Wednesday, August 23, 2017

Ass in the Wind-sday

I just got home to discover something horrifying; the jeans I wore today have a gigantic tear in the ass.

The entire ass seam, ripped wide open.

I don't know when the tear occurred.  I've been rethinking the day and...  It's big enough that I would have seen it when I put my jeans on this morning.  Even at my most sleepy, I would have noticed.  Plus, it was chilly this morning so I think I would have felt a breeze.

Yep, you read that right, the cherry on top of this mortifying sundae is I chose to not wear underwear today.

I don't recall hearing anything tear at any point.  And, before you joke, I've actually been losing weight lately, so it's not like I was super stressing the seams.

Here's a laundry list of thoughts pinging through my head right now:

  • Gasp.
  • Ugh.
  • Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
  • Really?  No one told me?  I mean, it would be awkward & delicate to tell someone about visible cheek, but you should do it.  Especially if it's someone you know and they're Mr. Magoo-ing their way toward breaking public decency laws.  As a nation, there's not much we agree on right now, but we can agree on that I'd think.  
  • Well, my game of low-maintenance limbo was always leading right here.  
  • Why was it that I started playing low-maintenance limbo, anyway?  Oh yeah, to be ugly and invisible.  To lay low until...  I'm not quite sure when.
  • Gasp.
  • Cringe.
  • Fuuuuuuuuuck.
  • I was wearing Birkenstocks today, perhaps people thought I was making a retro Summer of Love sort of a statement.
  • I am a middle aged lady, perhaps no one looks at my ass so no one saw it.  Strike that, let's make it affirmative:  No one looks at my ass.
  • Can we all go back to Eclipse Monday so I can be in awe of a different moon?
  • Oh, gawd, I went to coffee with my boss and he insisted on getting my coffee at the counter...  I thought it was because of my sprained ankle.  Oh gawd, the poor guy probably didn't want to have to tell me. 
  • Even if he didn't want to tell me, how in the hell did he not report me to HR and/or fire me.
  • I have a stay-cation next week; I had been planning a week of day-trips and writing and twice daily yoga and a massage and...  those plans have just been shredded, just like the ass seam in my jeans...  My staycation will be spent buying new clothes.  New clothes with strong seams.
  • And maybe some hair product.
  • And maybe some under eye concealer.
  • Sonofa...  I know better.  I used to be so. high. maintenance.  But then I got tired of it.  And didn't like what people projected onto me.  And so I made myself invisible, so nothing could be projected on me.  But this?  This is a bridge too far, I am no longer invisible.  I am exposed. 
  • G'ah!!!!!!
  • Fuuuuuuuck. 
Note:  This is not a polished post (obviously).  This is a:  I have talked to dear & trusted friends but I'm still gobsmacked at myself, and need to tell the whole world that if anyone saw my pale, middle-aged ass today, I'M SORRY!!!  You won't ever see it again because I am going to revert to my high-maintenance clothes-horse ways ASAP; BUT if you ever see any part of me that maybe you're feeling like you maybe shouldn't be seeing, PLEASE TELL ME!  We'll have a good laugh at my expense.  Eventually.

Also:  I may come back to finesse this post, but I promise to not eliminate any embarrassing details.

Finally:  I do have a photo of the tear, but I seriously can't bring myself to post it right now.  It's such a huge tear, you'll think I'm seriously the dumbest person in the world.  If you don't already.  Eitehr that or you'll think I have a serious medical sensory problem in my hiney region; I seriously do not know how I didn't feel...  oh, gawd.  Suffice to say, only a very limited audience gets to see that photo and see how truly...  ughhhhh.
  • Seriously.  Fuuuuuuuck.  
  • This embarrassment...  Hooo-doggie. 
  • I think, appearance-wise, I have hit bottom.
  • Fuuuuuck.
Now I'm off to trash all questionable clothing items.  Like, right now.  All the things my former high maintenance, clothes-horse self wouldn't have ever even worn to wash a car?  Out.  It's all leaving my home.  Tonight.  

Replacement goods...  Reinforcements...  Will start arriving tomorrow. 

Future viewings of my ass (and all bathing suit areas) will be by invitation only.  Gawd as my witness.

Thursday, December 1, 2016

Christmas Clip o' the Day: ELF & The Many Faces of Mandy Sue B.

I quote this scene all year long.  But not in a way that anyone would notice.

As much as I love Buddy's half of the conversation during December, it's two other bits I "quote" the other eleven months of the year.

ONE:  Whenever I get a chance to say "10 a.m." I will try to get my voice to sound as though I'm forcing cheer, but it's being hammered out by both exhaustion and profound irritation that is gurgling just beneath my surface.  The intended effect is like I'm waiting for someone to object to what I'm saying, and I'm prepared to stand my ground in the face of what I think is their obvious nonsense.

Of course all anyone hears is "10 a.m."  Plain and simple.

This brings me even more joy.  It's like a private screening, it lasts just an instant but man does it feel good.

TWO:  The other way I quote this scene not-in-a-way-that-anyone-would-notice is when this series of lines rolls through my head:  "Make work your favorite.  That's your favorite, OK?  Work is your new favorite."

These lines arrive when I'm faced with lackluster customer service and maybe, sometimes, maybe some workaday, workplace scenarios.  Maybe.  In the moment it's a relief and a joy to recall this character, but then nearly immediately after I am ashamed.  Why would I want anyone to make work their favorite?  Especially customer service.  Blech.

And that's when I push myself over to a more comfortable place for me to be, "I just like to smile.  Smiling's my favorite."

Welcome to Christmas Clip o' the Day 2016!  This may prove to be the only clip this year, so take. it. in!

Monday, August 31, 2015

Today: This and If | The King of Norway

I've been catching up with the final season of Boardwalk Empire lately.  Last night I saw the episode called The King of Norway, and today cannot stop watching this scene:

Seriously.  I've been nearly compulsive about watching this scene today.  Over and over and over and over.  It's so perfect in so many ways.  The writing, the acting...  The effort each character puts forth to keep their version of a civilized veneer in place...  It's simply delightful.

If an Eli & Nelson spin-off show had been possible, I would have watched.  Don't get me wrong, I'm happy it wasn't possible, things are better this without what would have inevitably been a terrible spin-off; but I love this team so much that I totally would have watched.

Wednesday, August 5, 2015

LOVE This Lady. | The Daily Show Moment of Zen | August 4, 2015

After the book promo (a great book, BTW), spend a moment appreciating the lady in the diner - LOVE her.

Wednesday, May 20, 2015

Repost from April 12, 2014 | Everything is A-ok with David Letterman

I thought of writing something new about Dave tonight, in honor of his last Late Show, but when I read post I wrote for his birthday, well, it says it all for me.  What I'm saying is, this post is a rerun, so:  Go watch Dave say farewell.


Dave.  I love the guy.  Not like a stalker who breaks into his home.  Not like an obsessive fan who duct tapes him to a chair for an intimate dinner.  More like I loved my bicycle when I was a kid.  Or something similarly essential and integral to who I am, a brick in the foundation of my personality, from way back when, but not something I make much fuss about on a day-to-day basis.  Yeah, like my bicycle.

It was 1984 or 1985.  I was 13 or 14 and spending the night at my sister's house so we could catch an early flight to Chicago to visit our Grandparents.  My sister and her husband were up late, packing and doing laundry.  I was bored and not tired, just sort of floating around their house, unsure what to do with myself, and so they told me to watch this show they had on.  So I did.

When I returned from Chicago, I programmed the family VCR to tape Letterman each night and watched it each day after school.

The reason I'm writing about this isn't to stake a claim, or to somehow create a virtual band T-shirt to prove that I was there first.  I wasn't.  I was a kid.  And I was there a couple of years late.

But I was loyal.

But that isn't even the point.

The point is:  I'm not sure what to do without Dave.

I was raised by television, and during key years I was mostly raised by Dave.

And as an adult with regular insomnia, or rather an adult who experiences occasional restfulness, I still catch The Late Show a lot.  It's comforting and soothing to me.  It's like I can still take my bike out and coast down the empty backroads of the exurb where I grew up, pink, purple, blue summer sunset on the horizon.  When I spend time watching Dave's show, it's like time flattens and compresses, every time is occurring at the same time, and all is a-ok.

To think that won't be an option soon makes me seriously concerned about my world.  Well, that sounds dramatic.  Maybe more dramatic than accurate.  No, that's it.  I am seriously concerned.  It's not like this is a surprise.  I had been feeling like the end was coming soon, and that Dave was nearing "Imminent Carson" (an appropriate, classy and elegant exit).  Intellectually I understood it and supported it, but now that it is here I find I am wholly unprepared.

Look, I know his retirement will be a-ok, too.  He is leaving me with a similarly bright, nerdy, AP-class kind of a guy who, like Dave, has learned to use his powers for good and not evil.  Not always nice, but definitely good.  Plus, I've got some time to adjust to the idea.

Yes, I know it's all going to be a-ok.  I'll always be able to find him on YouTube or whatever comes after that, and whatever comes after that.  And no matter what year I find him, and no matter the year of the clip I find, nor the quality of the clip, I will feel the calm, cool confidence of tooling around on my purple bike, wearing my purple Esprit sweatshirt, surrounded by a purple dusk - all alone, but a-ok.

Still, right now, I'm just not sure about it all.

Regardless, it's time for me to stuff my feelings about all of this and focus on the day:  Happy Birthday, Mr. Letterman.  I've said it before and I'll say it again, yours is the only celebrity birthday I have memorized.  I know that says something about me, and whatever that is, I'll take it.