From time to time, I've made fun of the lovely Mrs. Simpson. No, not Ashlee (as I find her neither lovely, nor amusing.). Jessica. Mrs. Lachey. Well, let me be honest. I've made fun of her ruthlessly. Every comment she made, every facial expression she facial'ed, I was on it. The life of the motherfucking party with my 'Newlyweds' play-by-plays. None of my friends needed to watch the show, because I was bound to start the conversation with "Buffalo Wings" or "Tuna of the Sea". Now, one of the husbands (who for his own protection will remain nameless, as his wife lets fly with left hooks and sometimes right foots if she even suspects that he is thinking/breathing/looking in another female's direction be she real or fictional.) said to me "Now, TCWH, let's be realistic about this. If you...hell, if ANY of us had a camera in our faces 24/7 I am sure we would look just as, if not more, stupid than Jessica Simpson." Oooh, and you know those were fighting words, y'all. Me with my shiny new blond hay-er and my brand new DSL internet access, I'm SMART! In the infamous words of Homer Simpson, "S-M-R-T! I mean, S-M-A-R-T!"
I jest. It's not about being smart with me. It's just that I am stubborn (I know, I know, I'll give you all time to laugh and pick y'all's jaws up off the floor as we chant together, "NO SHIT!") , and I stubbornly refused to believe that (Elbow, elbow, did I say stubbornly?) someone could appear that ditzy/spacey/stupid, be it on purpose or not, that often throughout the course of the day.
Well let me tell you, I stand corrected. Here I am sitting, as the pot, saying, "I WAS WRONG!" and thank God there is usually no one there to witness my "simpson-ness" save for DH, who by now is so used to it, he probably doesn't hear it. Or for his own sanity, chooses to ignore it. As I narrated before (in painstaking detail *yawn* sorry 'bout that, when you're left to your own pain medication, everything is fascinating) we went to the Eagles concert. We went with two other couples. We all bought our tickets separately. Because of this, we were all seated in different rows and different sections. Rather than wandering around aimlessly looking for each other in an impossibly large place, we agreed to meet outside Entrance 32 near the post. The post was directly across from the 3rd floor exit and stairs leading to the 2nd floor, therefore anybody seated in the 3rd tier, as all of us were, would have to walk out those doors (and in their INFURIATING attention to detail and organization, the ushers were only letting one person out the revolving doors per revolution, NOT per space, so the whole exiting thing took a long damn time) and down those steps. Seemed like a logical place to meet.
Now if you are yourself a veteran of concerts like dh and myself, you leave in the middle of the last song so that you don't get smushed to death and can hit the facilities while they are empty and not guarded by a scarily androgynous authority figure. Then you head out and hop on the metro without being smushed to death, right? RIGHT. Except that we left in the 2nd to last song and the last song was DESPERADO (yes, I am smacking my head against the wall as you read this. Still.) and we had to wait 40 minutes anyway because the two other couples got stuck behind the throngs of 30 million people exiting through the revolving doors one at a time. One person per one revolution, mind you. Not one person per space. AS I SAID BEFORE. But it was cold and clammy, and I was slightly uncomfortable from the surgery, and hungry. All things I could have avoided, yes, but as I mentioned before: I'm STUBBORN.
I think it goes without saying that after 50 minutes of watching a sea of people flood down the stairs, the mind goes through many different processes. First I looked for familiar faces, anxiously. Then I started trying to count them. Then I just looked for the funny outfits, of which there were quite a few. And then, my friend, I stumbled upon my (Do me a favor? Read the next part all fast because I had it originally typed all in one word, but it was too hard to read, and my only goal is to please you so I separated it!) I'm so glad I'm one of the last people on earth who isn't on a reality tv show so they can document my stupidity forever and ever amen moment (Okay, now you can go back to normal. I''ll leave you alone, promise.) . Sharing it with you kind of defeats the purpose, but, hey, if I can't laugh at you, we might as well laugh at me, right?
Here's how it went down. Suffice it to say I said all these things without thinking. What a SUR-PRISE, hmmm?
TCWH: (noticing a rather sketchy looking gaijin with red headband around his head - grabs dh and gestures in his general area) Hey! Look at that guy! Do you think he knows he has a headband on? What a dumbass!
DH: (looks at guy, assesses situation)...
TCWH: (with glee, 'cuz you know, I'm so smart and so cool that I'm allowed to make fun of the less fortunate) And look at that guy! He's wearing brown plaid pants! AND, AND! A brown flowered shirt with a brown corduroy jacket! And look at that flavor saver! And those glasses! He DOES know this is the 00's right?
DH: (still assessing. still observing)....
TCWH: (smacking forehead in disbelief that this is so good! I almost can't believe it! 3 people! Dressed like complete imbeciles!) And look at that girl! With her shiny trenchcoat! OOH! Look at me! I'm in the matrix! PSHEW! PSHEW! (this is me making cool bullet sounds from the super cool shooting sounds when Trinity and Neo are in the lobby in the matrix. You know what I'm talking 'bout, Willis.)
DH: (gently tugging at my sleeve because by now I am making a complete spectacle out myself with the "PSHEW, PSHEW's") Honey? Honey? Shhh....Honey?
TCWH: BWHAHAHAHAHA....would you LOOK at those people? What?
DH: Honey, you do know that it IS Halloween, right? Remember?
TCWH: (sheepishly turns to look at otherwise excellent costumes, realizes that they are indeed all three traveling together, and that they are indeed all three dressed up for halloween. And that the headband man is dressed as the karate kid as evidenced by his shoes and karate pants. ) Oh.
There you have it, boys and girls, ladies and gents, another Rhodes Scholar Moment from TCWH.