Spontaneous Combustion

I wasn’t going to watch The Tyra Banks Show today. I don’t very often watch The Tyra Banks Show. But a little bird told me that today everyone on the show was stripping down to their underwear and then it just happened to be 4 pm PST and I happened to be holding a sleeping baby and sitting on the couch and hey, have you heard, the west coast is blowing into the ocean tonight so we don’t have much time?

Tyra came out on stage in a robe. Her audience all wore robes too, looking like a very nervous Polyphonic Spree. Then Tyra took off her robe, revealing her pretty blue knickers and bra (and a more toned body than I would have expected, from what I’ve seen of her clothed – perhaps she just has terrible taste in clothing? What am I saying – she’s TYRA BANKS). She commanded the audience to disrobe. Fearing her wrath, they did so. They all wore knickers and bras too! Tyra shrieked at the camera, “IT’S A PANTY PARTAYYYY!” Commercial. On returning from commercial, Tyra had another robe on but the audience was still in its underwear. Ha ha!

She brought out an underwear consultant. One girl from the audience had a crisis: her pink, lacy thong kept poking out from her low-rise jeans! The solution? Not higher-waisted jeans, no! LOW RISE THONG! She disrobed to reveal a pink lacy bra and a matching thong. “Take off that thong,” Tyra demanded. Tyra then took a moment to reassure us that all the women on stage were wearing full, flesh-tone body stockings under their underwear, so they weren’t, you know, nude.

Wha? But they LOOK nude. But. OK.

The girl removed her bad thong and we got a glimpse of her nude, body-stocking’d crotch. It looked like that Marilyn Manson album cover. She put on the good thong and went offstage to put on her low-rise jeans again and live a new life, visible thong-free.

The next woman had a little belly that stuck out over her tight skirt. The solution? Not a skirt in the right size, no! A GIRDLE! (Actually, a “slimming short” or some such misnomer) The best part was that the woman referred to her little belly as a “donut.” That’s what I call MY little belly!

She removed her knickers (again with the Marilyn Manson crotch) and put on the spandex bike shorts, pulling them up over her donut. “YANK!” said Tyra and yanked the shorts up to the bottom of the woman’s bra. The woman grimaced and went offstage to put on her too-tight skirt again. Ah, brave new world, she was certainly thinking.

The next woman had small boobs. Duh. Padded bra to the rescue. But wait: even though she was wearing a nude body stocking? The camera was artfully turned to the audience while Tyra and the consultant helped the woman put on her new boob-hancing bra. “There you go!” trilled Tyra, tossing the old bra in the trash, “Next!”

I thought it had perhaps been just a fluke. I mean, the camera had pretty much been trained directly on the crotches of the first two women. So why would they shy away from the boobs? Isn’t someone’s vagina more taboo than her breasts? In the world of television, I mean?

Next (and last) was a woman whose boobs were just too darn big. They were busting out. And here I was thinking perhaps she just needed a bra fitting but no, what the consultant thought she needed was a garment that I’m sure was sold on the same rack as the slimming shorts. Again, the camera went and trained itself on some 13 year old audience member’s ribbed undershirt while we, the folks at home, were spared the horrible, horrible visage of the overendowed woman’s nude, body-stocking’d nipples. I’m assuming.

Thusly strapped, she went backstage and then we got to see all our women in their new underwear and old clothes.

“Bend over for me!” said Tyra to thong-girl. “Hey, I don’t see NO-THING poking out of there!”

“Where’s the donut, show me the donut!” she cackled at woman #2. Where the ‘before’ shot had the woman in profile, her shirt riding up over her belly, the after shot was head-on. So, you know: no donut. “Ain’t no Krispy Kreme there!”

Woman #3 had added a necklace as well as her padded bra. “Lookit you!” said Tyra, “You got it goin’ ON!” The woman smiled awkwardly, “Mm, I sure got something…” she trailed off as woman #4 stood up.

“GIRL!” said Tyra, “I think I wore this shirt last season!” The woman looked at Tyra as we all tried to figure out if this was meant to be a compliment. It was. “I love this shirt! It looks great on you!” The woman smiled, unconvinced. She pulled at the darts near the armpits. “It’s a little big, now,” she said. “What were you, a double D?” Tyra went on, “Girl now you a D FOR SURE!” The woman looked distinctly unhappy. She sat down.

“It’s time to find out what MEN THINK,” Tyra said. “Because you know when we buy underwear, it’s really for the men. I mean, even if we don’t have a boyfriend, you KNOW we’re buying it just in case – you know – ”

And then smoke started coming out of her eyes, “It’s about the BOOTY YOOTY YOOTY – ” her mouth opened and closed like that of a very well-made-up bottom feeding fish – “Y’all! Booty! My Momma!” The smoke gave way to two-foot pyres of flame and suddenly, Tyra had vanished. Only a pair of smouldering boy-cut, blue, lace knickers remained on the stage.

On Friday there will be Diddy. Whose ego will survive?

Posted in funny, television | 3 Comments

Oh!

Just noticed that the inimitable Monsieur Gecko is nominated for them Canadian Bloggies too. Under Science/Tech blog, waaaaay down at the bottom of the page.

In my hair salon poll, ECLIPPS is leading with 2 votes. PRISM is trailing with 1 vote. And we have 1 renegade vote for NONE OF THE ABOVE GO SOMEPLACE GOOD. All votes will be considered.

Posted in bloggity! | 1 Comment

If You Don’t Vote, You Can’t Complain

One of the things I noticed first after our move to New Westminster was the abundance of hair cuttery-type establishments. One day Saint Aardvark and I went for a long walk along 6th Street (one of the Main Drags) and I kept seeing barber after salon after salon after barber. In the two blocks of 6th St. between 8th Ave and 6th Ave there are three (3) barber shops, two (2) fancypants hair salons, (my catchall phrase for a place that isn’t a barber shop) one (1) tanning salon that also does nails and one (1) nail shop that also does waxing.

That’s before you get to the mall.

I have not noticed that the people of New Westminster are any more attractive than any other city where I have lived (in fact, honestly, a teeny bit less so) but I suppose they must be better groomed because there is absolutely no excuse for your bangs being too long in this town.

With the standards thus upped and with my post-partum shed interacting poorly with the bottom 2 inches of my hair, which are orange from a dye job, I’m assuming, though I can’t remember the last time I dyed my hair, I have decided to get a haircut. (I may also have a few extra commas removed.) At a hair cuttery-type establishment. On Friday morning, when I have a babysitter coming to mind Trombone. And the babysitter is his grandmother, so I can’t change my mind or she’ll get very upset.

But now that I have made the decision I can’t decide where to go. I really don’t think a barber is going to do it this go-round. I’ve narrowed the choices to three (3) fancypants salons within walking distance. I want you all to vote, basing your decision on the information I provide below. Because look at these salon names!

Salon A.
Eclipps
+ Free coffee
+ Also does tattoos

Salon B.
Hair Fuzion Tek
+ Has an orange awning
+ Some stylist just moved there from Salon 91 (one block away) so it must have something going on

OR

Salon C.
Prism
+ Armageddon! Carry me home!
+ At the mall with the liquor store. This is sensible.

What? Why would I make up fake hair salons? They’re real, I tell you.

Also, I was reminded today that the first round of voting for the Canadian Blog Awards is tomorrow. November 15th. I got reminded at Schmutzie’s site. Have you read Schmutzie? Schmutzie is nominated in the category of Best Personal Blog. So is Arwen. So go! Vote for Schmutzie! Or Arwen! Or me! (The Cheeseblog is nominated in the categories of Best Personal Blog and Best Humour Blog. The Cheeseblog: Importing your pure comedy space platinum with care and charisma since 2003.)

Posted in bloggity!, outside | 19 Comments

My Maybe Bunion

Nothing is ever wrong with me.

I am one of those people don’t say hypochondriac who wakes up one day and her finger hurts and she thinks hmmm…maybe I have finger gout! and thinks about it and thinks about it and even tells people she has finger gout and learns all about finger gout so she can explain it when people ask why she’s holding her finger all sideways like that. Then one day the finger stops hurting and she is forced to acknowledge that maybe there was nothing wrong. Maybe – just maybe – there was no finger gout. Maybe it was a bruise incurred while she was sleeping. Maybe she slept with her hand under her pillow – sometimes she does that – and her finger got bent funny.

Fear not, I am not a tax on our health care system. I hate going to the doctor, in large part because nothing is ever wrong with me. (in small part because I haven’t met a non-assholish doctor in many, many years) Even with the most alarming things, when I tire of self-diagnosing and speculating and eventually go to a physician, invariably that physician will nod politely and say, “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

A few years ago I had a startling heartbeat issue. I would be running or swimming or just sitting there and my heart would speed up and then go back to normal. It took several instances of this for me to go to the doctor. He said, “I think there’s nothing wrong with you. If you WANT, I can sent you for a bunch of tests. But probably, they won’t turn anything up.” While I was unemployed at the time, I was not bored enough to go through needless medical tests so I just left it alone. Guess what hasn’t sped up since then? That’s right, my heart!

There are people for whom this is not true. They go merrily about their lives and the doctor surprises them by saying, “You have high blood pressure” when they go in for a checkup or “you have German measles” when they’re sure it’s a rash from a new detergent or “you have pneumonia” when they thought it was just a lingering cold.

But with me, the following applies: If there’s something wrong with me, I’ll know. Like when I electrocuted myself in 3rd grade. I plugged in the film projector and the plug wasn’t protected and I did a backwards somersault and got a little freckle-like burn on my hand and freaked out my teacher. Or when I put my right index finger through the meat slicer at my deli job and blood geysered everwhere, including on the walls and that poor man’s capicollo. Or when I had a fever of 104 and it turned out I had sinusitis. It’s just like when you’re in labour, you’ll know. In the last two weeks of pregnancy, all the was that a pain? and is that my mucous plug? was just a useless waste of energy. I could have been baking chocolate chip cookies and filling the freezer but no, I sat around and googled “belly twinge + 39 weeks.” When I was in labour, I knew (well, mostly because I had been induced but if I’d had those pains at home? I’d’ve known) and when my water broke during labour – whoah, I KNEW and when I lost my mucous plug during labour, despite the pain I had to laugh at how earnestly I’d been analyzing my knickers all week because that, THAT RIGHT THERE was a mucous plug, make no mistake and all earlier, hopeful attempts to identify bits of lost mucous plug were just that: hopeful attempts.

At the moment, I have a foot-ache. My right foot on the outside edge, just below the pinky toe. You remember Edith, my pinky? OK well, the part of the foot below Edith is sticking out somewhat and it hurts when I put pressure on it. Actually, since I’ve been thinking about it, it hurts when I just sit here. Ow.

Ow.

So maybe it’s a bunion. All sources say that a bunion is exactly this BUT only when it is on the big toe side. But Foot Pain Explained says that the “Tailor’s Bunion” is what you call the bunion on the outside of the foot. I will, of course, be going to a doctor soon (ish) and will ask him about it. (Har dee har. Whole other post.)

See, I don’t really WANT a bunion. Really not, now that I’ve seen the photo at Foot Pain Explained. That shit is ugly. And I’m sure it would be a huge annoyance. And it hurts. And I have big enough feet without making the right one an inch wider. But there’s a little part of me that does want a bunion because then there would be something wrong with me.

How psychotic am I!

Let’s look away from me. Go read some instructions for battery consumption!

Posted in | 6 Comments

One Less Question to Consider

The nation has spoken.

Posted in music | 2 Comments