Day: March 23, 2010

CSGL – Girls’ Night Out

After everything that’s been going down, it was a fortunate thing that this last Sunday, Kayphore and Cookie and I had planned a little night out for ourselves.   Of course, we had the typical evening of female bonding and enjoyed the traditional entertainment for such an occasion  …  Professional Wrestling.   WWE Smackdown to be exact.

I am not a regular girl who likes regular things.   I attract other girls with eclectic tastes.   And by eclectic, I do mean, “of course I want to see overly muscled, nearly naked, poorly acting, greased up dudes roll around on the ground with other similar dudes.”   Because really, who doesn’t love that?

Now I know what you’re thinking.   I know because I hear it often enough.    And I hear it often enough that I usually don’t mention that I enjoy the wrestling, like, ever…. to anyone.   This has been a carefully guarded, deep, dark secret for quite some time.   I’ve decided to bring it out into the light and show it off a little, because it really doesn’t make any sense to me that anyone could be befuddled by my enjoyment of such a thing.  I mean, it’s gaudy.   It’s ridiculous.  It’s goofy.  It makes no sense at all.   It’s over the top.  It’s laughable.  It’s horrible.   And damn it’s funny!   I like professional wrestling like I like all those damn Bring It On movies.    And The Cutting Edge franchise, as well.   I’ve paid good money to go see Cool as Ice starring Vanilla Ice.    And I’ve read those damn Twilight books and seen the movies, not because I’m on Team Jacob, or like things that Sparkle, but because they’re just bad.

Why, you ask?   Because I’m a unique sort of person who gets enjoyment out of things that are, by definition, god awful.    I love the things that are so bad that they’re good.  I like not liking them.   I like not being the least bit fooled by the pratfalls of professional wrestling.   I like that Stephenie Meyer can’t  write her way out of a paper bag.   And yet, there’s something about it that’s sort of pure.   I think that what really draws me to Crap is its lack of pretension.    Bring It On is not aiming for high-brow, not trying to win a seat at the cool kids’ table, or looking down its nose at anyone.   It just is what it is, and its ease with itself is infectious.  When you’re watching WWE Smackdown at the Arco Arena, screaming at the Villains and hollering for the Good Guy, well, you can just be who you are.

All the better if you’re able to be with two of your best friends in the world, too.   Two girls who love me for who I am, all my imperfections, my insecurities, my loud mouth, or my quiet, bashful, and nervous times.   The ones who not only understand, but who share a few of my idiosyncracies.

And above all else, they can tell when I’m Acting Normal from when I’m being myself.

Of course I love professional wrestling.   It’s so fake that you can’t help but be yourself when you watch it.

Just sayin’

Unshockingly Not Sleeping

It’s probably not escaped your attention, if you’ve been here any length of time at all, that I have two problems.   For one thing, I’m a horrific insomniac and spend many days dragging ass as a result of the many nights I toss, turn, post blogs, toss some more, and tear my hair out.    For a second thing, I have by and far the most inconveniently overactive imagination.   When those two traits conspire against me at the same time, well, it can get pretty ugly over here in Whoville.   (Am I the Grinch?  Not yet, but if I don’t sleep soon, you never can tell to what I may resort.)

And so it comes about that I sit here awake, and since I happen to be sporting the Mother of All Crushes Wholly Unbecoming A Woman My Age (MoACWUAWMW), guess what that imagination is doing to me?   I have no reason in the world to suspect that He is going to ask me what I’m doing this weekend, and after I rattle off the list of stuff I have planned, and He notices that I have nothing going on this Friday, He of course asks me to go bowling.    And since this is a figment of my imagination, and not at all anything like reality, I quickly reply “Sure; that sounds fun,” before I truly understand what’s happening, and then I stammer out, “Um, oh, wait, um, is this a date?”    In reality, if this happened to me I would most likely be wondering in my own head what it meant, arguing with myself, and finally deciding to assume that it’s not a date, because nothing that much like a romantic-comedy plot-line would ever actually happen to me.    Of course, then I would proceed to lose lots of sleep over it.    Anyway, I digress, because in my imagination, he laughs at me, and then says, “Yes, of course it’s a date.”

And in my imagination, I respond with a simple “oh good” and then blush deeply.   But not the kind of blush I do in real life, but more like that super-endearing anime princess kind of way.

And, then I giggle of course, and it doesn’t sound like a gerbil being squeezed to death at all, and no one gawks at me or asks me if I’m dying or faking.   (What?  It’s my fantasy.    Give me this one, OK?)

So, all of that seems lovely, doesn’t it?  But not enough to keep me up all night, right?   Well, of course not, but once we’ve agreed to go on a date, then I have to imagine what I would wear, and how I would tame my hair.   And then there’s all the conversations that I can’t stop myself from imagining happening.

Then it occurs to me that the least I could do is get a blog post out of this.   If I’m going to be awake, that is, I might as well be doing something with the fairy-tale in my head, right?  Right?

And maybe, just maybe, if I could just get some sleep, I might not scare the crap out of my Object of Crush looking like a crazy woman with the bags under the eyes and what-not.

Just sayin’.