I made it through 43 minutes of the actual awards ceremony before I had to turn, as I was mildly revolted by a) overpaid people who act in shitty movies wearing wonderful free sparkly things, and b) so much simpering and crying and hyperventilating, and really, really dull thank you speeches.
You're not saving lives here people.
Anyhoo, I am still a girl though, and I like sparkly things and fancy shmancy dresses. Also, I am almost always bored. I'm so bored all the time, in fact, that I'm going to start up a mini series soon in which I indulge my love of housework avoidance in favour of DRESS UP TIME! Hooray!
But more on that later.
So, since I'll never go anywhere glitzy or glamorous EVER AGAIN, I had a total brainstorm and thought HEY, wouldn't it be fun if I coated my face in Oscars-worthy makeup, did my hair and put on a really fabulous dress, and THEN coerced The Man into taking photees of me to share with you guys!?! That would be so fun!
I started shoveling on the makeup, channeling the fabulous Adele's most fabulous look of makeup fabulousness from the recent Grammy awards:
|Hair and makeup so good I want to lick them |
and it was looking pretty hawt, although it was slightly irritating that very small rash I have in the corner of my mouth where the toothpaste froths out as I brush my teeth. I was rather pleased with my results, especially considering my scavenged collection of makeup is ESSENTIALLY GARBAGE, and I should start pandering and begging now for family members to buy me MAC MAKEUP for my upcoming bday. After all, I'm going to be 40, and then 50, then 60, etc, etc, then next stop after that is Kick-the-bucket-ville, so I deserve it.
|Here's what FORTY MINUTES NOT MAKING DINNER looks like|
The most exciting part though was the dress. And when I say "the dress," I should really say
It was a dress that I bought for the Millennium New Year's celebration. You know--the one where everybody figured at the stroke of midnight all our computers and computerized devices would stop working and/or explode?
It was the only time, besides my wedding, that I had ever bought such a fun dress. It is a dark, dark green, with a sheer overlay covered with tiny dark green sparkly beads. It has thin straps, and is more fitted to the body than anything else I'd ever worn.
So, what the hell--that was a mere TWELVE years ago, right? And I'm a little...shall we say...juicier now, right? I figured that the dress would probably be sausage-skin-tight, but you know--wearable. I figured I might not get it done up ALL THE WAY, but what the hell, I'd only be taking pics of the front of the dress. I figured that if I put on that horrible SLIM N LIFT (© The Satan Company 2012) squeezer/strangler under-garment, I'd be able to stuff my zaftig self into it somehow.
I could barely get it over MY TITS.
I was SHOCKED. Oh how naive could I have been? MON DIEU, it was a total fiasco. Surely my tatas were bigger, but not THAT much freaking bigger?!? (I mean, that's good right? If you're going to gain weight, GO BIG OR GO HOME in the bazoomba department, yes?)
So, I grabbed each (giant, apparently) hoot, and hoisted er' through. Then I tried to shimmy the dress down over HIPS TOWN, POPULATION MANY, MANY INCHES.
But the best--the very best, and my personal favourite, was the zip-up situation in the back!
Here, I arted it for you:
|yeah. That ain't happenin.|
Not even close, my friends. Not even close.
It was at that moment, exactly, that I dropped into THE PIT OF DESPAIR. Meh, I've been there before--I have a nice set up there, with a cot and everything.
I went through all the emotions: shock, dismay, sadness, despair, self-loathing... Yeah, "self-loathing" is an emotion, in case you didn't know. Usually it's a woman-specific thing, but it's real. Then I got angry. I mean, what the f*ck? Am I THAT deluded about my own physical appearance???
And then I remembered: waaaait a minute, karen, old kid old sock: you were working at the casino then, and that was the SLIMMEST YOU HAD BEEN since you went on that first diet when you were freaking 13. OH yeah! That's right! You and some of those other girls followed the Weight Watchers diet, which one of the girls had pirated from her aunt, and photocopied for everyone else to use.
So, that + hauling endless super heavy bags of coin for 40 hours a week, turned me into a lean mean karen machine. Then I moved to suburban hell for 9 lonely years, was gargantuan with both pregnancies and had a very, very difficult toddler/little boy to deal with and well...
enough excuses. Luckily I'm pretty fit now, but mon dieu, I'm clearly a bit of an idiot.
And not only that, but the dress was a little too tight EVEN THEN, so NYAH. SCREW YOU, FATE.
Anyhow, here are some pictures of the dress back when I was WICKED HAWT, and got to wear a really, really fabulous dress for one whole evening:
Oh wait....you'd better click PLAY first.
|didn't really have the bod for it even then, but damn I lurved that dress|
Had to edit out the face of my friend's man, as we never see those
|here's me being wicked drunk with my wicked drunk|
friends in a wicked sleazy motel room,
thinking we were all so funny and cute.
Then I spent the rest of the night asleep with
my cheek on the toilet seat. Much shame.
|you GO, PARTY GIRL! *SNIFF!* YOU GO!|
|the next day. Feeling v. poorly. Oh but wait!|
There's WOODY THE DOG! RIP WOODY,
YOU LITTLE BUDDY!
Ah yes, all those bullshit books we read when we were pregnant? They never told us about the brand new body we'd be getting.
So, have you had one of those special moments when you dug something out of the back of YOUR closet, certain that it just might fit and it didn't???