Well folks, this afternoon I proved myself no different than this characteristic that has latched onto me oh-so-becomingly. It was about 6:15 and I was, as usual, racing to catch the train I prefer to take home every evening - the earlier the better, I figure, even if I have speedwalk/run/knock people over to do it. And usually I'm relatively graceful about it. But oh, not today. I'm sauntering quickly across 6th and Broadway - which, in my defense, is unsually gravely - and in about 2 seconds find myself transitioning from running upright to literally smacking my face on the pavement. In a dress.

Yes, dear reader, everyone going home from their respective Midtown offices today got a nice full-on view on my underwear. And not for a like a split second when the wind accidently blows up your skirt. We're talking, like, at least 5 seconds of complete visibility of my entire underwear-ed ass. I cringe to think of the lucky cabbies stopped at that light today.

After I managed to pull myself up, disgusted and self-loathing, I tried to get out of there as quickly as possible. A woman calls after me - "God bless you!" -  as if only by the grace of God must someone as unitentionally destructive as me go on living everyday.  I'll admit, although I've built up quite the embarassament tolerance over the years, my head hung a little lower the rest of the way back to Penn Station. My knees and palms bled the scarlet color of humiliation and with every step I winced.

But I damn sure made that train. And gratefully accepted some alcohol swabs a woman with pity on her face offered me. They burned like hell. I hope I made her day. Sigh.

Dear ma'am or sir,

I'm writing to inform you that I've read thru all Emily Post's columns and can't find my topic anywhere. I've written numerous times and think that it is a valid question, but still have not received an answer. The following is a review of the situations I queried Ms. Post about.

...

Dear Ms. Post,

Recently I've had the bad luck to be caught in the most awkward situations...ones in which I am being asked a question or greeted when I or the other person is naked...or almost naked...or trying to get there or trying to cover up. It's complicated...let me just describe the situations for you.

...

Situation #1: Women's locker room in the gym. Because I'm a lesbian, it might be misconstrued that I would love to see naked women in the locker room, but let me assure you that I would be horrified if anyone thought I was looking at them, so I keep to myself and struggle only to get my sports bra on. The trouble usually begins when I'm wrestling with said bra.

...

...

At this point I usually hear someone asking me a question like, "hey, do you know if Tim is going to be teaching the spin class today?" What is the right thing to do at this point? Continue to wrestle my way into the bra? Turn around (I am in fact facing the lockers) and answer the woman, or just face the lockers and mumble something incoherently? I do in fact know two things...#1 Tim is teaching the spin class, and #2 We are the only two people in the locker room at the time.

...

...

Situation #2: Still in the locker room at the gym.

...

I have mastered the sports bra and am on to the smaller task of tying my shoelaces...my head is looking at the floor (which they could clean a little better I might add) when the voice comes from my right. "Ahhh...shoot. I picked up black underwear and have got white pants to wear! Has that ever happened to you?" Again I know 2 things, #1 No it has never happened to me, and #2 As well as being the only two people in the locker room, the person talking to me has just gotten out of the shower.

...

...

I look up and smile. "That's terrible", I say. My face is the color of a firetruck. "Look" she says...and sure enough there is a pair of black underwear in one hand...the other hand is thankfully holding up a towel. "It's not your day"...I say,still red and smiling. "Well f*ck it", she states. "I just won't wear any underwear." and drops the towel and the underwear.

I nod...not really sure what to say.

Ms. Post, should I voice my approval over no underwear? Technically the black will show thru the white of the pants. Should I have just barged out without saying anything? And finally, should I say hello when I see her in the cafeteria at 12:43 when I go down to get something to eat...

...

...

I have in fact, considered seeking professional help with the matter, but every time I get anxious it helps to picture the person naked, so I think I don't want to talk to a therapist about thinking about her being naked...seems to be just making matters worse.

...

I also realize that some people feel very comfortable with their bodies,

...

...

and I have in fact gone group skinny dipping and have no problems getting a massage...I actually like and encourage those sort of things, but I seem to be having a trouble in these two situations. Maybe it's the fact that only one of us is naked, and conversation is being requested...I'm really at a loss. Help in any way would be greatly appreciated.

Sincerely and with all hope,

The Hostess

]]> http://gaijintonic.com/?p=597 Fri, 22 Feb 2008 03:02:04 +0000 roaf http://gaijintonic.com/?p=597 The other night, after another barnstorming booze binge, I clumsily fumbled with my keys outside my tiny apartment, trying not to piss-off the neighbours, before tumbling through the door. I'd had a debauched and hedonistic night with my friends in a string of bars, including a karaoke place which had a selection of novelty costumes for its patrons to wear. A mental time was had by all, and I'd used my phone camera to capture my pals and myself in various states of drunken abandon, jiving and singing in schoolgirl uniforms and the like.

Someone begged me to share these hilarious pictures over the internet, so I decided to send them from my phone to my PC, so I could stick them on Facebook. With my drunken sausage fingers I selected "ME" from the list of contacts on my phone and sent the pictures to my computer email address. Hey presto! Isn't technology wonderful?
With hindsight, I should have waited until I was sober before attempting this minor act of technological wizardry.

When I later checked my email, the photos hadn't arrived. Upon examining my phone I realized where I'd gone wrong. Thanks to the alcohol-induced blurred vision, I hadn't mailed the pics to "ME," I'd mailed them to "MIE," who is my landlady. Mie is a rather reserved middle-aged woman, who is constantly nit-picking about the correct separation and disposal of rubbish, and other such matters. Quite what she thought when, at four AM, she received a picture of me dressed in a much-too-small monkey costume and guzzling from a pitcher of beer, is anyone's guess but I'm expecting the eviction notice any day now.
Oh well, it could have been worse. I could have been trying to send naked pictures of myself to "Adult Friend Finder." That would have led to all sorts of confusion.

I must confess that I, myself, tried to dip my toes in the waters of fame, with zero results.
Despite having no acting talent whatsoever, I signed up with an agency hoping to get some work as an extra. I thought it would be a laugh to be on TV in Japan, just once or twice, the token white face in the crowd. I failed even at that humble goal! Someone pointed out to me that extras are supposed to be unobtrusive and inconspicuous, and that as a towering 6'5" blond oaf, I'd be the worst extra ever. Nonetheless, I did get a few work offers, but I was usually too busy to go.

One day I got a call inviting me to a casting call in Tokyo. 'An audition?' I thought, 'I only want to be an extra, I don't want to get abused by a Japanese Simon Cowell.'
But, since it was my day off and I had nothing else to do, I went along just for the hell of it.
Big mistake!
I arrived at a small studio and found my myself in a room full of assorted international misfits, fatties, skinnies, midgets and giants. Evidently they had called up all their unconventionally-sized clients to audition for some kind of humorous commercial or TV show. Perhaps they were making a new "Police Academy" film set in Japan. It was as weird a gathering of misshapen oddballs as you could imagine. I'd like to think they called me up because I'm tall, but my expanding beer-belly might qualify me for the fat category, too. 'Hire me!- two for the price of one!'
We then had to line up and parade in front of a director who quietly assessed our suitability. It was a bit like a beauty contest but, instead of judging beauty, they were judging our novelty-value. It's a relief that I didn't get the gig in the end. I didn't want to be "Mr Misshapen 2007."

Things became more surreal when we were required to stand around wearing massive cardboard masks of members of the pop group "SMAP." I had to pose for photos behind the huge face of singer Takuya Kimura.
Despite the absurdity of events, a lot of people there were taking it deadly seriously. One guy, a musclebound body-builder, looked incensed to see all the competition when he first arrived at the studio, and was glaring at people and flexing his mutant muscles competitively throughout the day.

Next we were all led to a local park where, for some reason, we had to have a power walking race. We were taught the rudiments of power walking by a trained instructor, then encouraged to make fools of ourselves by racing each other. It is impossible to power walk with dignity. Passers by pointed and laughed at the ridiculous spectacle of twenty funny-looking foreigners waddling like Donald Duck.

After all that madness I didn't even get the job. A few weeks later, a friend told me she'd seen a television commercial for an estate agency featuring people power walking in SMAP masks. But I didn't have the slightest twinge of jealously. By that point I'd lost all interest in appearing in front of a camera. Now I want to be behind the camera, cackling sadistically while I make people do stupid stuff like power walking and wearing silly masks.

i was having a new year's eve party at my house a few years ago.  of course, being an adult over the age of 21, i had had my share of adult beverages.  i was sitting around the table talking to some friends of mine about another friend (who was at the party).  apparently, when you are drunk, your senses are a little off.  here's a tidbit of the conversation........

me:  so you know that J & S never have sex?!

friend: really?  how do you know this?

me:  S told jonathan about it.  he said they sleep in separate rooms & everything.  it's just so sad.  he's such a good guy & i just don't understand why she'd do that to him.  (i then proceeded to go on & on, as i tend to do when i'm drunk)

J (the girl i was talking about):  You wanna know why we don't have sex?!

me:  oh shit, you heard that?

J:  Yeah i sure did.  Maybe if he'd give me a little attention & wouldn't work all the damn time- he'd get a little!

me- redfaced & totally stuffing my foot down my throat!!!

so moral of the story here is- make sure you are aware of your surroundings.  if not- keep your freaking mouth shut!!!

I took a hip-hop dance class yesterday at the gym. I had taken this particular class once before. It was fun. I thought I'd give it another try.  I used to dance and recently find myself wanting to get back into it.

Now, when I say that I used to dance, what I mean by this is that for 13 years of my life -- between the age of 3 and 16 -- I spent many many many hours dressed in a leotard and tights with my hair neatly pulled back into a bun held up in a dance studio taking classes.  Ballet, Pointe, Jazz, Tap, Modern. You name it, I've studied it and danced it.  But that was many years ago.

So, getting back to the hip hop class...

I took a spot in the back of the class. Slouching. Hiding. Minding my own business. Trying to just blend in and not stand out. Trying not to look too much like a dork.

I watched and followed the teachers moves. Step by step she went through the routine. We mark the steps. We put it all together. I worked it out. It wasn't an overly hard routine. Basic moves and easy to follow. It felt good to be able to pick it all up without too much difficulty.

After we went through the routine a few times, it was time to, well,  dance.  I don't really know how everyone else around me was doing, I wasn't paying much attention.  I was trying to concentrate so that I wouldn't forget the steps or the timing.

During the second go of it, I looked up and noticed the teacher motioning for me to come forward.  She was asking me to come up to the front of the class and dance.  I balked. I ignored her attempt to get my attention. But she persisted. I shook my head and waved my hands making it perfectly clear that I didn't want to go up there. She made one last attempt to get me to come up. I shot her a terrified panicked look that was sure to get the message across. She dropped it.  I wanted to hide.

Here's the thing. Back when I used to dance. I would have jumped at the opportunity to be in the front of the class.  I would have loved for the teacher to take notice of me.  I danced carefree with abandonment.  But not now. No way. No How.

Back then, I didn't get embarrassed when I danced. I easily lost myself in what I was doing and didn't care that there was anyone around watching me. It wasn't about them, it was about me, my body and the music.

What happened? How did I go from that to this?

When I was a child, I was a bit shy. I was shy, but at the same time, I was loud and outgoing. I'm not even sure if that is possible. But it's how others have described me. In one moment I'd be hiding behind my mother's legs another dancing and singing commanding attention. My daughter is like this.

Most people who know me, and know me well, wouldn't really call me introverted.   Actually, they'd probably laugh at at anyone who would even suggest that I'm an introvert.  I'm social. I'm talkative. I'm approachable and I easily approach people.

What my family and friends don't know, or what they often forget, is that I'm easily embarrassed and often terrified of dealing with new (and unknown) social situations.  Which, in extreme cases, causes me to have panic/anxiety attacks.

Years ago I would deal with this in a rather unhealthy manner. If I was in a situation in which I got embarrassed or felt out of place, I would pull at my hair, run the chain of a necklace that I was wearing across the back of my neck, bite my nails jagged and dig at my skin or find something else to start cutting with.  And actually getting myself into a social situation in which I might then become embarrassed was an entirely different beast, one that usually involved the use of alcohol or some other sort of drug to help with the process.  I can recall a number of parties during my freshman and sophomore year in college where the only way I even got out the door was to have a some pre-party cocktails.  Which, really is my way of saying that I had to be drunk before even going to a party where everyone was going just to get drunk.

It's been a long time since I've done these types of things to handle dealing with social situations. I have other tricks now to help me get through the rough spots.  Much more healthier ones.

But how I wish to be that 10 year old girl again who not only has no problem dancing like no one is watching, but wants to dance while everyone is watching.  Where did she go?  Have you seen her?  Can you tell her to come back and see me sometime?  I'd really like to have a word with her.

well remember the time when you go home. everyone is really nice. they treat you well. they cook you magnificent food. and stuff. well i am sure you dont. because i dont either. such a perfect time doesnt exist. there are always things that screw it up.

like the time when someone spills milk on the expensive silks. or when someone says wow you have lost weight just to be nice. and the other person says. you think i was fat before ? or when everyone stops to take a breath and there is a long awkward silence. or when the food gets burnt and one woman has to cry about how she cannot do anything right. or when oh yes this is what happened to me. you fall down in the mud made by the rain and soil yourself. and the 5674 relatives in your house for the party make fun of you for 4 hours.

also. when someone tells you to trust them when they sell you something. DONT ! never trust someone who is selling. always check up. even if it is just a jeans and you wanted to know if they look good on you. or if it is a new form of hair growing creme that is purple and has fumes coming out of it.

hmmmmmm. you know what. i am beginning to think i am wierd. i write about the strangest of things. why am i like this? (note to self: jalal please dont go there) ok ok. so why would someone think this way (note to self: jalal please dont go there). ok ok. whatever.

so you see it takes three lines to get paranoid and start talking to oneself. and all this infront of other people. oh my god. i so need to get a life.

also i dont understand one thing. i am sorry i probably would be removed from the gay brother(sic)hood but what is a drag queen.

another thing. when americans talk abotu beer or alcohol. there are times when you need a break. or need a relief. or need to be aloof. you talk about getting alcohol. what does it do. i have never had alcohol. what does it do. i mean stuff like. my mom is coming. i hate my mom. so i am going to get drunk. or i dont want to sit with them all night but i have to so i will get alcohol. i mean what is the deal with alcohol.