The elevator in our new pad isn't working. Seven flights up is a long way when you've got to haul all your belongings with you. I've been chained to my laptop for the past four months, unable to work out because of crazy deadlines, so factor in having to haul an extra 15-20 pounds (overweight writer's ass) and my carpal-tunnel syndrome-plagued hands unable to grip much and you can understand why I feel like I've been hit by a truck this morning.
We moved most of Jim's stuff out, but only managed to get my bed, a few boxes and the bar out of the old penthouse. My mom came over Saturday to help me pack. She looked at something like four five-foot stacks of shoes and said, "You have a lot of shoes." Sigh. Yes, I have a lot of shoes.
Speaking of shoes, the other weekend Jim was nice enough to accompany me to the Bridal Expo at the convention center. I went in hopes of being picked to participate in the Cake Dive (where five women slog through a six-foot tall, four-foot wide cake to find a $5,000 diamond), but no luck. Jim said if they had picked me it would've been game over. But why shoes? At the fashion show, they offered a sapphire necklace to the first guy onstage wearing a pair of women's shoes on their feet. So Jim threw his five sizes too big feet into my shoes and ran up. I wish I had a camera, Jim was hilarious. So now I have a sapphire necklace and stretched-out shoes. Thank you Jim!
And a big thank you to our friends who helped with the move - Albert and Lisa, James, Angel, Wayne, Tastypants and my mom - you guys are lifesavers and we can't thank you enough.
But now, the move continues. And the elevator is still not working.
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Okay, I offer up another "Man in High Heels" story. I was on a cruise with Mom, Dad and my brothers about 10 years ago. I had long hair then and during one of the family-oriented dinners, the MC announced an activity. People on the different tables would team up and we'd do kind of a scavenger hunt. You know, the first team to come up with three pieces of silver clothes would win a Royal Carribean photo album. Anyway, the last one was "Dress up a man to compete in a Beauty Pageant." Of course they dressed me up and tripping on to stage in high heels I went.
Well, after parading around I was nominated from 10 other guys as a finalist. And they asked us each a question: What would we do if we were Miss Cruise Liner. The audience would vote. When it came to my turn, I cringed and yelled, "I'd outlaw high heels!"
The crowd howled and I was named Miss Cruise Liner.
The end.
Man in heels story -- the sequel.
So the last night of that cruise 10 years ago, the whole ship is at dinner and for a parting moment, they showed a video montage of highlights captured on camera by the crew.
The very last image is of me, as Miss Cruise Line, in huge boobs made from sweaters, gyrating in slow motion. The boobs are slowly, painfully going up and down and up and down. For minutes.
Oh, where will the glory end?
I need a copy of that highlight tape.
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