Friday, September 14, 2007

Happiest Place on Earth

Next week, I will be traveling to Disney Land - the happiest place on earth...even though I may be older than the average Disney crazy. The following characters keep me going back. Most of their signatures are already in my autograph book except my number one. HOPEFULLY this will be the year!
#5 - Little Mermaid & Flounder. Who doesn't love this movie?? Who hasn't been a mermaid for Halloween? And I did have a cartoon crush on Prince Eric.
#4 - Although the Disney classics will always be best, I couldn't resist Dash from the Incredibles. Definitely one of the best. #3 - Even though I hate to be super cheesy, I love Sleeping Beauty. She is the ultimate princess and I will be visiting her castle shortly.
#2 - Thank you Disney for creating Jack Sparrow! He has added a new dimension to my life as I"m sure he has to many others.
#1 - Surprised? Besides being my relative (according to my uncle) Pocahontas gets to cliff jump, climb trees and play with animals all day. I truly envy her life.

Monday, September 10, 2007

When Life Gives You Wedgies...

WARNING! This post, while trying to keep it rated PG, contains material that might be offensive to readers whose iPods are limited to Kenny G, Barbara Streisand, and Michael Bolton.

The Wedgie. It turns a lady into a man, a man into a Golden Girl, and forces imminent humiliation upon whoever it attacks. It could seriously be the most horrendous clothing experience of our existence - leg warmers and the Dickie following close behind.

In my family, there are two types of wedgies:

1) Wedgie (wej-ee) n. The natural occurrence of undergarment bunching between the buttocks. May also go by the name of "Snuggie" if you are under 8 years old, or are in the immediate family of my sister-in-law.

2) Melvin (mel-vin) n. A super wedgie in which the undergarments say hello to the outside world. These are usually brought on by gym class ridicule or an extremely bumpy water slide.

With this distinction made, I am prepared to tell you about my recent wedgie experience.

The day was doomed to failure from the get-go. My newly cut bangs decided to time warp to 1984, and my bright eyeshadow decided to follow suit. Hoping that my weird luck would stay back with stirrup stretch pants and Duran Duran, I began my 20 minute trek across campus thinking the glass was half-full.

But then glass started to empty...

Precisely seven minutes into my walk, I began to feel my undaroos creeping where they did not belong. Whether it was my stylish, yet constricting jeans, or sassy walk coupled with heels that were the cause of the unwanted movement, I may never know. It only took three minutes for a mature wedgie to develop, and had I been wearing overalls within feet of my older brother, I would have suspected a melvin.

I have experienced quite a few award-winning, may-i-have-the-envelope-please-wedgies in my day, but this one surpassed them all. The wedgie of 2004 caused by an awkward layer of underwear, thick tights, and spandex pants was definitely the most painful. And the most recent melvin of Fall '05 with my sweats was practically painless, but far too visible. My current campus wedgie was the perfect combination of the two: maximum pain with the greatest visibility.

The Ultimate Embarrassment.

So there I was, looking like a blast from the past with the Hulk Hogan of wedgies, trying to find a way to rid myself of this humiliation. I figured I had 2 options:

Option #1: The Pick.
Um...hello...unless you want to commit social suicide you never, ever just up and pick your wedgie. First, you are admitting that you have a wedgie, and second, you are drawing even more unwanted focus to your derriere. Neither of which will help your self esteem. Also, if you are unsuccessful with your initial pick, further picks will be needed and you will be reduced to a monkey. While I like monkeys as much as the next average Jane, we have come too far in evolution for me to resort to such primitive behavior.

Option #2: The Natural Release.
Most of the time the wedgie will eventually work itself out of your fanny naturally. Altering your walk usually does the trick - but for those who oppose to walking with more length between their legs and taking wider strides should probably opt for something different. Allowing the wedgie to find it's way back home will also provide you with extra time to find a restroom or wide-trunked tree for a worry-free pick. 60% of the time, it works every time. Stats don't lie, folks. My vote goes to natural relief.

So with approximately 13 minutes left before reaching my next class, I started taking longer steps with high hopes that my wedgie would go away. But with a group of cute guys feet behind my rear, I couldn't bare to look completely ridiculous. Alas, my steps were just not big enough to release the wedgie. I was forced to suffer with my shame. I finished my trudge to class with my puffy bangs close to the ground, and my glass practically empty.

I am happy to say that I am no longer a victim of the super wedgie, though my discomfort will not soon be forgotten. I tried to cheer myself up today by watching the horrible performance of Britney Spears opening for the MTV Music Awards. Throughout the entire song, she stopped lip syncing multiple times, had distasteful dance moves, and looked confused and/or disinterested. This got me thinking. Maybe Ms. Spears wasn't stoned at all (like I had originally hypothesized). Maybe those tiny shorts had given her her own mondo-wedgie, and she was just weighing the best way to get rid of it... You should have gone with Option #1, Brit. I'm living proof that attempting Option #2 in heels is a bust.

Saturday, September 1, 2007

The Outdoor Summer Concert

It’s the best thing about summer. Forget the crème-topped snow cones, the farmers markets, or splashing in the community pool – the outdoor concert experience ranks #1 in my book. It doesn’t get any better than that. These feelings were rekindled after attending a recent Richard Marx concert with Miss Priss. Think what you might…but it rocked. It had all my qualifications for an amazing summer concert:

1. The Outdoor Amphitheater: This plays a crucial part in the concert vibe. Richard Marx was at a smaller venue with lawn chairs, crisp evening air, and a familiar voice from 1989. For me, any outdoor location will work. A few months ago I saw Chris Isaak on the foothills of the Wasatch Mountains. The same night, Miss Priss watched Incubus in the shadows of a Frito-Lay plant. The common thread – the same starry night. Different strokes for different folks.

2. Oldies and Goodies: I understand musicians’ tour to sell the newest album release…blah, blah, blah. In my opinion, the greatest hits puts the cheeks in the seats, man. Cough it up and play me all those cheesy love ballads. I will eat it up. I actually feel sorry when the artist plays a new song and the audience takes a collective smoke break. Luckily for me, I don’t smoke and try to avoid public restrooms at all cost (which makes it interesting if there's a long encore) – so I look at it as a private serenade of the not-so-familiar, but-still-live music.

3. The Impromptu Jam: I believe in seeing true musicians in concert, people that play their own instruments and sing into microphones, not headsets. Therefore the impromptu jam session is a necessity. Depending on the genre, I will sway, swing, and skank into a blob of sweatiness. And those who throw in a few cover songs into the mix receive bonus points (preferably in the form of scratch-and-sniff stickers – my favorite way of giving and receiving praise) and I will be a fan forever (oh yea…John Mayer…you heard me…keep up the good work…the tangerine sheet’s are in route).

4. The Post-Concert High: The lasting effects of a good concert are incredible. After the concert almost a week ago, Miss Priss and I have collectively listened to Hazard about 83 times and converted 6.7 friends into Richard Marx fans (our brother is a hard case…he’s in a big Hall & Oates phase). The last time we were this into Mr. Marx, I was driving a champagne 1990 Nissan Stanza and Miss Priss was 10. Yet after seeing him live, our "Safety Kids"-approved natural concert high has left us giddy and a little younger.

As a poster child for the effects of a fabulous live concert, I urge you to buy a ticket, pack the hoodie, and enjoy what’s left of the Endless Summer Nights.