Part With The Dress, CVS, Tribal Rituals

The things we do to overcome and gain control and balance over setbacks are so random.  When you look back, they are probably silly - crazy as well, but while you're in the midst of all that duuuurahhhhhma,  everything seems so serious, angsty, weird and logical all at the same time.   My dad used to say, "Ah honey, none of this will matter 20 years from now."    Oh, Daddy....  I know, but I'm going for just 60 days of daze.  Actually, some of this shit is pretty funny.  Not sure I will ever look back and laugh, but maybe.

Yesterday, I unpacked my fun little overnight bag.  I came across 'THE DRESS."  And oh, it made me so sad.  I took it out, hung it up, took angsty little artsy pictures of it, then  sank down against the washing machine and cried like a stupid little bitch done wrong in a bad soap opera.  I mean great big, soul - shaking cryin' like you did when Little Anne dies in "Where The Red Fern Grows."  (Fess up, peeps.  Ya'll KNOW you wailed like little babies when you saw that scene.)

Neighbor Dave came out in the middle of all this.  Imagine the poor guy coming out to his laundry room to find a sobbing woman sitting on his nasty garage floor clutching a delicate little silk dress.  What the HELL?!?

     "Hey."  He knelt down, keeping a respectable distance from me.

      "Well, , wahahahahaha, whhhhhaaaaa,"  I replied in that funny out of breath, hiccupy voice ya get
        during cry talking.

I won't bore you with deets, but Davey soon understood (really, I think he just PRETENDED to understand) the significance of the dress, blaa, blah, bleh bleh.  He looked surprised when I ended my story by blowing a bucket full of snot and tears all over the beautiful dress, folding it up and placing it in the little fancy bag it came in when I purchased it.  I walked over, opened up the trash can and gently placed it on top, closing the lid with a thud.  Crying jag #2 started in 5, 4, 3, 2.........

Davey waited until I finished and then asked the logical, unemotional, burning MAN question.  "WHY are you throwing the dress away?  It's a perfectly good dress.  It's beautiful."

I couldn't explain. Keeping the dress would mean looking at it hanging in my closet and each time the mere sight of  it would evoke memories I'm trying hard to forget- like how beautiful I felt each time I wore it.  It's a chick thing, boys.  You just won't get it.  Don't expect ya too.

 I grabbed my keys and purse and asked him to drive me to CVS.  "I need some sunscreen."  This was also hilarious since it was raining and gray outside.  But he drove me there and waited in the car.

Oh, CVS.  Really?  Your muzak on a good day sucks.  On a "Throw away THE DRESS rainy Sunday," it makes you want to plunk yourself down in the aisle with the Oreos on the shelf, rip them open, eat a dozen and then wash it down with whatever $5.99 + CRV case of beer you're encouraging us to swill for the week.  I bought my sunscreen and ran back to the car as fast as my little legs could go.

  When we pulled into the drive, Davey  STILL wanted to argue the case against throwing the dress away, I could tell.   He paused and glanced towards the trash can, giving me a quizzical look as we passed it.   But he's pretty damn smart.  He knew not to go there. We spent the rest of the day watching NBA games.

Later in the evening , I left for home.  As I walked out of his house, I saw glowing little tea light candles left over from his Halloween party placed on top of the trash can.  The sight of the pretty candles on top of the industrial green trash can looked ridiculous.  Davey followed behind me looking sheepish.

       "The dress needed a ceremony," he joked.

        "Right.  But I should have covered myself with tribal designs made from sunscreen, dunked
         Oreos in PBR and danced naked in a circle to Hall and Oates."

We both started laughing..  I went back in and drank a beer with him.  A man friend with candles and the ability to make you find humor is a good thing.

 
















     

Pantyhose, Chic Filet, Body Scrub and Other Random Thoughts

My thoughts on pantyhose (and other random things, which result from a restless spirit wide awake at 3 a.m.):

Who wears them?  I am thinking possibly the stuffy crowd looking to flash mob Starbucks because they employ gay people.   90 Year old women living in Alaska where nothing grows; even yeasty little microbes which require an embarrassing trip to the doctor, or for the hardy do it yourself crowd, a furtive, nonchalant stroll down that "special aisle" dedicated to women at the CVS.

Come to think of it, why is it that strange men seem to populate this aisle on a regular basis?   WHY ARE YOU THERE?  LEAVE!  Let me buy whatever it is that I don't want to broadcast to the world that I have in a semi secret state of anonymity.  There is NOTHING  on this aisle you need.  You are not pregnant, ovulating, menstruating, yeasty or menopausal.   It's bad enough when the dope at the check out can't scan to save his life and asks for a price check on the loudspeaker.

And have you BEEN down the pantyhose aisle lately?   What used to take up a whole row is now reduced to a sad, single little display of plastic eggs begging to be harvested.   And they are seriously UGLY!  And expensive!  So you want me to plunk down $5.95 for a pair of hose in "Natural."   Seriously?   I don't recall ever seeing skin on any woman that is so shiny it could be seen  by astronauts looking down on Mama Earth from the space station.

Why is that strange men populate coffee shops?  Seriously!  "NO, I HAVE NEVER SEEN A FLYING SAUCER.  Thanks for inquiring.  I do sort of wish one would appear right now and beam me up.  Save me, Captain James T. Kirk! (The young maverick from the 60's, please!  The current version schilling cheap hotel rooms for Priceline need NOT apply.)

And old guys who can be my grandpa.  Ya'll are SO cute when you flirt.    I don't mind.  It makes me smile.  To the old dude in Encinitas who said he felt lucky he missed the light and schmoozed me with, "Honey, you have the most beautiful green eyes I have EVER seen. "  Well, that was just sweet.  Never mind that they are blue; it was still cute.  No, I won't go to dinner with you, but I appreciate that you still work your skilz, playa'.

And adorable fireman?  Yes, I did blow it the other day.  I am a dork.  My  25 year old cousin (twice removed ) who works at the coffee shop called me on it!  He shook his head at his 3rd cousin as he witnessed the following exchange:

AF: " It's REALLY hot."
Dorky Susie:  "Yes, it IS.  Well, see ya later."

You notice I wrote Chic Filet?  I did it on purpose!  Cuz this is MY blog!  That's how I roll.  Seriously, though....  Being fashion forward is taking a beating lately.  It's a chic filet of another kind.   Open toed shoes?  I AM A FAN! 

Open toed shoes are fashion forward, show off the $30 pedi we just had to endure while trying to ascertain whether the chick doing our toesies is talking about us in another language and are sooooo fun to wear.  That's all I gotta say about that. 

I HATE Chick Filet.  No, not the restaurant serving up crusty chicken sandwiches with a side of hate spew,  although you will never see me dine there.  I hate Chick Filet where mean females gang up on the innocent like rabid little chimpanzees in a Jane Goodall documentary.  Not all of us practice this cannabilistic display, so it distresses me when I witness it in all its rabid glory.

 May you a sprout gnarly, twisted hair from your left nipple 5 minutes before a date!  And STOP being mean!  Life can suck hard enough without your little contribution.  And stop picking on people who are different or less than perfect or frail and weak!   Be nice!  Resist peer pressure to act like vapid morons!  Go hang out and eat chicken with the pantyhose wearin'  haters and revel in how beautiful it is to be "normal.". Have a great, yeasty old time!

 I bought into to it for juuuuust about a second until I pulled back and remembered a little thing called loyalty and respect. And I remembered who I am.  Daddy Clovis always told me to remember the people who got me to the dance and make sure I stick with them like glue.  So I did.  I have to honor people and history and time.  And love.  Because love is important.   Love comes in a million different ways.  Honoring your past with someone is love in its purest, most beautiful form.  You Remind Me Who I AM!!!!!!

If acupuncture is really just the placebo effect, does it still work?  I mean, if you know that, does that negate its effectiveness?    What if the needles are dirty?  What if the needle sticker dude is just a washed up heroine addict pretending to be an accuprofessional?  These things keep me up at night!

Finally,  thanks for sticking with this rant all the way to the end.  I apologize.  Let me leave you with something useful.  Best body scrub ever:!!!! -  Kosher salt, olive oil, peppermint, vanilla and a dash of cinnamon. Your beautiful skin will be soft and feel great -  except if you have a papercut.