I Think Being Famous Might Suck A Lot
2 Comments Published by Kimmah on Sunday, January 20, 2008 at 9:28 PM.
Sure, the money would be fantastic and who WOULDN'T like to be able to go where ever you want, but tonight at Kroger I realized how absolutely sucky it would be to have paps following you around when you are just trying to live.
Why would this revelation come to me, you ask? Well, it's like this. Here in my little corner of Tennessee (metaphoric corner, of course, since I live in Middle Tennessee which is decidedly corner-free), we are experiencing a little Arctic weather--I think the high today was like 23, which, in said metaphoric corner of Tennessee, translates to minus 40 someplace like North Dakota or, for the rest of our Southern or Western friends can best be assessed as butt ass cold. We heat with our woodstove and supplement with our gas central unit. I was gone for the weekend with the boys and W. was at home alone, so in typical Scrooge McW fashion, he kept it pretty darn cold here. I immediately shed my blue jeans and cute Old Navy cotton sweater w/Gap tneck (Goodwill tops and ebay jeans--grand total was less than $25 and I looked very chic with my cute black cap that I grabbed at KMart on clearance for 2.99 and gray scarf that I found at Aeropostale for 70% off the $12.99 sale...I do love bargains) and I threw on some sweats and a sweatshirt, heavy socks, the cold-weather works, you know?
I had to take W. to work (bless his heart, he's working 7-7 night shift tonight) and was freezing even more so in the car. Once I got home, I decided that I really needed some popcorn because I had to watch two episodes of TAR and some other DVR stuff. Naturally, I was out of popcorn. That alone would not have made me brave the cold to make my way to Kroger, but then I realize that we were out of milk, so I decided that I had to make a grocery run. I was wearing deidedly UNCUTE clothing...Five's track pants that are uber wide legged and baggy, one of W.'s xxl seatshirts and then a fleece over that (ftr, when you put a men's small fleece over a men's 2x sweatshirt, the effect is mushy to say the least). Because it was so cold, I wrapped my previously-mentioned gray scarf all around my neck and up to my ears. Add in my cute black hat again and some fuzzy gloves and I was set. As I was walking in, I had a fleeting thought, "I hope I don't see anyone that I know here." And then it hit me--it would SUCK to feel I had to dress up to go to Kroger.
As any teacher will tell you, being seen out IRL can be somewhat unnerving. Since I teach in a K-12 school, the little ones know me. When I'm shopping, I'll hear, "That's her!" or "Look, Mommy, there's Mrs. Sam's Mom!" God forbid anyone have a camera with them.
Anyway, I went into Kroger and caught a glimpse of myself on the overhead tv monitor and suddenly felt sorry for Julia Roberts for a second--I mean, the grocery is a place we should be able to dash in dressed one step up (or down in my case) from pajamas and do your business. I kept pulling my hat down lower and lower as I shopped to keep from being recognized. I can almost sort of see why Britney might go around the bend, kwim? Not that me going to Kroger is an event in anyone's mind, but that feeling that everyone is looking at you is bad enough when you're normal like and in reality no one actually IS looking. For her, though, you know they're looking and photographing and then bitchy chicks like me will be blogging about it. It would take a lot of Hermes bags and sporty Mercedes convertibles to make that all right.
Why would this revelation come to me, you ask? Well, it's like this. Here in my little corner of Tennessee (metaphoric corner, of course, since I live in Middle Tennessee which is decidedly corner-free), we are experiencing a little Arctic weather--I think the high today was like 23, which, in said metaphoric corner of Tennessee, translates to minus 40 someplace like North Dakota or, for the rest of our Southern or Western friends can best be assessed as butt ass cold. We heat with our woodstove and supplement with our gas central unit. I was gone for the weekend with the boys and W. was at home alone, so in typical Scrooge McW fashion, he kept it pretty darn cold here. I immediately shed my blue jeans and cute Old Navy cotton sweater w/Gap tneck (Goodwill tops and ebay jeans--grand total was less than $25 and I looked very chic with my cute black cap that I grabbed at KMart on clearance for 2.99 and gray scarf that I found at Aeropostale for 70% off the $12.99 sale...I do love bargains) and I threw on some sweats and a sweatshirt, heavy socks, the cold-weather works, you know?
I had to take W. to work (bless his heart, he's working 7-7 night shift tonight) and was freezing even more so in the car. Once I got home, I decided that I really needed some popcorn because I had to watch two episodes of TAR and some other DVR stuff. Naturally, I was out of popcorn. That alone would not have made me brave the cold to make my way to Kroger, but then I realize that we were out of milk, so I decided that I had to make a grocery run. I was wearing deidedly UNCUTE clothing...Five's track pants that are uber wide legged and baggy, one of W.'s xxl seatshirts and then a fleece over that (ftr, when you put a men's small fleece over a men's 2x sweatshirt, the effect is mushy to say the least). Because it was so cold, I wrapped my previously-mentioned gray scarf all around my neck and up to my ears. Add in my cute black hat again and some fuzzy gloves and I was set. As I was walking in, I had a fleeting thought, "I hope I don't see anyone that I know here." And then it hit me--it would SUCK to feel I had to dress up to go to Kroger.
As any teacher will tell you, being seen out IRL can be somewhat unnerving. Since I teach in a K-12 school, the little ones know me. When I'm shopping, I'll hear, "That's her!" or "Look, Mommy, there's Mrs. Sam's Mom!" God forbid anyone have a camera with them.
Anyway, I went into Kroger and caught a glimpse of myself on the overhead tv monitor and suddenly felt sorry for Julia Roberts for a second--I mean, the grocery is a place we should be able to dash in dressed one step up (or down in my case) from pajamas and do your business. I kept pulling my hat down lower and lower as I shopped to keep from being recognized. I can almost sort of see why Britney might go around the bend, kwim? Not that me going to Kroger is an event in anyone's mind, but that feeling that everyone is looking at you is bad enough when you're normal like and in reality no one actually IS looking. For her, though, you know they're looking and photographing and then bitchy chicks like me will be blogging about it. It would take a lot of Hermes bags and sporty Mercedes convertibles to make that all right.
Labels: fashion, my life, public humiliation
Questions for me from Sharon:
1. What's your favorite outfit that makes you feel good when you wear it?
At this particular moment it is a pair of Levi's, my Hard Rock London shirt and an Old Navy knit deep-vee neck (as in you have to wear something under it because it's so low cut) top over the t-shirt (the Hard Rock shirt is too tight to wear alone) and wedges.
2. List your five CDs you would take to a desert island.
Beatles One, Matchbox Twenty Yourself or Someone Like You, Dixie Chicks Fly, Killers Hot Fuss, Garth Brooks No Fences.
3. If you had to eat one food only for the rest of your life, what would it be?
Popcorn.
4. Describe the best way to spend a rainy day.
In bed and whatever that entails...books, naps, telly, hubby, kids, phone, laptop.
5. What's your biggest pet peeve?
Whiney children--my own or those of other people.
The rules:
1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick thequestions.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone elsein the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them fivequestions
1. What's your favorite outfit that makes you feel good when you wear it?
At this particular moment it is a pair of Levi's, my Hard Rock London shirt and an Old Navy knit deep-vee neck (as in you have to wear something under it because it's so low cut) top over the t-shirt (the Hard Rock shirt is too tight to wear alone) and wedges.
2. List your five CDs you would take to a desert island.
Beatles One, Matchbox Twenty Yourself or Someone Like You, Dixie Chicks Fly, Killers Hot Fuss, Garth Brooks No Fences.
3. If you had to eat one food only for the rest of your life, what would it be?
Popcorn.
4. Describe the best way to spend a rainy day.
In bed and whatever that entails...books, naps, telly, hubby, kids, phone, laptop.
5. What's your biggest pet peeve?
Whiney children--my own or those of other people.
The rules:
1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. I get to pick thequestions.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone elsein the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them fivequestions
Labels: public humiliation
I don't think I am overstating things one iota when I say that when an 8th-grade boy with some special ed tendancies comes up to you and says, "Hey, Mrs. W., how are you? Your hair looks really bad today. It's sort of sticking up all over the sides", that you are, in fact, having a really bad hair day.
Soon after, I called and made my hair appointment for Saturday.
Soon after, I called and made my hair appointment for Saturday.
Labels: hair stuff, helpful beauty hints, my life, public humiliation
I'm now a card-carrying, auto-paying member of the local YMCA. This in and of itself is rather amusing since I'm fairly sure no one who knows me or just happens to see me would think, "She likes exercise", but I have accepted the fact that one cannot look like an exerciser without actually exercising. So, I go.
Just getting there is an adventure--see the Embarrassing Post below for one of many examples--because I'm not particularly good at keeping up with things such as sneakers, Y cards, gym bags and all that. I have one bag that I've used as a workout bag for years that I finally unearthed at work. It was under my desk and filled with remnants from our trip to the state fair (in September) and numerous elementary drama books that I evidently decided to move from home to school. Or something. I don't actually know where they came from or why they were in the bag. My memory is totally blank. But I found the bag, which was the important part.
I have one really bad knee and one almost-as-bad-but-not-surgically-altered-knee, so now that I've decided to be all fit and shit, I am having to be cautious when I do any sort of cardio. I'm taking water aerobics 2x per week and going to the fitness center two or three days, too. I used to be a treadmill kind of girl, but that was before the knee and everyone tells me that I need to be very careful using the treadmill since there is a lot of shock on the knee. I've done it, but not much. It did hurt a little bit, but not terribly. But the treadmill gets sort of boring, even when I get to watch the little attache television (frankly, one of the main reason I like to go to the gym at night is to watch TNT uninterrupted).
I've tried the recumbant bike (see previous post) and I like it, but I realize that I have to mix things up, so, I decided to give the ol' elliptical machine another try. Pre-surgery, I couldn't do the stupid thing because it absolutely killed my knee. Oh, and I was such a fat slug that it nearly killed me, too. I finally gave up even trying at my old gym...it was too depressing.
I vowed to try again--after all, how hard can it be? There are scads of people on the things every time I'm in there and they are all just flitting around on the things like they haven't a care in the world. So, I try since my knee is slightly better, but I quickly decide that I'm still a fat slug because that machine? It is of the devil. Satan has an entire room filled with those suckers just waiting on me in hell (on a fresh carpet of Easter grass and Legos with a soundtrack of bluegrass and rap music in the background, I'm sure). How the HELL do those perky little wenches jump up and down on the damn things like they're on trampolines or something? I can go for miles on the bike or treadmill, but on this? I think I did .5 in 10 minutes. And that was as far as I could go. I laugh at the little signs posted on each machine that says, "during peak times of 5pm to 7pm, please limit your time on this machine to 30 minutes." ROFLMAO. Okay, no problem. I'll be glad to spend 30 minutes on it--can I just stand there and watch television for 20 minutes or so?
After the whopping 10-minute workout, my thighs were burning, my calves were in knots and I was wheezing, which is always attractive and impressive in a gym setting. I realized that I didn't want to die of an asthma attack in the YMCA--even I have some pride--so, I staggered from the fitness area to my locker, dug around in my gym bag, finally found my inhaler tucked under a brush and some lotion and a plethora of flotsam left over from the fair trip and I puffed.
And then I nearly died.
Why? Well, because it had been in the bottom of my tote along with some Cheez-It crumbs. I inhaled fucking Cheez-Its into my lungs and that, my friends, burns like a sombitch. Glass shards, ricin, volcanic ash and Cheez-It crumbs. All can be lethal. It took me several minutes to recover and be able to breathe normally. After that, cardio was done for this fat girl. I decided to take my chances in the pool since there is lots of humidity that I figured would be healing on my poor, scarred lungs.
I'll be back on that damn machine come Monday because now it's a challenge--I have to be able to do better (albeit when it is not crowded in the fitness area because I don't like flailing in front of fit folks), but in the future I will use the inhaler before I step on the stupid machine...after I've checked for foreign objects, of course.
Just getting there is an adventure--see the Embarrassing Post below for one of many examples--because I'm not particularly good at keeping up with things such as sneakers, Y cards, gym bags and all that. I have one bag that I've used as a workout bag for years that I finally unearthed at work. It was under my desk and filled with remnants from our trip to the state fair (in September) and numerous elementary drama books that I evidently decided to move from home to school. Or something. I don't actually know where they came from or why they were in the bag. My memory is totally blank. But I found the bag, which was the important part.
I have one really bad knee and one almost-as-bad-but-not-surgically-altered-knee, so now that I've decided to be all fit and shit, I am having to be cautious when I do any sort of cardio. I'm taking water aerobics 2x per week and going to the fitness center two or three days, too. I used to be a treadmill kind of girl, but that was before the knee and everyone tells me that I need to be very careful using the treadmill since there is a lot of shock on the knee. I've done it, but not much. It did hurt a little bit, but not terribly. But the treadmill gets sort of boring, even when I get to watch the little attache television (frankly, one of the main reason I like to go to the gym at night is to watch TNT uninterrupted).
I've tried the recumbant bike (see previous post) and I like it, but I realize that I have to mix things up, so, I decided to give the ol' elliptical machine another try. Pre-surgery, I couldn't do the stupid thing because it absolutely killed my knee. Oh, and I was such a fat slug that it nearly killed me, too. I finally gave up even trying at my old gym...it was too depressing.
I vowed to try again--after all, how hard can it be? There are scads of people on the things every time I'm in there and they are all just flitting around on the things like they haven't a care in the world. So, I try since my knee is slightly better, but I quickly decide that I'm still a fat slug because that machine? It is of the devil. Satan has an entire room filled with those suckers just waiting on me in hell (on a fresh carpet of Easter grass and Legos with a soundtrack of bluegrass and rap music in the background, I'm sure). How the HELL do those perky little wenches jump up and down on the damn things like they're on trampolines or something? I can go for miles on the bike or treadmill, but on this? I think I did .5 in 10 minutes. And that was as far as I could go. I laugh at the little signs posted on each machine that says, "during peak times of 5pm to 7pm, please limit your time on this machine to 30 minutes." ROFLMAO. Okay, no problem. I'll be glad to spend 30 minutes on it--can I just stand there and watch television for 20 minutes or so?
After the whopping 10-minute workout, my thighs were burning, my calves were in knots and I was wheezing, which is always attractive and impressive in a gym setting. I realized that I didn't want to die of an asthma attack in the YMCA--even I have some pride--so, I staggered from the fitness area to my locker, dug around in my gym bag, finally found my inhaler tucked under a brush and some lotion and a plethora of flotsam left over from the fair trip and I puffed.
And then I nearly died.
Why? Well, because it had been in the bottom of my tote along with some Cheez-It crumbs. I inhaled fucking Cheez-Its into my lungs and that, my friends, burns like a sombitch. Glass shards, ricin, volcanic ash and Cheez-It crumbs. All can be lethal. It took me several minutes to recover and be able to breathe normally. After that, cardio was done for this fat girl. I decided to take my chances in the pool since there is lots of humidity that I figured would be healing on my poor, scarred lungs.
I'll be back on that damn machine come Monday because now it's a challenge--I have to be able to do better (albeit when it is not crowded in the fitness area because I don't like flailing in front of fit folks), but in the future I will use the inhaler before I step on the stupid machine...after I've checked for foreign objects, of course.
Labels: fat chick stuff, pain in general, physical exertion, public humiliation
