Take that, Meghan. I am beautiful! Just like my Donkey Kong sculpture!
The award she has bestowed upon me is the Beautiful Blogger award, which I have obviously received for my bangin' bod, enviable bone structure, and brow shaping skills. (Or, maybe for my personality, which would totally look like Salma Hayek if it came to life. I am giving my personality giant boobs because I feel like my soul is busty, even if my physical body is not. That's weird, though, to think of my soul having nipples. Do souls have nipples? Wow, I am getting super existential here and am blowing my own mind. Moving on.)
So the Beautiful Blogger award dictates that you have to tell your readers seven interesting things about yourself. Then you have to pass it on to other people. It's like a blog chain letter, but like I said, be glad you're reading about this and not the differences between various types of Dr. Scholl's inserts.
MY SEVEN DEADLY SINS INTERESTING FACTS
1. I AM A KARAOKE HUSTLER
Take me out for karaoke and I will be all, "No, I can't sing in front of other people." or "God, I will have to get SO DRUNK to sing." Then I'll let you convince me to do just one song and I will act all embarrassed when they call my name and I'll roll my eyes and bop awkwardly to the intro music but then I will bust out with some Bonnie Tyler like I am auditioning for American Idol. It is obnoxious but uncontrollable. Don't ever let me sing a duet with you, either. I will try to sing all of your parts and pretend like I don't know they're yours. I might also try to push you offstage under the guise of a dance move gone awry.
It looks like Jeff is lovingly nuzzling me but in fact I am just reverse head-butting him so he won't ruin my solo.
2. I AM KIND OF OBSESSED WITH DUCKIE FROM PRETTY IN PINK
This started when I was in high school, probably because I identified with the witty, fashion-challenged, lovelorn geek that was Duckie Dale. It might also have been because I spent the entirety of high school (and most of college) being unwittingly attracted to gay men. I'm not saying Duckie is definitely gay, but if John Hughes had ever written Pretty in Pink 2 I'm pretty sure it wouldn't be referring to Andie. Hey-o! Anyway, you'll notice that the URL of my blog is an homage to one of Duckie's quotes in the movie ("That is a really volcanic ensemble you're wearing, it is really marvelous!"). I often ask myself WWDDD? ("What Would Duckie Dale Do?") The answer is usually "storm off dramatically," "fight with Andrew Dice Clay," "impromptu dance performance to Otis Redding's 'Try a Little Tenderness'" or "try to make out with Annie Potts." As you might imagine, this has gotten me in trouble many a time.
It's like Pee-Wee Herman joined Oingo Boingo. Swoon!
3. I INVENTED AN AWESOME GAME CALLED "LOOK IN BUTT"
I used to play it with my best friend Salvador when we were toddlers. It was doctor, essentially—or proctologist, more accurately—as we had no interest in heartbeats or hearing tests, instead choosing to focus solely on the anus. One of us would bend over and the other one would conduct the examination. What we were looking for, I can’t say—stray He-Man figures? Lost crayons?—but we took our work seriously. For years afterward I assumed that Look in Butt was consensual—the only thing that tempered the humiliation of its existence was Sal's complicity—but my father finally told me that he'd overheard us once. Sal was playing the patient at the time, and as he removed his underwear he said to me, “Una... this is wrong."
[You don't want an illustration for this one, trust.]
4. I INADVERTENTLY MAKE THE SONG "AFTERNOON DELIGHT" ABOUT PROSTITUTION
By misremembering the lyrics as "Gonna find me a woman, gonna hold her tight, gonna BUY me some afternoon delight." Sorry, Starland Vocal Band.
Ohhhhh, afternoon delight!
5. I WORK OUT WITH PLAYBOY BUNNIES
Once upon a time, I belonged to a gym. Actually, technically it's thrice upon a time, since I managed to join and quit three different gyms on three separate occasions. I do not like going to the gym—I don't like waiting for machines or being self-conscious about my ratty gym clothes or attempting to shower behind a tissue-thin curtain that does not go all the way to the wall on either side—but I am vain and also lazy and so for a long time I figured a gym membership was a necessary evil if I wanted to keep fit. My first gym, right out of college, turned out to be too expensive to afford on my non-existent salary. The next one was cheap but too far from home, so I never went. Then I got a job that came with a free gym membership. And it all would have worked out beautifully if it wasn't for Clive, a sexy personal trainer who approached me on my first day and coerced me into spending $1200 on a dozen sessions (by coerced, of course, I mean "asked me if I wanted to," as I am incapable of saying no to anyone, ever. Especially if they look like a black John Krasinski). I charged the sessions on a credit card and stocked up on ramen noodles for the coming famine. If I'm honest with myself I have to admit that during those three months, I loved the gym. I looked forward to my workout each week, especially the stretching part when Clive would lean on me and push my legs back over my head. When my sessions ran out Clive assumed I would sign up for more, but I couldn't tell him that I was broke, so I quit the gym to avoid him. He called me once to try to change my mind and I lied and said I'd lost my job.
Since I can no longer show my face at any gyms in the metropolitan New York area, over the years I have amassed a small library of fitness DVDs. Jeff calls the stash my "porn," which is inaccurate—if they actually were porn I would watch them way more often. As it is I only use a few—the ones that require the least effort on my part. It's telling that my favorite video is The Girls Next Door Workout, which stars three of Hugh Hefner's Playboy bunny girlfriends. The ladies' buoyant chests and tight outfits prevent them (and, by extension, me) from doing anything too strenuous, and their shining, Barbie-blond pigtails and bright smiles lull me into a trance so deep that I barely realize I'm moving.
Do not judge me.
6. I SLEPT WITH MY HUSBAND ON THE FIRST DATE
Eat that, The Rules! Also, sorry Mom and Dad.
He bought the cow anyway.
7. SHIT, I CAN'T THINK OF A SEVENTH THING, EVEN THOUGH I CONSTANTLY OVERSHARE ON THE INTERNET. I JUST KEEP THINKING OF THE LYRICS TO SEVEN BY PRINCE. ALL SEVEN AND WE'LL WATCH THEM FALL...STAND IN THE WAY OF LOVE AND WE WILL SMOKE THEM ALL... WITH AN INTELLECT AND A SAVOIR-FAIRE... NO ONE IN THE WHOLE UNIVERSE COULD EVER COMPARE...
Prince is playing "Look in Butt" with these flowers.
Okay, now to pass on this award. But first, a brief musical interlude:
There are so many wonderful bloggers out there that I will make up my own awards someday soon. But in the meantime I would like to shout out to a few people whose souls I suspect are pretty busty:
Meghan (not the deaf bitch from first grade) at Blackberries to Apples
Kari at My Inflammatory Writ
Annie at [clever title]
Blue Girl at Blue Girl in a Red Blue State
Susanna at Malibu Mama
Thanks for indulging me this afternoon, guys. And seriously, wear inserts. Arch support is crucial.