the Bucky Four-Eyes Cotillion

Monday, September 29, 2008


Maybe I've embraced technology with just a little too much enthusiasm.

Saturday, September 20, 2008

Diva of design

Hi. My name is Katy and I'm addicted to Bravo.

It started innocently enough. "A little Top Chef won't hurt now and then, just socially. I can take it or leave it."

Then it escalated. "No, I can't come with you to the free beer and horny strippers party - are you insane? Project Runway is on tonight!"

Before I knew it, I was spinning out of control in a frenzy of Real Housewives, Shear Geniuses, and aspiring Supermodels. I realized I had hit rock bottom the morning I woke up twitching in a rat-laden alley with my veins full of Date My Ex; I felt so dirty and cheap, and not in a good way.

I've tried to step away from the Bravo, really I have. But the lure of the gayest reality TV in the history of gay reality TV has proven too strong for me. Of course, you know I'm not going to ever Just Say No to Project Runway, especially in this, its final season on Bravo. Where else would I have met my imaginary TV girlfriend, the much-maligned (perhaps deservedly so, but don't talk about my woman like that!) Kenley?

"Only Katy can harness the power of my brattiness for the good of human sexuality."

And as each season of
Real Housewives becomes more absurd, how can I possibly stop watching the train run off the tracks, over and over again? Then there's Tabatha's Salon Takeover, which is impossible to resist when Tabatha spouts abrasive gems like "Here's your smoking schedule: Fuck off!"

However, I decided to take a small step toward recovery and had made up my mind that I would not become addicted to Top Design. But Bravo is one sneaky-ass pusher, and scheduled it immediately after Project Runway. So, the night it premiered, I'd left the TV on after PR, and wasn't really paying the show any mind...until this designer was introduced. None of us will ever be the same after this clip.

God help us all. I've never watched the whole episode, so maybe there's hope for me, but anytime I see they're rerunning it, I stop and watch Wisit sing (there's actually a little more to the song, but I couldn't find a complete clip...if you see it being shown, I urge you to watch it, just to see him finish the song and then look down in the most hilarious display of demure I've ever witnessed).

The only thing I can say at this point is that someone may need to come put a toe tag on me when Real Housewives of Atlanta premieres.

Monday, September 08, 2008

Hugs, not drugs. I mean, unless there are some drugs lying around, then both would be cool.

I had one of those customers on Saturday. You know what I mean, don't you? The shoppers who make outrageous requests out of the blue and don't bat an eye? Well, Saturday I had one who demanded a hug from me before I could make the sale.

Can you imagine?

Of course, I did it. A girl's gotta keep her sales average up.

Oh, alright, it's not even a bit as sordid as that all sounds. Actually, the customer was Squirl, and she was kind enough to buy something from me while she was visiting (oh, and also gave me homemade pizza and beer after work). And the hugging was not coerced.

This afternoon, she stopped in for a minute to visit me about an hour before I was scheduled to clock out, and I told her that if she wanted, she could go let herself into my house and visit with the cats until I got there. I'm sure I probably hugged her somewhere during the exchange.

You have to understand, my sister and I share a strong family resemblance, to the point that we've been mistaken for twins many, many times since I was in my teens. Our voices are also similar, and our laughs are identical.

After she left, a young male co-worker sidled up to me and inquired, in all seriousness, "Is that your girlfriend?"

Son, we may be from the South, but we ain't from that far south.

That is all; the till is now closed for the day.

Wednesday, September 03, 2008

Dibs on a dancing zebra

Why can't we have commercials like this in the States?

Now I feel all funny, like I just climbed the rope in gym class.

Thanks to Anya for sending this bizarro masterpiece my way.

Tuesday, September 02, 2008

SIR strikes again

She was one of the sweetest customers I'd encountered in the store, a diminutive lady, probably in her 70s, and from what I could tell, completely sightless. She wanted to buy some headphones, so I gave her my elbow to grasp and steered her over to the display of earbuds and lightweight sound devices. I didn't have to be told that she didn't want anything that would fuck up her hair - my mom and her bouf had already instilled that lesson in me.

When she'd ask to "see" a particular product, I'd take it out of the package and put it into her hands for closer inspection. She chose a pair of behind-the-head 'phones, and once again I gave her my elbow and we started toward the counter. On the way there, a friend of hers recognized her and came over to chat. They talked for a minute or two about churchy things, things obviously beyond my comprehension, then her friend asked if she was having any luck with her shopping.

"Oh, yes," my customer enthused. "He's been helping me all over the store." "He" meaning me.

Maybe I should've let her feel my nametag; maybe I should've let her feel my tits. Either way, I wasn't going to ruin the illusion for her.

Maybe she didn't think it was an elbow she was grabbing.