On Sunday there was a big sales event going on at the Tacoma Dome. Something about the radio ads indicated to me that I would really be missing out if I didn’t attend–and not because I believed that there was something there that I desperately needed to own, but rather, the potential for hilarity was extremely high.
These types of events, much like roadside attractions, are irresistable to me. I’m drawn to them like a moth to a flame. Like a shark to a drop of blood. Like a bee to the only person in a group who is intensely allergic to beestings. Like a cliche to a Mellzah blog post.
And I was not disappointed. Friends, it was like being in Tijuana, only with MORE trashy white people. Oh, Tacoma, how I love your aroma! The mariachi music was there. The vendors hustling you to buy leather jackets were there. The ‘designer’ handbags and sunglasses were there. If you didn’t go, and you’ve ever wanted to buy some ‘Dolce & Banana’ you missed out. Furthermore, if you’ve ever felt the need to own a t-shirt with Tupac silkscreened on it, with rhinestone accents bedazzled onto the eyes, teeth, and bling, you TOTALLY missed out.
I spent the majority of my time walking around, biting back giggles. The Scarface ‘framed art’ set me off, however, and I was very nearly temped to buy a piece of Very Serious Art depicting Jesus with the Biggest Crown of Thorns Ever, tattoos, and a river of blood to hang over my bed. However, a clearer head prevailed as I reasoned that at this stage, I cannot afford to scare away any potential suitors who may not understand my love of camp. Now, I don’t really care what gentlemen prefer, but terrifying them away from my bed is certainly not the road to happiness.
And let me make it clear, if it isn’t already: I love camp. The tragically ludicrous, the ludicrously tragic. The Jesus TV trays and inflatable furniture. There is a gene in me that makes me love John Waters with a deep and sick sort of love. It’s the part of me that makes me giggle when I watch Uwe Boll movies. The part that makes me think you can never have too many t-shirts with witty/offensive slogans on them.
It’s exactly that part of me that made me leave the Tacoma Dome with a pair of shoes with wheels in the heels. I’ve never been more pleased to have child-size feet than I was yesterday. The fact that I will eventually crack my head open while wearing them does not concern me. What I have determined so far is that either my balance is really, really substandard, or I am doing this wrong. It’s hard to practice in the apartment, with the approximately 8 square feet of linoleum in my kitchen. It’s even harder to practice outside, with the mocking laughter of children only a faceplant away and the uneven ground to boot. Nevertheless, I am determined to glide around on my wheeled shoes if it kills me. And it may. To that effect, I went to the WinCo yesterday to observe the little rugmonkeys in their natural environment. It appears that the trick is to have one foot well out in front of the other–I’ll have to give it a shot on the warehouse floor just as soon as the boss leaves. Because yes, I wore them to work.
There’s part of me that really would like to dress nicely–to look sharp and be perceived as an adult when I leave the house, for my apartment to look sleek and modern and clutter-free. This part of me is at war with my love of kitsch and crap. How will I ever reconcile the two? As long as I own shoes with wheels in the heels, I think the kitschy crap side of me is winning.
Tonight I go to Flying Lab Software to do a usability test of Pirates of the Burning Sea AND hang out with fraxl and gehn. That’s pretty damn good for a Monday!
My father is deeply, inconsolably disappointed that they do not make the shoes that light up when you walk in his size.
I think those are awesome, too. And your father is awesome for wanting them. 😀
you should have put the jesus print on your bedroom ceiling.
That’s how I’m bringing sexy back.
i am assuming you’re working a jesus is a zombie theme in there.
What else is there??
If at first you think it’s strange, you won’t give it a thought after he’s eaten your brain.
or criticised your technique in a deep booming voice.
As the son of god, I imagine he’d have some pretty unfairly high standards.
and he’s banging a drum, calling time. on your ass.
I love those heelys. I have my own pair if I were still young enough to wear them and still have my bones knit. It amazes me to see kids walking along then just seamlessly slip into a rolling glide, and then pick back up a walking stride without ever breaking a beat. I can see things like that becoming a secondary means of locomotion, like adapting movement to the usage of a wheel and pedals.
I also love anything inappropriately made into a lighter and/or pocketknife, no shortage of which are found at such nomadic dirt malls.
I am going to learn how to glide on those things or break my legs trying. Mark my words.
Said nomadic dirt malls make me wish I appreciated the belt buckle more.
I would imagine any potential suitors who would be scared by you or your style are not potential suitors at all.
I wouldn’t care.
I get to decorate my own apartment soon. ive got a lamp shaped like a monkey..
touche!
Decorate an apartment? I thought you owned a home in b’ham?
I wholeheartedly approve of monkey-shaped lamps.
i did, but im no longer a homoner let alone married..
sadness. Im single again…
i should get a little pirate hate for my lamp monkey.
Sorry to hear that, I had no idea. 🙁