5-Feet On A Good Day

Lifestyle of the Vertically Challenged

Long time no see

Hey fellow shorties

I haven’t touched this blog in forever but someone recently left a comment on one of my posts which I had to approve, so it brought me back to it.

I’ve been sort of busy lately. I’m working 3 jobs, which unfortunately take me away from this fun little blog here, but I can’t say I hate it. I’m actually doing work that I love. I’m writing and getting paid for it. Ideally I’d like to have one job, but I’ll take what I can get for the time being.

Plenty of other things have happened over the past several months. Like life changing things! But I’ll have to get to those another time.

Most importantly, I’m still short. That has not changed. I have not measured myself recently to see if I’m still above the 5 foot mark, but I sure know I haven’t grown much! At least when it comes to height.

Thanks for reading or stumbling upon my page and look out for future posts!

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Flip-Flops, Rain and Pants.

Sorry that I haven’t updated in a while my dear followers! I seem to have found myself a little job that has been keeping me very busy, as it is quite writing intensive, and honestly, the last thing I want to do is more writing  in my free time. But this blog still holds close to my heart and I got a bit of inspiration tonight, so here ya go.

Pants.

Flip-Flops.

Rain.

No.

I learned tonight, that this combo doesn’t work.

If you’ve been reading my blog, you already know about my distaste for pants to begin with.

You also know my struggles in the rain.

And you’d know that I don’t do heels.

I’m a flip-flop kinda gal.

But pants + rain don’t get it.

Tonight, as I was walking around Manhattan, beneath the drizzle, (because apparently Mother Nature didn’t get the note that showers are supposed to happen in April and not for a week straight at the end of May), I realized that my legs are short.

Well no s&!*

But I actually got a sense of how short my legs are as I kept feeling drops of water hit my butt as I walked.

After realizing that Mama Nature wasn’t making my ass a target, I finally realized that my flip-flops were the culprit. If I’m wearing flip-flops in the rain, my butt is going to get hit with dirty street water as my flip-flops flip up drops of water from my shoes, over the not-so-far distance to my gluteus maximus.

I guess I overestimated how long my legs were. Don’t know how I let that happen, but  I was a bit embarrassed as I kept trying to wipe off drops of dirty water from the back of my pants. People behind me probably thought I was obsessed with rubbing my ass in public.

Because that’s cool.

I guess it’s just another one of those things that I’m going to have to accept because I’ll take a few drops of water on my pants over struggling in heels.

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Mission: Meet Katy Perry’s Boobs

I am obsessed with Katy Perry.

Obsessed.

She is my vision of perfection.

She’s stunning.

She’s talented.

She is beyond sexy.

She has a perfect body.

She is just sex.

I am not a lesbian. I am straight, I assure you. But Katy Perry is definitely my girl crush.

I want to be her.

I try.

However, I have to accept the fact that I will never be her.

Because well, first of all, she’s 5’9.

I am not going to be growing another 9 inches any time soon…or ever.

I will never have those legs.

So you may be wondering what in the world my height may have to do with this sex goddess.

Boobs.

Wait, what?

Like everything else about her, Katy Perry’s boobs are just perfect.

I also want them.

But the idea of plastic surgery scares the crap out of me and her ginormous knockers would look ridiculous on my 5 foot frame. My body is just not proportionate enough to handle Katy Perry’s boobies.

But I would like to meet Katy Perry’s boobs.

Heck, I just want to meet Katy, but of course her boobs would be there too.

And I probably wouldn’t be able to stop staring.

Because her boobs would be at my eye level.

I don’t have too many super tall friends. Not quite sure how this happened, but we’ll save that for another day.

However, in my experience, when I am with really tall female friends… hugs are really awkward.

When I hug a female who is probably 5’7 or above, their boobs become pillows for my face.

I’m sure plenty of tall girls have had a short person’s face in their chest.

I don’t have this problem.

I’m the one whose face lands in people’s boobs.

But if they were Katy Perry’s boobs…I would NOT mind.

I have a major bucket list item. I would like to meet Katy Perry…and give her a hug…and if my face happens to fall upon her amazing bosom(and of course it will), it will just be an honest mistake of course.

This might be my purpose!

This may be the reason why I was created as a short person!

So that when I meet Miss. Perry, I will also get to come up close and personal with her beautiful boobies.

It’s going to happen.

And it’s going to be glorious.

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Quick Perfection

A fellow shorty shared this with me today and I figured I’d pass it along to my readers.

Enjoy.

 

 

Short People WIN =]

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Miss that Step?

I’d like to  meet the guy who designs high chairs with foot rests that are unreachable by short people.

And I’d like to punch him in the head.

So many restaurants and bars and whatnot just love to use seats that are high up as opposed to regular chairs and tables.

Maybe they save space somehow? Maybe they look more interesting than regular chairs and tables?

I don’t know…but they SUCK.

I recently encountered this issue when I went out to dinner in the city yesterday at Chevy’s on 42nd st.

My sister and I were seated at a high table that was against a couch on the wall and that also had the option of sitting at a high up chair. My sister asked me where I wanted to sit and I said I would sit on the couch part because I usually prefer this sort of seating when it’s available, but as soon as I climbed onto this seat, I immediately slid under the table because I could not reach the foot rest to support myself in the seat.

The guy next to us found this quite amusing.

I had to switch seats with my sister.

And I still couldn’t reach the foot rest to the chair.

This isn’t the first time that this has happened. I mean usually, I’m able to physically sit on a high seat, but I’m never quite able to reach the foot rest that is attached to the stool or seat or whatever it may be.

My legs are constantly left to swing freely, which is only fun for about 5 minutes. Then I start to fidget as I try to get comfortable…because my feet cannot rest…because they cannot reach the part of the chair that is designed for that luxury.

I don’t understand these low placed foot rests.

I feel like the people who designed them are discriminating against the shorties.

Or they at least didn’t take them into consideration when they decided where these foot rests should be placed?

I mean wouldn’t it make more sense to have the foot rest higher up anyway? Because no matter what, the taller person is going to be able to reach it. I mean sure, their knees might bend slightly more, but everyone should have an equal opportunity to use a damn foot rest on a chair!

I mean even highchairs for babies come with reachable foot rests!

This kid’s feet are well rested!

Jealous…

It’s just so damn annoying sometimes.

But you better believe I took the opportunity to slide off the couch seat at least 3 more times before leaving. Because it was too fun and I had a few margaritas at that point. It was Happy Hour after all.

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Umm…

Sorry for the lack of a post this week.

I seem to be running SHORT on material…

 

In the meantime, check out my other blog Hey I’ve been there! NYC

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Driving Ms. Katie

I’m sort of new at this whole driving thing.

I spent many years thinking that I could survive by relying on the MTA, but after quite some time, I realized that the MTA is not so reliable.

However, I also have my trusty little bicycle, which is perfect to ride around the boardwalk in my town.

But the boardwalk only goes so far.

It took me quite a while to finally get on the road.

I got my learner’s permit…twice.

And at 22, I finally got my driver’s license and my world was open.

Not by too much…I’m still a little nervous to try out the highway alone.

But I can go places! But I do ask my friends to stop asking me to take long road trips to certain places, unless they’re willing to train me on how to handle trips that require highways.

Since November 1, 2011, when I officially became a licensed driver, I’ve learned a few things about how being a short person affects my driving.

I admit it. I am, as my brother obnoxiously called me 2 weeks ago, a little old grandma when I drive.

First off, I cannot go anywhere on the road without my glasses because I’m kinda sorta blind while driving without them, but with my height, it gets worse.

When I get in the car, I go over the basic put on the seatbelt, check the mirrors, turn the car on things.

But I also have to adjust the seat…to the closest that I can possibly get to the pedals, because otherwise, I cannot reach them.

So I am pretty much right up to the steering wheel.

And according to my sister, this will kill me.

Great.

If God forbid I get in an accident, and the oh so safe air bags deploy…I’m dead.

Or at least, I’ll be knocked unconscious.

But I physically cannot handle being any further than the closest place that the seat stops next to the steering wheel.

Well, because, I’d be dead as I wouldn’t be able to reach the brakes.

Either way, I’m screwed, so I’m just going to hope that I won’t get into an air bag deploying accident.

Recently I’ve had more access to a car than usual because I’m able to use my mom’s car whenever I want, as she’s on vacation.

And I’ve been learning that as gorgeous as sunsets are, they are NOT a short driver’s friend.

BLIND.

For most people, there are those handy dandy shade thingamajigs that are supposed to block blindness in such a case, but for me, this device is USELESS.

Since I am so low in the seat, the sun still peeks under the shade, and still manages to blind me, so I need to push my body up while sitting, so that I can still manage to see while I am driving.

As far as I know, this isn’t safe either, but I have no other choice at this point.

I need a booster seat so I can chill like this kid…

But in the meantime, I am an anxiety ridden driver because I am constantly blinded, especially in the afternoon.

I know my birthday has passed, but If anyone is willing to get me a little booster seat, I’d greatly appreciate it. I’d buy one myself, but I’m still broke as hell at the moment.

Yet I still have this concern that If I were to get a booster seat, I wouldn’t be able to reach the pedals at all because my legs would be even further from them.

So if you’re even more generous, I’d really like one of these…

Preferably exactly this one because this is my favorite color and it’s just too damn cute.

If not, I’m welcome to suggestions and advice from other short drivers, because I don’t know how to deal.

Help?

Or simply take this advice and completely avoid me when I’m on the road, k thanks =]

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How deep is the pool?

I know it’s not like me to post twice within a week, but today is LEAP DAY!!! This only happens once every 4 years and I think it’s cool that this blog post will be dated February 29th. So here is a new post. On Leap Day. February…29th…okay I’m done.

I have a new job!

Well I have several new jobs I guess.

But this post focuses on my latest job.

Which isn’t really a new job, because it’s something that I’ve done since I was 16.

I’m a lifeguard!

Again.

But it’s new in that it isn’t for the beach. It’s for a pool. And it isn’t just for any pool. It’s for a physical therapy place.

I guess I’m a physical therapy lifeguard?

Anywho.

So I found this job on Craigslist. The ad asked for someone who could work very specific hours Tuesday-Saturday. I applied even though my only availability was from Monday-Thursday. I didn’t expect to hear back but I figured I should apply since it’s in my neighborhood and the pay isn’t so bad.

A few days later, I received a phone call saying that they wanted me to come in to talk about the job. I was really caught off guard by the fact that they were actually interested despite my lack of time.

But after hearing a bit about the job over the phone, and agreeing to it, I began to go into a mini-panic mode.

I was told that at times, I would have to be in the pool with physical therapy patients to help them do their exercises.

Immediately, I thought…HOW DEEP IS THIS POOL?!?

Being a swimmer for much of my life, most pools that I’m used to begin at 4 feet deep and go up to anywhere from 6-12 ft deep in the “deep end.”

So I started panicking about how I wouldn’t be able to stand and hold up a patient in 6 feet of water because well, that’s a foot above my head.

I was really concerned that this guy would take one look at how short I am and turn me down when I had to meet him to talk about this job.

I turned to Google and began trying to do research on this physical therapy place and pool because I needed to know If I was going to be able to handle this kind of work in this pool.

I couldn’t find ANYTHING.

I was about to turn to Facebook to ask if any locals have ever used it and if they knew how deep it was.

I decided against that and then returned to the original Craigslist Ad and finally got my answer.

And breathed a sigh of relief.

This pool…is only 3-feet-deep.

It’s deepest point is 3 feet and 6 inches.

So once I found that out, my height was no longer going to be an issue.

And I realized that I was pretty much hired the second I sent in my resume and cover letter because they needed a replacement quick and seemed kind of desperate.

So I’ve been at this job for a few days and I’m happy to know that I’m not the only one that was concerned about the pool’s height.

A new patient came in the other day who was terrified to leave the 3-foot-deep corner because she was convinced that the pool was 6-feet-deep.

Being that she is only about 5 feet, like myself, she was afraid to go anywhere else because she was afraid her head would go under.

I kindly explained to my fellow shorty that the pool would only come up to her chest at most.

And she finally walked to the “deep end.”

And now she’s a champ.

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Umbrella Attack!

I may not look so threatening, but on a rainy day, I AM A FORCE TO BE RECKONED WITH!

FOR I CARRY A VERY DANGEROUS WEAPON…

THE UMBRELLA!

But seriously.

If it is raining and I am walking down the street with an umbrella, I’d suggest stepping out of my way.

For your own sake.

I’ve found that when I carry an umbrella, I’m on a subconscious mission to destroy everyone that I pass.

Because I am short, I carry my umbrella pretty low.

And my umbrella level seems to be at the same level as throats, eyes, and heads.

So anyone that is unfortunate enough to walk past me on a rainy day, usually gets poked at one of these levels.

I swear I don’t do it on purpose. In fact, I try to be kind and move my umbrella away or I walk as far away from people as possible, but when I am on a busy sidewalk like those in Manhattan…

Someone is going down. (Cough cough *the couple making out in the middle* cough)

I CAN’T HELP IT… I’M LITTLE!!!!

If I ever do serious damage, I always apologize so people don’t really think I was out to get them.

But man, life is hard on those rainy days for myself and all those that step within a 2 foot radius around me.

I could just look like a tool and wear a plastic poncho, but then well…I’d look like a tool.

Or I could just rely on hooded jackets or sweatshirts, but those can only do so much.

Or I could carry a special WARNING umbrella like this one…

Or I could move some place where it hardly rains. Like a desert?

Or I could just hang out with Rihanna? I hear she likes to share her umbrellas.

Or everyone can just kindly stay out of my way to avoid potential injury.

 

(If you want more from me, check out my new blog about my review of places I go in NYC http://heyivebeentherenyc.wordpress.com/)

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Sh*t My Grandma Says

Love my grandma to death, but that woman can TALK.

On and on and on and on.

Usually her conversations go something like “Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah…”

Or maybe it’s more like the teachers from the Charlie Brown TV shows

After all, my grandma was a teacher for several years.

But I blame her tendency to not stop talking on loneliness. My grandma lives alone, so I suppose she likes to overload all the built up thoughts and lay them out on her next ̶v̶i̶c̶t̶i̶m̶  guest.

My grandma also happens to live in an apartment in Manhattan, where I tend to spend a lot of my time when I have jobs in the city or I need a place to crash after going out for the night there. I couldn’t be more grateful for my grandma allowing me to stay there when I need to because it saves me a lot of commuting time and saves me from possibly dangerous situations on the subway late at night after I’ve had a few cocktails.

So I don’t mind her constant chattering. I’ve spent so much time with her, that I’ve learned to turn it into background noise. I’ll throw the occasional “Yeah,” “Uh-huh,” “Wow,” and “Okay” in every now and then and that seems to work.

But sometimes I do pay attention to what she says.

My grandma’s got jokes and wisdom when it comes to my height.

A few weeks ago, my grandma took me to see a movie. While waiting in the line to buy a ticket, she looked at the prices and said “I wonder If I can get you a child’s ticket” and she starts laughing. From what I know, most child tickets are for kids that are 12 and under. I’m 23. Now I may be the height of some 12-year-olds nowadays, but there is no chance in hell that I could pass for a 12 year old, unless the ticket taker wasn’t paying attention to what sort of ticket it was. I suppose my grandma realized this too and went with the regular adult ticket.

When we got inside the theater, we sat down and my grandma said “Can you see?”  Sometimes this is an issue when there is a really tall person in front of me…but this theater was practically empty. Seeing was not going to be an issue.  I couldn’t tell if my grandma was being funny again or if she’s starting to lose it at 79 years old.

Later that night, my grandma was teaching me how to use the laundry machines in the laundry room of her building. The dryers are pretty big, so my grandma made me go up to the dryer to make sure that I could reach the slot to put in the laundry card so that I could do it myself. The slot for the card is probably only 6 inches higher than my head and my arm can reach pretty far beyond that. Needless to say, using the dryer on my own was not an issue.

One of my personal favorites is when my grandma gives me advice on drinking. My grandma must think I’m a raging alcoholic because when I got out in the city, I tend to stay out until 1:30 the earliest(which to me, seems early) and I sometimes sleep in the next day and I don’t always feel so great. For Christmas, she even gave me special hangover pills in my stocking.  With her wisdom, my grandma has told me “You shouldn’t drink so much because you’re little.” Wise words grandma. I’ll keep that in mind until the next weekend when I forget how short I am and how much alcohol is going to kick my ass the next day.

So yeah. My grandma has her little charming ways of pointing out how short I am and she may talk way too much, but she holds a big piece of my heart.

As Lil Wayne says “I never had height but [grandma] I got heart”

Well, it went something like that.

 

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