Clothing Catastrophe

I hope that all of you have seen the film Legally Blonde. Remember when Warner broke up with Elle and she had spent all day picking out her outfit because she was planning on him proposing to her at the same restaurant that Madonna went into labor at? Well, he didn't propose, he in fact broke her heart, and soundly dropped her off at the front door and sped off. Well, these turn of events made that dress and new pair of pumps that she had been so sure were THE ones she wanted to be proposed to in, absolutely intolerable. In my mind, Elle, after climbing back up the spiral stair case of her sorority house, promptly went into the bathroom, and burned that hot pink cocktail dress in the bathtub fueling it with the perfume Warner bought her for Christmas. This of course, may not have happened, but it very possibly could have, and very well should.

Clothing is supposed to make you feel put together, beautiful, and confident(which, is why it kills me when people wear overalls with Eeyore or other such fictional characters embroidered on them..GAG..but that is a different story). But when we, like Elle Woods, are forced to go through traumatic experiences like break ups or something of another caliber it is my belief that we should immediately get rid of that outfit. I don't care if it is your favorite pair of jeans, or your most comfortable sweater, get rid of it. You will never have as enjoyable of an experience if you wear something that was present at the time of a traumatic occurrence.

I am speaking from experience, trust me. Today I wore this pink plaid shirt that used to be so cute to me, and I loved it, and I felt good in it, but then, one fateful day last August, I had an atrocious experience in it, and haven't worn it since. I was out of clean clothes today, and found that it was hanging in my closet. I decided, against my better judgement, to wear it, and all I day, all I could think about was that one day last August and it made me have a terrible mood. I now hate that shirt. I am throwing it away. By hanging on to it I am only hanging on to that memory, that I would much rather forget. It is cluttering my life, and closet space (which is limited as it is).

So, friends, I urge you, please make yourselves happy and get rid of all you bad memory clothing. Burn it, throw it away, donate it, for all you know, this unlucky blouse maybe someone else's blessing, but don't keep it. You are all to amazing and beautiful to be tied down by the bad memories that your fabrics can hold against you.

I am hoping this post makes sense. It is late, and it sounded good in my head. Loving you always! 12 hours before I am on the road to Vegas for Miss America!!

xox Opossums!!
William

Preparing for My Big Pageant!!

So Miss America is two days away.

Bex is going with me, we are taking her car, Dora. We will be staying on the Las Vegas strip in a luxurious room with champagne bubble baths and rhinestone bedframes.
There will be Cher and Wayne Newton themed pillows that decorate the beds and sofas!

I don't know what shoes I am going to pack, something conservative for my interview with the judges, something tall for my swimsuit, and of course something clean for my evening gown. Some one give me some ideas!!

I know this is a short posting, and it leaves you with no real sense of fulfillment, but please know that I will do much better tomorrow!

This is going to be our first adventure together and I think it is a fitting one, don't you?

I really do love each and everyone of you. Thank you so much for your support, even if I did threaten some of you within an inch of your life to become my followers on here. It really does mean a lot to me, and I know we are going to have so much fun!!

Love Y'all!!!
xoxo
William

Garments from Hell

I witnessed a 58 year old woman wearing a tube top today I almost hopped out of my car and slapped her to the ground to rip it off of her wrinkly body.

I hate tube tops. HATE THEM. I don't care if you are a 5'10 slender, flat stomached woman, or if you are a 300+ mess of a woman , no one should wear a tube top.

They are trashy.

Do you wish to rebuke this statement? Do men come up to you when you are wearing your tube top? Yes? Where are you when this happens? In your local biker bar? Oh, OK..and are these the type of men you want to marry? [If you are in a biker bar and wearing a tube top,I realize, yes, this is the man you will probably marry, but, otherwise,no]. And if on the off chance you do marry them, they are probably going to cheat on you with the first bedazzled tube top to cross his path after the honeymoon.

Why?

Because men have it programmed in their heads that "tube top" is code for skank, which, as a good rule of thumb, it is. And you may not be a skank at all. For all I know you are a Harvard law student who is working towards a high powered legal career, and the only reason you wore that tacky piece of shit is because that blonde girl, Cindy, from Malibu who you somehow ended up being roomies with junior year convinced you that that would be the perfect choice to wear for a girls night out.
Regardless, a man is going to take you as a skank and all that Harvard crap isn't going to matter, we all know what that tube top translates to in a straight mans head...sex. and skank.

If you feel like I am being overly dramatic about this topic, you may be right, but I am very ANTI. So anti in fact that I had to let my own mother know what I was thinking when she whipped out a little white number on me one fine spring day. We were sitting in her closet (yes, I was sitting in a closet..don't even try..it's too easy) and she was showing me her outfits she was packing for an all girls beach trip. Well you know, there were sundresses, and there were sandals, some cute jewelry...and then, tucked into her little duffel bag was a garment that will haunt my dreams forever. IT was this white tube top that LACED UP THE SIDES, like shoe string status! I completely blacked out I can't remember a thing, it wasn't until later when I awoke from my fashion coma, I asked her which corner of what bargain bin she salvaged it from, AND ARE YOU READY FOR THIS?! She borrowed it from my Aunt Sloane. And then went on to defend it! Saying that Sloane got all these guys looking and coming up to her when she was wearing it, at the FLORABAMA when they went on their last beach trip.

To give those of you an idea of how classy the Florabama is, they are hosting their 25th Annual Mullet Toss this year. Nice.


Now, I will say this, my mother and my Aunt Sloane, they are very well dressed women, and out of anyplace to wear a tube top, a beach bar is, I guess, the best choice. And, hell, if they are wearing tube tops somewhere that is proudly hosting a "Mullet Toss", they might be the more dressed up in the crowd.

My point being, even my mother and beloved aunt who I think are amazing, beautiful, smart, and independent women, are not safe from my war on tube tops.

Moral of Post: Tube Tops are Horrid. I don't care if they are full coverage, midriff, bedazzled, glittered, Ed Hardy,gold plated, rhinestone incrested, hell I wouldn't care if Jesus came back wearing one, I would tell him the same damn thing. TUBE TOPS ARE WRETCHED!!!

I hope that anyone reading this soundly burns their TT's, and every time you see someone wearing one, please roundhouse kick them in the face.

Thank you for your support.

William
xox

Bridget the Fancy Feast-er

I was talking to Bridget today. She quoted a line from Disney's "Bambi", she referred to some one being "twitterpated". I thought that this was a cross between the words 'to twitter' and 'masturbate', like, he got so excited about how many followers he had he started twitterpating about it. This is not the case. Apparently, to be twitterpated means to be excited or overly zealous about something or someone, it was used by Thumper the Rabbit in Bambi, which just goes to show that you are never too old to learn new things everyday.

She mocked me for not knowing this quote, because I am a self declared Disney fanatic, and it seemed that I had lost my touch. I, however, could not bear to watch this movie, or Dumbo. I hated that both of them lost their mothers (even if Dumbo did finally get reunited), and that in turn caused me to have a fear for most of my youth, of being obsessed with the thought I was going to lose my Mommie Dearest. So, Miss Amy cut me off of the depressing shit.

Bridget, now feeling awkward by my informing her of my inability to cope with these cartoon tragedies, felt obligated to contribute something strange about her childhood that would make me feel a little bit better about being the perfect Zoloft candidate at 4 years old. And boy did she deliver. This is what I got.

"Don't worry. When I was younger I used to lick my hand after feeding the cats."
"WHAT? Like after handling the food?"
"Don't judge me Mama's boy."

Touché.

xox.
William

*EDIT* After reading this entry my friend Bailey informed me that she "once" urinated in a pizza box as a child.

"When I was a kid for some reason I peed in a pizza box one time, and the threw it away in my kitchen I was a weird kid"

This leads me to the question...weren't we all weird kids? Tell me what you did that was weird..leave a commentskies!

Beers & Sticky Boobies

There are things that you and your best friends do that you will never forget for as long as you live. I was reminded of one such occurrence today when I was talking to my best friend, Bridget, and we started to gab about one of our adventures one fateful Homecoming night.

This was before the high heel craze, and I was just a little closet gay boy in Alabama, who had great hair, and new perfectly straight teeth, I was just beginning to get the hang of high school and come into my own. Bridget was the same as she is now, beautiful brown hair that is always perfectly curled with the aid of her hot rollers,and pearls with every outfit, even when she was playing basketball, which just goes to prove that she was, and is still a lady. This maybe the best time to mention that we have the same size feet, and as fate would have it,her secretly gay friend always tried on her stilettos, and now she is asking to borrow his. We were usually each other's back up dates to these sort of things, just so we don't appear to be dateless or pathetic, both of us with the understanding that if there was an available man at the function, we would bow out gracefully and race to see who could get his number first. This year, however, circumstances were different and Bridget had been asked by a junior, which was no matter to me because I had a secret weapon, her name opossums, is Audrey. The one thing you need to know about Audrey is that you never know what she is going to do next, she is a firecracker, a wild card, and it is the one quality that she has that has made me fall and remain deeply in love with her. Audrey came to homecoming at my school, that only had 144 people at the time, and turned my modest Catholic Boarding School on it's ear.. Most girls wore a long floor length dress made out of all kinds of hideous fibers that I wouldn't let come within a 23 foot radius of my body, and they all had ghastly up-do's that their pageant mothers did for them on the porch of their double wide, every hair held securely in place by copious amounts of Aqua Net and bobby pins. Audrey, however, came into that sorry excuse of a dance wearing a sassy and dangerously short teal flowy dress that showed off her long dancer legs, with her hair down, and wavy. She wore her show choir heels and told all the nun-wanna-be's that they were designer, Michael Kors or something, they were definitely $45 from a dance apparel store, but these people ate her up, they loved her, as anyone would, they thought she was a big city girl. We all danced, I showed her off, and that is when the trouble began. One girl, Marie, came up to us and asked us if we "really wanted to party". A note to anyone reading this that is in high school, and is approached by a "Marie" type person, always say "HELL NO MARIE YOU CRAZY FUCKER". Trust me, it will only save you many hours of stress and heartache. Naturally, Audrey was all about something, a little more exciting than the electric slide. So we follow Marie to a gas station that shares the same main road that our school does. Audrey and I pull up behind my friend Claire, who has a car full of Freshmen who in turn are all related to her. And then, our friend who will forever live in my mind as the Wootten drove up. The Wootten was the smaller scale version of Audrey, she was kind of a ding dong at times, but I always have loved her. So, the Wootten and Marie get out of their Cadillacs, yes two white 16 year old girls in Alabama drove matching pimped out Caddy's, I know, what the hell, and pulled out beers from their trunk. I am not going to lie to you, I was this little virgin gay boy who spent his time admiring shoes in Vogue magazine, the same little gay boy who had the fear of God put into him by his parents if they ever caught him drinking and driving, I started to panic. Audrey was all about this. I was petrified.

We each got handed a bottle of Bud Light. It was warm, Marie had gotten
"a guy she new" (that means one of the redneck boys who hangs out at the local Wal-Mart, who graduated high school three years earlier and dropped out of community college after a month because he was going to be in the Army, then he failed because of drugs or something, and now spends his days huntin' and fishin' and drinking Natty Light in the back of his pick-em-up truck, scamming on girls who are still in high school, because they are the easiest ones to convince to sleep with you because everyone your own age knows you are a dumb ass, you know, those types). We all sat in our cars, with open hot alcohol, in our hands waiting for the person in the next car over to take the first sip. The Wootten did it first. Then Claire, then Bridget, then me. I looked over at Audrey who handed hers to me, and told me to drink it, she was "watching her weight". I forced down two gulps of my beer, then I heard the sound of what I thought was a mix of God and my Mother in my head. "YOOOU ARE DRUNK! YOU CAN'T DRINK AND DRIVE!!" I just knew I was shit faced, those two gulps had rendered me unfit to drive and I started sweating, I was an alcoholic, a drunk, I was my GRANDMOTHER!! I turned to Audrey, who had her eyes bright and lit up. She had been planning to use this as her opportunity to drive LaRhetta, my car. She had been bugging me about it ever since I had gotten her, and now took complete advantage of the situation.

"You don't look like you should be driving, how many beers have you had? What if we get pulled over, what will your step dad do if he knows you were drinking and driving?"

She had me cornered.

I agreed to let her drive, but she had to go slowly, the radio had to be off, no cell phones were to be used whilst driving, and she had to keep her hands on the wheel.

PS Audrey didn't have a license.

So we all decide that we need to go back to the dance before someone wonders why all of our cars are parked across the street at the closed gas station that was in clear view from the school. We stashed the beer bottles in a bush in front of the store, and we all get back into our respective vehicles. I was coaching the license-less Audrey, "OK, put it into reverse, now check your mirrors..." She started to back up, slowly, as coached, and started to turn the wheel to back out of the lot. As she is turning the wheel, I will never forget this as long as I shall live, Marie's gray Cadillac slams into reverse and plows right into my car.

MY POOR LARHETTA was in her first accident! We were all stunned that this had happened. I just knew right then and there that the cops were going to show up and breathalyze me and send me to prison, Audrey was going to get the death penalty for driving without a license, and my poor car was going to be sent to a junk yard and sold for parts because no one else would ever buy such a beaten up heap of junk.

Marie got out of her car. Everyone else sat in complete silence, mainly because they thought that I was going to commit a homicide right there in the Pepco parking lot. I opened my car door and got out. My bumper lay there half hanging on with dear life to LaRhetta, half defeated on the slick black pavement.

All Marie could say was "Man, don't worry about it. It won't be that expensive of a fix." As she lit her Camel No. 9.

"It's a fucking Saab Marie! Windshield wiper fluid is expensive for this car!, " I shouted back.

Everyone is slowly starting to trickle out of their vehicles and Marie and I are in the midst of an all out screaming fest when we start to notice a lot of traffic on the road behind us. The dance had started to let out and people's parents were driving by, to pick up their sober, not screaming children up from Winter Homecoming.

Some cars started to honk at us. 11 of us in all, all in our formal wear standing around my broken car in 23 degree weather, wondering what the hell we were going to do.

I will tell you what we did, we panicked. Everyone fled to get into someone else's car so they could leave before anyones parents recognized them and pulled over to see what was happening. Bridget, my best friend in the entire world, yelled at me "See you back at school! Call me!" she jumped in Claire's car, and they drove off, Bridget's coral dress flapping in the door, leaving Marie and me to our own battle. Audrey is sitting in the car at this point, giggling & texting.

We stood there, in awe. We weren't sure what to do at this point. Then,the only remaining soul in the Pepco parking lot, the Wootten, lept out of her car doing what looked like, a boob massage. She was screaming "BOOOOBIES TO THE RESCUE!"
I asked her how much she had to drink, and that this want a time to talk about her mammary glands. She whipped out her fake sticky breasts that she was using to keep her dress up at the dance and adhered them to my bumper and stuck it back onto my car. It was amazing. It worked. The Wootten was my hero. We decided that I would worry about fixing my bumper later, and I would call Marie in the morning with an estimate.

Audrey drove us up to the dance, right as it was letting out, everyone staring at the two C-cup stick on's that LaRhetta was wearing, the monks and nuns that were chaperoning eyed Audrey and I wearily as we walked across the quad. I looked around so I could yell at Bridget, but I couldn't find her. Audrey and I had a final dance, and then decided we wanted IHOP, I was going back to get in my car when I noticed a coral dress sticking out of someone else's car. I went over to the window, of the old stank ass pick up truck and saw my best friend having her face licked, seriously, licked, by the junior boy who had asked her to the dance, Robby. Robby was so frightening, a nice comparison would be that of a goblin. I, at first thought that I was still drunk from my two gulps of beer, but nope, it was happening. I died laughing at the scene, and Bridget gratefully got out of the car, vowing to never leave me stranded again at a gas station as long as she ever lived. Having to make out with Robby, I figured was punishment enough, so I let it slide.
And went to Ihop.

I came up with some lie to my stepfather about this situation the next morning, it must have worked, because I am alive today to tell it. Don't ever go to parking lots and drink warm beer purchased by a redneck. It just isn't worth your time.

xox
William

Sherrell is a Super Freak...

Here is something amazing.

If anyone is actually following this blog, you are now aware based on my previous entry that I am completely obsessed with the Tudors on Showtime. Well, I am here to tell you that I was telling my mother about it and she was quick to inform me that Sherrell, my grandmother, has told her that "the Tudors" was her favorite show too. My grandmother and I share the same love for soft-core pornographic TV programs about European Royalty.

What a bond my family shares.


xox.
William

I Need a Tudor...

I have come across my newest obsession. I am very outraged that no one had told me about it earlier, but I came across it last night when I couldn't find anything else to watch On Demand. "The Tudors". Oh. My. God.

All I really have to say about this is how much more enjoyable my AP European History class in high school would have been if we had gotten to watch the Showtime version of this family. Who knew that King Henry VIII was so sexy? With his ripped lean body, white beautiful teeth, 5 o'clock shadow...oh sweet Lord, is he chiseled out of stone?! OK, so maybe this isn't the most accurate version of the story (physically) but, I mean, I am not going to lie to you, watching this is more enjoyable than watching porn..for real. The soft-core adult content is so intriguing that I couldn't turn it off! I watched 5 episodes last night!

Needless to say, I am a fan, you should be too. You will thank me.

xox

Bitch and Whiinneee

Tonight I decided I needed a drink after work. It was a long day, and I was tense and I thought I would relax. However, I have been really upset with my eating habits and I didn't want to over do it with the extra calories that alcohol provides, so I decided in the best interest of my curvy figure, and my heart, I would only have a glass of red wine. Well, that one glass came and went. And by God and Sweet Sonny Jesus, I wanted another. My brain kept screaming at me to not do it, that I didn't need it, but my hand started going towards the bottle. Then, genius struck me. I decided that if I were to have another drink it should be a healthier version, so why not make a wine smoothie? This, was where I went wrong. I don't really make smoothies that often, in fact, ever. So I had to kind of improvise with what I had in my fridge, and let my own creative concoction take it's course from there. All I had were bananas, ice cubes, and grapes. The grapes were looking kind of puny, but I threw them anyway. Let me explain opossums, this was the worst idea I have had in a while. And I often have bad ideas (let us reference when I decided to save time and Nair my face because I didn't feel like spending time shaving), but this was RANCID.

A. Don't ever think that green grapes and bananas are ever going to taste good together. They don't.
B. Wine should only come in one form, in a wine glass, straight, no added flavors or ingredients, or else you will regret it.
C. If anyone ever tries convince you that there is a healthier form of preparing an alcoholic beverage, kick them in the shins and slap them in the throat, and tell them to give you the regular version. The extra 12 calories aren't going to kill you.

After tasting this horrid mixture I immediately tossed it in the sink, and had to consume the rest of the wine to make the potent taste disappear. In result, my little lambchops, in attempts to watch my weight, I ended up getting completely tipsy... Alas, the price you pay when you try to count your calories.

Goodnight Opossums. xox
William

Pants Party

There is a man in our office building not wearing pants. I wish I was joking. He is wandering around PANTLESS. He isn't even staying stationary, he is moving around the office covering his middle aged wrinkled up junk with his horrible polyester shirt. And what is the most horrific part of this story? Everyone else knew about it and didn't tell me, I had to witness it. Yes. My poor little eyes had to bear witness to this chicken legged catastrophe roaming the halls. You may be asking yourself, why is he not wearing any knickers? Answer: He spilled tea on them. So in his mind, it would only make sense to take them off and place them on the fan so they could dry. He covered a fan up with his nasty ass drawers and continued to walk around bare bottomed. I am making it sound like he wasn't wearing any underwear, but let me tell you friends, there was no VPL (visible panty line), so unless he is wearing a thong, I am going to make a bold statement and say he was going commando...that's right. More to come.
Love you Opossums! xox
William

They Was My Magic Shoes...

"My momma always said you can tell a lot about a person by their shoes, where the go, where they've been. I've worn lots of shoes"


This is the first entry that I am making on this blog. I think the protocol is to introduce myself, tell you what I do, what makes me special, and why I am here. Well, I am William, I live out as many adventures as possible, I wear high heels, and I am here to share my stories with you. I am not a drag queen, or a tranny, I am simply a boy in heels. I don't remember the first pair of heels that I put on, but I remember that they made me feel unstoppable, and I was an immediate expert in them, I am talking Tyra status. So. I wear them. Some people wear a helmet when they learn to ride a skateboard, I wear pumps. Some people go hiking boots, I prefer stilettos. I am sure you get the picture.

So, through out the course of my travelings and escapades, I will keep you informed and hopefully entertained, with my shenanigans.
xoxo

William