Well, here it is- my first blog on FUBAR. I'm gonna try to make sure that I bring my other blog from myspace and blogspot here.
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Last Friday I promised you an embarrassing story which turned out to be the foundation of a very trying day. I was kind of crotchety this morning, but then I got flowers and well, that was the 'kiss on the boo boo' I needed. Sometimes the universe just gives you the friendly elbow in the ribs and says, "cheer up chump, shake off your shooter." Well, my shooter is plenty shaken, so here goes.
As some of you know, I've taken a shine to political activism and put in some hours helping out a lobbyist. Last week, we had to attend an endorsement event for a candidtate. (I'm leaving my political commentary about out)
Keep in mind that when I got dressed that morning, I put on my power suit, black nylons and sexy new high heels. I looked like a million bucks, not a compliment I pay myself that often. Sometimes I really clean up well and I was exuding a confidence about my physical appearance that most definately not foretelling of what was to come.
It was going to take place at one of our member's offices who happens to be a manufacturer of "Earth friendly/Green" pesticides (kind of a contradiction, eh?) and I had to drag along our backdrop boards, my lap top, my purse and a bunch of other crap. Mr. Lobbyist called my cell said, "oh, I'll come out and help you bring stuff in."
No sign of Mr. Lobbyist and his helping hands anywhere.
"Christ fucking wept!!" I thought, "I'll do it all! Oh, this woman's work! Oh darling make it gooo...make it gooooo away....""
I leapt out of my car to begin taking things out. I put the laptop on top of my car and started wondering what I did with my keys. Then I was gonna take the boards out but was worried they'd fly away. Oh I want one more sip of coffee. Where are my keys? Do I have my phone? Do I have everything? Crap! The camera is in the back seat! Get it!!! Oh, the press releases. DO YOU SEE THE CHAOS? Gentle reader, I can only spin one plate on a stick at a time some days.
I am the queen of delayed reactions. If I spill a soda, I watch half of it pour on the carpet before I go, "UGH-DOY I SPILLED. MUST GO GET PAPER TOWEL. ME NOT SMART, ME WATCH GRASS GROW WHILE STAIN FORM ON CARPET." If I am on one side of our home and hear my phone ringinng down the hall, it's the same thing. "Oh. Is that my phone? Oh, no one else in this place has "Pretty Vegas" (IT AIN'T PRETTY....) as a ringer? Maybe I should go look" and of course I miss the call.
It should be no surprise that I ignored the draft blowing through my lower extremities. My vagina shivered like Charo on an old repeat of Love Boat on a Monday afternoon. I think I even heard my asshole whistle. It was at this very moment that I realized my skirt had fallen PERFECTLY around my ankles and I was simply jumping around in a fallen skirt in/out of a car like it was no big whoop. You wouldn't believe how perfectly encircled my ankles were, it was as if my skirt had 10 pounds of lead in it and just DROPPED around my ankles.
Procrastination is my forte' so I figured that I'll "deal with the skirt when I'm done with the car. I have important people to see. Hands to shake. Photo opts that require complete perfection and flashy white teeth. Elbows to rub. Every function I attend helps my business and (I could singlehandedly make the elections/muckraking MUCH more interesting with the things I know about some of these politicians) and today I look like a million bucks. No, fuck that- I look like $2 million dollars and a hooker with a line of cocaine the size of a giant Amazonian catepillar on her ass."
I continued my shuffling and rumaging. I smiled because my clothes really have been falling off lately. "My lifestyle changes are paying off!" I thought, "I'm shrinking! Eat my cornhole Kirstie Alley!"
I continued to smile like the smug fuck I am.
Do you know that feeling you get when you sense someone is staring at you?
(You can see where this is going, can't you)
There stood Mr. Lobbyist, a day late and a dollar short, ready to offer his assistance. There stood his faithful sidekick with her skirt around her ankles and her black nylons screaming for mercy as created a smooth illusion of smooth perfect skin, even though they held back copious amounts of pasty white flesh. A sausage in casing. Two pigs fighting under a blanket.
Peeps and poops, please note that yours truly does not wear underwear in times like this. Panty lines are the anti-Christ. Nylons are enough. After all, if your love is going to tear them off your body later, it just makes for easier access. (Hint Hint Mr. P, indulge my nylon fetish!!) Not only did he behold my lovely lady lumps packed into hosiery, he probably noted my ass was bare as the day I was born. At this point, I can't even decide what would have been worse: seeing me from a front view and having to work with me everyday knowing that I "shave it all off" OR getting the view he received- the side...FUPA (Fat Uppper Pussy Area for you non-Minnesotans) and a bare ass butt cheek.
He looked at my face.
Then my skirt.
My face again,
My skirt.
Face.
Skirt.
Face.
Skirt.
I unceremoniously yanked it up, ran my hands over my extremites and gave him my best, plucky, "YES SIR, I'M READY FOR SOME POLITICAL ACTIVISM. DID YOU BRING THE PATCHOULI OIL AND THE BIRKENSTOCKS?" face.
I waited for the witty quip, snide comment or laughter.
Do you know what he said? NOTHING.
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOTHING.
DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT'S LIKE FOR SOMEONE LIKE ME? MY FUCKING GOD, LET IT ALL OUT! LET ME HAVE IT! TELL ME I'M STUPID. CRACK UP. PLEEEEEEASE DON'T LET MY IMMAGINATION RUN WILD BECAUSE ALL I CAN THINK ABOUT IS YOU GOING OUT TO LUNCH WITH SENATORS AND OTHER OFFICIALS AND TELLING THEM ALL ABOUT YOUR "CRAZY PART TIME ASSISTANT WHO SELLS SEX TOYS TAKING HER CLOTHES OFF IN THE PARKING LOT AND SCARING YOU FOR LIFE!!!!!"
There you have it my friends, another battle won by the skirts in the Wardrobe War. Damn Yankees.
