Wednesday, May 11, 2011

1 Knee

Unfortunately, my plans to marry the F-List celebrity evaporated along with the F-List himself. I'm sure his sudden preference for being anywhere but my gym has nothing to do with the 35 year old groupie that pretty much took up permanent residence in the steam room on the off chance that he might show up.

Although it's probably my fault, I completely blame the creepy old man crowd. F-List's major, major fan base 55 and older men who looked at him like he's Jenna Jameson holding a meatball sub and a 90 inch flat-screen TV on Superbowl Sunday.

Luckily my sister came for a visit along with the rest of my family and a goat. They helped me cope with my loss very well. Especially the baby goat who roamed around the house jumping on people's heads and peeing on the couches (to be fair, a diaper was eventually secured with duct tape to her back side).

Note: When coping with the loss of your F-List celebrity, it is best not to deal with your grief by talking constantly about your derailed plan to marry said celebrity. Your family and husband will think you're either completely crazy or a huge slut, but most likely both, since they are your family and husband and know you quite well.

Speaking of crazy, my sister who is about to begin her internship in an insanity ward as part of her medical degree, thought it would be super fun to diagnose my mental illness which I was apparently displaying quite pervasively throughout the visit.

Before I could tell her that I was perfectly sane and it was actually the rest of the world that was bat-shit crazy she announced that I had "Narcissistic Personality Disorder."

From Wikipedia:

DSM-IV-TR 301.81

The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders defines narcissistic personality disorder (in Axis II Cluster B) as:[1]

A pervasive pattern of grandiosity (in fantasy or behavior), need for admiration, and lack of empathy, beginning by early adulthood and present in a variety of contexts, as indicated by five (or more) of the following:

1. Has a grandiose sense of self-importance (e.g., exaggerates achievements and talents, expects to be recognized as superior without commensurate achievements)
2. Is preoccupied with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, beauty, or ideal love
3. Believes that he or she is "special" and unique and can only be understood by, or should associate with, other special or high-status people (or institutions)
4. Requires excessive admiration
5. Has a sense of entitlement, i.e., unreasonable expectations of especially favorable treatment or automatic compliance with his or her expectations
6. Is interpersonally exploitative, i.e., takes advantage of others to achieve his or her own ends
7. Lacks empathy: is unwilling to recognize or identify with the feelings and needs of others
8. Is often envious of others or believes others are envious of him or her
9. Shows arrogant, haughty behaviors or attitudes

I completely agreed with her diagnosis, having instantly recognized that narcissistic personality disorder is by far the sexiest mental disorder in the universe.

After that, my sister developed an anxiety disorder over buying 'professional clothing' for her impending internship with crazy people.

While I didn't feel that crazy people were the most fashion conscious patients and would probably find an outfit composed of wilted lettuce and confetti completely appropriate, I went along.

After all, since my dream of marrying an F-List celebrity has been completely derailed, I also need 'professional clothing' for my back-up plan: Moving to a far away state to become a teacher.

As part of my narcissistic personality disorder, I believe that I look awesome in pretty much anything. Therefore, I'm perfectly happy wandering around in clothes that on anyone else would be completely un-cute.

As a result, I have zero fashion sense and shopping for 'professional clothing' was very confusing for me. This probably explains why halfway through our consumer frenzy, I managed to steal someone else's half full cart, piling our 'professional clothing' right on top.

Naturally when we realized we'd stolen some poor innocent shopper's half full cart we fell over laughing, but also had to be serious about our own half-full cart that some other dirt wad might be trying to steal.

After a search and rescue operation of magnanimous proportions, we got the cart thing straightened around and went to try on our 'professional clothing'.

On the way there, My Teen found something wonderful in the pajama section. She brought it over, laughing, "You should try this thing on!"

"Yes! I should!" I loved The Thing instantly.

"You are not trying That Thing on! That is definitely not 'professional clothing!" My sister protested.

"Yeah. I was joking. That Thing is hideous." My Teen said, trying to keep me from snatching it out of her hands, but snatch I did.

What do they know about professional clothing? I tried The Thing on, parading around the dressing room, showing everyone how hot I looked in The Thing.

They laughed at me, which I took to mean they were consumed with jealousy over not having the courage to wear The Thing themselves.

I took The Thing home and wore it around the house.

For some reason my sister refused to take a picture of me in The Thing, so I had to do it myself:

Totally professional clothing.


Danielle said...

Ooooh~ I like your thing. It's very nice.

James said...

Damn it. Danielle beat me to the clever comment and double entendre.