The Life and Times of a Twitchy Flailer.

If you’ve not seen me in meatspace you have yet to witness the awesome elegance and poetry in movement that is me stumbling around in the Spring.

Part of my seasonal allergies that are my ears clog up and I already uh, not super awesome balance is further off. I can’t walk a straight line, I often list hard to port or starboard, I kind of stumble over nothing.

I do it in my apartment, I do it walking around-I just stumble all over and on occasion someone will ask if I’m drunk or have CP.

I tell you this because I have a story to tell you about how elegant and majestic I really am.


Picture yours truly at about 22 years old in the summer, it is a warm beautiful day in downtown Seattle circa 1999. I was job hunting and really desperately wanted to work at this bourgie little gallery place. I had a friend help me dye my hair burgundy, I had my eyebrows shaped by a girl I was seeing. I had my I take no shit red lipstick on.

I even remember I was wearing a beautiful vintage sundress I had carefully dyed black. I was in modern parlance feelin myself.

As I strode up first avenue, arms swinging, doing my I have places to go so move walk, something happened.

I was quite thin for me at the time and didn’t have the money for new underwear. I had on my nicest pair, a pretty silky string bikini type. For those with less booty in the pants, if you’ve worn silky undies, y’all know, sometimes they get a little roomy in the butt area. the sensation is weird, loose fabric occasionally rubbing your butt cheeks, but you get used to it.

I was too busy thinking about the interview to realize disaster was about to strike in the form of me walking right out of my panties.

I kind of tripped over them as they slid off of one ankle.

I had a few choices.

I could stop, turn, go back and pick them up and put them in my purse.

I could stand there mortified and hoping the ground would swallow me.

I looked at my abandoned panties, checked the time and sprinted to my interview. No tears and cackling.

Another story, more than a decade later.

I was doing my normal walk to the transit center and one second I was walking the next I was rolling around in some beauty bark showing my entire ass (the ONE day I wore cute undies that fit thankfully) and flailing like a weirdo.

A couple of drunk men helped me, they thought I was crying and I was in fact howling in laughter. I’d managed to not break my phone, not break my glasses and not hurt myself. I was covered in stinky bits of dirt and wood, but, it was hilarious. Once I got to my feet I laughed, they laughed. They offered to buy me a beer, which I declined.

I have fallen in public more times than I can count. Stone cold sober, I fell down a flight of stairs trying to make a grand entrance at a club. I’ve had a boob fall out when I was trying to (again) pretend to be regal.

Just today as I was heading out on my last leg of my commute to work I almost fell out of the bus, got my shit together and went into Starbucks. I’ve got a massive headache and got myself an Americano and because I don’t take room the cup was really full. I managed to get my three raw sugars, a dash of chocolate powder and a bit of cinnamon into the cup, stir it and the lid back on without spilling.

I got a little, uh, stopper thing and made myself walk slowly the last couple of blocks to work because I know, I know damn well had I hurried I would have fallen or spilled on myself or something.

My magical point is this. Know yourself, know your foibles and don’t stress too hard about it.

I am a twitchy, jumpy, bad balance having, frequently unable to operate my body person. That’s just how it is and sometimes it sucks (falling and staining/tearing favorite clothes or hurting myself) I spill things constantly, I’m weird and much like an asshole cat.

And you know what?

Fuck it.

Be as inelegant, awesome and prone to taking falls of epic proportions. You’re still awesome.

Be the Shruggie. I am the Shruggie.


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