I was raised in Germany by a wonderful extended family that harped on being morally and ethically correct at all times. During times of conflict or when someone was just being plain nasty, I was reminded to be the “bigger person” and to “take the high road”, which I always did, and it always resulted in me feeling not quite fulfilled. There was always something lacking by taking the high road. A feeling of missed opportunity to make it known how you were really feeling about said person or situation. There was no thrill in taking the high road, being the bigger person or attracting more bees with honey.
It just so happened that thousands of miles away in Tennessee, there was another Jennifer being raised in a similar manor. Her morally inclined mother, with a hint of southern charm, made it known to her to never be ugly to anyone, no matter what.
Fast forward twenty-five years or so, where Jennifer and I meet. Its love at first sight. She has the hair I have always dreamed of, and I have the height she so desires. I get her olives from pizzas and salads and such, since she can’t stomach them, and in turn, she is privy to and endless supply of fungus (or some of you might call “mushrooms”). She completes me. She had me at “Hi Ya’ll”. Together we are one fully functional person. Our one true passion in life- Carbs- of all sorts. Delicious bagels, breads, pastries, biscuits….you get the idea. (This random mention of our shared passion becomes relevant further down the line.)
On an average day in the midst of my late twenties, I once again was presented with the cross road of taking the high road or as I like to call, the “Low Road”, as an individual provoked me on a social networking site and was being belligerent about someone I really cared about. I had had enough of the high road so to speak, and for once, I wanted to frolic about on the low road, in fact…I was going to do it, I was going to plain JIG on that low road. Low road jigging, a fanciful dance that is done right as you know you’re about to do the wrong thing. Ethically you know better, way better. And you weigh the consequences to make sure it will be worth it. My schmoop and I don’t low road jig often, and when we do it has to be merited, and we are well prepared for the consequences…..as our karma is almost instant.
As I low road jigged into my festival of retaliation back on that very same social networking site, I felt instantly relived. My schmoop of course, assisted in the poking, prodding and making a mockery out of that person, who had purposely sought me out to provoke me and or to get the attention of the person they were speaking ill of. I felt elated and did a proper jig on that low road- arms extended and fingers pointed as I did what is similar to the twist with bizarrely added marching bit at the end. I do believe the individual it was aimed at got my point!!!!!!
Later that day, schmoop and I picked up a pack of our favorite bagels so that we could enjoy a wonderful breakfast at the office for the week- Everything Einstein Bagels from Costco. We were excited about our impending carb binge for the next morning. We arrive the next morning ready to partake in our carbathon, only to realize……that the bagels we had just gotten……WERE MOLDLY, as our joint slow motion “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” escaped our lips… we knew what had just happened. It was the revenge of the low road karma, because we knew better and did anyways. We looked at each other with a look of defeat, and knew we had just been punished in a way that only the universe would. Horrible and cruel, it took our beloved bagels from us that day as we uttered “dam nit LOW ROAD!!!!!!!”
Nowadays we do try to prepare for such an occasion. We assess the situation wisely, making sure it will be worth every consequence before we dare Low Road Jig. Sometimes we put the bagels in the freezer, they can’t mold there…(can they?) but we know our karma will find us where ever we go and no matter where our bagels are. Whenever we get the urge to low road jig, we just give each other that glance and nod with that devilish look on our face….Hide the bagels!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Any day of the week we all ask ourselves the same questions... do I look fat in this outfit, is my hair ok, can I afford that pair of heels, where in the h-e-double hockey sticks are my keys, did I have kids to torture myself, is my cat/dog on crack, why did I do that?????????? Well, in the true spirit of being southern I invite you to get a load of the misadventures that may or may not happen to you, but you will be able to relate to! Myself and my bff if you would, my Schmoopie, have had the most amazing incidents happen purely by accident and are going to sacrifice our pride to bring a good laugh or make you understand that if you are in fact a klutz, you are not alone. All those bad days you've had and all those moments you thought to yourself "this would never happen to anyone else but me", guess what... it's happened to us too!!! So, visit us at thescreamingpig.blogspot.com and have a chuckle on us, we have one on ourselves! Laughter after all is the best medicine!
Monday, August 23, 2010
Once upon a time in a land not so magical live two far from fairy princesses. While seemingly put together with big shades, pearls and fierce shoes they had one undeniable downfall, their kryptonite you might say… cuffed pants… These delightful looking, outfit making, ingenious ways to accent shoes are in fact the reason for the bruises, bumps, scrapes, coffee stains on the wall, swearing in the office at 8:00 a.m., tears for broken shoes, and utter and complete humiliation. One false move in these babies and these vixens are toast!! How you might ask?? I will explain the karmatic occurrences that have led to the tossing of the fashionable prisons into the trash, sewing the cuffs shut and/or being reduced to flats.
First I think I should introduce myself… my name is Jen aka Grace. I didn’t get that nickname by chance ohhhh noooooo I EARNED IT!!! I’m the sweet southern grit of a girl with big hair, big booo..ts, blue eyes and a knack for falling. In fact I think instead of those charming falling rock signs you see on the side of the road I should be adorned with a watch for falling idiot bumper sticker at all times! I have managed to just about start a comedy act by purely trying to get from point A to point B. Oh yes I am that girl, the girl you see and smile at and then immediately wonder where she went only to find yourself tripping over her while she picks up whatever she’s dropped or dusts off her knees from doing the superman move without the magical flying talent… I’m a klutz, I can admit it, and it is after all the first step to recovery!
My partner in crime, as you might say, the other half of this blog, is Jenny. Yes we are 80s babies, the decade every girl was named Jennifer it seems, that way we could all graduate together and get whiplash in the halls from someone yelling Jennifer… Around the office we are Jenny squared, to each other we are Schmoopies (we are Seinfeld fans). My Schmoopie is a German Lass tall and long legged, green eyed, with all the poise of Audrey Hepburn and the vintage of a great 20s flapper.
Now that we have that out of the way, let’s get back to the topic at hand…
Cuffed pants-any style of pant with the big rolled upwards thick or thin strip of fabric.
Let me first say that these pants are phenomenal looking! If you have shoes you want to get noticed, put a pair on, if you have thick anything put a wide leg pair on, if you have a great jacket and need great pants, guess what, yep, these would look fabulous! They are really an asset to your wardrobe. Okkkkkkkkkkk, now that I’ve given them a compliment, in true southern fashion I will now tell you what I think of these sadistic, twisted, masochist, assisted suicide machines. The typical pair of cuffed pants means that the rim is secured on two sides, the left and right side of your ankle by a strip of carefully planned thread… the other part of this is left unattached to the pant. Let’s talk about that… the typical shoe obsessed woman has in her wardrobe the pointy toed 3-4 inch beauties with the spiked heels. Put this together, loose flap of material, 3-4 inch spiked heel. 2+2=4. One step that isn’t carefully planned on a staircase leads to the banister act of Tarzan proportions while tossing whatever you have in your hand into the wind, screaming for your life, and of course, my favorite part of all… this all getting caught on camera for people to later watch laughing as hard as they can with popcorn probably wearing 3-D glasses and repeating it in slow motion.
Then there are the times these dastardly creatures have wide legs, these are especially dangerous to my kind. Wide legs swing when you walk… let’s discuss my shoe obsession again, pointy, tall, thin heels. Now let’s go back to the pants and put this equation together… pointy heels + swinging wide non-secured cuffs = certain death. For example: along with fantastic feet decor I’m also a coffee addict, it isn’t pretty, but it’s the truth, I love my cup of Joe, I treasure it, it completes me… Let’s go back to the equation portion of the hour… steaming hot lovely cup of Joe + pointy heels + wide cuff (did I mention not sewn all the way around) = stains from your head to your feet, smoldering eyeballs, humiliation, 30 minutes with Windex and resolve and endless amounts of unprofessional verbiage. I can bet you that if coffee stains show up on with a black light this office looks like a scene from the goriest horror film ever!!
I’d like to mull over a little thing called Karma to end this rant about my uncertain demise brought on by fashion. My Schmoopie would be the key player in this, she is learning the Karma clause, and it’s a tricky one, pay attention. When you see an unfortunate soul like me who is more concerned with looking great than my physical well being do not under any circumstances giggle at their misfortune! For example, I wore my favorite pair of Jen killers into the office, they are light beige with a thin stripe, along with my favorite heels, and I got a cup of coffee on the way to the front office. Are you with me? I’m minding my own business walking up the hallway and apparently all those years I’ve walked didn’t do me a bit of good, I now manage to step wrong and into my cuff and ladies I’m telling you it’s like putting your heels in tar it AINT coming out… I wiggle I try to get my foot out, I now look like I’m in a straight jacket from the knees down and then it happens, the last wrong move… I lung forward while flinging my coffee (which does the most impressive somersault Olympians would be jealous of) I try to step again, I fail, I land with a thud on the carpet covered all over with coffee and humiliation. Whatever pride I had left after I scraped myself out of the carpet was immediately erased when I realize that I even have coffee stains UNDER my cardigan. Mind you this is 8:15 a.m. and I don’t get to change, my outfit that was a confidence boost has now turned into my worst nightmare, never mind the fact that it’s early and I want to suck the caffeine out of my attire just to get a fix. Anyhooooo… Karma… Jenny decides that this is the funniest show she has ever seen and proceeds to laugh hard enough and long enough for me to clean the walls, floor and have round spots all over my body from desperate scrubs with soft soap/dial and water to try and salvage my clothes. Needless to say I, not being amused, get to work and as soon as she can gather herself she goes downstairs to where she will be plunging through the day. After her giggle she steps off the stairs, TRIPS, and flings her head into the wall… I love instant Karma, it happens every time. Beware, it’s easy to cackle at the less fortunate but unless you are a high wire phenomenon you best mind your Ps and Qs because that laugh could cost you!!!
To end this tale I will confess that the two of us are no longer allowed, yes allowed, by our bosses to wear these angels of death. We have to prove the cuff is sewn all the way around or have a pair of flats to be permitted to leave our seats! In my defense I have only splattered coffee all over the entire office, fallen up the stairs, back down them, in the hall, leaving the restroom, walking from my chair to the copier and there was that one time I ended up in the street. It’s been 8 months since I’ve quit the cuffs and other than a few jitters and shakes I can say that it has been an overall good decision and that my ankles, wrists, pride and wardrobe now thank me. As far as Schmoopie goes, she keeps her giggles brief and walks with certain concentration.
And now you know all about how two seemingly put together people have met their certain confidence demise with these wickedly nifty kryptonite devices.