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beauty is only botox deep

   it may shock you to know this, but i was not always beautiful and famous. yes, there was a time when i was downright homely. i was such a beautiful baby that angels came down and left fluttery farts of joy all over the nursery of the hospital. but i soon grew tired of being a sex symbol, so at age five i decided to try to put my face through a floor. maybe i wasn't five. maybe i was eight. but i fell out of bed and landed on my chin where i just had stitches taken out that day (true story) and they said i couldn't get sewed up again cuz the skin was too tender. that made no sense to me cuz my mom could sew rips on seams better than in the middle of the cloth.
   i went to theological school. sorry to spring it on you like that, but if we are to continue being intimate, you should know these things. someone once said that you can dress a donkey in a tux, but it is still a donkey. me=donkey. theological school=tux. you may now do the math. i decided i wasn't mature enough to pastor a church, since mostly old people went to church and i didn't know how to talk to old people. worse yet, it was mostly old ladies, and my attempts to banter with women are legendary for being painful to watch.
   for many years after i was ordained and talking to people like i was a good person, i flipped people off. i don't know if i had road rage, but i was a dang road roid. a pain in your rumpness. if you were on the same road as me, i was likely to flip you a bird as a happy greeting. which led to some odd moments. my son was able to sound out words, and we went by a church just up the road where a man stood holding a sign that said, "abortion is murder." between the church and the store we were going to, my son asked, "daddy, what is abortion?" because this butt-boil had to stand and hold his pornographic poster in front of a church, my son was learning the word "abortion" before he made it to first grade. that is wrong so many ways i think the man should have been killed and then brought back to suffer for a lifetime. show me ONE place where Jesus stood in front of a church with a poster that suggested such horror. i am not mad at God. but i am furious with half His people. pompous arrogant pricks. so on the way back from the store, in heavy traffic, i put my arm out the window as high as it would stretch, honked my horn so he would look, and flipped the poster-turd off for a tenth of a mile. pppphhhhtttt. scuse me. i always get gasy when i try to be deep. i slid it into the chair, so just leave before me so you aren't here when it is released.
   my boyhood best friend is the president of a store chain and does commercials with the football coach of the local university. football is a religion in this town. our football legacy is beyond parallel. so i see my friend on the screen and think, "yeah, but do i get to spend the night when you have all this cool company? nooooo. i would have invited you." ha! this guy couldn't even come to my jifufolqhiyth birthday party cuz security issues plague him. (that spelling always happens when i try to write how old my exquisite body is.) i have several friends who have become hugely successful. and here i sit, barefoot and pregnant. (someone is talking to me ... excuse me for a moment ... what? i can't be pregnant? ... boys don't get pregnant? ... then what about my gut? ... oh.) nevermind. but i am barefoot. that part was true. instead of running meetings, i write. instead of selling groceries, i write. i most assuredly would not do commercials with the coach. so all that makes me think about the meaning of success. i eat and sleep when and if i want. i don't have someone telling me how bad i look every time i start to leave the house. i am not obsessively trying to please someone who doesn't like me. and as woody allen so astutely pointed out, at least masturbation is sex with someone i love. if there is reincarnation, i wanna come back as me.
   there are supposed to be two stages of love, the passionate phase which is supposed to last six to eighteen months, and then the companionate phase, going from the end of the passionate phase til whenever it ends. you can keep it alive, but people are too lazy or something to bother with that. but here is my point. i am still passionate about iced coffee and it has been years. so ... class ... what love lessons are to be found in this happy little tale? 1) it does take some work. i swirl the spoon around in the glass repeatedly, listening to it clink against the sides of the glass. i make sure there is just the right amount of french vanilla creamer and half-and-half. and i take the time to relish it. 2) we never argue. so love doesn't get all banged up in our egos. i am arrogant as all get out, but my iced coffee sits pleasantly patiently waiting to be enjoyed. 3) we don't try to change each other. i recognize that i am with iced coffee, and it never asks me to be anybody but me. (i bet the person who thought i had too much time on my hands is convinced by now. HA!)
   this blog system is the bomb. i like it a bunch. i like that people actually interact, although i must admit i haven't met anybody yet that i have flipped off at the screen. wanna know how i quit flipping off people from my car (mostly)? i put a religious bumper sticker on it, and my finger was too embarrassed to flip anymore. okay. i am going to eat junk food and nap because i can and it will make this a better and more perfect society. thanks for stopping by.

Posted by AllThingsBuck on 2007-10-10 10:07:30 | Rating: