Notes From a Walkman Junkie: Going Ass Out
Going Ass Out
While purchasing my pet bunny’s fancy greens at the store, I heard “Come On Eileen” by Dexy’s Midnight Runners. This song and other eighties tunes of the like always remind me of the year I turned twenty-one. It was during the late nineties, but there was a huge eighties’ music revival happening and all of the clubs and bars were spitting out the eighties’ jams hand over fist. My friends and I hit the bars hard and fast that year with our freshly legal Id’s and needless to say, we were hitting the booze equally hard and fast. One night, after downing a slew of drinks, (one of which was called a mind eraser) I spotted a pole on the dance floor that was stalwartly beckoning a performance. Sadly, I chose to oblige the summoning structure and proceeded to execute what I can only assume, (my memory of this is a bit hazy to say the least) was an awkward and wonky ‘pole dance.’ I do recall that I had worn a rather short skirt that evening and for several months following the infelicitous event, strangers approached me with initially vague recognition and then would suddenly blurt out, ” I saw your ass.”
It seems that showing my ass in one way or another has been a common running theme throughout my life. As a child I was prone to airsickness which often lead to me being covered in my own sick. Consequently, I was regularly stripped of my smirched clothing with no choice, but to walk around the airport donning solely my underpants. I was slightly too young to come up with a more dignified solution, yet old enough to be devastatingly humiliated by the experience. I also recollect several summers at the pool where my sister frequently pantsed me in front of everyone (curse you, two-piece bathing costume). My only reasonable defense was to say the word ‘booger’ or ‘snot’ thereby causing my sister to vomit instantaneously. Though this was a formidable retaliation, it was also as you can imagine, quite unpleasant for all parties involved.
There has never been a shortage of somewhat self-imposed ass-related clothing mishaps as well. I was once preparing to ride in a class at a horse show and upon mounting the horse, my snug jodphurs split right up the seat. My stark white underwear was instantly displayed. With only moments before the class was to begin, a quick plan was devised. I hovered on top of the horse with my knicker-exposed bum in the air while someone painted my underpants with a substance we called ‘blackity-black’, a polish that was used to make the horses hooves look shiny, black and generally fancy. Incidentally, the blackity-black had soaked into my skin and was not easily removed. This unfortunate occurrence resulted in my ass also being shiny, black and generally fancy…for about the next two weeks.
The next notable rear-revealing moment occurred one night while I was out toilet-papering with friends when we were abruptly discovered by the target of our deviant undertaking. We all scattered like mice and scrambled to climb the fence standing between us and our successful escape. As I was on my way down the other side, my shorts caught on the fence and I was left dangling at the top. My accomplices continued to flee the scene as my shorts began to gradually tear and I slowly lowered. I eventually dropped to the ground while regretfully, my torn shorts remained attached at the top of the fence. I had no choice but to run all the way back to my friend’s house sans pants…and pride.
So yes, my ass-brandishing moments have been vast and abashing which only makes this next little tidbit considerably befitting. One of my most frequent typos has always been to type the word ‘ass’ instead of the word ‘all.’ I did this repeatedly on several occasions during college. My psychology paper discussing various adolescent behavioral issues read something like this: “Adolescence is a time when an individual gets easily carried away by ass the things he is exposed to…Adolescents who lack privacy may have limited space for ass kinds of activities…This is the period where some adolescents lose their path and get attracted to ass sorts of things.” Spell check does not always cut it my friends.
I leave you with a song by Belle and Sebastian that best expresses my personal sentiment after each of these not so glorious experiences, “Get Me Away From Here, I’m Dying.”