This morning after incessantly singing the theme song to the Muppet Show, I took it with me to yoga class where a 5 foot super cute yoga instructor named Katie beat my own ass with my own ass. There is nothing more excruciating than being beat with one’s own ass by a smaller more attractive girl while humming the theme song to the Muppet show. There is nothing more humiliating. (Well, being naked at the time would have been more humiliating but whatever.)
After leaving yoga, I decide that I’d take my nasty and calloused, warty monkey paws towards the pedicure department on Castro street. (I finally broke down and gave it a go.) The very small, very persistent asian woman tries very hard to convince me to get a manicure as well but I turn her down insistently. I just couldn’t have two on me at once. That’s just too dirty.
There is a woman to the far right, she has two of them on her. Her eyes are shut as if someone is performing a most intense sexual act upon her. Her arms are stretched out in a Jesus Christ pose. She is smiling. It’s sort of freakish. The woman to my immediate right has her 6 year old daughter on her lap and her daughter is saying something about growing up and owning 2 beach houses (I shit you not) with horses and fish. There is another woman on my left eating a turkey sandwich (on wheat) and sipping a diet coke (through a straw). I am there, too. Me. (Let’s describe me rather viciously as well.) I haven’t showered yet today. I just left yoga and I’m sweaty. My hair is frizzy. (Still is.) It’s sitting up on top of my very small head, pulled back in some pathetic, half-assed pony tail, the baby fuzz surrounding my face and ears sit erect like a thousand little head springs. I haven’t shaved in over two weeks because I am afraid of whatever skin thing is happening to my calves. My feet… MY FEET… they are small, yes. But they are HORRIBLE ugly creatures. While I love to have them touched and fondled and cared for, I don’t usually allow for this to happen because I feel badly for anyone who has to get that close to them. My feet could get any prisoner of war talking. They’re that torturous. I am wearing black sweats and an tshirt.
I don’t look pretty.
So I’m sitting in the pedicure foot chair thingy and I’m humming the theme to the Muppet Show, creating my own little personal Soundgarden, when the small asian girl at my ankles begins humming as well. She’s humming “Wooly Booly” which was just being spat through the speakers above our heads. And in my head, I begin to imagine all the Noe Valley wives and all the asian ladies suddenly breaking into song together; feet are suddenly tossed up in the air (as if to say ‘I don’t care’), nail files hit the roof, masks are tossed off like bras at an N Sync concert, nail polish brushes streak the ceiling. Together, in song, may we find an understanding, bridging the gap between making 25 thousand dollars a year and 250,000 dollars a year.
Ahhhh The Muppet Show.