Wednesday, December 21, 2005


Okay, first we had this, and now we have this, all of which happened, you must know, on the same day:

So I'm out to dinner with Ryan the Rocket Scientist and his straight man, Scott the Taller Rocket Scientist Who Can Actually Be Quite Cyncial When the Occasion Calls For It, and it was an excellent meal until the waiter seated us, for he found it necessary to have the following conversation with me:

WAITER: (pointing at Ryan) Is this your boyfriend?
ME: (gay, trilling laugh) O! He wishes.
WAITER: What's your name?
ME: Mary Beth.
WAITER: Mary Beth, just between you and me, you're kind of coming out of your dress a little bit.

Now. Let us go to Exhibits A and B:

This picture (Ryan is on the left; my rack and I are on the right) was taken just before the aforementioned supposed debutante ball, and seriously, do you see any coming out there pending? DO YOU?!!? Does he actually think this will help him, tip-wise?

So I called him on it, and he was all, "Well, you aren't really coming out, it's more of a case of a few more centimeters and there would have been areola."

Again: Seriously. Our waiter, clearly a top graduate of the Bill Clinton Service Industry Preparatory School, said "areola," and not in a useful way, like "There go a bunch of areolas" or even "'Areola' contains three vowels."

There is only one explanation for such a thing, and that is my rack. We are all, of course, familiar with the mighty power that is my rack. Right? Right. The Rack can track stealth bombers from eighty nautical miles; The Rack can certainly create its own optical illusions.

Such as the impression that there is way, way more of it than there actually is. In October I posted this picture of me with Carah, the BFFE:

The reaction I was going for with this was: "What a beautiful bride. And what is that blindingly white object next to her? Wait, let me get one of those pinprick boxes you're supposed to view an eclipse with."

What I got was 1.8 billion emails that may be summed up as: "Um. Did you lose the rest of the bridal party in your cleavage?"

So I went through the wedding pictures again, and came to a slow, horrible realization: "LOOK. AT MY. RACK."

I mean, LOOK AT IT:

It takes up the WHOLE ENTIRE ALTAR. I'm one wig and a Grand Ol' Opry appearance away from opening my own Appalacian theme park.

This is not the fault of the dress, which is quite wear-againable, by bridesmaid's standards. This is all about Incompetent Alterations Woman, whose doorway I darkened eight times times before I carried the dress back out again:

FIRST ATTEMPT AT DRESS ALTERATION: Bring the dress in for initial measurements. Hike up the bodice. It will be ready in a month.


THIRD ATTEMPT: Sign on shop: "Closed Do (sic) To Hurricane Wilma." Hurricane Wilma was three weeks ago, and hit landfall four states away.

FOURTH ATTEMPT: "You lose weight! You wait so long to pick up dress, you lose weight!" Hike up the bodice.

FIFTH ATTEMPT: Now the hem is too long. Hike up the bodice.

SIXTH ATTEMPT: By the way, we don't accept debit cards. Or credit cards. Or checks.

SEVENTH ATTEMPT: And we're not open on Saturday, either.

So if there's some somewhat classless overspillage, thou shalt not blame The Rack, powerful be its name. Just look what happens when you try to corral it.

homespun fun at:

Sunday, December 18, 2005

What Is This "Winning" Of Which You Speak?

Well now.

I'll accept it, of course, but I won't pretend to understand it. Beamed here from Detroit were Marvin Lewis all snuffly on the sidelines and a shoe-removing Chad Johnson (who made ESPN's Quote of the Day with the following: "I'll travel to all 52 states to see who can stop 85." Go ahead on, Chad.) Seeing as I could not bear responsibility for yet another loss, I intermittently watched White Christmas, a delicate ritual in and of itself, and by the time Bing Crosby unwrapped the cheap plastic white horse from Rosemary Clooney, the whole thing was done.

Oh, we love them now, of course. The Cincinnati airport was a world of Bengals. Delta tiger-striped the very luggage carousels: "The Official Airline of the World-Famous Cincinnati Bengals." Where was all this two years ago? Where were all the "Delta: Transporting the Cincinnati Bengals to Each Individual Loss Since 1992" posters?

still alive at:

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