Tags: girls

the slly magic shoes

notes to my writer self about that character in that novel this morning

 imagine you are walking down a hall lined with lockers and maybe its dark like a video game, like the one you have been stuck on the same level now for way too long and that same sinister music is playing if only in your own head and you are just walking to your next class, trying to get there and you don't have your sword, you've lost it, or maybe its that you haven't figured out how to use it... you are still between bells and the classroom is around the corner three doors down... and then it happens, laughter, the sound of laughter, the sound of human joy is making you cringe, becoming its opposite every freakin time for you... becoming the sound of your-young-soul-shaking-in-its-boots humiliation... because now you imagine it even if it isn't really anything to do with you, some other victim... even if those kids don't even know you exist... you are only eleven and this is the way it is every day... sometimes you are smited* and sometimes not, but you lost your breath either way...  and you won't tell anyone, because if you don't maybe it is not really happening, maybe you are imagining the whispers and laughing........ yup, i can use that, right where i already have some of it, but didn't go far enough... layering the child's experience over the mother's 
from whence this came: the whole video goes on a bit tho, piratey and reverse snobbish in your face, even if it IS well meant

*(smited... it ought to be a word and totally unrelated to smitten and piratey too)
me in doghat

girls with matches and daubers

After work, my girl and her friend put on their summer skirts and lit up the last of the leftover fireworks in the driveway…

then we went to Bingo, got our free pasta and meatballs because someone won the big jackpot last week and this is how the Knights of Columbus get people back to the game.

As the night wore on three out of four of us won money… which is really good odds… me on the quickie coverall, my sister on the double bingo and the friend on the fiver.

My daughter didn’t bring her lucky charms this time, didn’t set them up all around her spot, because I think she thinks she is outgrowing the notion of believing in lucky charms.
There is always one man who toot-toots his wooden train whistle whenever the number 22 is called. Lots of people ring their various little bells when 66 is called and two people next to my sister rubbed their winning money on her when they won. One of these women won three times.

During the break we ate icecream sundaes… and when all the games were over, we stuffed all our game sheets (except for the winning ones) into a brown paper bag and gave our soda can pop tops to the grandma whose boyscout is collecting them to get a heart-lung machine and then we drove the friend many miles north in the dark. A quiet trip. No raccoons. No possum. One deer.

We have been playing bingo on Monday nights in the summer for years. I sometimes wonder if the year-round bingo regulars resent our summer luck. One summer my girl won $175. She spent most of it at the weekend country fairs and the huge Sunday morning flea market. I am wondering if, as this summer wears on, whether she will relent and dust off her old talismans and amulets...
me in doghat

The Magic Shoes

If I stand back and look at this rationally, I have to say one of the silliest purchases (some would say stupid) I ever made was these size 5 1/2 Dolce & Gabbana shoes for my daughter who was 11 at the time.
She came across them while standing around killing time while her big sister shopped a multi-designer Soho sample sale and I’m not completely sure what, at 11, she envisioned happening about herself and these shoes, but it was clear, she had to have them…
So, I managed to actually bargain down the price, (my kids get embarrassed when I do this, haggle, but I think a good haggle is always worth a try when the price is ridiculous and you really can’t afford it in the first place and the item has clearly been used, worn, these particular shoes probably catwalking up and down a fashion-week runway on some scrappy wild teenage bulimic fashion model from the Midwest or Siberia.)
Anyway, I won’t tell you how much I paid because, even though this was a sample sale, its still really embarrassing and unforgivable, so you can only imagine, and it gets even worse when you know she only fit into them for about six seconds because at age 11 they grow over night.
But, I don’t know how to explain it, I felt it too, there WAS something magical about the shoes and really, she did actually end up wearing them in real life once… to a Christmas party, a big hotel party attended by many New York City personalities and public figures with all the trimmings, giant gingerbread mansions, a fabulous cover band and magicians and jugglers and Irish stepdancing performances and fairy glitter face painters and dog tricks and monkey tricks and Rudolf the red nosed reindeer to dance the Electric Slide with and eventually the real Santa actually showed up, he always shows up, sits on his Santa thrown, (we’ve been attending this party for years) and he gave out presents, Hess trucks and Barbies and many different kinds of Gund stuffies and so on and somewhere we have a picture of the kid on Santa’s knee wearing these shoes…
I think its possible for a fashion item to be important in a way that is actually important. What I mean is, I think my daughter will remember these shoes her whole life. They actually hurt her feet as the night worn on, and she had to take them off, her first feel of that beauty is suffering thing, but that isn’t what she will remember. She will remember them because they were a moment in time. Something actually pretty deep. Because when the shoes first caught her eye and she put them on, I believe she stepped into a new part of herself for the first time. Some enchanted nether place. A new corner of her imagination ignited. Something I can’t exactly articulate and is probably too corny about fairytales or crazy about sexuality. But, I understood and still understand and even though I know there are more practical or PC things I could have done with the same bucks, I think the shoes she only wore once were worth every penny of the irrational money.
part monster

That Thing about Bigger and Better and More Improved Versions of Ourselves

I am still thinking about Anna Nicole Smith.
I know I shouldn't be,
but I am.
I am thinking seriously
she is a mathmatical problem.

and I've been sitting here and looking deep into net space at an old friend's party pix pages at http://www.patrickmcmullan.com/ and also Time and TV Guide and the social diaries and plastic surgery sites and even her website (I was looking for a photo I remember of her without much if any of the glam in which you could almost glimpse Vickie Lynn and see that this woman, even if she didn't have much of an IQ which I think would have been hard to tell even in person because she was so intent on being Anna Nicole but you could see she certainly had some EQ in that photo, the one I couldn't find, that there was something there) and I've been puzzling and so far I only have this:

complete self-fabrication = total self-destruction

or maybe:

Anna Nicole Smith > Vickie Lynn Hogan + 39 years = over-exposed party icon - selfesteem + false friends = 0 - 98.6 degrees

Or maybe:

If you took away what the girl assumed were all the positive factors in her life like the boob job and the face job and the diet drugs and even all the people who first paid to see her dance naked who gave her big tips or maybe little tips and then also that contested inheritance from the filthy rich toad who married her for all the fantasy her young booty was worth and the Playboy spreads and all the people who tuned into her TV series which wasn’t quite camp because it was unclear most of the time whether she knew she was mocking herself, if you took all that away and a little more… could you still have Vickie Lynn Hogan? the Marilyn Monroe (Norma Jean Baker) fan who like to have some fun and was game for almost anything... or did that little girl just not have a chance the moment she was minus one father. Which would of course make it her mother’s fault. The usual negative integer... I am imagining some of those mother-daughter conversations? Clearly there must have been dramas...
And, as I continue to do the math despite knowing how unpopular it is to go on thinking more about Anna Nicole, I am even also thinking what possibly could be the continuing equation for the next generation? Which I know is not an original thought, but I am wondering if there is any chance that baby girl won't have a huge life of less than zero-ness...
and I am thinking - ha!
maybe baby will be a writer...