As a part of my on- going, Get Out Of The House, KP 2010 initiative, I’ve joined my local community theater. Rogers & Hammerstein’s Cinderella goes up this Saturday (tickets here!) I’m playing Joy, the bitchy step-sister, and the always effervescent and cupcake- scented Shannon Munley is playing Cinderella. She keeps me sane and away from assault charges in real life, so it’s nice to fight with her every now and then on stage.

My costumes are interesting. There’s a lot of boob- age required for my first get up. That’s rarely a thing that I shy away from. Work it, work it. But then my gown for the ball is a little bit more… threatening? It’s slim fitting. Slim fitting. Slim. Fitting. And I’m something a little more than slim. Like, if I was going to get cute and self- affirming, I’d equate the aforementioned shapes to fruits in order to, you know, glaze my crumbling self- esteem with a creamy layer of whimsy to help relieve the stings of truth and cellulite. Let’s just say that my ball gown was made for an upside down carrot and I’m like two pears taped together at the stems. But sexier, more juicy, less tart. Um, more like a Christina Hendricks type if that Christina Hendricks type never said no to Cheez-Its.

And then this conversation happened:

KP: (to costume mistress’ reflection in mirror) Yikes. Okay. Well. I can breathe and I can move. I don’t do that much dancing at the ball anyway. So, really, it isn’t that uncomfortable, I just don’t feel very confident. Like my gut could tear through right here.

Costume Mistress: (less than interested) Uh huh.

KP: But, I mean… it’s fine. No worries. We’ve been through too many gowns to…

Costume Mistress: Yeah, I was going to say that.

KP: (wow what?) I could always just buy some Spanx or something.

Costume Mistress: Yes, I think that would be in your best interest.

Fine. Challenge accepted.

After work today, I stopped by Macy’s to find something workable; seamless and discreet, but not so binding that I’m unable breathe or sing. I took three different pieces into the lingerie department dressing room (the one that reeked of feet and shame) and prepared myself for this miserable, miserable thing.

Item #1: Tan- Toned Bathing Suit-ish Thing – This was pretty atrocious, guys. I don’t know why anyone would really ever consider wearing so much stuff underneath their actual clothes, but this thing was crazy. Like, how would I pee? Really. The whole thing would have to come off. Costume too. Not worth it.

Item #2: Hook & Eye Girdle- What even. First of all, the boning throughout wasn’t even close to functional, let alone sexy. Genuine corsets alone are rather flattering and fun. But this was not sexy. This was super- advanced, science underwear. And nothing can be sexy when the color is “flesh- toned”. And you know when you make Pillsbury crescent rolls and you have to smack that cardboard cylinder off of your kitchen counter to break it open so all of the dough can ooze out? That’s what I felt like while unhooking that thing. Oh my God. It messed with my head and my gut. Next.

Item #3: Really Long, Really High- Waisted Bike Shorts- The winner. They were the cheapest and the most tolerable. I can breathe and those pesky pooch areas are smoothed out. Never mind that I’m wearing something out of Lance Armstrong’s closet. They work. And I can sing and dance with no trouble at all. So, whatever. Swipe, sign, sold.

That was stressful. I deserve a treat.

The moral of the story? Well, maybe kick my own ass in to gear and really commit to those P90X DVDs I just had to have. And you know what’s funny? You don’t really see results until you take them out of the box and play them and follow the instructor. Who knew?

Show opens on Saturday. Come and see me in my Spanx and 1930’s socialite face.

Suck it, Garbo.

• macgruber african american sharpie
• amanda is so conscious of her kp
• callmekp
• “i’d give you a kidney”
• barry manilow song made oprah cry

Yes. This is the nutshell I’m in.

No. Not you. No. Not… no. You. Yes. That one. You. Yeah, good. Thanks.

I also have several draft posts; one about my future as an Olympian, one about dogs, one about the time I found out I was allergic to cilantro, and one about the time where I said the one thing that you don’t say at a funeral.

And they’re all just sitting there.

So, I’m sorry. And I can’t offer some lame excuse about being really busy. Even though I am. But I’m also restless. And maybe a little lazy. No good can come of such a mix.

Working on it. Working on me. Working on a daydream. Working for the weekend.

I need more allowance. Yodel ay he who.

Why? Because I do.

Okay. Soon. Bye.