|Living the theory
||[Oct. 14th, 2010|10:12 am]
Okay, so there's the theory about humor that it's basically all about sharing joy in others' misfortune. And while I could Devil's advocate that, it is true, if you run through the latest 15 things you laughed at, most of them came at someone else's expense. This includes "being clueless and ignorant", which is why the Tea Party tickles my funny bone. Although, it also gives me the screaming horror nightmares and I'm really hoping that the giant sucking sound I hear is NOT America's IQ being sucked down a drain. |
But enough of politics. Let's get on to me and undergarments.
I mean, after all, I AM the poster child for laughing at other people's misery. Hell, if I only had the drive and determination, I could make a LIVING sharing my personal misery with others in the hopes they'll find it enjoyable. I just don't know if I'm ready for the scrum that is blogging, publishing, or performing, in the infinitesmal chance that I would be the next David Sedaris, or whomever. There's a lot of talent out there and luck plays a huge role in who makes it. And I'm someone who can go forty dollars at a dollar slot machine without ever having a positive pull. Which is odds-defying, yes, but in the glass-half-empty way. Ditto...I've gotten maybe 30 lottery tickets as gifts throughout my lifetime and never even won a buck.
I won't ever be struck by lightning. However the odds of lightning striking just next to me, uprooting a tree, causing a sinkhole that I then slide into...well, needless to say, I don't stand near trees during a thunderstorm.
But yeah, my misery, I do like to share. Not my Chinese food. Just so that you're aware. Unless I've placed the order. Because I ordered a dish I LIKE. And YOU will order Sweet and Sour Pork and then eat half of my dish and expect me to....oh, hell no. Back off. I can't pick up food with chopsticks, but I WILL put out your eye. There is no need to bread and deep fry perfectly good meat, cover it with artificially colored sweet gaggable sauce and then throw in undercooked chunks of green bell pepper.
I'm sorry, there I was, on the way to me half naked in the dressing room, and I got distracted. Damn, but I hate Sweet and Sour Chinese food. One in-law family reunion event that involved food at a Chinese restaurant and now I'm scarred for life. Lazy Susans make me want to get takeout and eat it in the ladies room.
Right. Focus. Sharing my misery so that others might laugh. Or learn. Possibly both. Is there anything sadder that suffering some misery, some great humiliation and not having anyone around to laugh at it? Engaging in some gigundous bollocksing that goes horribly awry and not only are you the ONLY one who learned anything, there was no one around to even take JOY in it. My saddest moment: running the stairs to the commercial kitchen, which was on a mezzanine level and open to the entire store. It was late in the afternoon, so cooking was done, but I was baking off appetizers for a cookbook signing I was hosting for some humorless cookbook author. They'd already pulled up the rubber safety mats; I knew that.
But I didn't know that the cleaners had mopped the floor since I put the apps in the Combi. So, when I hit the floor, trotting at a good clip, since the aforementioned humorless cookbook author had her French panties in a twist because we were running low and heaven forbid, if the customers didn't have a little square of pissaladiere, they woudn't buy her book, surely. So, I was trotting and rolling my eyes, which I suppose is how I missed the sheen of freshly mopped floor. And landed on my keister and....slid the entire length of the kitchen on said keister only to slam up against the steamer at the other end. A good 30 feet, ladies and gents. Fast. On my ass. With a good crumple at the end when I hit the steamer feet first.
AND NO ONE SAW IT. I was bruised, my pants were soaking wet and I'd dented the freaking steamer and no one saw it. Despite the mezzanine being open to public view, no one was looking at that exact time. What the hell's the point, really? What a colossal waste! Except for the colleague who later said "You know, a normal person would just not SHARE it when really embarrassing things happen to them." I had a good laugh then. And he lasted another three months before he left, after losing his nut one day and screaming at a customer. If you can't laugh at yourself, it is just a matter of time until you lose your nut. Or become a Tea Bagger. And by tea bagger, I mean, uninformed gullible puppet. The other tea bagger...well that's FUNNY. Which proves my point.
Oh, RIGHT. Sorry. There I am, naked in a dressing room. Because, as we've discussed, I'm going to my 30th High School Reunion and I am near the heaviest I've ever been and that has really been depressing me. Which is bad, because depression leads to alcohol and food. Well, okay, EVERYTHING leads to alcohol and food for me. Let's just say depression depresses my ability to make good choices. Let's face it, when I'm depressed, I'll think "oh, f-it, I'll have that fourth beer, damn the calories, because I'm so tense I might just punch someone for looking at me funny." When, really, one less beer would be less calories and punching someone would BURN calories.
I know, you thought I was lost again, but no, I am STILL on track. I HAVE managed to lose five pounds this week despite a couple of happy hours and having some Candy Corn cookies leftover from the weekend. But still, it was clear to me that in order to keep my self-esteem buoyant this weekend, I was going to need some help from Spandex. Because the only other "damn, don't I look good" option would be my Renaissance Faire bodice, which just would be a little too weird in a needy-attention kind of a way, or....well, let's just say the other options I currently own are items of clothing that I share with just a select few. And since the Captain won't be escorting me this weekend, there will be no need for those.
So, off to the lingerie department to get a "why don't you take all of that gicky flab, smooth it out, and tuck the extra in my armpits and behind my knees" garment. And if you could take that fat that sits on my hipbones like Princess Leia hairbuns and move it back down so that I have something to freaking SIT on, that would be cool.
But apparently, they still don't sell miracles in the Macy's lingerie department, so the Princess Leia Hairbun Hip Cushions will have to stay. If I'm lucky, when I fall down on the dance floor...as is inevitable as the sun rising, my friends...I will land on my side and they will finally come in handy.
But trying on said near-miracle spandex suits...oh, people, here was a comedy show. What was funnier? The one I got stuck in and couldn't pull up or down, until I finally flop-sweated enough to get it going? The one that had snaps in the crotch (I said "snaps", hur-hur) that after I bent over to snap and then tried to straighten up, giving myself a Charleyhorse and reminding myself that I DO have a long torso and that snaps have no business being that far up my hoo-ha?
Maybe it was the one that had the integrated push-up bra? I'm not sure WHERE I was supposed to put my boobs, but seriously, I finally know what my couch feels like when it hosts two people and then both dogs insist on getting on it too. Don't even get me started on the one that had a built-in butt shaper! When you've got Princess Leia hairbuns on your hips, the last thing you need is an Oompa Loompa on your ass.
I finally did find a mild-mannered sleekifier, that just sort of smoothed things out, mellowing out the rolls of overindulgence. Comfortable, not very sexy, but something that makes me look a little bit more like I normally look, which is sexy enough. Which was good. But still, I was sad.
Because, people, I only had a half an hour to try these things on and it was humliating and FUNNY as hell. Next time, we make sure the Oompa Loompa's got video.