May 2, 2006
They wanted me to try out for the grade 12 beauty/talent pageant. I most definately did not want to do that. I was girlie and all but had no desire to get up in front of an audience, prancing around on stage. Nope. Not one little bit.
After being pestered all morning, I finally relented and wondered what the hell I had gotten myself into? Was I crazy? Most definately.
Later that day I had to go to the gym to sign up and find out what was required of me. There were 4 parts to the pageant. First, we all had to do a ‘talent’ ditty. Then we would all, as a group, do a dance number. Fantastic. Then, we would, one at a time, model one outfit from a particular store from our city. Then lastly, we’d all be asked a question that we would have no prior knowledge of. We would have to come up with an answer on the spot. Super duper.
A few days later I had to go to the pageant coordinator and let her know what ‘talent’ I would be performing. Ummmm. Well. This wouldn’t be pretty.
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Can you sing?”
“Do you believe in aliens?”
“Okay, can you dance?”
“Well I can grind my hips like a 2 bit floozy and shake my ass.”
“I’m not sure that would really be appropriate for the pageant.”
“Ya, probably not.”
“Well can you juggle?”
“Do I look like a clown?”
“There ya go.”
“Well you tell me what you can do well.”
“I don’t think I can say.”
“Okay then. Well can you do magic?”
“I can make a plate of brownies disappear.”
“Aren’t you a little smart alec? How about you give me a little background about what you like to do and we’ll go from there?”
“Okay. I like to take pictures, draw and paint, read…….”
“Wait. You can draw and paint?”
“Yes, very well.”
“Well we’ve never had this kind of entry before but why don’t you create at least 2 pictures and present them as your talent?”
“Okay sounds easy enough.”
“Great. The talent portion will happen a few days prior to the actual pageant and the top 3 talent performers will also perform at the actual pagent.”
I left there feeling a bit frightened. I was not the least bit excited about doing this whole pagent thing at all. I wondered if I should take up smoking pot to relieve the nervousness I was feeling.
A couple of days later, all of us girls went to the mall downtown to go to the stores that were chosen for us and pick out an outfit to model. I got the worst store in the mall. It had some gay foo foo poo poo name and their clothes sucked. And the worst part? I didn’t even get to chose the outfit. The store manager got to choose which outfit I was to model.
“Oh I have the perfect outfit for your frame.”
“Oh most definately. You’ll look fabulous in it. I’m sure of it.”
“Okay if you say so.”
She showed it to me. I threw up alittle in my mouth. It was bright yellow pants that were made of crappy polyester/rayon combo and a flouncy, flowy, flowered top that looked like a cat had given birth to a litter of kittens on it. It was horrid. Plus it came with a sash type belt but the store manager didn’t want me to tie it around my waist. She wanted me to wrap it around my head. Hey, how ’bout I wrap it around your neck? Pffffttttt.
“This outfit just came in a few days ago and all of my employees said they love it.”
“Wow. Really? They must get paid alot.”
So I leave the mall with my pageant ‘mates’ and head back to the school. I’m super jealous of their outfits. They all got cute, dollie type things and I got something that even my grandmother would snub her nose at. Kill me now.
Saturday rolls around and we’re asked to show up at one of the jr high’s to do our talent portion of it. I get there with my 2 paintings that I had spent the last two days working on. I didn’t know what to expect. Was I just going to get up in front of everyone and set them down? I had no clue.
Talent lady with big hair and even bigger ass, seats us all and let’s us know what’s going to happen and one by one, girls get up and do their little acts. Some sang, some danced, some did comedy, some twirled batons…..then it was my turn. Big hair/bigger ass lady calls my name. I pick up my paintings and walk hesitantly to the front of the room. All eyes are on me. The room was so quiet. I take my paintings and set them on the 2 easels that had been placed at the front of the room. I say hi and hope that maybe the floor will swallow me whole. Talent bizatch has a clip board and is taping her long red talons on it. Clickity clack, clickity clack. I’m thinking I’m supposed to say something but I’m not sure what. I mean really, what is there to say? Big hair looks at me and says, “Okay, now tell us what your paintings are about”. “Ummm, well one painting is a forest ’cause I painted trees. Hence, it’s a forest. With trees”.
Silence. “Hmmmm. Well, can you tell us what the other one is about”? “Ummm, it’s a girl. So it’s about a girl”. “Well is it a self portrait”? “Ummm no. The painting is a black girl. Ummmm like I’m pretty white. With red hair and freckles. So no, it’s not really a self portrait”. What the fuck? Is her vision fogged from dousing herself in the eyes with hairspray?
Again, silence. The other girls are rolling their eyes and noone clapped. Even the dumb twit who sang ‘You Are My Sunshine’ with a clogged nose got applause. Big hair looks at her clipboard and writes something down and finally looks up at me, gives me a fake, you smell like shit kinda smile and tells me I can have a seat. I guessed I didn’t win a spot in the top 3. And I was right. Thank God though, really.
Monday after school, we are all asked to meet in the auditorium to practice our group dance. We’re doing some stupid 20′s style song and also have to wear flapper dresses with tassles and headbands with feathers in them. Can you say AWFUL? The whole time I’m thinking, what in fuck was I smoking when I signed up for this? Did someone drug my bran muffin that fateful day? Anyway, practice goes okay and I’m hoping at least I won’t fall off the stage while performing. Fingers crossed.
Tues, Thurs and Fri we all go after school to perfect our dance routine and to also practice walking across the stage, modelling our outfits. Saturday is to be the big day and we need to be ready. Can’t wait.
Finally, Saturday evening arrives and my parents drive me to the school. I’m praying that they’ll decide that they’d rather go home and watch reruns of Sonny & Cher but nope, they stay. Great.
The 3 winners of the talent part, go first and do their little routines. I use the word ‘talent’ loosely. They pretty much sucked but they did manage to get the audience to clap for them. Hooray. Next, we all get ready to do our little 20′s jig. We’ve got our dark blue satin flapper dresses on, trimmed in silver fringe and our silver headbands on with a big white feather. I was never so mortified. Well all most.
We get out on stage, the music starts and we begin our dance routine. Everything is going pretty well until the strap on my dress snaps off. Oh I didn’t mention the dress had spagetti straps so thin that you could thread a needl with it and use it to sew buttons on with? And guess what? I had no bra on. I mean why would I? It’s basically a strapless dress, so what would be the point in that? The point would be, should your teeny, tiny spagetti strap break and your dress comes down over your tit, it wouldn’t be so bad because you’d have a bra on and a bra is kinda like a bathing suit top, so no biggie. Ya. That’s the point. So there I am, pulling up my dress, trying to keep in step with the other girls and seeing as I’m in the front row, I can’t really shrink off the stage and DIE. And since we’re doing a 20′s style dance routine, we’re also using our hands alot. But I can only use one hand because my other hand is holding up my dress so all the parents, mine included can’t see my melon. Okay it wasn’t exactly a ‘melon’ but it was an orange for sure. I was wishing that the stage would collapse and I’d have to be rushed to the hospital with a head injury. Maybe I already had one because I signed up for this motherfucker.
We get through the routine and off the stage to change into our ‘modeling’ outfit. God, can’t wait for that. I’m first up because my last name started with B. Lucky me. Remind me to thank my dad for that one. I change into my
I wanna cut this rag up with a switch blade outfit on and try to squash the butterflies in my stomache. ‘Okay, listen twit, all you have to do is walk across the stage, stick out your hip a little, make a turn and walk back’. That was my internal dialogue with my stupid self and I was hoping it would work. They made me put on these horrible high heels and although I was a pro at walking in high heels, these were not comfortable plus my legs were shakey. Breath. Breath. Breath.
Okay, lights, action, pull the curtin up. Loud mouth announcer, says my name and the foo foo poo poo store name that the outfit came from and then it’s time for me to make my grand entrance. And grand it was. I walked out on stage and because I was so short and the pants I was wearing were so long, I proceeded to step on my vomit yellow pantleg and trip myself. I didn’t actually fall but instead lunged forward like a drunk, stumbling to get my footing back. In the meantime, my pointy toed motherfucker shoe is still caught in my pantleg and now ripping it. So my shoe is now jutting out of my pantleg and it’s making it a bit difficult to walk properly. I certainly didn’t look like a hot, strike a pose model on that stage. I looked like a moronic buffon who had been drinking since 8am. Can you say NIGHTMARE?
I make it off the stage and am seriously contemplating jumping off of the school roof or hoping that maybe I’ll spontaneously combust into flames. Some of the girls come over to console me and some sneered at me like I had ruined their whole entrance. Like get over it girls because unless you fall off of the stage and shit your pants, you’re way ahead of the game. Everyone else’s modelling went off without a hitch. Figures. I was really rooting for the ‘omg she shit herself scenerio’ with at least one of the other girls.
We get changed back into our own dresses and file back out onto the stage and await our mystery questions. This has to go well right? I mean surely I can answer a question without looking too much like a dork.
Pageant bigwig comes up on the stage and stands in front of each one of us and starts asking questions. And to my surprise she’s asking us all the same question. “What is your most memorable moment in life so far”? Wow, that’s it? I can handle that. I’m about in the middle of the lineup so that gives me a few minutes to think about that. But now I’m starting to sweat. What is my most memorable moment in life thus far? Crap. I don’t know. I’m 17, so who the hell knows? Okay 3 girls left before it’s my turn. Dammit. I can’t think, I’m blanking out. Where is that lightening bolt when you need it? Two girls now. They’re all answering the question without any hesitation and sounding half intelligent. One girl now. Oh someone punch me in the face now so I can leave the stage. Lights are on me. Now. Pageant lady is standing in front of me. She’s asking me the question and all I hear is Charlie Brown’s teacher. “Muahomp muahomp muahomp ma muahomp ma”. I mean I know what the question is but it’s sounding all weird. Her face looks like wax and it’s melting. I can feel all eyes on me, like come on dipshit, answer the question. “I like cake”. OH MY FUCKING GAWD. That’s what I said. “I like cake”. What THE FUCK?????????????
The pageant lady looks at me and smiles as if she’s just stepped in dog poo and it’s squished all up in her toes. The audience claps, kinda. The other girls are looking at me like I’ve grown horns, fangs and a second ass. Can someone please just kick me in the crotch? I know I’d have to be sent for medical attention for sure. Pageant bitch sputters a thank you into the microphone and moves on.
Finally this shiznat is over and I can go hide myself in shame forever. Oh I didn’t win by the way. Some chick named Monica won because she mentioned ‘The Pope’ in her answer. Whatever. I never entered another thing, ever. At least nothing that required me to get up on a stage.
PS. Incase you didn’t know, that picture is my grad picture. Nice feathers huh?
***Editors note***Holy shit, I just realized that picture is over 21 years old. Yikes!