As a little girl, I envied other little girls who had either a blue satin Dallas Cowboy cheerleader jacket or a rabbit fur coat. I had a dull beige-colored jacket that I called the camel because of its uninspired color and workman-like construction. It had no glamour and living in a relatively hot climate such as Texas, I did not value function over style. I'd see the other girls in their winter jackets and feel a tight knot of envy grown in my heart like a tumor. With a jacket like theirs, my life would change. On the playground, I'd get to be Sue Ellen instead of Pamela when we reenacted the television show Dallas. I'd get to be JR's wife instead of his miscreant brother. If I had the prized Dallas Cowboy cheerleader jacket, I'd be rooting for America's team. Either way, the camel did not lead to this road. If it said anything, the message was schoolmarm.
Years later, I would teach some actual Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders because of my vicinity to Dallas. These girls were stunningly beautiful and a little dim -- beauty, charm, dance ability, attitude and then academics were the order of their days. I was shocked to find that my envy had turned into an odd sort of affection for these girls, the way you feel toward a childhood toy that you had loved deeply for a long time before moving to something else.
Michelle's Spell of the Day
"Desperation is the raw material of drastic change." William S. Burroughs
Cocktail Hour
Drinking nonfiction suggestion: Cleaving Dennis and Vicki Covington
Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy May Day!
25 comments:
A.J. Soprano was desperate to marry me, but I just didn't feel it for him. I was sorry but I had to go. Thanks for your support, Michelle.
Thirty-three more days until the last day of the Sopranos!
Wow, it's another butt out, I'm with Grouchie photo! You're so hot, Michelle, if you know what I mean.
I consider "May Day" to be one of my finest short stories. Many consider it to be one of the greatest stories from the golden era of short story writing-- the 1920's. By the way, even though I'm dead, I really enjoy reading your stories, Michelle. Keep up the good work!
grouchie can share. I just got my acceptance to WSU!!!! Kidding, m!
Its official; I'm out there!
I wish the Detroit Lions had cheerleaders.
April was the most productive month for me in over a year--writing wise. Thank you Michelle Brooks, you're the one who knows how to share. Grouchie has issues with sharing, I'd bet a sow's ear purse on that.
There he goes again.
We want Grouchie! We want Grouchie! We want Grouchie!...etc.
Your change in attitude toward the cheerleaders is very interesting. I wonder why? I remember in high school working extra long hours in order to buy my girlfriend a rabbit fur coat. I have to admit, she looked good in it. I think the other guy she started seeing soon after liked it to.
They say in a new study that people can recover lost memory...God knows I never want to remember anything specific about those days in my life, grade school and high school with the penguins all about....no I admire your ability to bring these memories to the fore front and then put closure to them but no fucking way do I want to even remember those eleven years of fear, and hiding and being alone and then the fighting once I got big enough and pissed enough to fight back.
But for coats, I worked as an adult and I worked long hours at two jobs every day for years not because i liked fixing peoples cars that they fucked up; but I GOT PAID. If on Friday I didn't have at least a grand after taxes in my pocket I knew I was being lazy but anyway I bought the old lady a long haired beaver parka trimmed in white fox. I paid cash for it and that was ten years ago.
She's worn it four times that I know of. Sub zero temps and she grabs her "camel" instead of the coat that is specifically made to keep one warm. "It's too hot when I wear it" "it's to bulky in the car"
Oh well the next year I bought her a set of hand tools for Christmas and to this day she has every wrench, socket, pliers and, everything else that came with it and she uses the hell out of that kit. I never could figure the boys and girls out at the age you're speaking of and I guess to this day I still can't.
peace
TWM
By the way I have $30,000 worth of tools for sale, all professional automotive. Apparently we have all of the tools we need.
My Nascar Budweiser/#8 jacket works wonders at the strip clubs!
In my prime I looked good in everything from a t-shirt to a black motorcycle jacket. Make sure to see the TCM documentary of me starting tonight.
Phil Leotardo is a lousy lay.
myCajunQueen
FoxlyLadyD
URtheBestCheerleader
forRCity
OMIghtyIsis
Shzammmmmmmmm
R2C2!dontforgetumbrella
Yeah, I think somewhere along the way we choose to look at similarities more than differences.
This was a sweet one. It's nice how your writing triggers such tangible memories in me. Like a little zap.
*
One of them sees a guy--she's been here awhile
a few years
a sanguine warrior with men's ears hanging from her sequined thong strap
she's driven enough stakes to know
who has the money
and how long it spends
so she collapses into
the seat next to a guy she says she knows.
She says her cousin
killed himself four hours earlier, says she doesn't want to dance for any of the assholes here. She says she just wants to drink tonight. He buys her one and gives her a one handed back rub.
He whispers into her ear, he jams his tongue into it and doesn't see her almost spray tears.
Then his wallet's meter expired. He was still talking as she got up and walked away. His face looked like an empty street.
Nobody I know has committed suicide. Nobody I know has died. I don't want a one handed back rub or another hand clutching my ass grabing my chest or a slug-like tongue. Anywhere.
I don't know how long this river of death called Styx will bend and choke this body; They say we are vessels, but the only thing I can think of is Charon's skiff. Hell and heaven are here on earth.
One is supposed to be my job.
One is what happens.
And if I can cut off someones ear, who knows what else
and
I
doubt
that there are enough drinks to make me dance for another asshole even if that's what I have to do
We love May Day, here in the now defunct USSR. You better, too.
Read my autobiography as I actually know how to write.
Don't boo me! You don't know what years of frigid cold and dumb labor do to a creative mind. I'll show you, if you want.
Anyhoo
Hitler had some fruitloop follow him to jail and write his "schtruggle" for him. What a tongue jacker. The irony is that the guy ended up serving a longer sentence than old Adolph did. My book is filled mostly with paranoid delusions about Trotsky and I justify why he had to die. I only lie a little.
One death is a tragedy, a million deaths is a statistic.
Except Trotsky.
He tried to kill me.
In the end, he was only a stat himself.
You better know that Uncle Joe loves Oscar's narrative voice better than the rest.
Blessings and Love
Now I've spoken. Talk to you soon.
Joe had webbed toes AND a gimpy arm, I shit you not my main turd!. Couldn't ever say anything about it, though.
Basically, he was the real estate agent from hell. Couldn't balance a budget for pissy poo, either. Feast sometimes--famine all the rest. But the freakin' polesmoker opens his trap one time, just one twitch--smoke, smoke, spit, spit-- and everyone's jumping each possible height before he can even make a damn peep. Jumping beans we called those guys. Boy, we laughed our asses off at them. That's how I got here. Somebody feel like chopin' another log for the fire? I know I sure the fuck don't.
my mother had a rabbit fur coat. it was really soft.
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