|My buddy & former roomie Denali & I. BEING AWARE. BEING SAFE.|
So! We both moved back here, reunited huzzah!, and decided, It's probably time for us to start our lives now. Except then I found season one of Xena at Wal-Mart for $20. Ha ha! I thought. Remember our old vow? What silly fun this shall be! And for only $20!
|Listening to Yanni, ready for heroics.|
ANYWAY. In the opening credits, which we watch Every Time (to skip the credits would be sacrilege!), there is this shot of Xena fastening her Hardcore Warrior Boots. Then it zooms up to her, I dunno, putting on her warrior belt or something, and is basically just an excuse to show off Lucy Lawless's excellent cleavage. Not that they ever really need an excuse. I have seen the image of her puttin' on those warrior boots well over a hundred times now! And while I always had an absent Damn, that's cool appreciation for it, I never really stopped to consider the mightiness of boots.
Turns out: boots are so mighty! Up 'til now, I have always had a weird bias against buying boots. Why admit that dread winter is upon us when I can just keep wearing tennis shoes and pretending that a world without snow is just around the corner? That is how I've always rolled up until now, and it's suited me fine! (It's possible my toes are perpetually like 80% frozen, but that is neither here nor there.)
But then this summer, in an act strangely rife with symbolism, I found some furry black winter boots covered in zippers and complicated laces and even some Velcro (all that and fuzzy grey fur, too! Have boots not belonging to a warrior princess ever been so mighty?) ... and I bought them. Which was a little bittersweet, because it was, in a way, saying, Yep, I'm still going to be kicking it in Alaska come winter, and this time, my feet are going to be prepared. I don't really know where I see myself triumphantly running away to, in all these fantasies where I am no longer here (Hogwarts? Downton Abbey? New Zealand? Amphipolis? Vermont? Avonlea? Stars Hollow? I get that only two of those places are real [well, my bff Wikipedia informs me that Amphipolis was real]; I swear you don't have to worry for me. Too much), but does that stop me from having them? Heavens, no!
But here I remain, and winter has settled in -- oh God, the snow! There is so much of it! Game of Thrones can suck it -- and so I finally broke the boots out of my closet and put them on.
And now, well, good luck to the fool who tries to get me to take them off. Seriously. These things are foot heaven! I brought my sneakers with me to work today, but did I ever actually change into them? No, no I did not. (I figured this was okay, because my boss was rocking her boots all day too. Ours is a museum full of kickass Alaska ladies.) And there is just something really satisfying about tromping around in boots. If a sinister warlord had found his way into the museum, I somehow felt that I could have gone all warrior princess and defeated him soundly, thanks to the power of those boots alone!
I mean, a sinister warlord did not find his way into the museum, because business gets pret-ty slow in the winter and so nobody came in at all.
But I would have so been ready.
Warlords of this isle: take note, and think twice.
|Dun dun da dun dun dunnnnnn ...|