had a little fun monday

Waking up at 5:30 in the morning is never fun. Realizing at 7 that 5:30 might not have been early enough - also not fun. Waiting in line with feet numb from the morning cold - painfully not fun. Learning 4 hours later that the very last guaranteed seats went to the group in front of mine - agonizingly not fun. Waiting 7 more suspenseful hours (3 of them in line again) to learn my fate - the epitome of not fun.

Being in the actual audience for one of Ellen's 12 days of Christmas shows - okay, that was fun.

My experience in Burbank convinces me again that the fates that rule my life appreciate irony. They proved it during my trip to TPIR - where I wished only to be called as a contestant, arrogantly assuming that I'd make it on stage. For Ellen I boldly hoped to be first in line (a seemingly reasonable goal since my sister and I had been first a year before when we arrived at 8). And indeed I was first in line - for the Tom Hanks Riff Raff Room.

The fates were not satisfied with 11 hours of torture (7 of them sick with disappointment and regret). The irony became richer as the giveaway was revealed - a designer purse, aviator sunglasses, a designer fragrance, a ton of make up, a cashmere sweater. All of these things I should not be allowed to have. I do not wear make up - I used enough of it in my adolescence to last my whole life. I do not own cashmere - if it can't go in the washing machine it can't go in my closet. I don't have designer anything - unless you consider Doc Marten a designer. And yet, the total package value was the best I've seen so far - $2,000. The local girls were going wild; I was trying to figure out when Whitney Houston's husband started making cosmetics.

At least I could use my consolation prizes from TPIR - eggs, wallpaper, and a telephone, followed up by hair care products and breath mints upon rerun. I find myself confounded by my recent windfall. It seems I may finally need to figure out how to become an eBay merchant.

My fates enjoy repeating themes as well. The first time I saw Ellen, I had to share a bed with another woman. Then it was my sister I reluctantly snuggled after she had booked a hotel room with just one bed (another reason I am skeptical of my sister's schemes). This time I had to share a bed with my skinny seal friend's daughter. My friend would have happily done the honors, but (after arranging the entire trip) she had to miss the show to attend a funeral. Instead, I surrendered my solo bed to her replacement, the seal friend I often refer to as my future self. (At least I know in the future I will get to sleep alone...) Of course, I am pretty much a professional sleeper so I wasn't bothered by my loss of real estate, just amused at the fates' consistency.

Perplexed as I am by my recent winnings, I am also immensely grateful to have successfully survived the experience and to be chosen to be in the audience at all. Beggars can't be choosers and they really shouldn't be whiners.