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10.11.03 October - 11:21 PM
So I'm really wondering why people still invite me to fancy functions. Weddings. Graduations. Work Christmas Parties. Funerals. I swear to God if I have to put on panty hose and it's not for a job interview, I am pre-destined to fuck something up. "How?" you may ask. "But," you may continue, "It�s just dressing up. It's like any other sort of function with socializing and drinking and eating more food than you're suppose to, it's just in pantyhose. How can you possibly mess that up?" Well, I'll tell you. I think I may have an allergic reaction to pantyhose. The Pantyhose Asshole Allergy. When I'm in pantyhose and I attend a fancy function, one of following is bound to happen: 1) I'll drink too much and make an ass of myself. This includes talking too loudly, talking too much, becoming cruel andor overly obnoxious, andor passing out...in pantyhose. Not to say this doesn't occur usually when I drink too much, it's just - it's in pantyhose. 2) I leave early. Like way early. And I don't say good-bye. To the host, to anyone I was talking to, and even on the rare occasion, even to the person I came with. This is usually the result of a couple of beers in pantyhose and the realization that every other girl looks better in their pantyhose than I do. It's pantyhose self esteem issue that I'm still working on. 3) I argue with my boyfriend. He loves this of course. "Oh hi. You look nice in your pantyhose. You're going to argue with me, aren't you?" This one I'm not sure why it happens. I think it's the pantyhose cutting off all blood circulation to my brain. 4) I act inappropriately. I'm going to be the pantyhose girl with the lamp shade on her head at a funeral. I'm going to be the girl who drinks too much wine at a baptism and starts singing Dolly Parton songs. I'm the girl who tips over the table with the wedding cake on it which falls into the lap of the bride who trips and accidentally strangles her blind aunt's Seeing Eye dog. Yes. I'm that girl. I don't want to be that girl but I am. I can't help it. It's the fucking panty hose and a severe lack of intelligence for formal affairs. But hell, next toga party and I'm your gal. Seriously. Which brings me to my point. Which was the wedding I attended today. Monica and 19. Beautiful beautiful couple. Beautiful wedding. Lovely ceremony. And then I showed up. Late. I might add. I missed the entire wedding itself. At the church that is. I can't be fully to blame. The cable guy came this morning and took a hellva long time to get it all put together and I suppose I could have rescheduled it (I've seen the commercials you know) but it would have been another week without cable and Internet and I'm a junkie and poor to boot and I just couldn't wait that long. (breath) And now let's talk the present. The WEDDING present. I had MEANT to go to one of their registered places and pick them up something they really wanted like a lamp shade (in which I could wear later of course) or a nice towel set or whatever else was on the register that was still available within my pissass poor budget, but I got...busy? We were unpacking this week and in between trying to get the TV to tune into channel 6 to pick up the Simpson�s (we only got cable today remember?) and trying to find the silverware holder that has seemed to go AWOL somewhere from here to Denver, I just kinda sorta...forgot. Which brings us back to being late because of the cable guy and not having anywhere to stop and ALRIGHT JAYSUS CHRISTMAS I GOT THEM A FUCKING BOTTLE OF BOOZE. A nice bottle of Tully, but...still. I'm such a pantyhose asshole. And then there was the reception. I admittedly get extremely nervous around a large group of people in fancy clothes and end up standing somewhere off in the corner for at least an hour smoking cigarette after cigarette and beer after beer until I have enough breasts (can't say balls now, can I?) to acknowledge people who are actually kind enough to say hello how's it going to me. And then AND THEN I have enough gall to realize that I'm extremely uncomfortable in my pantyhose after a couple hours and decide finally to change into jeans that was for the bonfire later that wouldn't have happened because it was too windy and 19 got mad at me for changing even though he said he wasn't and then I got all freaked out that everyone thought I was an asshole even out of my pantyhose and Kevin wasn't feeling well and really wanted to go but was trying to hold through for me and ALRIGHT JAYSUS CHRISTMAS WE LEFT. Which lead to me arguing with my boyfriend. About driving in the rain strangely enough. I know. Pantyhose. God dammit. I'm pleased to announce that I'm currently at home, in jeans (still), trying really hard not to be an asshole by apologizing to Monica and 19 and their beautiful wedding in this pissass poor run-on of a diary entry. You both looked handsome and lovely. Best wishes, truly. I think when and if someone is actually sucker enough to marry me, my wedding will be a pantyhose free zone with lampshades for everyone. And if people want to leave early to argue with their boyfriends at my funeral, I'll be smiling up from my suite in hell to wish them luck. |
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