NSV
Anyone who's ever dieted has heard the acronym "NSV". NSV stands for "non-scale victory" (you fit into a pair of pants that you could never zip before, an attractive man on the street says something flirty, similar)--something that reminds you that you're beautiful. I wonder what you would call a victory that reminds you that you're just plain fucking awesome.
Yesterday, I had an NSV that reminded me that I'm just plain fucking awesome. Observe:
College buddy Shannon and I had been planning a trip to the far-off, shining Shangri-La of the Palisades mall for three weeks. Yesterday was the day. I jumped out of bed early and put on my pink Evil Diva shirt with the broken heart graphic and a denim skirt and pink patent leather heels and drove to Brooklyn to pick her up. It was John Hughes weather--lovely fall, a blue sky full of fluffy clouds, and the sun shining on my freshly dyed hair. Shannon's mother was kind enough to make us breakfast, and we got on the road. We would spend the entire day at the mall, frolicking through hundreds of stores, trying on makeup and clothes and shoes and finishing up with a lovely late dinner at the Cheesecake Factory. It was a wonderful day, one of the best I've had in a long time.
But the best part of it was that clearly, all the mall workers were irrevocably in love with the two of us. We chatted with everyone and got attention everywhere we went. (moon_doggy, the clerk in the bookstore said he thought he couldn't believe that Fridge Perry was an honorary G.I. Joe, till he read the I.D. Card special issue and learned that there was originally a plot to have Rocky Balboa teach the Joes how to box.) I danced through the mall on my pink patent-leather heels and collected everything I ever wanted from the stores we ran through--DVDs and video games and comic books and leg warmers and a darling letterman's jacket with cream leatherette sleeves.
The only problem was, I was setting off the shoplifting alarms in literally every store we went in. We checked our bags multiple times and I couldn't figure it out. Finally we went into the Sports Authority and one of the clerks said, "If we put your bag on the sensor, it'll deactivate that for you."
I held out my heavy bag full of treasure and said, "Oh, would you please? This has been so annoying."
Naturally, since I seem to be doomed to make a scene everywhere I go, the sensor machine wasn't fixing the problem. More and more of the male cashiers drifted over to see what the problem was, and soon we had a crowd around us. Eventually they ended up taking everything out of my bag and passing it over the sensor to try and deactivate whatever was setting off the alarms. They started with my DVDs from Target--Thor, Iron Man, the first 20 episodes of Masters of the Universe, A Nightmare on Elm Street 1-4, and Thundercats season 1 part 1.
A few cashiers swiveled their heads as one to stare at me. The one who was taking out my things said, "Could these be better DVD choices? Look at all these!" Another one chuckled, "She's your dream girl, dude." Everyone laughed. I smirked and arched a brow at them; I'm pretty sure I was older than everyone there.
He moved on to the next bag, the one from Gamestop. One by one, he took out the games I'd purchased--Splatterhouse (the 2010 reboot), Ninja Gaiden Sigma, and Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare.
Now all the cashiers were staring openly at me. Shannon giggled; her bag had Super Mario Sunshine and Super Mario Galaxy in it.
The first cashier took out the bag from the bookstore and weighed it in his hands, surprised at how heavy it was. "Wait a minute. Whoa--are these comics?" he asked in disbelief, taking my graphic novels out of the bag--G.I. Joe: A Real American Hero, G.I. Joe: Disavowed and the conclusion of G.I. Joe: the M.A.S.S. Device.
Now all four cashiers were goggling at me, even though nothing had exploded nor had I done anything astonishing. "What?" I asked finally.
They just kept staring at me. Finally in a smaller voice, the first cashier said, "Are you real?"
I'm just plain fucking awesome.
Yesterday, I had an NSV that reminded me that I'm just plain fucking awesome. Observe:
College buddy Shannon and I had been planning a trip to the far-off, shining Shangri-La of the Palisades mall for three weeks. Yesterday was the day. I jumped out of bed early and put on my pink Evil Diva shirt with the broken heart graphic and a denim skirt and pink patent leather heels and drove to Brooklyn to pick her up. It was John Hughes weather--lovely fall, a blue sky full of fluffy clouds, and the sun shining on my freshly dyed hair. Shannon's mother was kind enough to make us breakfast, and we got on the road. We would spend the entire day at the mall, frolicking through hundreds of stores, trying on makeup and clothes and shoes and finishing up with a lovely late dinner at the Cheesecake Factory. It was a wonderful day, one of the best I've had in a long time.
But the best part of it was that clearly, all the mall workers were irrevocably in love with the two of us. We chatted with everyone and got attention everywhere we went. (moon_doggy, the clerk in the bookstore said he thought he couldn't believe that Fridge Perry was an honorary G.I. Joe, till he read the I.D. Card special issue and learned that there was originally a plot to have Rocky Balboa teach the Joes how to box.) I danced through the mall on my pink patent-leather heels and collected everything I ever wanted from the stores we ran through--DVDs and video games and comic books and leg warmers and a darling letterman's jacket with cream leatherette sleeves.
The only problem was, I was setting off the shoplifting alarms in literally every store we went in. We checked our bags multiple times and I couldn't figure it out. Finally we went into the Sports Authority and one of the clerks said, "If we put your bag on the sensor, it'll deactivate that for you."
I held out my heavy bag full of treasure and said, "Oh, would you please? This has been so annoying."
Naturally, since I seem to be doomed to make a scene everywhere I go, the sensor machine wasn't fixing the problem. More and more of the male cashiers drifted over to see what the problem was, and soon we had a crowd around us. Eventually they ended up taking everything out of my bag and passing it over the sensor to try and deactivate whatever was setting off the alarms. They started with my DVDs from Target--Thor, Iron Man, the first 20 episodes of Masters of the Universe, A Nightmare on Elm Street 1-4, and Thundercats season 1 part 1.
A few cashiers swiveled their heads as one to stare at me. The one who was taking out my things said, "Could these be better DVD choices? Look at all these!" Another one chuckled, "She's your dream girl, dude." Everyone laughed. I smirked and arched a brow at them; I'm pretty sure I was older than everyone there.
He moved on to the next bag, the one from Gamestop. One by one, he took out the games I'd purchased--Splatterhouse (the 2010 reboot), Ninja Gaiden Sigma, and Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare.
Now all the cashiers were staring openly at me. Shannon giggled; her bag had Super Mario Sunshine and Super Mario Galaxy in it.
The first cashier took out the bag from the bookstore and weighed it in his hands, surprised at how heavy it was. "Wait a minute. Whoa--are these comics?" he asked in disbelief, taking my graphic novels out of the bag--G.I. Joe: A Real American Hero, G.I. Joe: Disavowed and the conclusion of G.I. Joe: the M.A.S.S. Device.
Now all four cashiers were goggling at me, even though nothing had exploded nor had I done anything astonishing. "What?" I asked finally.
They just kept staring at me. Finally in a smaller voice, the first cashier said, "Are you real?"
I'm just plain fucking awesome.