Friday, October 30, 2009

Tubular Bells!

So, Tube Tops are the worst idea and yet always seem to be a local fashion do! All year round! At least in these parts of Podunk, South Carolina.

Someone recently sent me a link to the amazing train wreck that is and I have been transfixed. My eyes! My eyes! Someone get me a fork so I may gouge them out before I see one more back bo*b being strangled by a shredded tied up tshirt, with that lovely Rollings Stones tongue on the front. Never in a million years would I ever leave the house again if I sported any of the looks that are apparently Walmart Appropriate Attire.

Now, however, I must make my Tube Top Confession. Let us pray.

I recently bought what I thought was a long Maxi skirt (notatwalmart - it was Tarjet), that in actuality was a Maxi dress. A Tube Tob Maxi dress and the only way I could wear it arond the house without tripping all over myself was to hoik it up over my bo*bs and wear it as a tube top! And no pictures will ever be forthcoming thankyouverymuch. And also obviously I would never leave the house in it or wear it in front of anyone other than my two dogs, George and Molly, who I really think are way to judgemental about my fashion choices as it is. Stop staring. And Drooling. And shedding on the bed while you are at it. Gah.

Just because I live in the middle of nowhere, South Carolina does not mean I am doomed to become a tube top wearing, walmart shopping person with an ankle monitor as a fashion statement!

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

C'était bon

So I was a ballet dancer my entire young life. Started at 5 (I was preshus, let me assure you) and kept going until 21 or 22, when my knees gave out and real life kicked in and I had to like, earn a living.

Ballet is based in French and very often, taught in French, so obviously, I took French in High School and College, because I had a head start, right? Oui.

My teacher in High School was Mrs. Matthews. She was fun and great and we conjugated every er verb and ir verg and re verb under the damn soleil. When I went to college, thanks to Mrs. Matthews, I skipped French 101 and 102 and went straight to Second Year French with Monsieur Ponsard, who was actually French, OMG. Monsier Ponsard would have been suave and sexy, but he was actually a little weird and creepy and I do not remember a thing from that class besides saying anything harder than "Quel est votre nom?" and "Je suis à la bibliothèque." was just too much for my usually très hungover and overwhelmed with life and college and boys brain.

Still, I did fine and moved on with my life and even went to France with a boyfriend years later and did not completely embarress myself (with my language skills - the destination wedding and bouquet toss - totally another story.) I ordered food in fancy French restaurants and read street signs and was not one of those horrible American tourists who do not say hello and thank you to shopkeepers.

I did get a terrible stomachache after eating way too much brie and bread one afternoon, but I was in Provence and I was going to live the dream! So I sat in the sun and read poetry and ate cheese and bread and drank wine while my boyfriend whined about Real Food and Stinky Cheese and totally ruined the experience, which is why I dumped him and married someone else. Ha!

Anyway, back home to New York I flew, where late one summer evening, I walked into a deli for a sandwich before heading back to the office to lick more envelopes and stamps because the life of a party planner is ultra glamorous, non? The place was quiet and there was a little old lady standing at the counter, trying to make the greasy deli dude (We'll call him Eddie) understand her. Eddie just stood there, arms folded across his ample stomach, shaking his head. "Lady, I can't understand you." This is America, for cryin' out loud." Now, this dude was an American, born and raised on the South Side of Somewhere and he was being a complete Yankee jerk.

I walked forward to better eavesdrop, I mean help her out, and finally heard her tiny feeble French voice. "Jambon!" she whispered, cowed by his brutish lowered brow as she pointed at the Boars Head Section. "Show her the ham." I told Eddie. He looked at me and scowled like I was making him look stupid. No help from me needed there. heh. "Pick up. The ham. And show it to her." I said in my party planner bossy voice I use when waiters at the Waldorf start slowing down after the entree course is on the table and the patrons actually request stupid things like wine and water and stuff. Stupid Union Waldorf Waiters.

Eddie sighed and leaned down into the display case and picked up the ham and lifted it gently out of the case like it was his first born son, swaddled in slimy brown sugar and preservatives. A smile lit up her tiny wrinkled face and I was so proud. A few more sentences fairly flew between us (Not Eddie mind you, he was sulking the whole time and I know he put his thumb in my tuna salad) involving bread choices and cheese and my Little Old French Lady Friend and I walked out with our sandwiches into the warm summer night. I have no idea what she was jabbering on about at the end, but I knew I had done a good thing.

C'était bon.

Monday, October 5, 2009

Post Ideas

I am going to type here, all of the ideas I have had recently, about funny true stories to put here as posts.

My life has been and continues to be.... Hilarous. You didn't know? Why not? Hilarious I tell you. Just you wait interwebz!!!!!

In no order other than my chaotic brain:

1. Helping that old french lady order a ham sandwich in NYC (Thank you Monsiuer Ponsard!)
2. Tube tops ( I forget why but who can't write something funny about Tube Tops in South Carolina?)
3. The first time I sat next to Nurse Lillian from Guiding Light at a Fancy Ladies Luncheon
4. The spider the size of a bleeping bull frog I just found in my bushes in the front yard
5. The fact we are moving across the Atlantic and have to do eleventy billion things first
6. The time my boss fell face first right behind Henry Kissinger at the Waldorf Astoria with two other World Leaders watching
7. The time I carelessly tossed a glass award off the stage at Sinbad's feet, handing him a hilarous opening for his routine, which he used as a thematic devise FOR TWO HOURS!
8. The time I asked Richard Holbrooke for his ID at a Black Tie affair (He was not amused)
9. The time I lost Al Roker between Dinner and Avery Fisher Hall at Lincoln Center (He was not amused)
10. The time I almost forgot to go get Debra Norville. (She was fine!)
11. The time I broke a rule at Rudy's Bar & Grill
12. The Rudy's Rules
13. The time the same boss from #6 freaked out Al Gore and showed Clinton (Bill) her boobs
14. The time I did NOT get a neck hug from OJ Simpson

I think that is enough for now.

Just you wait!