Some people have been asking who I am, what I am about; so here are some things that I thought of to give you a better idea... I hope you enjoy!
•I am a sassypants 24/7.
•High Heels make me feel powerful, and I can run in almost any pair you throw my way, the higher the better.
•I am going to live as many adventures in my life as I can, in high heels…
•I talk to my hair; I believe that it makes it look better.
•Hairspray is my favorite scent in the world.
•I have an accent, it’s cute.
•I live in a hobbit hole in Los Angeles, and wouldn’t have it any other way.
•I care about intellectual pursuits.
•I don’t think walking in the rain sounds like fun at all, actually, and people who say it is romantic, it isn’t it’s obnoxious and cliché.
•I take chances, I am pretty ballsy.
•I laugh at the most inopportune times (like at funerals or in business meetings).
•I believe in romance, chivalry, and manners.
•If I were a drink, I would be champagne, because I am bubbly, classy, and after enough of me you may get a headache…
•If I were a color I would be orange, take that for what you will.
•I think everyone is pretty. OK, so not really, but I think that everyone should be told they are.
•Auburn Football is the only sport I watch, other than figure skating, tennis, volleyball and cheerleading nationals. (I do love playing sports though, a lot.)
•I root for the underdogs, usually, unless they like, really suck.
•I HATE mayonnaise, tube tops, & clogs/crocs.
•I tell everyone that I am not afraid of anything, I wish that was true, but I am terrified of failure & super paranoid about being in a car wreck…and birds.
•I steal kisses, but not lip-gloss ;)
•I am TOO nice to homeless people & old folks.
•I tip well, if I have any money left over from the homeless people’s fund.
•I believe in astrology, love, and karma.
•My mom is my err-thang. I love her, so so much. My best friend.
•The most important thing to me is to be the best big brother possible to Isabell, Walker & Bailey.
•I have a mild obsession with most of the series shows on Showtime (United States of Tara, The Tudors, etc.)
•I am not going to lie; I love Cher, Bette, Barbara, Liza, RuPaul, Whitney, Tina, Aretha, Madonna, etc.
•If it sparkles or has buttons, I can’t help but touch it.
•I speak too quickly sometimes, I am a mumbler…
•I think my sister Isabell could be a model, she is gorgeous…tell her, she doesn’t believe me.
•I can quote Clueless, Legally Blonde and Mommie Dearest without missing a word.
•I have 3 tattoos.
•I am constantly looking for my Mr. Right, even though I am too young to even be looking for one..I am sure he is 6’0-6’2 blonde white, mixed, or Brazilian. Straight teeth, striking eyes. Good jaw line, a dog, and a SUV. Regardless, he has an accent. Make it happen, ladies.
•Bee.
•I think that all men should own a “murse” or two…why not?
•I watch YouTube religiously.
•I am full of surprises, you never know what you are going to hear, see, or get next.
Now I want some interesting facts about you. :)
xoxo
Willicious
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Monday, February 22, 2010
TeVa's, Kitten Heels, and Clogs
I think that I am in the twilight zone. That is the only explanation that I can think of, because no one, not even Helen Keller herself, would commit the heinous crimes against footwear that I have recently witnessed.
I know as faithful subscribers that none of you have, or would ever think of doing what I am about to preach against, but I just have to tell you this, I will never take you seriously if you do any of the listed below, I will write you off for having fewer brain cells than I gave you credit for, and cut ties with you.
1. The Man Wearing TeVa's and Crew Socks.
2. The Woman Wearing Open Toed KITTEN Heels With Footie Nylons.
3. Clogs.
The man wearing TeVa's and Crew Socks is something that is not uncommon to see, I am sure that we have all have witnessed this distressing fiasco. He falls under the category of "Victim" as soon as the hippie sales clerk at the local outdoors store convinces him that they are still "in", when in reality TeVa's went out of style with the mid-90's, how they are still in production is beyond me.
Now, before my tree hugging followers get on their soapbox about how great TeVa's are, I will be the first to say, yes, some of their stuff has progressed to be somewhat stylish, but I am talking the Velcro strap sandals that everyone wore when they were jamming "The Cranberries" and playing hacky sack. Frat boys and girls who don't shave their legs can usually be found sporting the TeVa "fashion", and it is these groups alone that can be written off as the exception to the Anti-TeVa Rule. With this said, the only way to make TeVa's look worse is by matching them with SOCKS(any kind of socks, but my experiences lead me to believe that people love wearing crew socks the most with TeVa's)! I was in line at a deli when the 33+ man came in and was wearing a fitted muscle T-shirt and a baseball hat, and I was like, "Ohh hey!!" (Because he was cute in like a grungy way), then I saw that he had matched his TeVa sandals with his crew socks, and he had his sweatpants TUCKED IN. GAG. The cute grungy effect disappeared real quick, like an erection in a snowstorm. Birkenstocks and Crocs are also in the realm of the NO SOCK ZONE.
Today I saw a woman, who committed a double whammy. The first of these was the wretched Kitten heel. For those of you unfamiliar with this term it is referring to the teeny tiny heels that are like .32 inches, that ultimately serve no purpose, and make you look like an idiot for even trying, Michelle Obama is the Queen Offender in the kitten heel pandemic; if you are tempted to wear these because you are "too tall" or "can't walk in high heels", rise above the urge and sacrifice the 1/8 of an inch and go with a pair of sassy flats, you will look far more put together. On top of this obvious fashion NO NO, she committed the cardinal sin of footwear; she wore the nylon footies that you use to try them on in the store!!! WHAT THE HELL?! NO MA'AM! Take those off right now! I have used the footies to get a newer shoe to go one easier, but I
A. would never wear them with open toe shoes and shorts
B. cut off the tops of them so you can't tell they are in the shoe.
This whole scenario, hopefully, speaks for itself, I don't feel like anyone is going to say "What is wrong with this?" because in my book this is like seeing someone get murdered. If you witness a murder, you contact the police. If you witness footies with open-toe kitten heels, you call the fashion police and report a serial killer.
Then there are clogs. Someone said clogs are becoming fashionable again. I just can't stomach this, I hate clogs. A "girl I know" owns, and wears, her studded orange clogs in public. It makes me sick. If we aren't going to pick tulips or participate in Riverdance, let's leave the clogs at home my little chickens.
In conclusion, I think since sexual predators have to notify everyone within 400 yards of their home that they have a record, the following people should also have to send out a warning to their neighbors as well:
A. Anyone who owns kitten heels, TeVa's, or clogs.
B. Anyone with access to nylon footies that may own any of the before mentioned in section "A".
C. Michelle Obama (seeing as how she is a repeat offender of both crimes)
What are some other footwear faux pas' that you can't stand?
Loving. Meaning.
xoxox
William
I know as faithful subscribers that none of you have, or would ever think of doing what I am about to preach against, but I just have to tell you this, I will never take you seriously if you do any of the listed below, I will write you off for having fewer brain cells than I gave you credit for, and cut ties with you.
1. The Man Wearing TeVa's and Crew Socks.
2. The Woman Wearing Open Toed KITTEN Heels With Footie Nylons.
3. Clogs.
The man wearing TeVa's and Crew Socks is something that is not uncommon to see, I am sure that we have all have witnessed this distressing fiasco. He falls under the category of "Victim" as soon as the hippie sales clerk at the local outdoors store convinces him that they are still "in", when in reality TeVa's went out of style with the mid-90's, how they are still in production is beyond me.
Now, before my tree hugging followers get on their soapbox about how great TeVa's are, I will be the first to say, yes, some of their stuff has progressed to be somewhat stylish, but I am talking the Velcro strap sandals that everyone wore when they were jamming "The Cranberries" and playing hacky sack. Frat boys and girls who don't shave their legs can usually be found sporting the TeVa "fashion", and it is these groups alone that can be written off as the exception to the Anti-TeVa Rule. With this said, the only way to make TeVa's look worse is by matching them with SOCKS(any kind of socks, but my experiences lead me to believe that people love wearing crew socks the most with TeVa's)! I was in line at a deli when the 33+ man came in and was wearing a fitted muscle T-shirt and a baseball hat, and I was like, "Ohh hey!!" (Because he was cute in like a grungy way), then I saw that he had matched his TeVa sandals with his crew socks, and he had his sweatpants TUCKED IN. GAG. The cute grungy effect disappeared real quick, like an erection in a snowstorm. Birkenstocks and Crocs are also in the realm of the NO SOCK ZONE.
Today I saw a woman, who committed a double whammy. The first of these was the wretched Kitten heel. For those of you unfamiliar with this term it is referring to the teeny tiny heels that are like .32 inches, that ultimately serve no purpose, and make you look like an idiot for even trying, Michelle Obama is the Queen Offender in the kitten heel pandemic; if you are tempted to wear these because you are "too tall" or "can't walk in high heels", rise above the urge and sacrifice the 1/8 of an inch and go with a pair of sassy flats, you will look far more put together. On top of this obvious fashion NO NO, she committed the cardinal sin of footwear; she wore the nylon footies that you use to try them on in the store!!! WHAT THE HELL?! NO MA'AM! Take those off right now! I have used the footies to get a newer shoe to go one easier, but I
A. would never wear them with open toe shoes and shorts
B. cut off the tops of them so you can't tell they are in the shoe.
This whole scenario, hopefully, speaks for itself, I don't feel like anyone is going to say "What is wrong with this?" because in my book this is like seeing someone get murdered. If you witness a murder, you contact the police. If you witness footies with open-toe kitten heels, you call the fashion police and report a serial killer.
Then there are clogs. Someone said clogs are becoming fashionable again. I just can't stomach this, I hate clogs. A "girl I know" owns, and wears, her studded orange clogs in public. It makes me sick. If we aren't going to pick tulips or participate in Riverdance, let's leave the clogs at home my little chickens.
In conclusion, I think since sexual predators have to notify everyone within 400 yards of their home that they have a record, the following people should also have to send out a warning to their neighbors as well:
A. Anyone who owns kitten heels, TeVa's, or clogs.
B. Anyone with access to nylon footies that may own any of the before mentioned in section "A".
C. Michelle Obama (seeing as how she is a repeat offender of both crimes)
What are some other footwear faux pas' that you can't stand?
Loving. Meaning.
xoxox
William
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Poltergeist Phenom
Does anyone know anything about poltergeists?
I am sure I have one living in my house. Every time I turn on my TV it is playing TNA wrestling, no matter what station I leave it on it always comes up. There is no other explanation for this other than that of a poltergeist living in here with me.
I am not afraid of this fact, he seems to be a nice poltergeist who just has a habit of watching fake wrestling.
I am not going to lie, I started to watch a couple minutes of the "sport", and when I had decided I had lost enough brain cells, I turned it off, but in that wretched 10 minutes I realized that there really isn't a gayer sport than wrestling.
These guys are greased up and muscled to the max, rolling around in spankies. That sounds like a Saturday night in my book! And let's also notice how synchronized and fluid all of these "moves" are. It is like a weird lesbian ballet, I mean they incorporate leather vests (with fringe) and knee high doc-martins...let's be real.
Anyway I am naming my poltergeist Carlton. I feel that it is fitting.
And before any of you think that I am being dramatic or that I am not knowledgeable on the topic, I used to have a ghost in my old house when I lived with my parents, his name was Mule Jimmy, and he was a nice soul who always turned our ceiling fans on when it was too hot for him.
And I also had an imaginary friend when I was four, and named him Judd, I blamed him for all of the bad that I used to do, like cursing ( I would say, "I didn't say it, Judd said it"). So I think I know what I am talking about, I am an expert in the supernatural if I do say so myself.
But, since this is my first experience with a poltergeist, please give me any advie that you may have.
Tell me about your supernatural experiences!!
Love you all!
William (&& Carlton)
I am sure I have one living in my house. Every time I turn on my TV it is playing TNA wrestling, no matter what station I leave it on it always comes up. There is no other explanation for this other than that of a poltergeist living in here with me.
I am not afraid of this fact, he seems to be a nice poltergeist who just has a habit of watching fake wrestling.
I am not going to lie, I started to watch a couple minutes of the "sport", and when I had decided I had lost enough brain cells, I turned it off, but in that wretched 10 minutes I realized that there really isn't a gayer sport than wrestling.
These guys are greased up and muscled to the max, rolling around in spankies. That sounds like a Saturday night in my book! And let's also notice how synchronized and fluid all of these "moves" are. It is like a weird lesbian ballet, I mean they incorporate leather vests (with fringe) and knee high doc-martins...let's be real.
Anyway I am naming my poltergeist Carlton. I feel that it is fitting.
And before any of you think that I am being dramatic or that I am not knowledgeable on the topic, I used to have a ghost in my old house when I lived with my parents, his name was Mule Jimmy, and he was a nice soul who always turned our ceiling fans on when it was too hot for him.
And I also had an imaginary friend when I was four, and named him Judd, I blamed him for all of the bad that I used to do, like cursing ( I would say, "I didn't say it, Judd said it"). So I think I know what I am talking about, I am an expert in the supernatural if I do say so myself.
But, since this is my first experience with a poltergeist, please give me any advie that you may have.
Tell me about your supernatural experiences!!
Love you all!
William (&& Carlton)
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Hula Hoops, Snaggle Teeth, and Anti-Valentine's Day
I know, I know. I am a horrible person, and I haven't been blogging.
I hate to use this excuse, but I have been really tied up with work and whatnot and every night I get home I am completely drained, and therefore, I am sorry that I have been delinquent in my entries. You will be pleased to know however, that I do have some exciting things to talk about.
1. I have discovered that my newest talent (that I should probably enter into a world record book) is Hula Hooping in Platforms. Yes. I know, it sounds like I am making this up, but fear not my friends, anything that I state that I can do in high heels, is not a lie, and I am willing to be tested on the validity at anytime. I was in my backyard with my roomie Michael and his girlfriend Angela (we die for her) and we were trying on all my shoes (me and Ang, not Mike), and as I put on my platform leopard print peeps (you may remember these from the Vegas Cop story), I spotted a hula hoop. I trotted on over to the multi-colored ring of goodness, and you can take it from there. I am not perfect yet, but I am pretty damn good, I haven't hula hooped since William Turdley's 6th grade pool party.
2. I had lunch with Sarah on Saturday. We went Valentine's day shopping at the Beverly Center and she insisted on buying me a thong, which, to her surprise, and for your clarification, I did NOT already own. Whilst we were browsing for the perfect butt floss, I got a text message from a number that I didn't have saved in my phone. It read: "Walk away like a dog with your tail between you legs.."
Ok..
If you are ever going to send a text message that is trying to be "aggressive" please don't use sayings that are ridiculously lame. My grandmother Sherrell wouldn't even fathom to put something this moronic in a text, even if she knew how to send one.
So just as I am leaving Bath & Body Works, still high from sniffing their moderately priced body spray, I run right into my old neighbor LaBrina. LaBrina, I knew from my old apartment complex, she used to get drunk and have crazy hot sex in the apartment above mine, and then come down and drink all of my tequila, from the bottle, as if it were water. While she is a little crazy, I still like her, she hasn't really ever done anything to me. Well, it took me a minute to realize it is her (fumes from the Cucumber Melon Body Spray were clouding my head), and then I saw the company she was with, and right then and there, I KNEW who sent the "anonymous" text message.
She was there with a boy who had the ugliest haircut I had ever seen in my entire life, raggy unflattering clothing from Hollister (remind me to tell you my hatred of Hollister later), and the most heinous man purse (it is the size of a crayon box, with a spaghetti strap type string), he was, sadly enough, my ex-roomate Grayson. There is so much drama with Grayson, it is way to long of a story for this entry, but just know that he is a user, and won't succeed in life.
So Grayson apparently saw me in Forever 21 as I was trying on a rainbow hoodie (Sarah's suggestion), and thought that when I saw him I was "running away like a dog with my tail between my legs". This made me so mad that he thinks that I would run away from him. He looks like Alfalfa with that weird ass cowlick, and snaggle-teeth, the only thing I am afraid of is catching his stupidity, he oozes with it. I had to give him the HEAVE HO when I moved to my new house. He is a leech. We all have one, and we all need to get rid of them.
Ugh..
3. The third topic is that Valentine's Day is the most pointless day of the year. I realize that only single people usually say this, but I have to express my hatred. If there is a Scrooge for Valentine's Day, it is William. Why would anyone in their right mind spend $94.00 on roses that look like they have been sitting in the same delivery van since last Valentine's Day, and are overrun with baby's breath (PS adding baby's breath to an arrangement is the equivalent of "bedazzling" in floral shops, it is tacky used to cover up the fact that the quality is poor to start with)? Overpriced candy, Valentine's cards, expensive dinners, it is all material. And I realize that we are Material Girls and we live in a material world, but velvet stuffed bears and chocolates in red cellophane are not the materials I want to be around anyway, give me diamonds.
Enough with the ranting already. My house warming is this weekend. I hope to the LAWD it is fun!
Loving all of you!
OXOX
William
PS. And while I am very grateful that you are all reading, please please leave comments, suggestions, etc., so I can have some feedback! Our new website is coming soon, but tell your friends to become followers now anyways! Love you Opossums!!
I hate to use this excuse, but I have been really tied up with work and whatnot and every night I get home I am completely drained, and therefore, I am sorry that I have been delinquent in my entries. You will be pleased to know however, that I do have some exciting things to talk about.
1. I have discovered that my newest talent (that I should probably enter into a world record book) is Hula Hooping in Platforms. Yes. I know, it sounds like I am making this up, but fear not my friends, anything that I state that I can do in high heels, is not a lie, and I am willing to be tested on the validity at anytime. I was in my backyard with my roomie Michael and his girlfriend Angela (we die for her) and we were trying on all my shoes (me and Ang, not Mike), and as I put on my platform leopard print peeps (you may remember these from the Vegas Cop story), I spotted a hula hoop. I trotted on over to the multi-colored ring of goodness, and you can take it from there. I am not perfect yet, but I am pretty damn good, I haven't hula hooped since William Turdley's 6th grade pool party.
2. I had lunch with Sarah on Saturday. We went Valentine's day shopping at the Beverly Center and she insisted on buying me a thong, which, to her surprise, and for your clarification, I did NOT already own. Whilst we were browsing for the perfect butt floss, I got a text message from a number that I didn't have saved in my phone. It read: "Walk away like a dog with your tail between you legs.."
Ok..
If you are ever going to send a text message that is trying to be "aggressive" please don't use sayings that are ridiculously lame. My grandmother Sherrell wouldn't even fathom to put something this moronic in a text, even if she knew how to send one.
So just as I am leaving Bath & Body Works, still high from sniffing their moderately priced body spray, I run right into my old neighbor LaBrina. LaBrina, I knew from my old apartment complex, she used to get drunk and have crazy hot sex in the apartment above mine, and then come down and drink all of my tequila, from the bottle, as if it were water. While she is a little crazy, I still like her, she hasn't really ever done anything to me. Well, it took me a minute to realize it is her (fumes from the Cucumber Melon Body Spray were clouding my head), and then I saw the company she was with, and right then and there, I KNEW who sent the "anonymous" text message.
She was there with a boy who had the ugliest haircut I had ever seen in my entire life, raggy unflattering clothing from Hollister (remind me to tell you my hatred of Hollister later), and the most heinous man purse (it is the size of a crayon box, with a spaghetti strap type string), he was, sadly enough, my ex-roomate Grayson. There is so much drama with Grayson, it is way to long of a story for this entry, but just know that he is a user, and won't succeed in life.
So Grayson apparently saw me in Forever 21 as I was trying on a rainbow hoodie (Sarah's suggestion), and thought that when I saw him I was "running away like a dog with my tail between my legs". This made me so mad that he thinks that I would run away from him. He looks like Alfalfa with that weird ass cowlick, and snaggle-teeth, the only thing I am afraid of is catching his stupidity, he oozes with it. I had to give him the HEAVE HO when I moved to my new house. He is a leech. We all have one, and we all need to get rid of them.
Ugh..
3. The third topic is that Valentine's Day is the most pointless day of the year. I realize that only single people usually say this, but I have to express my hatred. If there is a Scrooge for Valentine's Day, it is William. Why would anyone in their right mind spend $94.00 on roses that look like they have been sitting in the same delivery van since last Valentine's Day, and are overrun with baby's breath (PS adding baby's breath to an arrangement is the equivalent of "bedazzling" in floral shops, it is tacky used to cover up the fact that the quality is poor to start with)? Overpriced candy, Valentine's cards, expensive dinners, it is all material. And I realize that we are Material Girls and we live in a material world, but velvet stuffed bears and chocolates in red cellophane are not the materials I want to be around anyway, give me diamonds.
Enough with the ranting already. My house warming is this weekend. I hope to the LAWD it is fun!
Loving all of you!
OXOX
William
PS. And while I am very grateful that you are all reading, please please leave comments, suggestions, etc., so I can have some feedback! Our new website is coming soon, but tell your friends to become followers now anyways! Love you Opossums!!
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Bucket List
I need ideas for my bucket list.
Give me suggestions of things that I can put on it.
Share with me what is on yours :)
xoxo
William
Give me suggestions of things that I can put on it.
Share with me what is on yours :)
xoxo
William
Monday, February 8, 2010
Shit Happens.
We all need support; this could be support from our friends, family , or even our bras. But no matter what kind of support it is that we made need, it is undeniably evident that we all need support. It keeps us level headed and grounded. We need "that person(s)" to talk us through our toughest times, congratulate us on our successes, and to force us back on to the stage when we have explosive diarrhea and are about to shit in our lederhosen. You know, that person.
No, you didn't just mis-read that, I almost shit in my lederhosen once in a play.
I was in Hansel and Gretel, I was playing Hansel (does anyone else see how I was type casted in all of these plays? Performing as the blonde fat kid?). We were doing the show at the Alabama Theatre, a really beautiful old style theatre with plush curtains and gold plated everything, fringe everywhere, a gay man's sanctuary. At the time though I didn't care a damn about those vintage embellishments, I was so ready to be in that spot light girl, I had my lipstick on, my false eyelashes were at the ready (I realize that a little foundation would have done the trick, but any chance I had, I looooved putting on that make up!) and I was vocalizing in my German boy regalia. We were doing two shows that day, and the first one went off without a hitch, and in the middle of my deep swan-like bows I felt a little churn in my stomach, I thought it was just because I hadn't eaten, being the diva that I was I was only nibbling on some bits of tissue and room temperature water before I took to the stage, so that had to of been it.
I stupidly ate a hamburger with all of the little peasants in the ensemble in between shows, and felt much better, for the time being.
Let's jump ahead a little bit through the story, we are past the time that the evil stepmother (who was played by this crazy girl who had a lesbian mother who wore black fishnet stockings, a corduroy mini-skirt, and TeeVa's) left them in the forest, Hansel had already left the breadcrumbs, and they had already been captured by the witch. As I laid there on the stage pretending to be captured, I felt that rumble in my panties. I mean RUMBLE in the JUNGLE kind of rumble. I had to shhhiiiiiiit! And I mean, I had to go RIGHT THEN!! By some stroke of luck the good Lord above us (thank ya Jesus), let the curtain fell, because they were performing a scene in front of it during a set change. I hoped my ass up, and hauled it to the little fairy's room. My mother, Miss Amy, who was THANKFULLY the backstage chaperon mom that day, came clicking in her size 7 Balenciaga's into the bathroom behind me. It was that damn hamburger that did it, I just knew it, one of the cretins in the ensemble had tried to poison me so they could perform in the next show instead of me!
As I sat there, for what seemed like the next 56 minutes, I was bawling (wasn't wearing waterproof mascara, and ended up looking like By George) and in a screaming whisper was yelling at my mother " I CAN'T DO THIS!! I AM SO ASHAMED!!!"
People were knocking on the door, asking if I was OK, rushing me to get back out there before the curtain came back up, and Miss Amy, with all her might, jerked my ass off that toilet and said something I will never forget: "You WILL dry up right this minute because I did not spend all this time and effort to have you sitting here crying like a little baby because "you don't feel good & your stomach hurts". Get out there and give that audience what they paid to see, A SHOW!"
With that, Miss Amy opened the door and literally, threw me (she has Wonder Woman strength) back on the that stage as the curtain was creeping back up.
It may have been that I had just given birth in the bathroom, or that I was completely horrified that my mother may beat me senseless if I walked off that stage, but what ever it was, something in me made me finish that show. There were no swan like bows, just a quick little curtsy, and I was out of there.
I am mortified that this event ever occurred, I usually don't talk about it, but I feel this may be one of the greatest examples of support that I have experienced. Sometimes it takes your mother, hovering over you in a tiny bathroom in the wings of one of the most historic theatres in the South, screaming at you to get your ass on that stage before she unleashes a wrath terrible to behold upon you, that makes you realize how much she supports you. This may be sounding like my mother is a horrid stage mom from pageant queen hell, but she is quiet the opposite, all she wants is for me to succeed, and if it hadn't been for her picking me up by my lederhosen and chucking me back on to that stage, I might still be in that bathroom. She was letting me know that she was there for me, in a strange & slightly convoluted way, that I wouldn't respect until years later.
That is my version of support, someone who can help you through your "shittiest times". I hope this translates over to you..maybe I am just loco.
PS Thank YOU all for supporting me in this blog. It is great to know that I have people, other than Miss Amy reading this. And a special thank you to Sally, you are single handedly making me a better blogger day by day! You rock girl!! SPARKLES FOR SALLY!
xoxox
William
No, you didn't just mis-read that, I almost shit in my lederhosen once in a play.
I was in Hansel and Gretel, I was playing Hansel (does anyone else see how I was type casted in all of these plays? Performing as the blonde fat kid?). We were doing the show at the Alabama Theatre, a really beautiful old style theatre with plush curtains and gold plated everything, fringe everywhere, a gay man's sanctuary. At the time though I didn't care a damn about those vintage embellishments, I was so ready to be in that spot light girl, I had my lipstick on, my false eyelashes were at the ready (I realize that a little foundation would have done the trick, but any chance I had, I looooved putting on that make up!) and I was vocalizing in my German boy regalia. We were doing two shows that day, and the first one went off without a hitch, and in the middle of my deep swan-like bows I felt a little churn in my stomach, I thought it was just because I hadn't eaten, being the diva that I was I was only nibbling on some bits of tissue and room temperature water before I took to the stage, so that had to of been it.
I stupidly ate a hamburger with all of the little peasants in the ensemble in between shows, and felt much better, for the time being.
Let's jump ahead a little bit through the story, we are past the time that the evil stepmother (who was played by this crazy girl who had a lesbian mother who wore black fishnet stockings, a corduroy mini-skirt, and TeeVa's) left them in the forest, Hansel had already left the breadcrumbs, and they had already been captured by the witch. As I laid there on the stage pretending to be captured, I felt that rumble in my panties. I mean RUMBLE in the JUNGLE kind of rumble. I had to shhhiiiiiiit! And I mean, I had to go RIGHT THEN!! By some stroke of luck the good Lord above us (thank ya Jesus), let the curtain fell, because they were performing a scene in front of it during a set change. I hoped my ass up, and hauled it to the little fairy's room. My mother, Miss Amy, who was THANKFULLY the backstage chaperon mom that day, came clicking in her size 7 Balenciaga's into the bathroom behind me. It was that damn hamburger that did it, I just knew it, one of the cretins in the ensemble had tried to poison me so they could perform in the next show instead of me!
As I sat there, for what seemed like the next 56 minutes, I was bawling (wasn't wearing waterproof mascara, and ended up looking like By George) and in a screaming whisper was yelling at my mother " I CAN'T DO THIS!! I AM SO ASHAMED!!!"
People were knocking on the door, asking if I was OK, rushing me to get back out there before the curtain came back up, and Miss Amy, with all her might, jerked my ass off that toilet and said something I will never forget: "You WILL dry up right this minute because I did not spend all this time and effort to have you sitting here crying like a little baby because "you don't feel good & your stomach hurts". Get out there and give that audience what they paid to see, A SHOW!"
With that, Miss Amy opened the door and literally, threw me (she has Wonder Woman strength) back on the that stage as the curtain was creeping back up.
It may have been that I had just given birth in the bathroom, or that I was completely horrified that my mother may beat me senseless if I walked off that stage, but what ever it was, something in me made me finish that show. There were no swan like bows, just a quick little curtsy, and I was out of there.
I am mortified that this event ever occurred, I usually don't talk about it, but I feel this may be one of the greatest examples of support that I have experienced. Sometimes it takes your mother, hovering over you in a tiny bathroom in the wings of one of the most historic theatres in the South, screaming at you to get your ass on that stage before she unleashes a wrath terrible to behold upon you, that makes you realize how much she supports you. This may be sounding like my mother is a horrid stage mom from pageant queen hell, but she is quiet the opposite, all she wants is for me to succeed, and if it hadn't been for her picking me up by my lederhosen and chucking me back on to that stage, I might still be in that bathroom. She was letting me know that she was there for me, in a strange & slightly convoluted way, that I wouldn't respect until years later.
That is my version of support, someone who can help you through your "shittiest times". I hope this translates over to you..maybe I am just loco.
PS Thank YOU all for supporting me in this blog. It is great to know that I have people, other than Miss Amy reading this. And a special thank you to Sally, you are single handedly making me a better blogger day by day! You rock girl!! SPARKLES FOR SALLY!
xoxox
William
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Big and Chunky.
I have gained 15+ pounds since I have been back in Los Angeles from Christmas break.
NOT CUTE.
I have eaten everything but my shoes it feels like, and in case you are wondering, yes, I did indeed, eat that cake icing yesterday. I went to Ralph's at 2 in the morning and pretended that I was on the phone with someone so the sole cashier wouldn't talk to me about my purchases. I made my mock conversation sound like I was in a hurry, and picking up the icing for my friend who had just broken up with her boyfriend, and needed comfort food.. I know, pathetic.
So I can not tell you how concentrated of an effort I am making to drop this spare tire. I know that this sassy attitude and set of Betty Grable legs is enough to make any one check me out twice, but I mean, how am I ever supposed to walk the red carpet with a 6' blonde with piercing eyes and a sparkling smile, if I am carrying my baby weight around?
No fast food, no sodas, nothing. Water, lettuce and some of whatever killed Anna Nicole Smith, God Bless her soul.
I guess this is a post New Year's Resolution? I don't know, but to hell with it.
PS I need everyone to be on the look out for my "6' blonde with piercing eyes and a sparkling smile"...please send out some feelers. And if you perchance find one, send in pics!!
looooving you!
xo
William
NOT CUTE.
I have eaten everything but my shoes it feels like, and in case you are wondering, yes, I did indeed, eat that cake icing yesterday. I went to Ralph's at 2 in the morning and pretended that I was on the phone with someone so the sole cashier wouldn't talk to me about my purchases. I made my mock conversation sound like I was in a hurry, and picking up the icing for my friend who had just broken up with her boyfriend, and needed comfort food.. I know, pathetic.
So I can not tell you how concentrated of an effort I am making to drop this spare tire. I know that this sassy attitude and set of Betty Grable legs is enough to make any one check me out twice, but I mean, how am I ever supposed to walk the red carpet with a 6' blonde with piercing eyes and a sparkling smile, if I am carrying my baby weight around?
No fast food, no sodas, nothing. Water, lettuce and some of whatever killed Anna Nicole Smith, God Bless her soul.
I guess this is a post New Year's Resolution? I don't know, but to hell with it.
PS I need everyone to be on the look out for my "6' blonde with piercing eyes and a sparkling smile"...please send out some feelers. And if you perchance find one, send in pics!!
looooving you!
xo
William
Ponies and Angels.
It is going to be a great day friends!
It's Superbowl Sunday, I don't know much about who is playing...the Ponies and Angels? I am not sure, but they both have great colors! And Superbowl Sunday means beer! BEER BEER BEER!! I will keep you all updated on what happens!
xox
William
It's Superbowl Sunday, I don't know much about who is playing...the Ponies and Angels? I am not sure, but they both have great colors! And Superbowl Sunday means beer! BEER BEER BEER!! I will keep you all updated on what happens!
xox
William
Pooches.
Last night we had a little rendezvous at our house. There was a rousing game of King's Cup that led to sex talk and a craving for pizza. Jacqui and I tried on a series of hats from my costume collection, and it was about the time that we started to walking around in the street with mixing bowls on our head that I knew it was time to call it a night.
As I was laying in my bed this morning, surprisingly not that hung over, it was raining, and I could hear the water hitting the pavement. I was curled up in my down comforter, completely relaxed, and thought that the only thing missing was someone lying next to me to enjoy it. While a 6'2 well built Brazilian man with straight teeth and a strong jawline would have done the trick, what I really wanted was a dog.
I know, I know. I can't afford one, I don't have the time for it, but put the brakes on it, I am not going to buy a dog, but I did have an epiphany while basking in my 700 count sheets.
I am going to become a dog walker. Not professionally, but I am going to volunteer. I think that this may be the best substitute for my longing for a dog, temporarily, or at least until I can afford one. I looked up a local shelter, and decided to give them a call. It is called, Rover Rescue (http://www.roverrescue.com/) and they are very credible for the humane and loving treatment for their animals. I am excited to soon be the hottest thing on the beach, with 4 dogs in a pair of Yves Saint Laurent Tribtoo's , and maybe, just maybe, I will end up like J.Lo in "Monster in Law" and run into a shirtless doctor who has a beautiful personality, a trust fund and a lavish mother. One can dream.
Dr. Charming will one day come, but the dogs are calling for me now! I am hoping next weekend I can start.
I am watching possibly one the worst movies right now, The Women, the 2008 version. While the writing is somewhat witty, I can't believe that with the amount of talent that each of these actresses possesses, how short it falls in this film.
I think that my TV is oozing estrogen, because now I want cake icing...
Loving you all.
xo
William
As I was laying in my bed this morning, surprisingly not that hung over, it was raining, and I could hear the water hitting the pavement. I was curled up in my down comforter, completely relaxed, and thought that the only thing missing was someone lying next to me to enjoy it. While a 6'2 well built Brazilian man with straight teeth and a strong jawline would have done the trick, what I really wanted was a dog.
I know, I know. I can't afford one, I don't have the time for it, but put the brakes on it, I am not going to buy a dog, but I did have an epiphany while basking in my 700 count sheets.
I am going to become a dog walker. Not professionally, but I am going to volunteer. I think that this may be the best substitute for my longing for a dog, temporarily, or at least until I can afford one. I looked up a local shelter, and decided to give them a call. It is called, Rover Rescue (http://www.roverrescue.com/) and they are very credible for the humane and loving treatment for their animals. I am excited to soon be the hottest thing on the beach, with 4 dogs in a pair of Yves Saint Laurent Tribtoo's , and maybe, just maybe, I will end up like J.Lo in "Monster in Law" and run into a shirtless doctor who has a beautiful personality, a trust fund and a lavish mother. One can dream.
Dr. Charming will one day come, but the dogs are calling for me now! I am hoping next weekend I can start.
I am watching possibly one the worst movies right now, The Women, the 2008 version. While the writing is somewhat witty, I can't believe that with the amount of talent that each of these actresses possesses, how short it falls in this film.
I think that my TV is oozing estrogen, because now I want cake icing...
Loving you all.
xo
William
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Living in High School
**NOTE**This entry is probably convoluded and didn't make it full circle, but I guess it is just a random stream of concious. I hope that it may have had some sort of impact?
All I really just want to emphasize that some people suck. And these people are not the kind that I want to associate with. Some of these people include bigots and liars, and others include "that person" from high school who still thinks that he/she is the most important thing to walk the earth. They weren't that important then, and they sure as hell aren't that important now. The funny thing about these people is that they rarely as successful as they plan to be. The once high school pageant queen will probably end up with three kids and a divorce by the age of 27, and the guy who was so sexy and athletic will be paying his child support on the meager earnings as a gas station attendant. The kids who played "Magic" in the cafetria, and the art club girls, who no one seemed to get, will be contributing to society, saving lives, building rockets, and performing open heart surgery.
There may even be some people like Romey and Michelle, the girls who were just trying to fit in, and no one seemed to really give them a chance.
Living in the real world has already taught me one important lesson, high school never ends. Life is just one big high school. Just because we aren't contained in one big cinderblock building and constantly under florescent lighting (can you imagine how horrible), doesn't mean it is going to stop. There is going to be that girl with the bleached flat hair and the eye makeup that was applied way too heavy and incorrectly who thought (thinks) she was(is) all that. There is going a plethora of people that pass you by and you may never get to know. There are always going to be hippy stoners around, some girl who can't stop gossiping, some boy that never gets tired of pants-ing people, the sensitive artsy type, AND there will always be the negative nancy's.If you are in high school, become the person you want to be known as now, because the image that you create now is how you are going to be remembered by majority of the people you graduate with.
Point being: The people in your life that suck need to get a big heave-ho. Toss them overboard, because like any other unnecessary baggage, they are slowing you down. And those people who deserve the recognition, let's give them some. The time is now. Don't make excuses.
Loving.
William
All I really just want to emphasize that some people suck. And these people are not the kind that I want to associate with. Some of these people include bigots and liars, and others include "that person" from high school who still thinks that he/she is the most important thing to walk the earth. They weren't that important then, and they sure as hell aren't that important now. The funny thing about these people is that they rarely as successful as they plan to be. The once high school pageant queen will probably end up with three kids and a divorce by the age of 27, and the guy who was so sexy and athletic will be paying his child support on the meager earnings as a gas station attendant. The kids who played "Magic" in the cafetria, and the art club girls, who no one seemed to get, will be contributing to society, saving lives, building rockets, and performing open heart surgery.
There may even be some people like Romey and Michelle, the girls who were just trying to fit in, and no one seemed to really give them a chance.
Living in the real world has already taught me one important lesson, high school never ends. Life is just one big high school. Just because we aren't contained in one big cinderblock building and constantly under florescent lighting (can you imagine how horrible), doesn't mean it is going to stop. There is going to be that girl with the bleached flat hair and the eye makeup that was applied way too heavy and incorrectly who thought (thinks) she was(is) all that. There is going a plethora of people that pass you by and you may never get to know. There are always going to be hippy stoners around, some girl who can't stop gossiping, some boy that never gets tired of pants-ing people, the sensitive artsy type, AND there will always be the negative nancy's.If you are in high school, become the person you want to be known as now, because the image that you create now is how you are going to be remembered by majority of the people you graduate with.
Point being: The people in your life that suck need to get a big heave-ho. Toss them overboard, because like any other unnecessary baggage, they are slowing you down. And those people who deserve the recognition, let's give them some. The time is now. Don't make excuses.
Loving.
William
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
The Turmoil of a Twinkie
I was once in a play, "Peter Pan in Neverland",it was the same story line as the original, basically just a cheaper version,(Peter Pan flew with the aid of a florescent orange extension cord), obvi a low-budget budget production. I had done previous shows with this company, and I was very excited to return to the stage with them, and just knew that I was going to be a lead maybe playing Peter, or Mr. Smee.
Was I?
No.
They cast me as "Yummy". Who is "Yummy"? That is a very good question, I am glad you asked. Yummy is the fat Lost Boy who eats cake all day, and my only line was "Mmmmm, YUMMY".
Let me just tell you, I hate the f***ing word "yummy". It grates on my nerves and makes me want to drop kick whoever says it in my presence (other words that have the same effect as "Yummy" are "Supper" and "jolly"). And what do I hate more than having to say "yummy" a total of 29 times in the course of a 90 minute musical? The fact that I was force fed twinkies the entire show in order to make my character more authentic. I HATE TWINKIES. And I know that that may be hard to believe given my curvy stature, but trust me, I can't stand them.
Even though I wanted to pull my well curled eyelashes out one by one every time I had to say 'yummy' and started getting anxiety every time someone mentioned processed cream filled pastries, I stuck with it. I had to, my mother wouldn't let me quit. She always told me that I could do whatever I wanted, but once I started, I couldn't quit, until it was over.
This is something that I am glad my parents enforced, it has taught me a tremendous amount of responsibility, as well as, the great life lesson of sucking it up. The point of this being, there are always going to be things that we don't like, or agree with that we have to do. And I know that this sounds like such a preachy entry, and it is, kind of, but when I get down and out about a situation I like to remember this calorie infested play. It reminds me that if I had quit, I would have missed out on one of the greatest happinesses I have ever know, my first love, one of my best friends, and a constant supporter of mine who always fills my heart with sparkles, Brandi. Even though she broke up with me over email in the 6th grade, we still have a very amazing relationship.
Opossums, I am going to wrap this, but I am just trying to say that I know that our lives suck sometimes. We break up relationships (or, God forbid someone breaks up with us), we doubt ourselves as parents, we goof up at work, we drop our phones in the toilet, or we are force fed Hostess snacks. Whatever your "F*** My Life" moment is, something good is going to come from it, you will always get 'a Brandi' in the end.
I love y'all.
Will'yumm'.
Sparkles!
Was I?
No.
They cast me as "Yummy". Who is "Yummy"? That is a very good question, I am glad you asked. Yummy is the fat Lost Boy who eats cake all day, and my only line was "Mmmmm, YUMMY".
Let me just tell you, I hate the f***ing word "yummy". It grates on my nerves and makes me want to drop kick whoever says it in my presence (other words that have the same effect as "Yummy" are "Supper" and "jolly"). And what do I hate more than having to say "yummy" a total of 29 times in the course of a 90 minute musical? The fact that I was force fed twinkies the entire show in order to make my character more authentic. I HATE TWINKIES. And I know that that may be hard to believe given my curvy stature, but trust me, I can't stand them.
Even though I wanted to pull my well curled eyelashes out one by one every time I had to say 'yummy' and started getting anxiety every time someone mentioned processed cream filled pastries, I stuck with it. I had to, my mother wouldn't let me quit. She always told me that I could do whatever I wanted, but once I started, I couldn't quit, until it was over.
This is something that I am glad my parents enforced, it has taught me a tremendous amount of responsibility, as well as, the great life lesson of sucking it up. The point of this being, there are always going to be things that we don't like, or agree with that we have to do. And I know that this sounds like such a preachy entry, and it is, kind of, but when I get down and out about a situation I like to remember this calorie infested play. It reminds me that if I had quit, I would have missed out on one of the greatest happinesses I have ever know, my first love, one of my best friends, and a constant supporter of mine who always fills my heart with sparkles, Brandi. Even though she broke up with me over email in the 6th grade, we still have a very amazing relationship.
Opossums, I am going to wrap this, but I am just trying to say that I know that our lives suck sometimes. We break up relationships (or, God forbid someone breaks up with us), we doubt ourselves as parents, we goof up at work, we drop our phones in the toilet, or we are force fed Hostess snacks. Whatever your "F*** My Life" moment is, something good is going to come from it, you will always get 'a Brandi' in the end.
I love y'all.
Will'yumm'.
Sparkles!
Monday, February 1, 2010
Franzcia Fiasco.
Never drink wine out of a box. You will regret it.
I don't know why the term "Wine from a Box" wasn't a clear enough indicator for me.
It tasted like nail polish remover or paint thinner and was as clear as water.
YOWSAS.
The results of this mistake involved calling the boy that I have been in love with for the past 2.5 years, who hasn't come out of the closet yet, but is very much a homosexual, and telling him that I am perfect for him, and the sooner he realizes that he is supposed to be with me, the better. Oh yeah. That happened. I also told him that the girl he was interested in was heinous (she totally isn't the most attractive thing, but I am sure she has a great personality, and I shouldn't have said anything anyways) and that she was a "beard". If you are someone who is wondering what a beard is (Nana Sherrell, if you are reading this, pay attention), beard is a term used to refer to a girl who is used by a closeted homosexual man, to make it appear as if he is really into women. When, in fact, he is only thinking about one thing..mmhmmm..
While talking to him and calling him all sorts of terrible names that he kinda of deserved, I was walking around my neighborhood. BAD IDEA. I started talking to my neighbor that I have never met. She told me if I saw her brother Christopher, to let him know that Mr. Mungo (which I assume is her cat) got home safely. PS I have never met this woman before, and here she is telling me to look for her brother and tell him her cat got home safely. Bitch, it is 11pm, and I am talking to my love interest, I don't give a damn about Mr. Mungo!
Ugh. Then I proceeded to lay down in our hammock in the backyard, this should go with out saying, don't get drunk and get in a hammock. I thought I fractured my skull, no worries, it is ok. I hung up with "him" and felt so sad because he is in such denial, and it haunts me to think that he is so perfect and won't tell me he loves me blah blah blah (this is, keep in mind, heightened emotions due to the Franzcia Refreshing White Wine, and always laugh at the people who do this sober). So what do I do? Call my mother. After leaving a hysterical message on her phone for a good 13 minutes I went to bed. I wake up at 6 craving a caffeine.
I then got in my car and drive to Jack in the Box, which is only a block away, and demand a large coke. Well, this bitch gives me a Diet Coke. And while I love Diet Coke, that is not what I asked for. So I put LaRhetta in reverse and got through that drive thru backwards, tap on the glass, and tell her in SPANISH this time, REGULAR COKE, GRANDE, POR FAVOR. I make it home and get ready for work.
All day I continued to feel HORRIBLE. The worst hangover ever, all because of this damn box of wine.
Moral of Story: Boxed wine should only be consumed by women who live in Reno, who bet all their money on the penny slots and wear shiny gold pants and Donnie and Marie Tour T-Shirts, or by kids in high school who will drink anything as long as they can fit in at "that party".
Just saying..
Love Y'allllll!
xo
Willyummm
I don't know why the term "Wine from a Box" wasn't a clear enough indicator for me.
It tasted like nail polish remover or paint thinner and was as clear as water.
YOWSAS.
The results of this mistake involved calling the boy that I have been in love with for the past 2.5 years, who hasn't come out of the closet yet, but is very much a homosexual, and telling him that I am perfect for him, and the sooner he realizes that he is supposed to be with me, the better. Oh yeah. That happened. I also told him that the girl he was interested in was heinous (she totally isn't the most attractive thing, but I am sure she has a great personality, and I shouldn't have said anything anyways) and that she was a "beard". If you are someone who is wondering what a beard is (Nana Sherrell, if you are reading this, pay attention), beard is a term used to refer to a girl who is used by a closeted homosexual man, to make it appear as if he is really into women. When, in fact, he is only thinking about one thing..mmhmmm..
While talking to him and calling him all sorts of terrible names that he kinda of deserved, I was walking around my neighborhood. BAD IDEA. I started talking to my neighbor that I have never met. She told me if I saw her brother Christopher, to let him know that Mr. Mungo (which I assume is her cat) got home safely. PS I have never met this woman before, and here she is telling me to look for her brother and tell him her cat got home safely. Bitch, it is 11pm, and I am talking to my love interest, I don't give a damn about Mr. Mungo!
Ugh. Then I proceeded to lay down in our hammock in the backyard, this should go with out saying, don't get drunk and get in a hammock. I thought I fractured my skull, no worries, it is ok. I hung up with "him" and felt so sad because he is in such denial, and it haunts me to think that he is so perfect and won't tell me he loves me blah blah blah (this is, keep in mind, heightened emotions due to the Franzcia Refreshing White Wine, and always laugh at the people who do this sober). So what do I do? Call my mother. After leaving a hysterical message on her phone for a good 13 minutes I went to bed. I wake up at 6 craving a caffeine.
I then got in my car and drive to Jack in the Box, which is only a block away, and demand a large coke. Well, this bitch gives me a Diet Coke. And while I love Diet Coke, that is not what I asked for. So I put LaRhetta in reverse and got through that drive thru backwards, tap on the glass, and tell her in SPANISH this time, REGULAR COKE, GRANDE, POR FAVOR. I make it home and get ready for work.
All day I continued to feel HORRIBLE. The worst hangover ever, all because of this damn box of wine.
Moral of Story: Boxed wine should only be consumed by women who live in Reno, who bet all their money on the penny slots and wear shiny gold pants and Donnie and Marie Tour T-Shirts, or by kids in high school who will drink anything as long as they can fit in at "that party".
Just saying..
Love Y'allllll!
xo
Willyummm
a Terrible Tiara Tale...
An important thing to remember when you are going to an event, especially an event that you have to travel multiple hours/miles to, is this: always note the time change.
Why do you think I am telling you this? Guess. JUST guess. That's right, THAT IS RIGHT, I missed Miss America 2010.
I was sitting here thinking to myself, as I was choosing which shoes to wear to this momentous occasion, how excited my mother was going to be to see her first born on TV when she tuned in at 7pm to watch THE Miss America pageant, and see me in the crowd, cheering, possibly crying because I was so overwhelmed with glee...and then it hit me. If she was tuning in at 7pm Alabama time...that means, it is going to be two hours earlier in Vegas, because of the time change. I panicked and in a whirlwind of chaos grabbed anything that looked remotely like something I would need at the pageant. I was getting hairspray, colognes, all my shoes, etc., and bobby pins, in case the reigning Miss America forgot some when she crowned the new one, I would rush up to the stage and offer my helping hand!
In this mad dash I am not able to get hold of Bex, screaming and running to my car in 6" leopard print peep toe pumps, I fumbled with my 7 bags and car keys, cursing the gay powers that be, for letting me be so stupid. I cranked up LaRhetta, and hauled off to meet her at her house. I text her and told her to be ready to start moving as I pulled into the driveway. As I fought traffic as if someone was chasing me down the freeway, all the while calculating how fast we would have to go to get there, it was possible, if we went at a constant speed of 84 miles an hour.
I pull into Bex's house and I see her, in a full out run, loading up her car, I pause here to make a note that this chick had some rocking hair, she curled it for me because everyone who knows me knows of my obsession with curly hair, and she did it as an extra surprise for me, ANYWAYS, I digress. She is in a full out run, literally throwing her suitcases into her car from across the yard. Without a word, we both, in unison, start to unload my bags and jump in her car. Out of breath, panting and praying for a miracle we sped down the 15 towards the Silver State.
We finally start to talk about how stupid we both were for not realizing it sooner, and laughed it off, I mean, we were making good time , and what else could go wrong?
(NOTE: Never ask yourself, "What else could possibly go wrong". Why? Because God will show you instantly.)
We were right in the middle of the chorus belting out "It's Raining Men", and I heard a sound effect that I had never noticed before. That sound effect sounded oddly like...a police siren.
Yup.
The fuzz. The fuzz was pulling us over. For speeding. Mind you, I never told Bex my theory of the 84 miles an hour, just so it is clear.
We pull over to the shoulder, and we prepare for the State Trooper to let us have it. He comes up to my window, and screams "I PULLED YOU OVER FOR SPEEDING". We informed him that we were in a hurry to get to Vegas and we didn't realize how fast we were going. He asked for ID, registration and insurance. Bex reached across the car to open the glove compartment box, and he instantly reached for his gun and said "Woah!!". When he realized that she was reaching for her papers, that he had just asked for, he felt embarrassed, I think, and then tried to be smooth about it and act relaxed. This is when he saw my shoes. My big ass 6" leopard print peep toe shoes with the 1" platform. I thought he was checking me out, then realized that it isn't everyday you see this, especially in the Mojave Desert, I know he secretly enjoyed my well toned calf muscle in those shoes, because I am sure that his wife has cankles and only wears crocs, so it must have been a treat for him to oggle my goodies. We were asked a series of questions, and then he went to run the plates. He came back with a ticket. Going 96 in a 70. Whooops! So that took up 25 minutes of our journey. Then we hit insane traffic. At this point the pageant has started seating people, and we had barely gotten into Nevada. We finally arrive to the outskirts of Vegas. We make it to the pageant doors, after valeting Dora the Scion, both of us clacking up in our big girl shoes. Then this BEAST OF A WOMAN denies us entry because the pageant commenced 25 minutes prior. I wanted to cry. I was on the verge of a breakdown. I still am actually.
After 10 minutes arguing with this sexually depraved creature in her awful navy suit and totally out of season doc martins, we left. Defeated. I heard the crowd cheering, and it was clear, my dream of seeing Miss America, was still just that, a dream. I wanted to slap that woman in her throat, and punch that cop right in his gonads.
We went to our hotel, Miss Amy texting me all the results as we waited in our check in line at the Flamingo. Went up to the room, and caught the tail end of the pageant. We still had a good time that night, for the most part. I mean, it's Vegas, Vegas always has something to do. I was introduced to Jimmy Buffet's restaurant and Bex and I followed around a lesbian couple, one of them, the short squatty one, was wearing a plaid skirt, that came a shade above her ass cheeks. It was so horrifying we of course, had to follow it, and listened to the comments that people were making about it as she passed them. We drank out of an Eiffel Tower shaped cup.
I am, of course, upset blog buddies, I mean, it was a big deal for me to go see the glittery dresses and teased hair. But this blog isn't called William Goes to Miss America, it is Adventures of a Boy in Heels, and that is exactly what I had. An adventure, and, no, it isn't the adventure I had planned, hoped for, or promised you, but I did deliver you an adventure. I promise that our next trip is planned/thought out better!! I am glad to now have 39 of you loyal readers, and hope that you stay tuned for my next installment, the fun is just beginning...
Loving you always!!
xox
William
PS I totally picked Miss Virginia to win, before I even left for the pageant, I am just that good.
Why do you think I am telling you this? Guess. JUST guess. That's right, THAT IS RIGHT, I missed Miss America 2010.
I was sitting here thinking to myself, as I was choosing which shoes to wear to this momentous occasion, how excited my mother was going to be to see her first born on TV when she tuned in at 7pm to watch THE Miss America pageant, and see me in the crowd, cheering, possibly crying because I was so overwhelmed with glee...and then it hit me. If she was tuning in at 7pm Alabama time...that means, it is going to be two hours earlier in Vegas, because of the time change. I panicked and in a whirlwind of chaos grabbed anything that looked remotely like something I would need at the pageant. I was getting hairspray, colognes, all my shoes, etc., and bobby pins, in case the reigning Miss America forgot some when she crowned the new one, I would rush up to the stage and offer my helping hand!
In this mad dash I am not able to get hold of Bex, screaming and running to my car in 6" leopard print peep toe pumps, I fumbled with my 7 bags and car keys, cursing the gay powers that be, for letting me be so stupid. I cranked up LaRhetta, and hauled off to meet her at her house. I text her and told her to be ready to start moving as I pulled into the driveway. As I fought traffic as if someone was chasing me down the freeway, all the while calculating how fast we would have to go to get there, it was possible, if we went at a constant speed of 84 miles an hour.
I pull into Bex's house and I see her, in a full out run, loading up her car, I pause here to make a note that this chick had some rocking hair, she curled it for me because everyone who knows me knows of my obsession with curly hair, and she did it as an extra surprise for me, ANYWAYS, I digress. She is in a full out run, literally throwing her suitcases into her car from across the yard. Without a word, we both, in unison, start to unload my bags and jump in her car. Out of breath, panting and praying for a miracle we sped down the 15 towards the Silver State.
We finally start to talk about how stupid we both were for not realizing it sooner, and laughed it off, I mean, we were making good time , and what else could go wrong?
(NOTE: Never ask yourself, "What else could possibly go wrong". Why? Because God will show you instantly.)
We were right in the middle of the chorus belting out "It's Raining Men", and I heard a sound effect that I had never noticed before. That sound effect sounded oddly like...a police siren.
Yup.
The fuzz. The fuzz was pulling us over. For speeding. Mind you, I never told Bex my theory of the 84 miles an hour, just so it is clear.
We pull over to the shoulder, and we prepare for the State Trooper to let us have it. He comes up to my window, and screams "I PULLED YOU OVER FOR SPEEDING". We informed him that we were in a hurry to get to Vegas and we didn't realize how fast we were going. He asked for ID, registration and insurance. Bex reached across the car to open the glove compartment box, and he instantly reached for his gun and said "Woah!!". When he realized that she was reaching for her papers, that he had just asked for, he felt embarrassed, I think, and then tried to be smooth about it and act relaxed. This is when he saw my shoes. My big ass 6" leopard print peep toe shoes with the 1" platform. I thought he was checking me out, then realized that it isn't everyday you see this, especially in the Mojave Desert, I know he secretly enjoyed my well toned calf muscle in those shoes, because I am sure that his wife has cankles and only wears crocs, so it must have been a treat for him to oggle my goodies. We were asked a series of questions, and then he went to run the plates. He came back with a ticket. Going 96 in a 70. Whooops! So that took up 25 minutes of our journey. Then we hit insane traffic. At this point the pageant has started seating people, and we had barely gotten into Nevada. We finally arrive to the outskirts of Vegas. We make it to the pageant doors, after valeting Dora the Scion, both of us clacking up in our big girl shoes. Then this BEAST OF A WOMAN denies us entry because the pageant commenced 25 minutes prior. I wanted to cry. I was on the verge of a breakdown. I still am actually.
After 10 minutes arguing with this sexually depraved creature in her awful navy suit and totally out of season doc martins, we left. Defeated. I heard the crowd cheering, and it was clear, my dream of seeing Miss America, was still just that, a dream. I wanted to slap that woman in her throat, and punch that cop right in his gonads.
We went to our hotel, Miss Amy texting me all the results as we waited in our check in line at the Flamingo. Went up to the room, and caught the tail end of the pageant. We still had a good time that night, for the most part. I mean, it's Vegas, Vegas always has something to do. I was introduced to Jimmy Buffet's restaurant and Bex and I followed around a lesbian couple, one of them, the short squatty one, was wearing a plaid skirt, that came a shade above her ass cheeks. It was so horrifying we of course, had to follow it, and listened to the comments that people were making about it as she passed them. We drank out of an Eiffel Tower shaped cup.
I am, of course, upset blog buddies, I mean, it was a big deal for me to go see the glittery dresses and teased hair. But this blog isn't called William Goes to Miss America, it is Adventures of a Boy in Heels, and that is exactly what I had. An adventure, and, no, it isn't the adventure I had planned, hoped for, or promised you, but I did deliver you an adventure. I promise that our next trip is planned/thought out better!! I am glad to now have 39 of you loyal readers, and hope that you stay tuned for my next installment, the fun is just beginning...
Loving you always!!
xox
William
PS I totally picked Miss Virginia to win, before I even left for the pageant, I am just that good.
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