Duct Tape, Booze, and Fabulousness

So first of all, a little elaboration on the whole duct tape thing.

When i was in high school, I read an article in Seventeen about the beauty secrets of pageant contestants. One of the things was that they used duct tape when they wore evening gowns to...elaborate on their cleavage. Well, one day, in the house I lived in in college, I got into a conversation with E, one of my housemates, about that very thing. I have no idea how the subject came up, but he was fascinated by the idea.

So, a few weeks later, E and I were watching a James Bond movie in the living room. Not being a fan of James Bond, I have no idea which one it was, but Jane Seymour was the Bond Girl. All throughout the movie, E was commenting about how beautiful she was, and how perfect her body was, and blah, blah, blah. I kept rolling my eyes and reminding him that real women don't look like that, that Hollywood has all kinds of tricks to make these women look perfect, etc.

Well, during one scene, she was wearing a very flimsy neglige, and she laid down, and, well, certain parts of her anatomy didn't move. Now, there was no way in creation she had any kind of bra on underneath that nightie. I pointed that out to E as yet another example of the false perfection Hollywood creates, and he said, "Thank God for duct tape!"

Now, you may be wondering if I ever tried the duct tape method just to see what happens. And...well...I did {blushes in shame}. I was 17 and curious. And while it did in fact give me lovely cleavage, it also hurt like mad when I took it off, and the sticky stuff wouldn't go away without rubbing alcohol.

So I shall reserve the duct tape for that one special occassion, when I walk down the red carpet after my novel gets turned into a movie. I think Jude Law shall play the priest. Talk about Fr. What-A-Waste.

Now, on to Booze

The literary scene here in BR pretty much revolves around bars, at least if you are under the age of 60. All the book clubs I'm familiar with, all the writers groups, all the creative types, hang out in bars pretty much every night of the week.

I almost feel guilty for saying this, but that just isn't my scene. I'm not Ernest Hemingway. Alcohol does not unleash my muse. Mostly it just flushes my muse's face and makes her giggle too much. Plus, my muse doesn't like bars because they are too loud and she can't hear when people talk.

My point to this is that it is hard to have a social life when people with whom you share similar interests hang out some place you can't stand. I'm afraid to even tell the people I work with that I don't know where this one particular bar they go to every Friday is. It's getting harder to make up excuses.

On to fabulousness...

Actually, I think I shall save that. But I will say that Popeye's mashed potatoes are absolutely fabulous. I could eat those every day (if I wanted to die of a heart attack next month). The gravy is to die for, and the potatoes even have lumps in them.

Yes, I like lumpy mashed potatoes. If they don't have lumps, then the are whipped potatoes. You want to make something of it?