Imperfectionista: Visions of the Clumsy, the Bad, and the Ugly

That's what I am. Absolutely, soddingly, imperfect.

I am not much of a blogger, as you can tell from the last date of an entry here, but I occasionally DO like to read other people's blogs. I have to be very selective these days though, because with the overwhelming cuteness going on in the girly blog world, I am very lucky to come up from a reading session not feeling like an old stepped-on piece of dried macaroni. (This is a term I frequently use when NOT feeling cute, sexy, important, creative, or anything else that's loosely related to the word "special").

Anyhow, I got to thinking about possibly, just possibly, creating a blog entry now and again that focuses mainly ON my many imperfections. Or imperfect days or happenings. Or my erroneous ways in general, like hogging out on too much fried fast food sometimes, or ending up in a Walmart and actually LOOKING at clothes, or throwing my recycling into the regular trash at gas stations, or getting psychotically drunk and my face melting off, or ridiculous arguments that Arth and I have about nothing that almost leave us wanting a fricking divorce when they're over. You know.... the wicked details that might make other not-so-cute-all-the-time girls feel a little BETTER about themselves (in comparison to the dorky and clumsy things that so oft happen within my world!) Note: this is so NOT a diss to the cute blogs.....this is only a funny, weirdly happy idea that I got in my head and totally feel like delving into.

Can't believe I'm going public with the following photo. But I just have to. It's morally right.




Yes, the above photo is me circa the 1986 or something. God-awful. I have to harbor some animosity toward my parents for LETTING ME OUT OF THE HOUSE LIKE THIS! It's like their first-born was some kind of wild-child or something that they kept locked in the closet until this day.

And for the present.


EWWWW.


Yesterday I got a push to make the blog entry a reality....
Art and I had to take a little trip to the local overgrown suburban sprawl known as "Folsom". There we made our way to the Factory Outlets in search of well-priced but quality work shoes for my Arth. After our first jaunt into a store, a downpour began. Like, SOAKING rain. Needless to say I wanted to head back to the trunk of my car to grab my umbrella, but the outlets are such like a maze that we had a hard time finding the right path to the part of the parking lot where our car WAS. In an attempt to cross (at a cross-walk) I completely BAILED. I slipped on a wet, newly-painted speed bump and landed on my wrist and bum. My entire palm was coated in white paint and there where some unmistakable white handprints on my black hoodie as well as white paint on my tights, shoes, and purse. To top it off, I was also getting soaked. I was caught so off-guard by the white paint that I forgot to be embarrassed, which was nice, and was more worried about my favorite black hoodie having a permanent kindergarten painting on it (my hand). Art helped me up and we rushed to the food court area where I found a bathroom and tried to find some paper towels to wipe away the paint. Alack. No paper towels ANYWHERE.
I made my way back into the actual food court and grabbed some napkins. Not such a great idea because the minute after I dampened them and started rubbing, they tore into tiny shreds that not only did nothing to remove the paint, but started a linty looking mess on top of it! So I went for the gold, turned on the faucet, and dunked my favorite hoodie in the bathroom sink, wringing it out and scrubbing 1800's style. I emerged from the bathroom with my dripping hoodie and a bit of a temper. A young man who had served Art some coffee saw my wet and white painty dilemma and kindly pointed me in the direction of the Outlet Information Center so that I might be able to file a report.

I'm not the suing type, hope to never be, but in such a situation I thought it best to at least report what had happened JUST IN CASE my wrist never stopped hurting or something. We found the Info Center and I saw white foot prints leading in!!! A lady inside was holding an ice pack on her head. Poor thing almost cracked her head open on the same flippin' speed bump. The same thing had happened to two others, one being an Outlet employee! The nice people inside got my info, took pictures of my painted purse and tights, and then me and Art got the HECK OUT OF THERE. We headed back to the car where I got my umbrella so we could do some real shopping.

Imperfection Police
1. My skirt and tights were already shoddy, had runs and a holey zipper (a put-together girl wouldn't be caught DEAD walking NEXT to me!) but now they also have skids of white paint on them.
2. Somewhere along the line, a cat must have peed in my car in the last week or so, so Art and I kept getting whiffs as we drove.
3. Our car has a missing front turnlight cover (the orange panel), a broken front bumper (previous owner hit a deer TWO times) and duct tape WRAPPING the passenger rear view mirror to the car.
4. Car is messy
5. The one NICE thing I was carrying, my vintage carpetbag purse, now has white paint near the handle.
6. Art's shoes had holes and his feet were drenched, hence immediately replacing them with the new ones once he found some dry socks* in the back of the car.
* another major imperfection- what the heck was an old pair of socks doing back there???
7. I lost my Bluetooth AGAIN during all of this.
8. My makeup got rained off just enough to reveal my dirty, chimney-sweep like melasma spots on my forehead. One of the great gifts of aging.....dirty looking skin even when it's clean as a whistle.
9. Maje cellulite under there.


STROKE OF LUCK: Iphone = Still OK, despite the fall.

Redemption Afterwards: Drinking a Pliny the Elder at TWO SEPARATE LOCATIONS! (Folsom and Placerville)


Of course, kiddos, I'm the scary-looking one.