self-disgust

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Getting in Gear

There is good news and bad news about the Susan G. Komen 3-Day Walk for the Cure. The good news is I have reached my fundraising goal of $2300. The bad news is that I will now have to walk in the thing. 6o miles over 3 days!
I know, I know, I’ve had all summer to train. Why am I waiting until the last minute to get ready for this thing? What is wrong with me? (These are obviously rhetorical questions, as we all know I am a procrastinating loafer.)

I’ve done plenty of walks before, but not one nearly as ridiculously long as this one. If I recall correctly, the longest walk I’ve done was 12 miles for the March of Dimes back in the early 80′s, so that’s where I’m pulling my experience and inspiration. In this case, I need to find some comfortable Asahi tennis shoes with Izod laces and matching ESPRIT tee shirt & shorts. Also, I will need to lead the walkers in singing a round of Kenny Rogers’ “The Gambler”. (I hope I still remember all the words.) A few Mellow Yellows and some Pop Rocks will keep me energized enough to make it back to the tent where I can kiss my Ricky Schroeder poster before bed. (Yes, like, TOTALLY!)
Sounds like a plan. What could possibly go wrong?

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Did I tell y’all I’m going to be a model? No, seriously. This guy asked me to model a new jewelry line for a catalog. I know you’re thinking this was probably some pick-up line, but 1)his wife was sitting next to him, and 2)he is an older guy (and he wasn’t drinking) so I don’t think so. Also, he didn’t say all of the complimentary stuff you’d say to someone you’re trying to sleep with. What he said was that I was very “Elfin-like”. No kidding, that’s what he said. I must have looked dumbfounded because he elaborated about “that movie with the Elves”.
“Lord of the Rings?” I prompted.
“Yes, that’s the one. The Elf look is very ‘in’ right now.”
I think I must have been quiet for a minute because I just didn’t know what to say to that. “Thank you” did not seem appropriate.
He continued to talk about my long thin neck and “protruding” collar bones and how well they would set off the necklaces for the catalog. “My camera is going to love you!” he said.
Again, “thank you?”
I am aware that I have a petite frame, but the elf reference is a new one to me. Perhaps it’s time to grow out the “Twiggy” ‘do. (And maybe I should stop wearing those shoes that curl up at the toe.)

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I fear I have become the person I never wanted to be. When I complimented the maintenance guy at the dealership this morning on their quick service, he said, “Yes, you’ll get to the pool early today!” Now, had I been wearing a swimsuit, this may have been understandable. But I wasn’t. And he just assumed that I had nothing better to do on a weekday than go lounge at the pool. When really, well, really, I had to go to the library and then maybe meet a friend for lunch and go to the gym before going to the pool. Oh, dear me. When did I become this cliche’ of a person?
When they gave me a loaner car, I begged for something sassy. “I drive a wagon with baby dolls and Cheerios strewn across the backseat. Please help me feel cute again!”
They gave me a small coupe, albeit Metallic Pea. It’s hard to feel cute when your car makes your skin look yellow, but I guess service guys don’t consider color palettes in issuing cars. Pity.
What was I…oh yes, I was talking about being less of a cliche’. Well enough of that color palette business. Let’s talk about the status of race relations in America. I just read the most interesting book Searching for Whitopia, by Richard Benjamin, in which he asserts New York City is actually more racially segregated (geographically) than the South. Also, he makes the very good and often overlooked point that racism does not require animosity, nor does it have to be intentional. This explains how it is possible that “racism” can exist without actual “racists”. Please ponder and discuss amongst yourselves possible solutions to the diversity issues facing our country.
This has served as Subourbon Wife’s contribution to society for today*. I mean, how many housewives are out tackling these tough issues? CLICHE’ WHO???
*You may need to bookmark this and refer back to it often to remind yourself that I am not, in fact, a shallow, daft, lazy, selfish, ungrateful ditz. (I just play one really well.)

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Listen to what happened today. You know that post I wrote yesterday about having low self-esteem? Somebody actually wrote me to correct my grammar when I said these women don’t feel like they deserve to breathe oxygen because somebody better than them might need it. So please accept my sincere apology for using “them” when it clearly should have been “they”.  I’M SORRY I can’t even write right* about how I can never do anything right.

So I wrote back and said they must have read my post on how to be popular, since we all know how people love to be picked apart. The old me would have gotten really pissed about the insensitivity of some people. The new me tries to overlook these types of character defects in others, and just worry about my own (and then write snarky posts). The new me pities the person who kicks a girl when she’s down. The new me doesn’t need to take on the misery of others. The new me is breathing into a paper bag…

This reminds me of a story my friend Kim told me over coffee the other day. She was out walking her dog, and the dog pooped in a neighbor’s yard. She had her plastic baggy in her hand ready to pick it up when a car pulled up next to her and the driver yelled, “TELL YOUR DOG TO SHIT IN HIS OWN YARD!” She resisted the urge to yell back, took a deep breath, picked up the poop, turned to him slowly and said in her sweetest voice, “Okay. I’ll tell him.” BWAHAHAHAHA. Killed him with kindness, she did. (Note: People don’t like it when you don’t take their bait for an argument.)

Now, in a salute to bad grammar everywhere and the people it irritates, I will end my sentence a preposition in. And this reader (not fan, just reader) – where’s he/she at? I don’t know but hopefully when I look in my mailbox, there won’t be more criticism for me not to react to.

* I know “right” is an adjective when I need an adverb to modify the verb “write”, so don’t bother yourself with correcting me. I am aware that it’s grammatically incorrect and I DID IT ANYWAY. Crazy is how I roll.

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Today I think we should discuss the loser women who have low self-esteem. You know the type. They probably have trouble getting out of bed some days, can’t take a compliment worth a shit, and think they don’t deserve to breathe oxygen because somebody better than them might need it. These poor broads probably have distorted body images, watch a lot of E! television, and most likely can’t do math worth a damn. They also have absolutely no sense of direction, and may call someone for urgent help, even when they’re only a mile from their home. Now what do you suppose happened to me these ladies to make them like this?

In interviewing a panel of experts on low self-esteem, I noticed a common thread among women who were picked last for every sport ever played. My daughter isn’t old enough for this yet, so I don’t know if teachers are still evil backstabbers who will love you one minute and then turn the power over to your peers the next. But I need to tell you that the “picked last: low self-esteem” correlation is very high (according to the panel).

Children who were told, “Step on a crack, break your mother’s back” and had anxiety attacks each time they encountered a crumbling sidewalk did not fare well in the self-esteem department as adults. In a preliminary study, it appears there may be a link between panic attacks and the enormous consumption of chocolate ice cream.

Girls who were absent that day in 3rd grade when they taught fractions and could never catch up after that are less likely to pursue technological careers (or major in any subject that requires math beyond Algebra I). In their minds, they may believe that work doesn’t suit them and they should just sit around eating bon-bons all day. Attention Husbands: if this is the case with your wife, it is very important for you to support her endeavors. Just give her your damn credit card and leave her alone. Note: NEVER under any circumstances should you inquire as to if she really needed what she just purchased!!!!!!

Girls who wear glasses (even if they are cute pink ones with Bugs Bunny on the sides) are less likely to have healthy self-esteem, even after they’ve worn contacts for 15 years and had Lasik surgery for an additional 10. In a grown woman’s head, she will always think of herself as the girl with glasses and tangly blond hair (or, you know, brown. Whatever).

Girls who never, ever had a partner of the opposite sex for the “Couple’s Skate” are more likely to become wallflowers later in life. If the girl is never able to master the backward-skate, she doesn’t stand a chance.

If a girl were to pay $10 to join the Ricky Schroeder Fan Club and didn’t even receive a stinkin’ signed photograph from him, she will most likely develop low self esteem. Interestingly, if the same girl is later stood up on what is supposed to be her first date, she will grow up to be an alcoholic. (Even if the stander-upper later apologizes and takes her to a Dave Matthews concert down at the old Lakewood Amphitheater, and then gets engaged to a girl who looks just like her, the damage is already done.)

The panel doesn’t lie, people. If you have daughters, please take heed. You don’t want them to grow up and be as pathetic as the lame-o women I’ve described, do you? Because, from what I can tell, they’re a pretty bitter lot.

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