I'm having an extra cute day today. The kind of day in which boys and girls, men and women can't help but look at me and think: Awww... she's soooo cute! Maybe it's because I have my hair in two ponytails today. Very mischievous schoolgirl. Add glasses and the look becomes Very Naughty Librarian. Add black boots and brown suede Greek fisherman's cap and the look becomes Beat Poet Kewpie Doll. Uh huh, it's that kind of a day. I could rule the world, is what I am saying. Good day for a job interview (at an artsy bookstore/coffeehouse.) Good day to work up the nerve to talk to that hot dork behind the reference desk at the library. (My God, do I get it bad for literate men!) Good day to tell the 8o-year-old speed freak who lives in the studio behind me that knocking on my bedroom window to borrow three bucks earns her a public spanking on my blog under the name Crypt Keeper Tweaker. I mean, just nobody is going to be able to counter my vortex of fabulousness today! Picture Mary Tyler Moore throwing her hat up into the Minneapolis sky. Yeah, that's me. I'm going to make it afterall.
Do you know the mojo of which I speak? My friend Christina and I call it "being on the half shell." As in Venus, darling. And on the half shell is a whole lot of Amazing Grace, if you ask me. It doesn't matter if you can't tell your left from your right without touching one of your body parts (not that I would know about that.) It doesn't matter if you can't read maps, make more money than the average paperboy or cook more than two items of food at a time without starting a fire. When you're on the half shell your utter radiance absolutely makes up for any character defects or learning disabilities. Just ask Paris Hilton, a gal who has taken half-shell-makes-up-for-stupid to previously unknown heights.
And straight guys, don't think you can't occupy your own little corner of the shell. Maybe you can be on the half horn or something else semi-masculine to override your seemingly ceaseless preoccupation with demonstrating that you're not gay. Go ahead, wear that plush indigo sweater that your gay cousin with faultless taste bought you for your birthday. Look at yourself in the mirror even. Say to yourself, "Damn, I'm somethin' special...." Because you are. And trust me when I tell you that the self-worshipping thing is completely reinforced by the playing of that old Right Said Fred song: Too Sexy. Trust me.
And here's the most important thing about sailing the half shell through the currents of your life: Take it while you can get it because you cannot invoke the half shell. No matter how many candles you light or how many positive affirmations you utter (I am a being of utter fabulousness, for example), the half shell is a metaphysical phenomenon that is deaf to both commands and prayers. It simply alights upon you without warning. Much like the days in which you wake with the feeling that overnight you turned into a huge, disgusting slug with a cold sore, which can certainly be validated by taking a cursory glance in the mirror. And you know immediately that your day is going to suck. As in, God-I-only-wish-I-believed-in-suicide.
But I'm not thinking about my slug persona. Consider it salted and dead for the moment. I'm the cutest person alive today. And I truly hope that you are too. Til next we meet, I'll be the one on the catwalk, yeah, on the catwalk....
Do you know the mojo of which I speak? My friend Christina and I call it "being on the half shell." As in Venus, darling. And on the half shell is a whole lot of Amazing Grace, if you ask me. It doesn't matter if you can't tell your left from your right without touching one of your body parts (not that I would know about that.) It doesn't matter if you can't read maps, make more money than the average paperboy or cook more than two items of food at a time without starting a fire. When you're on the half shell your utter radiance absolutely makes up for any character defects or learning disabilities. Just ask Paris Hilton, a gal who has taken half-shell-makes-up-for-stupid to previously unknown heights.
And straight guys, don't think you can't occupy your own little corner of the shell. Maybe you can be on the half horn or something else semi-masculine to override your seemingly ceaseless preoccupation with demonstrating that you're not gay. Go ahead, wear that plush indigo sweater that your gay cousin with faultless taste bought you for your birthday. Look at yourself in the mirror even. Say to yourself, "Damn, I'm somethin' special...." Because you are. And trust me when I tell you that the self-worshipping thing is completely reinforced by the playing of that old Right Said Fred song: Too Sexy. Trust me.
And here's the most important thing about sailing the half shell through the currents of your life: Take it while you can get it because you cannot invoke the half shell. No matter how many candles you light or how many positive affirmations you utter (I am a being of utter fabulousness, for example), the half shell is a metaphysical phenomenon that is deaf to both commands and prayers. It simply alights upon you without warning. Much like the days in which you wake with the feeling that overnight you turned into a huge, disgusting slug with a cold sore, which can certainly be validated by taking a cursory glance in the mirror. And you know immediately that your day is going to suck. As in, God-I-only-wish-I-believed-in-suicide.
But I'm not thinking about my slug persona. Consider it salted and dead for the moment. I'm the cutest person alive today. And I truly hope that you are too. Til next we meet, I'll be the one on the catwalk, yeah, on the catwalk....
1 comments:
Thanks for inspiring me to take my half shell out of the closet and shine it up! Good thing we have those shining days to neutralize those discusting slug puppy days!
-Christina
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