My friend Jackie and I are embarking on a journey of making this world a better place through life coaching and words of wisdom. My only hope is that you can take away from this something special in your heart. If you know someone who needs help, please share.
While at a Cynthia “mean lady” Estate Sale this past weekend, I uncovered a very interesting box in the garage. It had belonged to the gentleman who had lived there since 1961. As I dug into this mysterious box, I realized that it was a box full of old 1960′s magic tricks! There were tricks, cool graphic-cized pamphlets on how to perform each trick and other feats of magic, like levitation! Included was a portfolio emblazoned with the words, “Magic in Your Mailbox, Trick of the Month club”! What the what? There are so many things in the box that are still in their snail mail packaging, with the return address stamped as “Magic in Your Mailbox, 1 Illusion Lane, Lincoln, Ill.” I just think this box is too full of awesome not to share with friends, so at some point, you will be invited to a “magic” party and we will dig into the mysteries of the box together, possibly teaching each other some new tricks or making someone float??? I have short ceilings. Totally possible.
I made Cynthia an offer for the entire box, and she gave it to me for 10! whatta win! (Cynthia has been nice to me ever since I talked to her about doing a reality show. She totally shut me down and I just said, “Sure I totally understand.” But now that she’s nice to me, it’s really unnerving. I don’t know what to do when she isn’t telling me “no” or “i’m the boss.”)
Anyhoo, I also found a book called “The Atlas of Dermatology.” I hardly looked at it, but bought it anyway because I wanted to be dermatologist when I was a kid (true fact). When I got back into Boris’ car however, it was a different story. HOLY SHIT. The images in that book were worse than ANYTHING I’ve ever seen in a horror movie. I literally screamed in the car and started rocking back and forth, whimpering, “What have I done?” Boris was all like, “I told you so.” So when we went into the Dollar Store a few minutes later, I just wanted to leave the book in the dollar rack for someone else. Half joke/half art installation. But that would have been mean, so I gave it to Out of the Closet with the words, “Um, you might not want to put this out on a shelf for someone to come across. I might really fuck up someone’s mind.” So they put it in the “special glass case” instead. It’s yours for 3.50, at the pasadena location.
Completely sober, stealing swigs of corona from friends to spit into the night air recreating the look of a beautiful Italian fountain while hot stepping to motown and jock jams. This is life. Live it.
My jr. high chorus teacher* made us sing the theme to Ice Castles (tragic accident movie) and the theme to the Rose (based on the tragic life of janis Joplin) EVERY WEEK. I didn’t remember this until I started humming Ice Castles today out of the blue. “What is this song going through my head? Where is it from??” Submerged memories. My teacher retired the yr after that. Finally succumbed to a 1970′s breakdown?
*One day during a fire drill, this particular teacher looked down at me, wearing a cheap sweater bought from the sale rack at Rave. It had a black scottie dog on it, with a 3-D plaid bow around it’s neck. In a slight drawl, my teacher looked down at me and says, “I love your sweater. I wish I had one of those.” My face flushed so red, it might have been purple. Purple to match the horrible cystic acne I had the pleasure of taking oral antibiotics for (that eventually caused an ulcer in my esophagus! yay!). Any how, I sincerely thought this teacher was checking out my (non-existent) chest.** In hind sight, I realize that 1. He was gay. 2. He was just trying to bolster the confidence of the dorky, chubby version of Welcome to the Dollhouse. In my defense my parents had sort’ve made me paranoid about sexual predators… (On the way to a slumber party: “If her dad is in the room when you are changing, you call us.” Me crying into my pillow after a bad day at school: “Did someone do something *bad* to you?)…I refused to get a bra until it was completely and totally necessary.**
**I was so in denial over my budding sexuality that I wore girls’ undershirts from Sears in order to be “modest” but not sexualized. When I finally had the dusty rose colored Christian Dior bra with tiny pearls in the center (again, from Sears), I felt what I used to refer as my “stomach sickness.”*** I felt that way about bras and having breasts until probably my mid 20′s. Reading Sassy probably didn’t help. And reading an interview with Juliana Hatfield declaring that she hated her breasts because they got in the way of her guitar playing really really didn’t help.
***My “Stomach Sickness.” Back when I was 12, there wasn’t much known about anxiety attacks. But if there was ever a child who needed to be medicated for anxiety, it was me. I just didn’t know how to articulate to my parents how sick I would start to feel during certain everyday situations. I didn’t have the words. No one used those words in the late 80′s, early 90′s. So I would just blame my “stomach sickness” when I felt like I couldn’t function or was worried about going to a social function. Oddly enough, I felt most comfortable on stage during all the local theater I did. Anyway, I’m just glad that there are words and meds for “Stomach Sickness” now.
Through 20 years, I journeyed from the Dollhouse to the Valley of the Dolls.
Okay, I wasn’t going to tell anyone this because I didn’t want anyone to find the clip and then post it on here (seriously, if you find it, please don’t post it), but i had the weirdest experience today. As I was walking into my favorite thrift store, I was stopped by a reporter for the local TV news, who wanted me to share my thoughts on the rapture. I told her I was betting on the Mayans, and that we would make till at least 2012. I thought I was safe until I came home to this e-mail from XXXXX, “Just happened to turn on the tv and low and behold, who do I see giving a ‘(wo)man on the street’ interview about the end of the world but one Ms. XXXXX. I almost died laughing. So funny. Hope we make it 2012, friend. 
”
Addendum: I just realized the news station was reporting outside of the thrift store because they were hoping for some crazies. Apparently, the woman before me looked like Annie Lennox on meth, with manic panic-ed spiked hair and a small backpack. I basically got demo’d as a crazy person. Whatta weekend.
I like to watch/post this video every few months to remind myself that work can be funny. I just wish I had that hair.PUSHING-Broadcast News
Hmmm…..a security question and answer I won’t forget…
Finally opened up this present from my parents. Along with previous gifts of maps, compasses and binoculars, I know they just want me to be self sufficient. In reality, they are just enabling me.
Totally going to see Missing Persons play next month. The fact that the show is in a little dive bar in a back alley of Pasadena is sort of sad. Seriously, did Lady Gaga just throw darts at a Vision Board of people she wanted to rip off? It’s like me throwing on a large clock and being like, “Oh, I didn’t realize Flava Flav already rocked this.”
gnarly.
I was standing outside under a tree in ojai this past Sunday ( hippie town an hr outside of LA), when suddenly heard this weird scraping against the curb and then a small crash. I look up and some stereotypical looking ‘Nam vet is lying in the street, groaning and his motorcycle is laying on top of him with the gas tank spurting gas all over the place. Gnarly dude. And I was the only one standing there, “do I get the guy away from the bike or do I get the bike away from the guy?”. Then two subway employees ran across the street and picked up the bike and I tried to help the old dude, who when he took his helmet off, had three beard ponytails, 3 different flags tatt’d on his face and also the number 33 tatt’d on his weathered cheek in bright green. Point is, I don’t care what this week brings me, I just met my future meal ticket.