I think the Fat Fairy and Mr. Snarkypants are in cahoots

It all started when I realized my dress didn't fit.

That was this morning, when I was getting ready for work. The dress wasn't just a little snug; I looked like a brown knit sausage (with cute boots). And I had just worn the dress last week, when it fit perfectly. So, either a) I managed to gain an entire dress size in a week, even though I'm on hard-core Weight Watchers and I haven't been cheating; or b) there's some sort of fat-distributing version of the Tooth Fairy out there who strikes unsuspecting 40-something women during the night. The Fat Fairy, if you will. Either way, I spent a sweaty 20 minutes ironing another dress, putting on my eye makeup, and letting the dogs out--all at the same time. It made for a good start to the day.

Crap.

Then, the machines turned on me.

When I got to my office, I immediately settled down to work on a high-priority report that had to be ready to send to a group of bigwigs by noon. I opened the Word document, did a "save as," and...lockup; restart; lather, rinse; repeat four times, on four different computers. It turned out that the server for my division had run out of memory. By the time I was able to start on the report, I had just over an hour to finish.

CRAP.

Aaaannnnddd then Mr. Snarkypants called.

Just thinking about this guy is making my face burn. Not only was he incredibly snarky, rude, and completely unwilling to provide any of the information I needed to answer his question, he yelled at me. For about three solid minutes. While I was already stressed out from the whole computer thing. Here's a tip, dude: Yelling at me does not make me want to help you. It makes me want to curse at you and kick you in the shins. I got so disgruntled that I lost the willpower to resist the massive croissants one of my co-workers brought, which made me even more bummed out about the dress-not-fitting thing.

CRAAAAAAP!!!!!!

It all worked out, eventually--the computer problem was solved, the report got finished, my pulse stopped racing from the sheer fury caused by that massive jerkwad, and this crummy day was finally over. I got to change into my jim-jams and have a nice cup of coffee. I'm keeping an eye out for that Fat Fairy, though. If I find that heifer, she's definitely getting a kick in the shins.  

My 15 minutes were over before I even hit grade school

Recently, Kathy of the Junk Drawer Blog asked her Facebook friends if they had ever appeared on television. Tons of people replied, and many of them had made appearances, particularly on local news or shows. Reading their comments took me back to 1975, when I made my television debut. Does "debut" imply that there were subsequent appearances?

When I was growing up here in Lexington, Kentucky, everyone watched a local talk-style show—it covered events and celebrities, human interest stories, and the like—hosted by a lady named June Rollins. Each Christmas, Ms. Rollins would select a group of children from a kindergarten class to appear on her holiday special. For her Christmas 1975 show, June chose Eastland Day School to provide her with the requisite number of cute kindergarteners. Enter yours truly.

When the representatives from the show called the school, they noted that, “the kids have to be able to sit still and be quiet for the length of the show.” I always toed the line at school (based on my mother’s threats of a punishment worse than death if I misbehaved), so I was one of probably ten or so kids chosen to appear on the show. To our great delight, my BFF Shannon was picked, too. Squee! We were so excited. While our teachers taught etiquette lessons and gave stern warnings about not embarrassing our fine educational institution on television, my aunt made me a special dress just for the program: a ruffled denim pinafore with red flowers, which I wore with a red turtleneck and knee socks. My mom shined up my saddle shoes and procured the perfect red ribbon for my ‘do. I was all ready for the big day.

Sadly, many of the memories of the “big day” have not stayed with me for the last 35 years. (Except every detail of what I wore. Tells you a lot about my priorities, huh?) The main thing I remember is waiting. Lots and lots of sitting, and waiting, and being quiet. All very difficult things for a group of five-year-olds already jacked up sky-high on pre-Christmas hysteria. At last, the show began. Ms. Rollins must have been a masochist, because she aired that bad boy live. Live, with a bunch of holiday-hyped kindergarteners. We all sat cross-legged on the floor, looking adorbz, trying not to fidget while June did her thing, and waiting for our chance to tell her what we wanted for Christmas. When she came to Shannon and me, it was like we had made an unspoken pact to take over the show. We would. Not. Stop. Talking. While June tried to steer the conversation to some of the other kids, we just kept ramping it up, going on and on about the gifts we had asked Santa to bring, until Shannon issued the coup de grace: “And guess what else I asked for! A DOLL THAT PEES!!!” (That was kind of scandalous in 1975, kids.) Shannon wore an expression of exhilaration and triumph; I fell over in a cascade of giggles; and June Rollins looked like she was hoping that the floor would open up and swallow us both.

After the show, my mother was appalled that I had participated in such a performance. But, she was also very glad that, at least, I was not the one who uttered the offensive sentence. That was the beginning, and end, of my television career. I spent the next couple of years begging my mom to get me a gig on Romper Room (LOVED that show), but she always quickly changed the subject when I mentioned it. At the time, I couldn’t figure out why, but now I’m pretty sure I understand. She didn’t want to give me the opportunity to embarrass her on a national scale. I already had the local audience covered.