Dining Alone

Catherine: Hey guys. I meant to write this post over the holidays, because that’s when this story takes place but guess what – I didn’t.

So – here it is now.

When I was about 8 or 9, I got a bright pink matching long-sleeved Barbie shirt and Barbie pants from a friend for my birthday. They were pajamas, but I didn’t understand that – I thought it was an outfit. My birthday was in March, but I so revered this outfit that I SAVED IT UNTIL THE FOLLOWING DECEMBER – Christmas Eve, to be exact. I wanted to debut the shit out of this because it was FIERCE.

Growing up, I didn’t have my own bedroom, I shared a room with my brothers that had no door, so I would have to change in the bathroom. On this particular Christmas Eve, once my entire family had arrived for dinner, I went into the bathroom to make my move. For the first time in my life, I also locked the door – I thought this was suuuuuper grown up. I put on my Barbie ensemble and was ready to greet the family, expecting nothing if not an obscene amount of praise. But. I couldn’t unlock the door.

The lock, you see, was a weird turnkey thingy, and I couldn’t get it to work. It wasn’t until people started to need to use the (only) bathroom that I had to sort of explain, um… I can’t open the door… It was horrifying. I thought I was going to be in there FOREVER. My family was coaching me, trying to explain, “Just turn it to the left, and lift it a little.” Nothing. I was crying. I was going to die, alone, in a bathroom, in my Barbie outfit that I now HATED. Finally, after probably 45 minutes, I was free, having unlocked the door successfully moments before my dad was going to unscrew the doorknob. But I was also humiliated. I had since changed out of my Barbie outfit, so I emerged in what I had been wearing before. I got a plate of food, and too embarassed to talk to anyone, I took it into the bathroom where I shut the door (I didn’t lock it, of course) and ate alone. I remember looking at the discarded pink ensemble with SO MUCH HATE and no, I never wore it again.

This was the first in a string of being locked in bathrooms moment in my life – another memorable one was locking myself in a bathroom in Lithuania and giving myself a full-blown panic attack. So. Now I always test a lock before I lock it to see how it works. Like, I still do that. Y’all, I got problems.

Jana: Oh lil Cath. Poor lil Cath.

I wish you still had the Barbie outfit. Did it have Barbie’s face on it? Or was it a million little Barbies in a pattern that covered all the cloth? I just wish I knew, for some reason. Either way, I’m delighted to picture you sitting on a toilet, face over your plate of food, refusing to leave the bathroom. And I’m happy to report that, just a few miles away, I was probably doing something similar right at that very moment, unaware that parallel me (you) existed.

Lil’ Disasters! Occurring In: Theaters

Jana: Here’s something new for the cheap seats in the back: A segment called “Lil’ Disasters”! In these posts, Cath and I will tell mini stories of times that we have embarrassed ourselves horrifically, but in small ways. Today, enjoy some individual moments in my life when I’ve walked away from a situation thinking “Jesus I wish I were dead.” 

In the inaugural edition, let’s talk about my acting career, shall we?

1993, The Beginning

In the third grade, my class did a play for the first time. As soon as the activity was announced, I felt something stirring in me and knew that this was my destiny. Then, I got the lead! The play was called “Daniel, Servant of the Lord,” and I was playing DANIEL. Yesss. I didn’t even notice that this was customarily a part for a boy! When the time for dress rehearsal finally arrived, I donned my tunic and tights with nervous excitement.

During that rehearsal, I was feeling PRETTY great about myself and my future as a gender-ambiguous actress. I had to go to the bathroom, though, so I left the auditorium in costume and headed downstairs. As I rushed down the top step, I saw the school receptionist heading up the stairs towards me.

“How are rehearsals going?” She asked, catching me off guard.

“Oh, great!” I managed to choke out.

Then, my tight-clad feet slipped out from under me, and I fell down the ENTIRE flight of stairs. Aside from sheer, body-wracking embarrassment, I don’t actually remember what happened next; all I know is that I avoided that receptionist at all costs for the entirety of my 5 remaining years at the school.

2005, The College Years

During one of the first rehearsals for the musical “Hair” that Cathy and I both had minor roles in our sophomore year of college, we were rehearsing a racy dance number, “Hashish”. The intimidating director was teaching us some choreography, and he placed me in contact with my crush, Peter. Peter was a junior, and I believed him to maybe BE the funniest person I’d ever met. I was thrilled that he’d have to touch me, which I expressed by looking at the floor and scratching the back of my neck. 

Unfortunately, on the day of this rehearsal I had chosen to wear my favorite workout pants. Like all of my favorite things, they were 90s-esque, with an elastic waist. During one dance move, Peter had to lift me up (YES!). BUT. The pants were so loose! Peter grabbed my waist. BOYFRIEND!, I thought. One second later, I felt my pants slide down. Like, all the way down, so that my underwear was exposed to not only Peter, but the entire cast of people I was hoping to impress. THE CLINCHER: My underwear had been purchased at American Eagle, and it was decorated with “school” phrases, like “To do: Homework!”, and little lists that read: “Field Hockey Practice, Math, TV!” 

Everyone laughed at me, I tried to be like “Ha, who doesn’t love American Eagle?”, and rehearsal continued. Shockingly, Peter never became my boyfriend.

This is what I ended up looking like in the real production of “Hair”. HELP THESE PANTS DON’T FIT ME, I wish I had been screaming. As I mentioned, Peter and I never dated.

2009, On The Downslide

Right after college, no longer an actress but still “wanting to be involved,” I worked as a House Manager at a local theater. One morning, I got dressed in what I deemed to be a classy, adult outfit – consisting of a strapless black top and a cardigan – and headed to work, where it was my job to instruct the volunteer ushers.

The ushers who showed up on this particular day were a man and woman in their late sixties. I gave them some little job to do, like picking up trash in the empty auditorium, and headed to the supply room to get the box of Kit Kits we’d sell at intermission. I leaned down and hoisted the box up into my arms. Easy breezy! Then I returned to the ushers. Like a professional, I instructed them to do another task. As I talked, I noticed they were looking at me with pained faces, as if they were being tortured but had yelled at to be cool about it. What a weird couple! I thought, but I didn’t let it get to me. I made some generic joke like, “Don’t get lost now!”, and sent them on their way. I was KILLIN IT. 

Confidently, I went to check in with the box office attendant. “Jana, oh my god,” she said. “Jana. Your shirt is off! I can see your whole bra! Oh my god!” She gestured wildly towards my chest. I looked down: BOOBS. The strapless black tank top was now just hovering underneath my completely exposed bra. The fucking Kit Kats! The strapless top hadn’t been able to maintain its position under the weight of the concessions! AHH NOO THE USHERRRS.

To my credit, I shimmied my shirt back into position and continued instructing the ushers as if they hadn’t just almost gotten to second base with me. To their credit, they didn’t complain to the theater that their House Manager had exposed herself while on the job. It was a win-win, if you think about it some way other than the way I think about it.

That’s all for today! I hope you’ve enjoyed this edition of “Lil’ Disasters”! Don’t worry, there are more to come – lil’ disasters happen in my life every day.

Catherine: JANA YOU ARE A DELIGHTFUL TREASURE TROVE OF HUMILIATIONS. I love the image of your “tight-clad feet” giving way under you, sending you tumbling down the stairs, your bobby pins breaking free and dispersing wildly.

How Did You All Get Here?: An Exploration Of Our Readership.

Hello, readers. So, now that we’re a big deal, something new is happening: wordpress informs us that we are being found via google. Hooray!, you might think we’re thinking. But, let me clarify. It’s not that we’re being found via google ON PURPOSE; no, we are being found via google by people who are in really weird, gross, or sad situations. They are stumbling upon us, because what we write about is weird, gross, and sad. Through the magic of the internet, we’re being connected with our people. 

Since these poor suckers aren’t getting the answers that they’ve probably expected when clicking our link, we thought we would try to provide some now. Listen and learn.

First, we shall address some of the MANY search queries relating to cold sores.

 

Actual Search #1: “did people notice my cold sore on my wedding day”

 

Catherine: Most definitely.

Jana: Did you seriously not postpone your wedding?

Catherine: You know there are hundreds of pictures, right?

 

Actual Search #2: “I have a bad cold and sore throat should I hang with my friends or just stay home”

Catherine: Just stay home. You didn’t say it explicitly, but I’m assuming your face is also broken out and you’ve been wearing the same underwear/sweatpants for a few days now. Nobody wants to see that.

Jana: Listen, guy, I’m not gonna tell you that I haven’t on occasion rallied through a little sore throat by chugging airborne and taking tequila shots. That said, I was much younger. So this really depends on your age. How old are you? Do you often get into conversations about “Fraggle Rock?” Did you love “Empire Records?” Where were you on 9/11 – High School bio class, right? Stay home.

 

Actual Search #3: “what can my cold sore do to me?”

Catherine: What can’t it do is a better question. Offer you the fine company of solace and isolation? No, it can do that. Embitter your soul? It invariably does. Expect that it can, and will, do anything to bring you down.

Jana: Your cold sore can fuck you up.

 

 

Actual Search #4: “why do cold sores take chunks from lips”

Catherine: I don’t think that is supposed to happen…

Jana: IT DOES HAPPEN. It’s because they have to dry up first and then the dry stuff comes off, bringing chunks with it. TOO MUCH, I know. Real answer: It’s because the world is cold. Stay inside.

Catherine: Jana, TMI, buddy.

 

Actual Search #5: “if a cashier has a cold sore and touches you do you get herpes”

Catherine: Geez, I don’t know, probably? At least if it were me that would happen, because man, that would really suck.

Jana: Speaking as a former cashier with cold sores: No, bitch.

 

 

Actual Search #6: “I have some cold sores”

Catherine: Oh, really?

Jana: I understand the impulse to just type this into google as a stand-alone statement; I really do. Let me know if you need a hug or a valtrex.

 

 

Actual Search #7: “I don’t have cold sores”

Catherine: Congratulations! Read about Jana’s!

Jana: Cool, congratulations. Why did you put this in google? Is there a problem?

 

 

Actual Search #8: “people comment on my cold sores”

Catherine: Of course they do.

Jana: They talk about them behind your back too, I’m sure. Why is it that you’ve been going outside?

 

 

Actual Search #9: “nearly almost get cold sored during the night”

Catherine: Now, I assume this was a typo, but it’s so good to think of it NOT as a typo. Like, “coldsore” the verb. As in, “Man, I had a date, but I got coldsored so I stayed home and watched Hugh Grant movies while contemplating why nobody likes me.”

Jana: I’ve said this. I have actually said this.

 

BONUS ACTUAL SEARCH HAVING NOTHING TO DO WITH COLD SORES: “he stopped in middle of having sex then told me he wasn’t ready for a new relationship”

Catherine: I can only hope that reading our blog helped this poor person feel a little better, because DAMN.

Jana: Did you cry? I would have cried. Man, sex is great.