yellow hell
...lyle's birthday bash should have been rife with merriment and joy. and indeed, it was a joyous occasion, but it wasn't all fun and games. ours is a universe built on give and take...so it follows that lyle's perfect day would be someone else's evil twin of a bad day. imagine how lyle could have worried knowing he caused an afternoon of agony to some stranger. fortunately for lyle, this was not the case: the goofus to his gallant was surprisingly close by...
...the day started out perfectly...we got all dolled up in the morning: lyle in his new rhinestone collar (a.k.a $2.99 girl's headband from target) and me in my sexy brown pants and new tall3 (that's tall tall tall) leopard-print platforms. we raced into the city, picked up the yummy carob birthday cake and made it to kilowatt right on time to greet lyle's fans as they gradually filtered in...
...so it'd been a beer and a half and since kilowatt is one of those classy bars with restrooms, i decided to give my chihuahua-sized bladder a break...and then decided against it when i couldn't get the zipper at the back of my sexy brown pants down. no harm done, though. i figured i'd just ignore nature's call, keep drinking and by the time i really had to pee, i'd be able to get the damn pants off. no, i wasn't drunk; this was sober logic...
...so the party went on and i finished my second beer and soon felt that niggling below the belt. funny thing - i had been sure my second attempt at the zipper would be successful and it was anything but! it was time to call in the cavalry. i discreetly related the dilemma to rob while making no accusations (very uncharacteristic for me, i might add. he had jokingly tugged on the zipper of my sexy brown pants earlier in the day...and i'm still making no accusations, fyi). he agreed to steathily follow me into the alcove in front of the bathrooms and rescue me...
...and failed. he tugged at the zipper for what felt like 3 1/2 hours (but was more likely 2 minutes) until the fear of be discovered in a compromising (read: humiliating) position outweighed my desire to be rescued. just because my logic hadn't worked the first time didn't mean it wouldn't work the second! i fetched a third beer and went back to the party, knowing the zipper would cooperate soon enough...though not during either of the following two attempts rob made at coaxing it down...
...by the end of the party i felt the pressure of 20 chihuahuas bearing down on my bladder, but this could not stand in the way of my being the hostess with the mostess! lyle's favorite kusf on-air personality inquired if he could catch a ride with us away from kilowatt so naturally i said "of course!" and when aforementioned on-air personality asked if we could also stop off for a sixer (to bring to the next party he was spreading the joy at) was there any way i could say no? by this point i was more-or-less delirious or something like that (i've blocked the memory of the exact sensation so i can't really describe it), but i was coherent enough to finally half-way heed my screaming bladder by declining the invite to see the terrific view from his friend's roof. (though a view of the bay probably would have ended my agony...although i'm sure it would have created a new agony of a different sort)...
...at this point the plan was to quickly drive home where the zipper could be carefully examined, inoculated with wd-40, prayed to, chanted at and convinced to surrender its lofty position. after forcibly flinging lyle from my lap while growling "get away, lyle! mommy doesn't love you right now," i made an executive decision that a plan b was necessary...i wasn't going to make it over the bridge! rob hid his smirk and prepared to take the second-to-last exit before the bridge. as we inched down the freeway i rejected plan c (squatting down and peeing on the floormat) and unveiled plan b-and-a-half: i ripped my sexy brown pants along the seam to give my belly some breathing room...
...with horror i beheld a tummy the size of a woman's pregnant with seven developmentally stunted talk show stars. i was mesmerized by the sheer size of it and before i knew it we had pulled up along side a bar (presumably also of that classy bathroom-bearing ilk). rob unselfishly offered up his windbreaker for me to tie around my waist which would simultaneously hide my butt and make a daring fashion statement...
...but what is the use of being a woman if one is not vain? no, i wasn't afraid of the fashion police; i don't really know what i was afraid of, but i just couldn't get out of the car! it had something to do with being parked within view of the bar patrons and not knowing the quickest route to the bathroom once inside and probably something to do with tinky winky's recent scandal and this possibly being an english pub. i quickly convinced rob that while i realized i now looked and felt like i was carrying the first developmentally stunted octuplets, i found this bar completely unsuitable and we'd have to find a new watering hole (so to speak)...
...as luck would have it, he located the mcdonald's we had seen from the freeway. we parked at the back where no one could see my graceless dismount from the car and i noticed i wouldn't even have to walk past the cashiers or diners to get to the bathrooms - perfect! i spilled out of the car and sauntered towards the golden arches (i probably sprinted, but i was trying to be inconspicuous and saunter). i did pass by one woman on my way to the door and when i noticed her eyes were drawn towards my midriff, i realized my shirt had ridden up above my huge gut. embarrassing: yes, but this was a bad part of town so i was sure she'd see much worse within the next hour and forget about me. furthermore, by this point my vanity had drowned in my glee over the close proximity of relief...
...so that's about it. i peed continuously for over an hour, returned to the car and counted my lucky stars all the way home. at home i changed into a pair of less evil pants and upon examining my far-from-salvageable sexy brown pants learned one teeny zipper tooth had snagged in the neighboring fabric. if there's a moral to this story, i don't know what it is. i should probably wear a sarong or a mumu to lyle's next party...