Anywhoo, let's talk about something else. How about...Miley Cyrus. What the eff was that performance at the VMA's? Firstly, I'm pissed because although I did not legally patent "twerking," I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I pulled that same move off in 2001 on Rick's Lounge dance floor. That was MY move. And to make matters worse, Miley's tweaked the twerk into some "sexy" dance. NO, Miley, NO! it's not a sexy dance move. It makes people laugh. It's a joke. It was my go-to make your friends howl with laughter dance move. Shit. Miley ruined one of my best dance moves. Unless...perhaps there is an alternative explanation for what she was doing on that stage. It's far fetched, but...there is this test my orthopedic surgeon has done with me before to check for lumbar involvement with lower back pain. The patient stands and touches her toes and the doctor stabilizes the patient's hips by holding the iliac crests. So either Miley was just being a skankball with Robin Thicke or she had asked him for an examination of her lower back. Either way, it was yucky and I was concerned that I had contracted an STD from witnessing such a display.
Did Miley think that she was being sexy? Is that the look that she was going for? Sexy means different things to different people. Obviously, Miley's version of sexy is skanky slutty plastic gyrating hot pants. As an adult, I am mature enough to create my own interpretation of sexy - my definition of sexy, for example, is someone who is funny, interesting, intelligent, and witty...and a British accent helps. Unfortunately, during our awkward, self-conscious teen years, it's difficult to arrive at our own thoughts and opinions; we are very much influenced by the media. In my teens, I associated sexy with a topless Claudia Schiffer rolling around in her Guess Jeans. I ran out and bought those sexy red guess jeans immediately...but that was nothing! Now these poor kids are seeing a waify girl dry hump a giant foam finger in icky lingerie. Where do I buy plastic panties???? Good god.
I had a dear friend in high school, Carly, who was, without a doubt, sexy. She just pulled it off - long dark hair, smouldering eyes, and form-fitting clothes. She stood out in a crowd. She was actually very shy, but it was often interpreted by boys as "mysterious." While the rest of us girls laughed nervously at any joke a boy ever told, Carly would sit quietly, seductively play with a strand of her long dark hair, and appear completely unimpressed. The boys loved it. Whenever we would go out with Carly, we always attracted attention. Unfortunately, as her sidekick, I was often approached by boys requesting, "Introduce me to your friend."
In addition to being smoking hot, Carly was always up for an adventure. It was grade 11. It was New Year's Ev, and Carly convinced our group of girlfriends to abandon the high school scene in Prince Albert and head to Saskatoon for a legit University party. To be honest, I'm not sure if we were ever officially invited or anything, but Carly convinced us that this was where we belonged - it was time to expand our horizons and see what our future held...hot, mature, educated men who would be enamoured with us! (yes, because the only men in their 20's who would be remotely interested in giggly awkward high school girls would be the super creeps. Hello?)
As 5 of us girls attempted to cake on the makeup and glam up the hair, other than confident Carly, I think a few of us girls suspected that this party might be just a bit out of our small-town highschool party league.
Janna practiced her "sexy pout," also known as smiling seductively without ever revealing her braces.
I desperately covered up the acne on my forehead by creating a sideswept bang with my terrible Clarol orange-blonde dye job.
Krista struggled with her clothing for the evening and finally settled on jeans and a ratty t-shirt in an attempt to look as though she really didn't give a shit (that was important too of course - never look too eager to impress).
Finally by 10:30pm, we were drunk, full of boozy confidence, and ready to hit up our first University party.
Carly found the yellow pages and began searching for a taxi service that could transport us to the party.
"What do you mean you stuff animals?" she responded drunkenly into the phone, "we need a ride to a party!"
"Shit, Car..." we interrupted her, "You called the taxidermist, hon. Too far...back up in the yellow pages."
Ohhhhhhhh, "Never mind. Thank you, " she responded as she hung up the phone.
Surprise surprise! at 10:30 on New Year's Eve, we were having a fair bit of difficulty reaching a taxi service that could take us to the coolest university party of our lives.
Finally after an hour of busy signals, Carly reached a dispatcher.
"Is everyone in the party able to walk?" asked the dispatcher.
Silly question. We weren't that loaded, "Yes," replied Carly.
"The van will be there in 10 minutes, " replied the dispatcher.
5 giggly, drunk, "sexified" 17 year old girls stood outside, anxiously awaiting the taxi van. To our shock and dismay, a Handi-van pulled up - a van for handicapped people - like with the wheelchair accessible doors...not to mention the large dark font on the side of the van "HANDI-VAN"
"Oh my god. We cannot show up to the party in this!" exclaimed Carly. Our goal was to blend in with all the other sexy university people at the party, dammit. This was totally going to blow our cover! "They" would know that we were grade 11 PA girls, trying desperately to fit in at this (in our minds) epic New Year's Party.
We had no choice. This was the only ride option. We took it. In retrospect, I'm surprised they took us, actually. Perhaps after all the booze we consumed, we passed for possessing some type of disability.
 |
| Now just add "Handicapped transportation" in blue font on side |
Hoping no one at the party would notice a Handi-Van pulling into the driveway, we emerged from our "taxi"in stealth mode and attempted to throw off the awesome vibe as we entered the super cool University party.
Upon entering, seeing a group gathered at the window laughing hysterically, it was apparent that most of the party-goers had witnessed our epic entrance in the handicapped van.
"Hey, you come on the short bus?" one smartass University student asked.
"Is this a telemiracle fundraiser? Ring those phones!" another ingenious university student added.
One guy started communicating to me in sign language, as the party-goers laughed at his witty attempt to make me feel super cool.
This wasn't going well and I was too embarrassed and intimidated to see the hilarity of the situation.
As I looked around the best party ever at a real house lived in by real university students, I took in the scene: people chilling on couches, rolling joints at a table, and honestly, looking quite bored with life. This party kinda sucked.
We drank enough of their University booze to lose one of our girls to cool University dude's bathroom - where she was found puking, um....aggressively. I experienced my first awkward exit from a weed circle, lamely explaining, "I have to go to the bathroom," minutes before midnight and minutes before the joint would be in my hand. By 1am we were ready to go. We called back our handi-van driver and were relieved to be transported home in our very spacious and super sexy ride.
I think we all died a little inside that night. We certainly didn't make the impression that we were striving to make (what the hell impression were we trying to make anyway?) But most of all, the party was actually...disappointing. It was kinda lame. Was this what university life was like because It kinda looked sucky. Music? Dancing? Nope, just a lot of weed smoking and handi-van ridiculing. We would have had more fun if we would have invited the Taxidermist over.
But...when we returned to high school after winter holidays and fellow students asked what we did for New Years, we replied confidently, "Oh we went to an Epic University new years party." Haha. Lame.
We never spoke of the Handi-Van...until now. Cover is blown, girls.
No comments:
Post a Comment