I don't know how many of you have caught some of MTV's more recent programming or not but one of the few shows I can get sucked into is called "True Life:". "True Life:'s" premise is a mini-documentary giving an upclose view of various people living their extraordinary (or trainwreck) lives. To give a taste, there's been "True Life: I am a Crystal Meth Addict", "True Life: I have Tourettes Syndrome", "True Life: I am a Jersey Shore Girl Ho". Riveting stuff to say the least.
So I've thought about it and I think if MTV knocked on my door to do one of these docudramas on me, I think they'd have little choice but to call it something like, "True Life: She really aint all that bright".
I thought of this clever title about a month ago, which conveniently coincides with my move to my new apartment upstairs.
Okay, remember about 3 months ago when I lost a Gap bag with approximately $125 worth of product, including a pair of jeans I really, really liked that I got on ridiculous sale? And how I thought I left the bag in a cab because I couldn't find them in my secret hiding place? And how I called the Boston Police Lost & Found at least 3 times in the week that followed? Well, you should, because I wrote about it here. And then I repurchased most of the items (with exception to the elusive on wicked sale jeans) and griped out it some more here.
I walked into the bedroom during moving week only to spot a dark blue plastic Gap bag laying on my bed. And I stood there in complete and utter awe because I know Mike does not shop there.
And in my best Janice-of-"Friends" voice nasaled,
"OH. MY. GOD."
Mike, who was working on a project on the back steps outside heard me and rushed right in to see what was wrong.
Still in shock, I just stood there, blinking, and as he asked, "What? What is it?" I pointed to the bag on the bed.
"The...that bag? The Gap bag? Did you just put that there? Where did you find it?"
Turns out it had been in a small suitcase packed in the front hall closet and he only found it because he had a trip coming up and needed the suitcase. To his surprise he found that and my co-worker's very nice umbrella which I never got around to replacing.
"Mike, that's the fucking Gap bag. THE fucking Gap bag! You have any idea how long I've been looking for this thing??"
From what my Magnum P.I.-like skills can surmise, the suitcase must've been near the door when I got home with the Gap loot that night, ditched my stash into the case, left it there thinking I would get it in the morning. But here's the rub: Mike gets up before me most Saturday mornings. My guess he probably got up and put the suitcase back up in the top shelf of the hall closet first thing. Me, not thinking I would need to draw a map for 12 hours later, I didn't exactly recall where I'd done the blind, nonchalant ditching, I just knew it was "somewhere near near or behind the couch. or front hallway." In removing the suitcase from the scene of my sneaky crime, I was totally thrown off my own scent.
So, um, thank you to all who were very, uh, supportive of my plight of missing goods. Just turns out I'm a dumb ass.
Oh, speaking of, here's one that's a little more in the spirit of the holiday.
Fifth grade me, Halloween 1983. Just moved to Connecticut from Boston less than 2 months. Just getting to know people. Shy, innocent girl I was. Or maybe just really clueless. Probably just that. Anyway, in an effort to promote Halloween safety, my school handed out little reflector stickers to put on our costumes, the theory here being cars would see us, not mow us down, and most clutch, our brothers/sisters/parents would not get our loot.
Anyway, as a serious kid, I took this shit, well, seriously. Had school authorities not SERIOUSLY ADVISED us to wear these stickers? That's all I needed to hear (Plus, STICKERS! I LOVE STICKERSSSS!). I didn't need a big, fat "We TOLD you to wear the stickers, but you disobeyed and now you are dead. Yeah, sorry about that. And sorry your little brother Brian is busy eating all of your Snickers...MWhahahahahaaa."
Or you know, whatever.
So Halloween night, I'm a 50's girl. I think I am the shit. I LOVE the 50s (still do) and loved that I got to wear my square dancing skirt (only reason why I took the class was for the skirt). The finishing touch was the road reflective stickers. Oh where to put the two, small, orange, circle reflective stickers? (there were more, and in various sizes but I didn't want to overpower my awesome costume).
Let me try this again:
Girl on the edge of puberty...
2, small, circle, orange, reflective stickers...
I came bounding down the stairs looking the way I did. And what I wouldn't know until some years later, my parents shared an exchange that was more in looks than words.
I mean, what do you say when your ten year old comes down the stairs like this?
We won't even get into the whore makeup application. Seriously people, this is just documented child abuse.
So after my parents shot each other looks of "dude, any idea why your daughter is wearing nipples on her sweater?" and shared a good little snicker at my expense, they took this picture. I do recall them asking me about it, er them, and I innocently told them that I was just doing what the school had told me to do so cars would see me. They were like "ok, fair enough", let it go and LET ME WALK OUT THE DOOR LOOKING LIKE THIS.
Assholes. The both of them.
Oh, and per my previous post on Halloween costuming and my mother's "mad makeup skilz", here's the clan of us, and as I said, we all have the rosy cheeks (well, I guess Kate got to do her own makeup here, as she seems to be with out the telltale Mom Marking of red rouged circles).
Little did I know, with exception of a 3 year old Brian, the lot of them were probably laughing at my orange nipples.