I am not in the picture. I can't believe I feel the need to clarify that but... I'm not. I would never wear pointy shoes or no pants. My feet are chubby... and so is my ass.
This post will have something to do with Twilight, promise. I feel compelled to share last night's bizarreness with all of you first. I didn't accidentally stumble upon Robert Pattinson, Kristen Stewart, and the Brit Pack playing naked Twister and it doesn't involve poop [I know, I am surprised, too], but bear with me.
Last night ML had a show in the city and I tagged along. We hitched a ride in the band van, which is a dark blue utility van with no windows, no seats and no heat. I figured I'd be okay as long as I was wearing my sleeping bag [a.k.a. the world's biggest down puffer-coat] but I brought a blanket anyway, just in case. It didn't help - I was obscenely cold.
Anyway, there was a male review next door to the bar that ML's band was playing in and there were these skanky, scantily clad women who all must have had some kind of mental deficiency since they were standing on line wearing nothing but their whore-y clothes. In like 20 degree weather. It reminded me of a TFLN I read the other day -
(812): i love how cold weather makes identifying sluts easier. is it below freezing? is she wearing a tube top? she's easy.
Then again, these women were so ragingly drunk they probably didn't even realize how nippy it was outside (do fake boobs get nippy?). This was confirmed when one of them took a tumble and was lying there, on the sidewalk, laughing and bleeding. One of ML's bandmates reached out to give her a hand up, to which she slurred, "I don't need your help, I'm an independent woman, I'm an independent woman." Then she started singing Beyonce [I only knew this because her friends started chanting Beyonce. I thought she was speaking in tongues] and kind of rolled over onto her back with her legs sticking up, showing us just how liberated she really was. Have you ever seen a beetle stuck on it's back? Yeah, it was like that. But with a vagina. To borrow a phrase from our friends over at Letters to Twilight, I was heavily second-hand embarrassed for her. I fled to the van before they realized I wasn't laughing with them, but at them.
I was recounting the Tale of the Fallen Hooker-Girl to the guys in the van when suddenly the front door swung open and a different trampy girl proceeds to climb in. Didn't anyone ever tell these chicks that they should avoid windowless panel vans? I mean, who does that?? Obviously Bella isn't the only one who is lacking a sense of self preservation. This chick's skirt was short. REALLY short. It was so short that I saw the built-in panties of her pantyhose, let's put it that way. Anyway, we're all sitting on the floor, bundled up in blankets and staring at her speechless as she proceeds to gives her address to the guy driving the van until suddenly one of her friends appears and unceremoniously drags her away. And then we nearly shit ourselves laughing.
In the end, I realized a few things from this experience:
1) Why the fuck are you going to get all tricked out to go see male strippers? This is probably the one instance where you can look like a total slob and still get some oily, juiced-up dude to grind his nutsack on your nose. You could show up in sweatpants and a Tweety-bird t-shirt and they will still act like you're the hottest thing since Robert Pattinson [as long as your waving a wad of dollar bills] so why waste the time and energy getting all purty? I mean, you don't see dudes showing up to strip clubs in three piece suits. They understand that the strippers just want their money so they show up in their grubby-ass work clothes. No frills.
2) There is nothing more pathetic and sad than a chick all hookered up, drunk as shit with bleeding knees and ripped stockings. And that goes for Courtney Love, too. I honestly felt bad for the girl and it's pretty difficult for me to muster empathy. Listen, I've fallen down before or woke up the next day with UDIs** on my body. But I am glad I don't dress like that - drunk and bleeding is easier to pull off when you have a pair of Docs on. Just sayin'.
Anyhoo, while I was mulling over my new-found realizations and slowly succumbing to hypothermia, Snarkier Than You was nice and toasty in her house, entertaining guests. One of these guests was her new recent convert to the Twilight saga, Myg (See! I told you I would get to the Twilight stuff!).
Apparently, Myg admitted to STY that she had not yet seen New Moon (and she had just finished the book! for the first time! I'm totally jealous...) and STY, in her typical fashion, assumed the super-hero stance and declared, "Well! We'll just have to do something about that!!"
And um, so we did. [Wow. Holy Anticlimactic Moment, Batman]
We met Myg at 3:00 at the local AMC for her virgin screening of New Moon. I felt like the slutty girl with the blue eyeshadow who was teaching her friend how to french kiss or something, since STY and I were both on our fourth round. We squished Myg between us, which could have gone either way. I mean, STY and I could have spent the entire movie whispering spoilers into her ear like three seconds before they actually happened, or leaned over her and whispered sweet nothings to each other. Instead, the only thing she was forced to relay from STY to me was one word, "Bumpit." I still say whoever decided it was a good idea to give Angela a fucking Bumpit hairstyle in the cafeteria scene should be punished. Hard.
I have to tell you, Myg is awesome. She was totally fine that I cackled my way through certain parts of the movie, since she was chuckling herself. She didn't even threaten me with injury when I sighed longingly every time the Precious came on screen (mostly because she was doing the same thing and probably didn't hear me).
When the lights came back on, Myg looked at us and said, "I need to come back here at 9:30." Or, at least that's what I think she said. Not sure if she meant tonight or tomorrow but... it doesn't matter. It just means the poor bastid is hooked on that Twilight saga.
Oh yeah, someone's got it bad. Real bad. Welp, welcome to the family, Myg. I hope you like it here in Twitardia. The shenanigans are frequent and we're quite possibly totally fucking looped but it's worth it. It's like falling through the rabbit hole but instead of the Mad Hatter, a stoned-out-of-his-gourd- caterpillar and a fucking Queen with a serious case of PMS, you have sparkly vampires, twitchy heroines and a lot of cursing. You don't mind discussing poop, do you?
**Unidentified Drinking Injury