After a week's sojourn in Idaho a girl needs her Cafe Rio, so we went yesterday and got cozy in line with two girls from the Bon Losee Hair Academy who took every opportunity to look me up and down. Why do we do that? What does that up-and-down look say, exactly? Chup, who witnessed the optical drama first hand kept coming up with excuses, like for instance, "The one girl is self-conscious about her hard-working denim vest and sees you in your turtleneck and boots and is giving you props (with her eyes) for doing something she can't at the moment."
I would like to declare to the world that I am going to really work obliterating sizing-up staring because I think women have a tendency to do it (especially to other women) and I don't understand why. Heaven forbid I should do something I plain don't understand. Behavior must be dissected and analyzed before it can be declared useful. Close the textbooks, Sigmund.
Mid-meal we were visited by some of Chup's movie friends. One in particular, Brandon, I have met on dozens of occasions.
"Hi I am Brandon, I don't think we've met." He offers his hand.
I take it.
"Brandon, I have met you so many times before." I declare.
"It's ok." I sense his embarrassment."I am forgettable. Everyone forgets me. It's weird, but it's my life."
Brandon looks me up-and-down.
What is this? Is there a sign that says PLEASE PERUSE WITH EYES on my body?
"I am sure you are not forgettable . . . not with those . . . boots." Says Brandon and disappears into a sea of CF patrons.
Chup missed the exchange and hurried over to make sure Brandon wasn't perverted in his conversing with me.
"You are red." He observes.
"Your friend likes my boots." I note.
Frankly, I don't know what to do about my forgettableness. It rears its head-o-humility mostly around movie/actor types which I have observed first with the acquaintances of my actor/director/brother Topher and his wife/socialite Lisa. Now it's my own husband's crew. I assure you though, tight shirts are not getting it done. Ideas would be useful.
When we returned home yesterday Chup decided to put up our Christmas lights. We chose color this year and they couldn't be cuter in the night sky.
We drove past ~J's house the other night because last year her neighbors went absolutely nuts with the decoration. Having been an eye witness this year, I am certain that they all met up, tripped on acid, and started to decorate. Things were blinking and moving and projecting and chuckling and generally making me dizzy. What is with the giant Frosty/Santa blow-ups? Mark my word, these blow-ups are going to humanize, (think the Marshmallow Man in Ghostbusters) stomp around in the streets looking for good little children to satisfy the emptiness in their bloated bellies. Haven't you heard the song that goes like this:
When they placed it on his head/
He began to dance around.
Later in the evening I stopped by a neighbor's house to check on her overall well-beingness. Turns out, she was quite ill. I asked her what symptoms were manifested.
"Sore throat, coughing, hard to breath." She rambled.
"Oh. I see. Anything else?" I hoped not.
At this point, her ten- year-old came bounding into the room wearing nothing but his Superman hugs and messy hair to offer one more malady,
"She also has a really bad case of the stinky farts."
And suddenly I didn't feel so bad for being forgettable.