how do you remember these things?
point is, when i heard glamorous life by sheila e, i imaged a woman in a fur coat and a red négligée making decisions, not caring about a man, and sort of just walking proudly around an alley – dancing a little. you’d think she was a hooker, but even if she was, that wasn’t the point. the point was, and i realize this now, empowerment. i would parade around my mind as that woman, sort of coming to, if you will, with my legs dangling off of my bed, hands neatly at my sides, and realize…i was staring at the boring face and 2-dimensional body of a nine year old girl wearing a peter pan collar in the mirror, and i had a long way to go. a really long way to go. i’ll never be that pretty, will i? no i will. i will. will i? maybe i’ll call christine and ask. but i already called her 4 times today. anyway, i’d get bored and slink downstairs and make myself some canned macaroni and cheese. it had a little guy on it, a cartoon elbow macaroni noodle, holding a cane- jolly as fuck, i’m serious. it was so good. this is sooooo good, i’d think to myself, as i spooned one noodle at a time into my mouth, sucked all the cheese carefully out of the tiny tube, and swallowed it whole. that was the ritual. i’d coat the entire bowl with black pepper, which was never enough – it was a long road until i discovered cayenne pepper, and by then, they discontinued that canned product. at my first real job as a hostess in a diner, somehow, someway, the topic of that macaroni came up. the woman i worked with, dotti, told me they carried it at hollywood market in royal oak. i made her describe it too the T, just to be sure she knew what she was talking about. yes, dotti was her name. fucking dotti! she used to work at a place called goodtime charlie’s. it was a bowling alley and bar and grill. she was already old by then, so my best guess is she’s dead. ugh. anyway, i never went down to royal oak to search through the canned goods – i was too fucking lazy. i drove home and got high on the way, and ate mrs. grass soup and kraukas polish ham and havarti cheese from the deli, straight out of their bags, while watching general hospital with my mom, periodically sniffing my favorite stuffed animal, sabrina. (i’d dab the grease off of my hand with a paper towel before i would pick up sabrina).
so the image of a hooker was your idol? that is dangerous.
you can’t blame rape on a sexy outfit. it’s just confidence. men walk around without their shirts on with tits far bigger than mine (then and now). i mean, who knows, quite possibly, that arouses somebody out there. if they got raped, we wouldn’t blame the shirt. yea, they are called chubby chasers. the point is, it’s a cruel world. a cruel, cruel memory, actually. there i was, dying to be sexy, and here i am, sexy, dying to be a child without this curse.