2006-02-12 @ 9:44 a.m.
Ah, the last day of age 47...let me tell you. It was
And this is news?
She was also ultra excited because the Elvis impersonator guy was going to pick her up for the show tonight because her car was having problems. Getting picked up by Elvis? Can you imagine? That's about akin to me getting an invitation to the premiere of "Pirates of the Caribbean II" and having Johnny Depp swing by and letting me ride on his Vespa. (No euphemisms there, my friends).
I did cut the conversation short because I had things to do today. I haven't done anything for myself in months. I've been trying to save money towards a car, so I haven't been spending a single penny on anything, like haircuts or clothes and beauty thingies, but today I decided to go get a facial waxing because I was starting to look a bit like Kenny Rogers and with Valentine's Day coming up, I definitely wanted a leg up on the competition with the removal of menopausal girlie whiskers. So I searched the mall, high and low, looking for the best price and as usual I ended up at the filipino nail shop. Oh my favorite. Because, you see, I do have issues with Filipino women after losing a 1/2 million dollar inheritance to one and having to live in poverty the rest of my life. Thanks "Assian Experience" (the book my Dad picked his last wife from).
But I've been there before. I don't think its very sanitary, but its cheap and when the girl, who smelled like Thai food, accidentally dropped her hot wax stick into my shoulder length hair and had to extricate it without yanking out 53 of my head hairs, I did also get an upper lip waxing for free. So by time I dyed my hair and eyebrows later in the day, I looked totally bitchin'. Kinda like Christina Ricci....except 70 pounds heavier and 25 years older.
I ended up not getting the jeans that made my ass look (more) awesome because they were sold out and maybe its just as well. They were too long, or actually I was too short and they had flowery hippie appliques on the ass, and maybe I'm too old for that. Who knows?
I did have some cool birthday cards and presents in the mail. My friend "G" down in Manhattan sent me some awesome new tubes of acrylic paints. I've been using the paints down at the "Y" for my recent paintings and the class ends this Monday. I did have some old acrylic paints I found at a garage sale several years ago, but they were rather watery and didn't spread very well. I think they're really old. And then I got a great naughty card from my favorite goddess Down Under Hiss and Tell. She always knows how to tickle one's fancy. I also got this hilarious card from my friend in California with Murray Antoinette....a guy in drag, dressed in an overwrought Elizabethan frock sitting atop a huge silk birthday cake. See, you can always amuse witty if you send her pictures of men in drag.
I did color the hair, got the freak on with BOB (battery operated boyfriend -- the orgasm was like instantaneous. GO ME!!), vacuumed the house, did dishes, looked in the mirror and tried to figure out why suddenly my face looks like a fry cook's at MacDonald's. (I've got zits on top of zits all over my chin). What is this...like a freakin' oil crisis? Why don't we just sink an oil rig in witty's chin, and let the price of oil fall $3/barrel.
And then it was time to get ready for my Elvis outing. I decided to just go for its entertainment value. The guy does have talent. He sings really well. He has an absolutely awesome body (please, come model nekkid for us). He even has a good sense of humor. Its just that he's a little corny. He really needs someone to trim and direct his show.
I arrived earlier than I planned and immediately felt angsty. It was a small restaurant jammed with about 85 people in a small space and I was immediately accosted by Elvis himself in a quick, tight hug. And no, he wasn't wearing his white rhinestone jumpsuit quite yet. But it felt weird because I don't know the guy. I met him briefly at a party in December and my Mom insisted on taking our picture together and later told me that several people thought I looked like I was "interested" in him. Arghhh! My interest was mainly that I totally ignored him the whole night, except when he sang and then I was secretly checking out his supremely viewable ass.
Once in the restaurant, there was a long table full of those weird ladies who wear those freaky red hats with feathers and sequins and purple shawls and red shoes. And they were all really loud and wore too much make-up and kind of looked scary in a Bette Davis "Whatever Happened to Baby Jane" kind of way.
The rest of the place looked like a casting call for The Sopranos. The Elvis guy is Eye-talian and his family and relatives are very supportive of his show business career and even participate in his show. My mom and I? We wuz sittin' at the Da'Nucci's table and were the only ones not to order ziti as a side dish.
The food was good. I got to have a prime rib which I probably haven't had in about 15 years. Its just not something people on food stamps normally buy. And then the show started. We were sitting right next to the stage (a.k.a, a tiny corner of the restaurant) and I was right next to where Elvis changed his costumes. He actually does lots of show biz impressions. I won't mention them since I want to protect his anonymity. And mine.
But he interacted with my mom and the audience, who were, in a way, like a bunch of Trekkies at a Star Trek convention. They follow this guy all over to all his shows and buy such merchandise as a nightshirt with his picture on it that says, "I've slept with **** and you haven't" and clocks with his picture on them. They were having a drawing for a big basket of goodies including CDs, a huge poster of him with his shirt off, the sleeping attire, the clock. My 77 year old mom really wanted to win that. I even loaned her some money to buy some raffle tickets but she didn't. When I first came in, some lady knew it was to be my birthday tomorrow and said "Happy birthday" and then asked if this was my first show. And when I did in fact, confirm that I was an Elvis virgin, she smiled broadly and said, "Well, it won't be your last." (that's what you think, lady).
Fortunately the not-embarrassing-witty-with-Elvis-singing-Happy-Birthday-to-you-in-a-room-full-of-strangers was kept. Instead he sang to the President of his fan club....what was her name? Bubbles or Poopsie or Popsicle. Something like that. A fifty something woman, fuglier than 12 donkey butts. And Elvis sang to her and did a few pelvic thrust into her face and then kissed her and I was sitting just a couple of people away, saying "thanka Jezussss!"
The penultimate exciting moment of the show however, was when an Elvis staff member carried around a plastic bin full of women's underwear and a bunch of women snatched up various thongs with rhinestones and leopard skin panties and were allowed to approach the Elvis impersonator on stage and tuck the undies into his various orifices. One woman even strapped a purple thong up over his Elvis hair making him look like a Zardozian Warrior. And, ha, ha. There was even one huge pair of granny panties. You know...like size 18, and he said, "I hope I don't see her at my hotel room tonight...." Which I found rather ironic, since most of the women in the room, who were paying to see his show, were around that size.
So that was my evening with Elvis. And to be honest, I sat behind him during the show and was staring rhapsodically at his ass most of the evening, especially when he got into his white Elvis jumpsuit because he was evidently only wearing a jockstrap and he had the most deliriously delicious buttcheeks I've ever seen on a man. Yowza!! I just couldn't take my eyes off of them. I know...bad witty!! So in that sense, I definitely enjoyed the show. I think he should include a vibrator in his gift basket, but that's just me.
Anyways, today is my 48th birthday. If you want to stop by and say hello that would be really nice. There are also a couple of other cool diaryland pirates who were born today, the ever-delightful and funny Poolagirl and the devilish ArcAngel666. Go give them the birthday high five too if you have a moment.
Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty