Dance Belt

It would be awesome if lying wasn’t bad because then I could tell you that this is not a man thong. I guess I could technically say that it’s a “dance belt,” but you wouldn’t know what the heck I was talking about unless you’ve visited this incredibly informative website–SPONSOR! Not really, but wouldn’t that be hilarious if a men’s ballet website sponsored this blog? Back to the thong! Unlike the items I’ve already chosen to kick off this blog, this is not something I keep around for the memories–this is something I found hidden deep in the pile of things from my adolescence that would break my soul if anyone found out I had; nestled right next to my first mix CD (to be discussed tomorrow). My dilemma is simple: I couldn’t throw away the man thong and risk someone seeing it in the trash so I kept it buried under stuff I wouldn’t touch for years and years, but then on the first day of this year I decided to start a blog to get rid of all the crap I’ve kept and don’t need anymore, which lead me to tonight when I opened Pandora’s cardboard box of my own history, inside of which I stumbled upon this utterly shameful garment. Instead of burying it even further in an attempt to forget about it only to go through this same process all over again in another couple years, I decided it was time.

Let me just say right now, I didn’t buy this because I wanted it; I was forced. I’ve wanted to play Javert in Les Miserables ever since I learned of the character’s incessant search for the definition of truth and justice–also because I learned  not all musicals require men to wear tights. In order to prepare myself for the eventual role, I decided to audition for some musicals. I got into one and I even got a solo, but I found out later that my character had to wear tights, and in order to wear tights I had to wear a man thong–I mean a “dance belt”–because ultimately the discomfort issued by the constant wedgie would be nothing compared with the discomfort I would have felt if hundreds of people stared at my crotch the whole solo.

So let’s call this a preemptive strike–a way to for me to be at peace with the man thong so I can finally throw it away. That way if anyone finds it in my trash I’ll be able to say, “I’m aware of how awkward this is. See, look at this blog I wrote last night. I’ve already made jokes about it.” Self-deprecation defeats humiliation, right? Right? This is like emotional rock-paper-scissors. Humor beats humiliation which beats heartache which beats humor, although I don’t think it really works like that, but with rock-paper-scissors if think about it, paper covering rock? I mean come on, what good does that do anyway? In reality though, I shouldn’t be worried about whether or not people judge me, I should be worried about the creepers digging around in my trash.

~ by russell jander on January 24, 2012.