Tuesday, August 16, 2005

it's a bird, it's a plane, it's...it's...(fill in the blank)!


a cape is what you make it.

my friend g. is throwing a super-powers party. now, it's not what you think. there won't be a bevy of supermen (although i do hope there's a slew of straight men in tights) or xena-the warrior princesses, or jem doppelgangers.

remember her?

jeeeem is truly outrageous, truly truly truly outrageous....ooohhhh, jem!

god, i loved her pink rock star hair.


i wonder if she wore contacts.
that eye makeup would be a bitch.


anyway...g is throwing this party and the rule is, you're supposed to come as your super-power. the super power you already have. for example, g. is planning on going as Metamorpho because she's blossomed from a bowl-cut, Jersey suburban nerd with glasses the size of tire rims to a successful, sexy textiles designer with choppy-chic hair, luminous skin and a passion for opera and Amaretto on the rocks. get it?

so, i'm thinking...what can i be?

my first thought was to go as The Self-Deprecator - a strong, beautiful, powerful woman capable of reducing herself to a sniveling, soundless sap with one word, one thought, one glance in the mirror at her chubby face or one look at her calloused, peeling feet.

her mantra? her battlecry?

I AM NOT ENOUGH. mwahahahahahahaha....waaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!

she carries with her a pink-sequinned whip with which she self-flagellates when the words just aren't getting the job done and always, on hand, a pint of ice cream which always makes her feel worse after ingesting it.

no.

no.

no.

that sucks. besides, what cute boy is going to hit on The Self-Deprecator? that dried chocolate ice cream crust forming around her mouth like a bad case of cocoa-flavored ringworm is so...well...unattractive. and the eyes, swollen and red from constant weeping...shockingly...not a turn-on. yes, yes, yes - perhaps the well-known superdicks, The Says-I'll-Call-You-But-Won't-Asshole or The Co-dependent Poet Alcoholic will hit on me, but i'm not interested in them anymore. i've got my eye on the Christopher Reeve lookalike in the corner...who is he?

The Lover?

The Baker?

The I'll-Bring-You-Cappuccino-in-Bed-in-the-Morning-Man?

The I-Think-Renee-Zellweger-is-Too-Thin-and-You're-Just-Perfect-Here-Have-Another-Chocolate-Guy?

yeeeesssss...that's the one.

but what will i go as? this is a call for suggestions. name me. christen me. stitch me a metaphorical cape. funny. serious. clever. whatever. if i use your suggestion, you win a batch of homemade cookies, your choice. if i don't know you, i'll send them to you, if i do know you, i'll invite you over so we can share them. by then, superman and i will be dating, and i hear he makes one hell of a kryptonite cocktail.

3 comments:

prissy (or is it pissy?) missy :) said...

Self-Deprecator? sounds like a person who walks around poo-ing on sidewalks....

margrocks said...

oh prissy, pissy missy...that would be a Self-Defecator! very unoriginal...therer are a number of those in nyc. i did live with The Urinator once...

pissy missy to the rescue part deux said...

self-orgasmo?