Holy Heart Failure, Batman! Morgan's Hot!

Ok, so I've had a strange day. And there are a few observations that I want to make here. Whether they are fashion related or not is debatable, but whatever. I'm a rule-breaker.

Just a nutshell of the things I will discuss:

--British men and their penchant for the plus sized among us

--fake accents and Oxford degrees

--Apu

--toothless men at the Home Depot

--Bay Area homeless people

So, to start off, I guess I have to admit that sometimes, on rare occasions, I like to watch America's Got Talent. If you've never seen this show, don't try to watch it or anything--you'll lose brain cells. It's horrible. There are these people on there who shimmy and shake and dress up as Columbian singing sensations (Yes, I'm looking at you, Boy Shakira) and consider it a talent. And there's David Hasselhoff, who has had so much Botox his face is now entirely made of botulism. And there's me, who finds it strangely entertaining, and gets all giddy when someone eats fire. But my favorite group is The Glamazons (see above), a group who call themselves the plus-sized Pussy Cat Dolls. Basically, they come out in corsets and fishnets, gyrate, and harmonize, and then they say a lot of stuff about doing it for all the ladies back home who are fat and fabu. It's all very Tyra Banks. And I eat it up, like its Pillsbury chocolate frosting on a spoon. I want to gyrate in a corset and fishnets! Well, anyway, so they do their schtick, and this British judge, Piers, (who is basically the poor man's Simon Cowell) gets all red and says something about being a normal British man who is turned on by curvy women. And by "curvy" you know he means "chubbalicious." Is anyone else surprised by this? I mean, how was I not informed that British men find chunkishness attractive? Had I known this, I would no longer drink Target Brand Diet Peach Raspberry Iced Tea, which really tastes like bottled back sweat, and I would use a Rascal as my major form of transport.

But anyway, barring any major lifestyle/transportation change, I went into work with this new knowledge, and what do I end up having to do? Well, for starters, call this guy in for an interview for an instructor position. So I call, and this LOVELY British voice answers, and tells me that yes, he'd love an interview, and he's a little groggy because he just flew in from London, and he'd love to put his OXFORD DEGREE in LITERATURE to the test. Ok. So. If there are three things that make a girl all weak in the knees, it's 1) smart dudes, 2) employed dudes, and 3) accents. So I'm charmed. I even make a point of telling everyone in the office that I'm charmed, and am looking forward to his interview.

So he comes in, and I make sure I'm front and center. Now, note here that I'm fully aware that I'm married, but you have to remember that I am from the South and there is a certain sluttiness/flirtiness that all Southern girls have and use (see Devereaux, Blanche). And yes, the accent is divine, and he's got this sort of rugged handsomeness, that while not the stuff of my daydreams, was fine enough to get me to put down the bag of Cheetos I was eating and bat my eyes a bit. ANYWAY, he takes his quiz, does lovely, and comes out to the front to chat. How's the weather, how was your drive from the city, that kind of thing. Then he goes to his interview. I'm sure he's perfect for the job.

But then my boss comes out and looks chagrinned. He's hired him, conditionally, he says. I ask what's up. Turns up the guy isn't from London at all--he's from DALY CITY. He's just kind of affected that accent, like some Bay Area Madonna. Plus, he's all douchey and is talking bad about American holidays. Shut up, dude. You're from DALY CITY. Isn't that the most pretentious thing you've ever heard? So whatever.

But now he's emailed me, and I really do think he likes me in a sort of odd way. I had a co-worker read the email, and she agrees. So I think he's trying to committ that ultimate act of Britishness and get a fatty on his arm. But it's enough to make me feel hot. And kind of good.

And then, to top things off, I stop to get gas, and this guy in the gas station who I swear to God is the living embodiment of Apu from the Simpsons (I seriously thought I was in one of those 7-11's that they've pimped to become a Kwik-E Mart or something) notes my wedding ring, and goes, "Oh, you're married. Sad, sad." And he seriously looks sad. Two options here: 1) he's trying to get out of an especially bad arranged marriage situation or 2) I am genuinely a heartbreaker.

Then, to put the cherry on the hotness sundae, I go to Home Depot. Now, granted there are not many 24 year old chicks hanging out in the Home Depot buying plumbing supplies (have I mentioned that I am quite the plummer?). But this guy in the plumbing aisle who seriously has one single, solitary tooth on his lower gum, comes over and hits on me, and then, when he makes a funny that I am forcing laughter at, touches my arm in kind of a pervy way.

But then I go outside and am accosted by a homeless woman who calls me a "rich bitch" and tries to look through my purse to see if she can find any change. Kind of takes the glamour off a trip to Home Depot to be accosted by a homeless woman, don't you agree?

But anyway, either 1) every man in the Bay Area has been eating vats of oysters today, or 2) the apocalypse is coming and we all need to mate like bunnies or 3) I really need to wear this denim skirt more often. It's weird. I wasn't feeling fashionable or cute at all today--just had on a denim skirt, a t-shirt my mom sent me from Asheville, NC (my future home), and brown stacked flops. I didn't even bother to dry my hair. But suddenly I'm sex magick.

What do you make of this, my gentle readers? I have always been the "cute" girl, the girl who gets the blue sweater instead of the pink, the girl friend rather than the girlfriend. Am I now suddenly the sex-tastic bombshell I have always wanted to be? Am I glamazon?

Or should I just shut up?