Sometimes my life is rather burdensome when I reflect about how the general population has this nonsensical notion that Chup and I are fabulous, or that we lead fabulous lives. Why, just the other day we got a card in the mail from S Hod who tells us that "Everyone else waits for Halloween to glam it up . . . you are fabulous all year round!" (Direct quote). The challenge is staying humble amidst my fabu-ness, or for those less-educated than myself I will put it in Streetman’s terms, that of "keeping it real."
I shall try to describe here--in this non-posturing post--why my life isn't constant in its fabulosity. I deem myself challenged to proving a thesis, one of which I haven't not dared to tread avant. Simply this: Don't hate me because I am fabulous. I have ordinary moments too. We are all exposed to drab. Even Chup and Chup's wife. Even if she does regularly ovulate.
This very weekend I attempted to watch the more-than-mildly-famous movie of Audrey Hepburn legendness "Breakfast at Tiffanys". This film had never been previously viewed by this writer and tired of hearing about the "little black dress" and seeing a trailer for yet another movie about the author, Mr. Truman Capote, (in all seriousness, what is up with that?) I decided to send Mr. Chup out the door for the rental. Here is a good point: all glamorous people are doing Netflix these days and here Chup and I are still visiting the local Blockbuster (though good for community morale, no-less.)
Excuse me for a moment. I am a having deja vu. (I know what you are thinking, "Quel commonplace!")
Furthermore, I did so think that movie was utterly ridiculous! A laugh aloud! When she escapes the taxi at the end of the story and proceeds to blubber over her un-named cat, I was had. I am sure Gwyneth Paltrow Coldplay Martin, in all her splendor, just adores that movie "I'd give enathing to be in that re-make!" Not for me. In that regard I am most un-fabulous and though I own a decent "little black dress" and have myself shopped at Tiffany's on 5th Ave, I could not, based on moral principles, wear flats! Least of all, there was no real breakfast at Tiffanys and where I come from we call that The Regrettable Action of False Advertising! Call the constitution!
If time permits, I'd like to use yesterday as an example. Monday was just horrible with humdrum! I went up to help at the wedding headquarters to find nary a person insight. Here it is, a week before her wedding and the bride is bubbling about buying mozzarella and flirting with strange men at Costco. When the bride and her mother (my mother) returned home to see me pounding out a Beethoven minuet on the grand stand, they did nothing more but pat me on the head and offend my better senses by make comments I chose not to gerrymander in this post. But the Councilwoman did print off her homework for me, asked me to read and interpret Stephan Crane's Naturalistic short story "Open Boat" (all twenty pages) so that she could appear mas intelligente during her class discussion (in Street man's terms "class cred").
After finishing this action, I watched her sit at the computer infrastructure, click on to my blog, proceed to read one paragraph of my ovulation post, which was written with guts and glory!, only to locate on her bookmarked-favorites the link to the ever-more-endearing Nie Nie. In doing so she said "You are NOT adopted. Get over it." If we weren't Mormon, a nice drag on a cigarette might of capped off that perfectly un-precious scene.
And what about Chup? You scream! Could his life be full of here-and-there moments of shoddiness?
Yes! I reply. Oh yes!
Last night, at a very darling and delicious dinner appointment at Mr. and Mrs. Andrew's house we were fed most exquisitely. Post-dinner, when we were all digesting Taco Soup and warm bread, there was a fine lesson of the gospel variety not to mention a deep and abiding modern dance set to the Michael Jackson hit "Thriller" as performed by my two nieces of kin, Chicky of seven years and Bella of three years (I am not making up these names to hid their innocence--these names are real.) On to the apple pie! Says Andrew. Here! Here! We shout in agreeance. Which is when Chup, my ever-lasting love of the mountains, picked up Bella and started to tickle her how-could-you-not-tickle-this-belly?. This caused all sorts of internal questioning inside of my young niece and though, she liked the attention, the torture was too much to bare and proceeded to lose urinary control on Chup's lower thigh.
When all was dry, we went to the mall to find a frock for me to wear on the big wedding day. I saw an absolute exotic dress that I immediately asked to try on. As I was doing so, in a small spaced dressing room, my arms flailing this way and that to achieve the donning of the apparel, I heard a voice. A moving voice like Barry White's own smooth butter. The articulation was apparently pleased with itself in a way I shouldn't describe for lack of better judgment. Crouched down, still feeling the difficulty of removing my clothes in such a tiny area, I looked in the mirror to see Chup standing a good four feet above my three-foot tall dressing room door. The voice was his own. He liked what he saw.
Oh the scrubbiness of the situation! Quel trash!
"Excuse me Sir!" I wailed. "I am a lady!"
"Well, lady" Said the Voyeur. "Can I buy you that pretty dress?"
"Why yes," I stiffened up, "yes you can."
Shortly thereafter we came home and I proceeded to do a little work on my meme computer infrastructure. I happened to come upon some of Chup's photography that he had re-worked. This is much like Sunday's post where a blemished woman turned into a billboard transhumant supermodel in a few poundings of the Photoshop tools. I applauded the model's humility in allowing the unsuspecting population watch in this most-intriguing transformation. Sadly to say, when I came upon Chup's version of my own re-worked photograph, I didn't feel like any sort of "real beauty" heroine. Most un-fabulous, non-glamorous and most-disturbing of all, cjane gets epidermal pocks from time-to-time. I will leave you now this this raw photograph and a thank-you, a salute really, for reading this most un-becoming expose' (when one cannot find a proper accent key, one can use an apostraphe, do not argue, these are Idaho rules!) Also this: I wish you and yours a fabulous day unike no other.