Stop in the Name of Sanity or "Fame rhymes with Shame, so be careful"

As I sat watching "Dance Your Ass Off" last night I was shocked to think that these people weren't terrified to be seen doing what they were doing.  Yes, I'll admit that I love the early stages of "American Idol" when they showcase the "talent-free" auditioners and that I've gotten to the point where I watch reality TV just to see contestants cry...in fact, the harder they cry, the harder I laugh - I just can't help myself.  

...but this is in a class all by itself...

If "Saturday Night Live" had cast their all-time best comedians to perform a sketch that poked fun at a scheme to combine "Biggest Loser" and "Dancing with the Stars" it wouldn't have come close to being as funny as this was...  it takes "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING????" to a whole new level.

Sometimes our 15 minutes of fame just ain't worth it...

When I was in college two friends of mine convinced me to do a routine with them, in drag, for a talent show.  The whole idea was to dress up like Diana Ross and the Supremes and lip sync "Stop in the Name of Love" - I was to be Diana.  I knew that at 5'4, with my football player shoulders, I'd not really make a convincing woman, but, then as now, I really do enjoy making people laugh.  

We went downtown to a thrift shop, found a few bridesmaid dresses that had been donated (if you want to make a bridesmaid dress more hideous than it already is just put it on a man)...  Mine was a yellow chiffon number that had a drapey thing off the shoulder.  I figured I could fling the drape around for added laughs.

Flash forward to the night of the talent show...  We were the big surprise opening for Act II and even the other people in the show (you know, the "legit" bands, girls who wrote their own songs and the Biology Prof who always wanted to sing opera) didn't know we were going on...  ...so I'm waiting back stage, in a closet, in my yellow dress and horrible wig when the MC checks in on us and says to me, "You know, Diana Ross had great legs and always had a slit in her dress."

One of my cohorts grabs a pair of scissors, kneels beside me and starts snipping...  pulling, snipping, pulling, snipping...  

"You guys gotta go on..."

Onto the stage we go; my dress is all askew from having the slit cut into the side.  In the dark I'm trying to fix my dress as the MC announces the number which will hopefully perk-up an otherwise dud of a talent show.  Something doesn't feel right, but I'm not adept at dress wearing...  I think I'm good, but then, no, but, OK, but...

Up come the lights.

     (my back to the audience, I'm frozen in a pose)

The music starts.

    (this is bible college and I begin to question my decision - my knack for questioning decisions is always right on target, it's my timing I need to work on)

The Supremes start the number.

     "Stop in the name of love, before you break my heart..."

I convince myself that the dress is fine and the trouble is nerves.

    (Bum-bah-bah-Bum, Bum-bah-bah-Bum)

     "Baby, baby I'm aware of where you go, each time..."

Diana turns around to begin the first verse.  In the light I realize the problem is the slit; the "pulling and snipping" has cut the slit from my left side ankle, across my knee and up to my groin.  The audience laughs and cheers as I lip-sync, trying to pull the dress down and twist it so that my tightie-whities aren't on display...  but there's choreography...  and as I lift my arms the dress rights itself.  

I AM COMPLETELY EXPOSED.  

I pull the dress down again and twist it trying to do the dance moves with just my hands - having my elbows firmly planted against my sides.  This does NOT help, I'm just too wide for the dress and any movement causes it to ride up like a tube top on a hoochie-momma...  I twist, reaching over my shoulder for the drapy thing (that is somehow behind me), but this only makes matter worse as I shift in the dress.  The audience cheers when I realize the drape is on the OTHER shoulder and grab it to cover my (not-so) privates...

Eventually, the guys in the dorm quit calling me "white tornado", thankfully the photos were deemed "inappropriate" for the Year Book (this was Bible College afterall), 

but there was this little chinese man with whom I never spoke, who I never met, who never ever said anything to me, but who would burst into laughter at the sight of me the whole time I was in college...

My hope for you is that, when you look back on the 15 minutes of fame in your life, you don't wish you had just stayed in bed...

-silly

Some Recession... or "glad I'm not the Tooth Fairy"

So, we went to see Uncle Ryan last night.  Uncle Ryan is 9; in spite of the fact that I insist my biological nieces and nephews drop the "Uncle", his mother insists that he call me Uncle "Silly" - so, I call him Uncle Ryan...  No one gets this little joke, but me... that's OK, it is well worth the perplexed look he gives me every time I see him.

And his teeth are starting to fall out.  Well, not fall out, gee that sounds wrong.  He is starting to lose his baby teeth.  This was announced to me by Girly Girl (Uncle Ryan's 3 y/o sister), it took me a minute to catch on, but when I did I asked the age old question, "Did the Tooth Fairy come?"

"Yup" Girly Girl announced.

"I got five dollars."

I was stunned and my only response was, "Well, that's probably a mistake, you should put it back under your pillow so she can give you the quarter she meant to leave you."

Again the perplexed look.  No one gives a perplexed look better than Uncle Ryan, Kybot (my godson-they are the same age plus or minus a year) always knows when I'm pulling his leg; he gives me a feigned gasp and laughs.  Not Uncle Ryan, he has a way of looking at you like you're trying to teach him trigonometry while speaking a foreign language.

"Why would I do that?"

Well, there's a good question.  "I guess that's true, she might think there was a mistake and give the tooth back."

"She didn't take the tooth."

Now I'm completely thrown.  Not only did the Tooth Fairy leave $5, she didn't even take the tooth.  I suppose it was my turn for the perplexed look.

Girly Girl screwed up her face and asked, "She can't!  It would be too heavy."

I didn't want to question the "weight" line of reasoning which is so very faulty; logically, if she can carry a bag of quarters big enough to replace all the teeth, she can carry the teeth she collects.

"Um" was really the best response that I could come up with.

"She's little."

"No she's not."  I jumped in, "the Tooth Fairy is as big as I am."

This of course elicited a terrified look so I had to add, "But she's VERY nice."

Uncle Ryan jumped in with, "and she never takes the teeth..."

"Yeah."

"But she has to take the teeth.  She takes them back to her castle and keeps them in these giant cases and that's where all the magic comes from."

"What magic?"

This was not the perplexed look, this was now a look of doubt; like I was making this all up.  I'm having a conversation about the tooth fairy with a 9 and 3 year old and they are questioning the "facts" that I am giving them.  Why?  Because I used the word "Magic" and they know that there is no such thing as magic.  So, Tooth Fairy completely fits into their world-view as long as there is no magic involved...  this completely fascinates me!

So many wonderful things that fit neatly into the mythology of a child's mind...  

Baloney was wishing for a Fridge Fairy to clean her fridge and a Laundry Fairy to do her wash (this from someone who insists on ironing her sheets?)...

I began to wonder about these as compared to Santa or the Easter Bunny and thought that there really only has to be someone to grant the wish... ...and that perhaps, the real magic in the Tooth Fairy is not in the mind of the child, but in the heart of the parent.

Back to bed I go; wishing for the Employment Fairy to come and bring me a job.

-silly

The next time I go to a garage sale it won't be my own or "buddy can you spare a bag"

Two people, working for two solid weeks and cleaning up for a week afterward making $500...  let's just say that you won't get rich quick doing a garage sale - or at least I won't.  ...and, on top of it all, the people who come to garage sales are no "day in the park".  If it's marked $5 they want it for $1...  if it's marked $1 they want it for $.25...  what a pain!

...but that's not to say that some very funny things didn't happen.  HA!  The best story is one that I'm going to tell you backward...  but it makes me laugh in either direction...

So I give this little old man a plastic grocery bag and think to myself, "Gee, buddy, I would have just given you a bag if you had asked for one...."

Because he was standing there, wrapping the cord around the fountain, holding all the pieces and then he asked me, "Well, don't I get a bag?"

...but the only reason he needed a bag was because, after paying me 50 cents for the little table-top fountain, he took it out of the box (original box - complete with carrying handle) and cast the box aside saying, "Don't want.  Garbage."

We agreed on the price of 50 cents, for an item that had been marked $5, after he had been staring at the box for a good 10 minutes.

He was completely transfixed on the item even after his wife put it back in the box and walked away to look (disparagingly) at the rest of the stuff in the tent.

Once I had retrieved the box she took the little black fountain out of the box (and protective sleeve) after insisting that they be allowed to look at it in spite of my reluctance.

The box had to be retrieved because she spotted it behind several other boxes (a tea set, cookie tins, punchbowl) all of which were under an 8' folding table completely filled with even more stuff.

It was under a table because, when I'd opened it up that morning I realized that the fountain was badly broken and in several pieces, so I set it somewhere, hidden behind some other stuff, to throw away later.

...and the only reason I opened the box that 2nd morning of the garage sale was because I thought, "Oh, this is cute, I bet if I take it out of the box I'll be able to sell it..."

...and sell it I did...

You know, many years ago a woman asked her husband to make up a sign to let the neighbors know that she was selling some odds and ends from around the house.  When he saw what she was selling he decided to add some commentary to the sign and intended to write "GARBAGE SALE"...  He was so caught up in his own silliness that he did not realize that he had misspelled the word and the term "GARAGE SALE" was born...

-silly

a bunch of lies... or "another load of Baloney"

So Baloney called me the other day and commented that I had not yet responded to her tagging me in a post.  "Oh Joy!" is more or less exactly what I thought, but when I started thinking about what the "tag" was asking me to do it sort of made me giggle - to be honest I've so depressed lately that nothing makes me giggle...

So here's the rub...  because one can learn so much about another person by the things that they make up, my assignment is to create fictional confessions for each of the seven deadly sins...  For the sake of you all knowing me better, here goes...

Pride:

While I am certainly proud of many things I suppose that I am most proud that my life was the inspiration for the story of "Billy Elliott".  The writers took some severe liberties in order to make the story more interesting.  For instance, the location of the story was moved from rural New Jersey to coal-mining England; they added the part about the deceased mother (which I find very moving)...  they also changed my name (both to protect my privacy and because my name has no "ring" whatsoever).  oh, and the stuff about dancing was also added to broaden the appeal.  When I was told that there was talk of taking the story of my life from the big screen to the Broadway stage I was moved to such tears that, well, I'm sure you can imagine...

Sloth:

When I was working and had more money paying for a gym membership was a breeze.  When it became obvious that I needed to work out, I picked up a membership to a great fitness club during one of their "Sales" (which is a club's way of saying "we're not going to charge you for something we shouldn't charge you for in the first place").  I was cautioned (special note:the word "cautioned" uses every vowel) that starting a workout while I was so out of shape could be harmful - I might want to hire someone.  WHAT A GREAT IDEA!  I was making enough money to do that, so I did!  I hired a guy named Philip who trained four times a week.  At first I went to every session; he was really working and my muscles always ached the next day (vicariously, of course).  After a while, and none to few people asking Philip about the fat guy who sat around the gym while he worked out, well it just didn't seem to be having any effect on my body and I wondered if hiring someone to work out for me had been such a good idea after all...

The next two are easy!

Lust:

Carol Channing!

Envy:

I envy people who have children.

Anger:

I just don't get angry - especially when I'm driving... on the highway... or behind school buses... or old people... or... most drivers are just STUPID!!!

Greed:

This is something that no one knows.  I collect Precious Moments figures.  ...really, anything Precious Moments...  those little blonde, wide-eyed children make my heart break so I buy one whenever I see one.  I frequent local garage sales for them, chipped, broken it doesn't matter.  Because I don't want anyone to know I collect them, I throw them under the house into the crawl space.  I've managed to get just the right technique so that if you look into the crawl space you don't see them...  I'm pretty sure I have all the Christmas ones!!!  

Gluttony:

This is the worst of all because I can't think of a lie that tops anything that I have actually done.  But this a great place to plug my new cookbook "Meals for Four that Two can Eat"!

I hope you feel like you know me better now...

-silly

Gee, that boy can dance..but we're seated...and there's no music

Being in touch with an old friend has been a true pleasure.  I found him on Facebook and we've had a chance to reconnect.  A recent email exchange really took me back...

...it was 1993...  wow, I wasn't even 30 yet, but I was employed, I had a gym membership and four roommates in a three story Victorian house.

I was a regular at the gym and since I had very early commitments and very late commitments at the job I took very long lunches and worked out for hours at a time.  The best shape I have ever been in...

Juanito was one of my roommates.  He had been the manager of a video store and had a copy of nearly every movie that had ever been put on tape.  They lined the walls of his room in the house and he always had a movie playing...always...

Juanito and I had not been friends for very long and therefore did not have all the same friends - I'd known the other guys for a while and since we traveled in the same groups we knew all the same people...  so it was that he mentioned some girls he had met and a double date - was I interested?  I wasn't, I had recently split up with a fiance and well...  I said "Yes" anyway...

The date was set for a Saturday night - it was June - it was hot already...

I walked up to the gym from the house, got in a workout and headed home.  As I stood in the shower I was overcome by true insanity and, without explanation, decided to shave my chest.  I always kept a spare razor in the shower for the back of my neck and this was what I grabbed...  two scrapes and I was committed...  after four scrapes I was bleeding... after 10 scrapes I was late...

"We need to leave in 10 minutes!"

"What?"

It was madness.  Madness.  As I hacked away at my (what was later referred to as perfectly furred) chest, I realized I was in no way prepared for the task at hand.  They don't teach about this in school - no one says to trim it all first (although these days Gillette.com does have video shorts on body grooming-they are actually funny to watch)  It took forever and I had to sneak to my room for another razor in the middle of it all...

"Are you almost ready?"

"YES!"

"You're still in the shower!"

I'm almost done" I lied...

...after nearly a half hour my chest looked like I had a body full of bird-shot - nicks and cuts all over my torso.  I didn't know if I should try the toilet paper trick (you know little pieces to stop the bleeding or whether it would stop)...  I stared into my closet...  searching for the right shirt - it didn't have to look good, it just had to hide the blood seeping out of the open wounds on my chest...  All I had was a VERY dark, silky thing which I slipped into and then a pair of jeans...

...off we went...

"What's wrong?"

"What do mean?"

"You look uncomfortable..."

"I'm just stupid."

"For going on a double date?"

"Nope..."

And uncomfortable I was...

I do not remember anything that happened on the date.  I couldn't tell you if the girls were pretty or friendly, I don't know if the food was good or if we ate or went to a movie.  I don't know where we even went... except that it was somewhere about 8 hours away and it took even longer to get home...

...I was uncomfortable...

Let's start with the shirt choice...  the silky shirt was catching on the razor stubble every time I moved.  I tried pulling my shoulders forward to make my shirt hang away from my chest, but it didn't work...  I sat holding the front of my shirt away from my chest, but realized that I must have looked weird, so I simply sat back and leaned forward so that my shirt hung free...

and the shirt was hot

and the jeans were hot

and I sweat...  I can't help it...

and worse than the shirt, was the jeans...  Jeans are meant to be worn tight...  I firmly believe that.  Not so tight that you get varicose veins in your neck, but snug...  and I was in great shape and had jeans that I had no business owning...  and they were warm and I had shaved my chest...

if you ever decide to shave your chest remember this one thing...  you need ample time...

you need time to shave - which takes forever 

and you need time to rinse - which takes as long as it takes...  

As you shave, the chest hair runs down your body and while most of it goes to the drain, some of it catches in other body hair, below the chest...

...I was running late - it was bad enough that I had to completely shave my chest (couldn't put off finishing until tomorrow) which no one was going to see, but I had not taken the time to rinse all the chest hair out of my crotch...

The sweat, the hair, the jeans, the heat...  I couldn't sit still, I couldn't scratch...

I went nearly mad.

..and the more I resisted scratching the more I sweated - which only compounded the problem.

Juanito never invited me on a double date again...

After all the trouble, well, I kept my chest shaved that whole summer - which was easy after that...

You know...  at 28 a guy is just too smart to know how stupid he really is, and I'm not too proud to say that I was no exception.

-silly

That's "Mister" Silly to you or Betty Boop gets a new voice...

Driving along and realize that I'm on automatic pilot which always scares me, but it happens.  While I'm on automatic pilot I look in the top left corner of my windshield and think, "Hmm, I was due for an oil change in February..."  Now, being enumployed I don't log quite as many miles so I'm not so worried about the oil, but...

...the other night Cricket and I went to visit Shimp and Slinger and when I turned on my headlights (with a great flash and flourish) one of them became a supernova and then a black hole...  I don't know about you, but if I have a headlight out every cop within a 25 mile radius sees me coming and stops me...

(otherwise, I'd drive around for a while with one headlight just to give every jr hi boy looking for a pedittle a chance to get a kiss)

So, with one light out and well past due for an oil change I went to the car Spa...  I call it the car Spa because well, if my insurance covered it, I'd call it the car doctor, but since they don't it's more like a spa treatment.

Louie recommended this great place on Rte 10 that I actually have come to trust with my little VW.  I love my car, but boy-howdy does the dealership take me for all I'm worth when I take it in there.  I don't believe that I have EVER left the dealership without paying less than a Grand for whatever service I needed.

So I called and set up an appointment. 

-10AM...  

-oil change, headlight, that's it... 

-great, thanks

Sure enough, I dragged myself in to the Spa in time for my appointment...  sure enough, my last name was on the white board...  I spoke with the nice girl at the counter, she asked if I had an appointment, I said I did... she checked, she asked for my last name a second time, said, "Oh" smiled "there you are.."

...yes, she smiled...  it was enough for me to notice, but not enough to have remarked about at the time...

So I waited...

What I was going to originally comment on about the visit was a conversation that happened between the owner - think Uncle Fester - and a guy - think John Bellushi...  Uncle Fester and John were having one of those conversations that men have about NOTHING and vying for the champion of world's loudest.  Uncle Fester has about 15 years on John and asks if John is even 40.

"Yes, I'm 46..."

He went on to say that when he turned 40 he felt great, but that the years between 40 and 46 had been unreal and that every morning he wakes up with a new pain.  He noticed that I had laughed and looked at me...

I simply said, "44" to which he nodded...

My car was pulled up the door at the same time that a man too old to be driving walked in the door and declared he wanted to buy tires.

-Which tires?

-For my car...

I laughed again, but the ensuing conversation was every bit as annoying as the earlier conversation.  "If I stand in line behind the old guy, they'll get the hint that I'm ready to go..." I thought...  So, I stood behind him and started to look around the place. 

...and there it was on the white board, how had I missed it...

10AM - VW - Oil change/headlight

and before it...  Ms "____".

Ms?  What? Ms?  Do I sound like a Ms?

I'm relatively confident that I do not look like a Ms, but I do NOT think I sound like one either...  I was miffed - maybe more than I should have been...

Is this why counter girl smiled?

Do I sound like a Ms on the phone?

Was it because I was free at 10AM to bring my car in?

Was it because I couldn't change my own oil or headlight?

Was the staff secretly watching me and laughing?

What if someone I knew walked in there, knowing that I had an appointment and saw Ms before my last name? I'd never live it down...  UGH...

Counter girl came up to the counter to help me.  Looks like you're all ready.  "Yup" I said, dropping my voice a full octave.  Of course, having dropped my voice, she couldn't hear me and looked up asking, "I'm sorry?"

I was tempted to reach over and smudge the "Ms" before I left but I knew that if no one else had caught it, a smudge would be a dead giveaway and THEN there'd be a story...  Nope... I hopped in my little car and drove off...

Knowing that there are people out there who I can call at any point in time, who would recognize my voice tho it's been years since I've seen them, people who would never call me "Ms..."

Note to self:  The next time I call for an appointment at the Spa I'll drop my voice and start with "Hey, Buddy..." and not "Hi..."

Hopefully, they won't think I'm Rosie O'Donnell...

- (Mr.) silly