This weekend was freakin’ amazing, and I’ve been wanting to blog synopse the highlights for you. But I’ve been on a mission lately to find the beauty in the ordinary, and the beauty in myself, so I thought it might be interesting to take you through a typical Angie day…the ordinary parts, and the extraordinary parts.
After the game I take G home and head out to volunteer at my favorite non-profit. A group that loans beautiful gowns to girls and women who cannot afford them, at low or no cost. It’s prom and military ball season so there was a lot going on. The first step in finding a gown is determining about what size you are. A couple of high school girls are confused about their size, so I give them some general guidance on how cuts work. Noting that, in my estimation, they are the same dress size as me, I direct them to the size 16s. Note to self, I have NO idea what a size 16 looks…I may have body dysmorphic syndrome. The girls I thought were about my size actually ended up being size 22s. Needless to say, I gave no more direction about sizing. I also noted how ugly the larger girls talked about themselves, and I KNOW I did and do the same thing. I collected dozens of comments these beautiful girls made about their larger bodies. Each one making me wince, and each one making me more aware of how harmful negative self talk can be. It’s not “owning” your mess to point out your own flaws candidly. It’s devaluing. Soooo many times I wanted to walk over and say, “Stop! You are beautiful, just the way you are!” On the flip side, It was amazing seeing the girls’ and womens’ faces when they found THE dress. I’m going to carry those mental pictures around in my pocket and flip through them when I’m feeling blue.
I leave the Fairy Godmother Foundation and head home to pack. We have a girl night planned for this evening and I’m supposed to get ready at my best friend’s house. She said we’re supposed to dress “sexy.” I shop, I tear up my closet, I have nothing sexy to wear. I think, “what I have I worn lately that’s sexy?” Then I realize I never dress sexy. I dress cute. I have no idea how to pull off sexy. I text my friend, “can I just dress cute and hope for the best?” She responds that she is pulling options out of her closet for me, everything will be okay. I pack up half a dozen outfits just in case and head to my mother-in-law’s for my brother-in-law’s birthday party. While at the party, I ask my sister-in-law where on earth to get “sexy/cute” clothes. She and I take a brief shopping excursion to Melrose, off 7th and Pleasant Valley. You know Austin, you’re laughing at me right now. The store being awesome, my sister-in-law finds a shirt, jeans, and boots that scream SEXY. I’m inspired and end up buying the same shirt as her. We’re both going out tonight and commit to not showing up in the same club. I buy earrings that I know for certain are sexy (the HAPSS never let you down). I feel great about the earrings.
I’m now heading to my best friend’s house. To get there, I have to drive through what she and I refer to as “pant cutting territory.” You see, after having survived a car accident together, she and I are convinced that EMS and the FD are determined to cut off women’s pants. Bloody lip? Chipped nail? Doesn’t matter. All of these things end in “how attached are you to these jeans?” And if you’re not conscious, prepare to wake up in your birthday suit. This particular area is pant cutting territory because her husband, my brotha’ from anotha’ motha’, is a firefighter at a station in this area. That’s why it’s especially important to drive safely and not get yourself in a vehicular situation in which you’re fighting for your life and your pants. I’d be more concerned about the latter because I don’t want to live without my peeps, and I’m never going to be able to relax ever again in front of someone who’s seen me in my panties…even if they’re my good panties. My best friend texts me to let her know when I’m coming. I’m at a light. I text that I’m coming, but I’m off Springdale. She texts back, “BE CAREFUL THAT’S PANT CUTTING TERRITORY.” At the next light I text, “I KNOW. STOP F*CKING TEXTING ME.” My ass needs to concentrate.
I finally arrive at her house. We get ready and head out to meet our friend Sarah. After 15 minutes of looking for a parking spot, I eagerly pull into the space the car in front of me just absented, and realize to late it’s the TO-GO spot. Bitches. When we finally do find a car pulling out of a real spot, we entertain ourselves waiting by verbally threatening all cars passing by with various acts of violence should they be stupid enough to even THINK of stealing our spot (in the complete anonymity of our car). No one steals our spot, because they could sense the danger. We’re at Pappadeaux’s waiting for our tables under the outdoor heat lamps. I do my “diner french fry/order up!” routine, wherein I act out what it’s like to be cooked. We also people watch, aka “shit talk,” as we wait. I’m noting the various forms of racial profiling going on. For instance, the Asian birthday girl who has received a panda mylar balloon. What are you trying to say? Erin is pointing out all of the fashion and grooming mistakes of her people. I’m stating as loud as I can that Erin (who looks like a Latina) is Black. So we don’t get our asses kicked when she points out people who need to get back in the weave chair. Erin and my husband are going to get me killed or significantly bruised one day, talkin’ their shit. When our beeper beeps we head inside, and spy the live lobsters. I work out a plan to hustle a live lobster outta’ here like Hustla’ Da Rabbit. Luckily I’m distracted by the yummy food.
At dinner, we scare the hell out of our waiter and all tables within ear shot of us because our conversation is a lot like what you’d expect to hear from an episode of Sex In The City…when Charlotte’s busy and only the other three are hanging out. We eat a delicious meal and Sarah follows us to the Sweetmeat CD release party at The Highball. On the way over there, I get stuck in the turn about at Riverside between South 1st and South Lamar. Sarah’s peeing her pants laughing behind us, and we’re in the car yelling, “Look Kids! Big Ben! Parliament!” At The Highball, the line is forever long. So we join throngs of my high school buddies to wait to get in.
We’re in and on the dance floor. The band on stage is called, Foot Patrol. Their closing song is “Foot Slave.” I’m going to go out on a limb and say, based on their set list, their a fetish band??? It’s catchy though. I get caught up during Foot Slave and freak the complete stranger in front of me. This activity being a favorite of mine back in college (spastically freaking people from behind who are none the wiser). I stop shortly after turning around and ‘backin’ that ass up’…I don’t want to get caught, that would ruin the fun.
Sarah goes to get drinks and when she returns, she says, “there’s some famous guy at the bar, I can’t recall who he is. He’ plays a sleazy sidekick I think.” Sarah didn’t actually get drinks because she was intimidated by the bar scene, so I go back for the drinks. I round the corner and run into Ian Gomez! Andy from Cougar Town! I wish to God someone had been there to see my face. I wish IIIII could have seen my face. My thought process was, “Uhh…holy shit! HOLY SHIT!! HOLY SHIT!!!!! ANDY! ANDY! ANDY FROM COUGAR TOWN. COUGAR TOWN! PENNY CAN! COUGAR TOWN!!!!!!!!! HELP! SOMEBODY HELP! COUGAR TOOOOOWWWNN!!!!” Utterly star struck, I frantically attempt to text my people who the famous guy is. All I get out is a text that says “COUGAR TOWN!” Then I realize, crap! They may think I mean there are a bunch of sexually aggressive older women at the bar, so I try again, “ANDY FROM COUGAR TOWN!” But Erin’s already gotten the message from our friend Katie, who is already sharing the pictures she took with Mr. Gomez via mass text.” Now we now Dan Byrd is here too. OF COUGAR TOWN and Easy A. I’m quoting, “Penny Can!” and “crushing it! Everything according to plan!” (Just to Erin).
Conundrum. I have this rule that “movie stars are people too” and therefore should be left undisturbed when enjoying normal human experiences. But dammit these are our Cougar Town peeps! I made all of my besties their own Penny Cans for home entertainment. Katie and I have Big Joe wine glasses. I do the Busy Phillips devil face weekly. Also I’m shy. My poor Erin stands by while I fight this battle with myself. Do we bother them or walk away?! I text Katie, “I want a picture! WTF do I do?” Katie’s response is “ask for a picture,” Noting they’re nice and were totally cool with the picture. Finally I decide to just walk away. But as luck would have it, we walk directly into Ian Gomez again. Erin takes the bull by the horns and gets us that picture. We tell him we love Penny Can, WE PLAY PENNY CAN! WE DO! He is completely nice and generously tolerates our chatter, including Erin asking if it “would be douchey of us to ask Dan for a picture?” LOL. Ian says we can name drop him to Dan (we are name dropping Ian Gomez! Ha!) and we get a picture with Dan as well. I. AM. PISSING. MYSELF. WITH. HAPPINESS. We tell Dan that we play Penny Can. We later found out Katie told him the same thing. These two guys are thinking, “Who knew Penny Can was so popular?”
We go back to the dance floor and procede to hear Sweetmeat rocking the most amazing CD release party EVER. Our friend KJ was serenaded. She’s never going to wash her hand again. I know. I had the same experience at Smurfs on Ice when Papa Smurf held my hand.
The show winds down and Erin and I head out to the car. Nearly there, Erin says, “collective scream for meeting Ian Gomez and Dan Byrd when we get in this car.” Doors open. Doors close. Screaming, fainting….think Beatles come to America…or Elvis shakes his hips. Yes, that’s what we’re talking about.
BEST. FREAKING. DAY. EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!