My whole life, and probably not the least bit related to being the baby sister, I am sure, I have been subjected to "good-natured" teasing. Testament was born by nickname that echoed bitterly in my second grade, after a star turn in the class play about Toyland. I went from being not just "Moose" for my size, but "Moose the Mechanical Man" for my robotic tour de force.
Commonly, any morsel of food I dared put to my lips in childhood engendered one brother or another to utter something akin to "Look, she's eating again." or simply, "Horse."
In adulthood something about my nature kept me an easy and apparently agreeable target. I changed my name a couple to a dozen times on this Internet bulletin board to spare my jangled nerves some attention. At least the nickname of comedic adulthood, dee-rob, doesn't have me swinging my coronet case at the mean boys and threatening to crush them.
As a side note, if you ever have a precocious daughter who starts to grow more quickly and larger than the other kids, for christ's sake don't hand her a trumpet when she says she wants to play an instrument. A flute, a piccolo, a clarinet. Something lean. Nothing is quite as poignant in a wrong bad way than a chubby, adult-dimensioned little girl wielding the decidely large and brassy sound associated with Dizzy, Louis or Myles.
So, when I ventured off here to the left coast, the plan was simple: A Madonna-worthy change from that girl to a newly minted Cali version. No longer the subject of mirth and sometimes derision. In fact, I told myself that when I got a new job everyone there would face only a very professional, almost somber character. One without quirks, idiosyncracies and other fodder that shouted "different."
Goddamnit, here was my chance to conform! Fuck ya.
Guess what? Some delusions die harder than others.
Do you think the fact that yesterday at work someone saw me holding a plate with three pieces of cake (to share with others), saw only cake and me and shouted (literally) to someone else, "Hey, That's why Dee IS FAT!" means my plan for the totally stealth, low key persona have failed? Or maybe, it was today when I mentioned something about someone in my life who is gay, and the follow up joke was a confusing bit about my own sexuality and whether I was "packing?"
Rodney Dangerfield said it best, "I don't get no respect."
I played 3rd trumpet in ST. Camillus CYO band. They switched me to bass drum when the braces-tightening hurt my gums too much to play.
Screw the Bastards at work. I say Stealth Wedgies for Everyone !!!! Success is the best revenge (I heard) How’s about you become wicked successful and then shove it down their throats. . .I don’t know how that happens without Matt Dillon and Joan Cusack . ..I have to go soak my feet now . . .
The more I learn about you, Dot, the more I love ya. We should have jammed on “When the Saints Go Marching In.”
I can’t believe that in the enlightened, cultured and diverse city of SF* that someone would be ignorant enough to make that statement.
We truly do live in the land of George Bush and Paris Hilton.
*San Jose…same difference. Maybe less fags.
Isnt saying “fags” insensetive, yank and jesus and thatchernomics.
Also puppetshow curruptshun goldfish underpance.
No. Not if you’re refering to the word but not the person. See?
I do see and thanks you becase know i feel enlitened too.
Sister on the always politics jeruselum and all,
You’re both idiots.
Shut up cock smoker.
Tony blair angela lansbury sugarland mars rover and homeless gobsmack….
This is what I’m talking about, Dave.
That was just plain insensitive and rude.
More than insensitive and rude, highly inaccurate.
The one person who posts on this forum that I can personally vouch has smoked not one single cock in the time I have known him and most definitely since we’ve lived together.
To quote Seinfeld…”Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”
So Boyo’s secret identity is revealed.
Hmmmm…. Anyway, not meant to offend, only to annoy. Sorry ’bout that.
Then again, maybe it’s me. Perhaps I have a man crush on boyo even without realizing who he was. That’s some mojo.
I have questions for myself now.
Nuff said. Nuff said.
Wait…wait… go back to the cake…what kind was it ?
I love you, Liz.
White, but not in a bad wedding cake way, good white. Like the Klan.
Better yet, it had lemon filling. Hmmm, lemony. Custardy. Lemmmmmmoooooonnnnn.
Oh, and since I write about the Boy-o and someone comments as the boy-o, um, that’s some awesome detective work there, Freem.
But, we are agreed, he’s crush-worthy. And, since you mentioned Seinfeld, that would make him sponge-worthy, as well.
Well I guess you can call me Sherlock.
That or Dopey The Fish Boy.
Yours,
Asswippe`