to the Marine we have conditioned to kill it.

Self Esteem in Stiletto

I was never a "shoe" girl.

Shoes were for keeping glass out of my feet.
Don’t get me wrong...shoes served a purpose and I had a few different kinds.

I had a pair of Loafers....so I could use the heel to put nails in the wall when I wanted to hang a picture.

I had a few flats...because I am a monsterous 6' tall and never felt I should be taller and you always need something to smack a bug with.

I had a pair of sneakers...I never wore them, but people look at you funny of you don’t at least own a pair, besides-I could feign athleticism.

I had "dressy" shoes, no more than ONE pair, and only in black because mom always said black goes with everything (yes, mom was a hippie who wore nothing but brown flip-flops all year round, but hey, it made sense to me)

Shoes were a FUNCTIONAL item.

They were to be worn NOT as an accessory, but as something to be UN-noticed.
*when you have size 10 feet–you want as LITTLE attention drawn to them as possible.

Then sometime in my early 30's.....something changed.

I remember fondly that first pair of heels that called to me.
A "New Year’s Eve" purchase.
They were silver, shiny, strappy and 4" high.

The night I wore them,
I heard the magical phrases that would forever change my life...and closet space.

"Oooooh! Gorgeous shoes!"
"Those shoes are SO SEXY!"
"WOW! Those shoes make your legs look GREAT!"
"Where did you get those? They are FABULOUS!"

It was better than any heroin high could be.

Over the past years I have graduated to hot pink crocodile pumps with a toe so long and pointed I could kill a spider in a street grate,
I have Bronze slingbacks that every black woman on Sunday would die for,
Flowered wedges and red patten-leather ballet flats.
Cammo pumps, blue suede and jeweled.
I have fluffy boots and sleek boots and turquoise flip flops with shells on them.
I have 9 pairs of black strappy sandals because I now know there are different COLORS of black.
I have dark brown, medium brown, reddish brown, sandy brown and toupe.

I am, to put it mildly, obsessed.

So I started pondering the whys of this obsession.
WHY do I need these flamboyant and fabulous shoes?

It’s simple.
I have never had to ask the question--


"Do these shoes make my feet look fat?"


My shoes are great on my bad hair days,
my oh-good-lord-there-is-a-zit-on-my-nose days,
my I can’t find the right top days and my "fat jeans" days.

No matter how awful IIIIIIII look, my SHOES will get complimented.

When I was diagnosed with Cancer, I had to worry about my hair falling out, my skin looking like crap, the bloating, the scars and the sagging muscles.

But damn my shoes were GREAT.

No sir, I didn’t have to worry about them.
They remained exciting and cheerful through it all.

So next time you find that pair of polka dotted peep toes that are calling you.

Think to yourself..,this isn’t splurging--
it’s therapy.