sparkledame

Ponytail Girl

“I’m nervous about tonight.”

“Why? I thought you really liked this guy, despite his name being Blane.”

“I do like him, I like him a lot. But tonight he’ll see me without my ponytail.”

“What are you’re talking about?”

“Every time we’ve seen each other I’ve had my hair up in a ponytail.”

“So?”

“So I think tonight might be the night that we sleep together, like for the first time.”

“YAY! I’ll need all the details.”

“But the thing is, with sex the hair usually comes down right? Like the whole messy bed head sexy girl thing. I can’t be having sex with my hair in a tight ponytail.”

“For the love of god, what are you trying to say? Is ponytail code for something?”

“When my hair is up I have a nice tight face, I look ten years younger. But take the ponytail away and my face falls down and I have jowls. It’s not a good look.”

“You’ve been in therapy for ten years and yet this is where your self-esteem is at? Your shrink owes you a refund.”

“I know it’s ridiculous, don’t you think I know it’s ridiculous? But with my hair up I feel like a chic forty-something conquering the world and with my hair down – and my face down – I feel like I should be buying longterm care insurance.”

“Okay first of all, you’re a total freak. Second of all, Blane is not going to notice your imaginary jowls, he’s just going to be psyched that you’re letting him inside your body.”

“Or, maybe the minute my hair and face come down he’ll scream in terror and bolt.”

“I never realized how deeply insecure you are, it makes me sad. But also, fuck all the way off with your tight face bullshit. You’re the one always posting ‘Down With The Patriarchy’ on Instagram, meanwhile you’re worried a man named Blane is not going to want to fuck you because of sagging skin? And I’ve seen photos of Blane – it’s obvious the dude enjoys his craft beer – so why does he get to look like a normal person but you have to look AI-generated?”

“Stop being so harsh, I’m just sharing my vulnerabilities.”

“I’m not being harsh, I’m being a good friend and calling you out on whatever fucked-up-ness this is.”

“Okay, okay, you’re right, I need to calm down.”

“Good.”

“But wait, I have an idea: what if I have sex with him but I don’t straddle him, that way I won’t be looking down – better aesthetics!”

“For the love of God, please stop talking before I strangle you.”

Choking

“Aren’t you lonely?”

“Of course I’m lonely, isn’t everyone?”

“I’m not, I’m in a relationship.”

“Last week you told me you were miserable with Mark.”

“Well ya, I’m miserable, but I’m not lonely.”

“Right.”

“You are alone alone. Like you could choke to death eating an apple at home.”

“I don’t eat apples.”

“Well, then you could choke to death eating takeout at home. We need to find you a man. You’re attractive, you’re better prepared than anyone I now for the apocalypse and you make the best brownies. Surely we can find you someone.”

“So, just so I’m clear: we need to find me a man so that he can save me from choking.”

“And so that you’re not lonely.”

“Got it.”

“This is serious. You’re not exactly young anymore. You need a partner to build a life with, someone who knows the Heimlich manoeuvre, is gainfully employed and doesn’t hate his mother.”

“That’s a tall order.”

“You use humor to avoid talking about things that make you uncomfortable.”

“The only thing making me uncomfortable is you – you sound like a Trad Wife from Project 2026.”

“I worry about you. We live so far away from each other. If something happens I can’t just stop by – I’m like a five hour plane ride away. I would feel much better if you were partnered up.”

“Even if we live in the same city you won’t be able to help me if I’m choking. I should actually transfer you money now for the cost of my cremation.”

“You’re insane.”

“I don’t want you to be stuck with the bill.”

“What about the owner of that cafe around the corner?”

“Bob?”

“Ya. He’s cute.”

“Bob smells like vinegar. Bob has never not smelled like vinegar.”

“You’re super judgemental. Smelling like vinegar just means he likes to clean using natural products. That’s a good thing.”

“A few years ago Bob told me that his cat died at home on a weekend, the Vet’s office was closed. So he wrapped her up and put her in the freezer until Monday. But then he got attached to having his cat in the freezer, he said it brought him comfort to be able to check on her everyday. So his cat is still in his freezer. It’s been three years.”

“Okay forget about Bob. Bob is a fucking freak. What about—”

“What about I stay single and chew my food really carefully?”

“Can you hear me? This is me deep sighing.”

“This is me ignoring your deep sigh.”

“You’re the most annoying best friend a girl could ever have.”

“I know, but you still love me.”

“I do, I love you fiercely.”

There is a Light

“I think I might be having a breakdown.”

“Really? What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m overwhelmed all the time. My nerves are frayed. I feel like screaming and crying, but instead all I do is eat cookies.”

“Oh that’s normal, that’s just like – you know, life.”

“You have got to be kidding.”

“Now if you said you felt like jumping off the roof of your building then I might be worried, that might put you more in the breakdown category.”

“Great, thanks.”

“What does your therapist say?”

“She’s away at a self-actualization retreat.”

“For how long?”

“A month.”

“Excuse me? That’s fucked up.”

“It did seem a little long.”

“Have you talked with your family doctor?”

“She’s only allowed fifteen minutes per patient, that’s not a lot of time to get into things. But she suggested using a seasonal affective disorder lamp and taking more vitamin D.”

“Right.”

“What if I turn into one of those crazy women who wanders the streets jibber-jabbering?”

“I’m not going to let my best friend live on the streets, you can jibber-jabber at my place. In fact, I just put a new bed in the basement guest room.”

“Okay, well everyone needs a back up plan, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“So you think I’m okay? Like I’m not emotionally unraveling?”

“I didn’t say that. I think you are emotionally unraveling.”

“Oh.”

“But I think emotionally unraveling is good. You know like when your necklaces get all jumbled together and stuck in a giant knot? And you have to sit down and slowly untangle each piece from the other? Right now you’re that knot. But as you unravel yourself you will re-discover all the beautiful gemstones that were hiding in the tangled mess. And you will sparkle again. You will sparkle like a motherfucker.”

Monster

I miss you.
At least I think I miss you.
Though sometimes I wonder if I’m confusing you with someone else, like a man from a novel or a poem.

I’ll remember feeling adored by you, it felt so good. Only then I’ll realize that it wasn’t me who felt adored, it was Keira Knightley’s character in that classic mid-90’s period drama. She was adored by that lanky guy with the swoop-y hair. It wasn’t me.

There is such deep grief in remembering, even in the fake memories there is deep grief.

Why haven’t we developed a machine to excise grief from our psyches? We could go to a Wellness Spa and get Reiki, followed by a Blue Algae Facial and then a session of Grief Excising with Lily, the Nurse Practitioner. She would gently rub a rose gold wand over our cranium. The grief would be sucked up and out the wand and Lily would then tap gently on a triangle signaling the end of our session. Grief Excising would probably have to be done every 3 months, like botox. Wait too long or miss a session and risk having your psyche saturated again with darkness.

I miss us.
Perhaps I miss an us that never existed. Or perhaps I have slightly enhanced the memories, sweetened them. But that’s okay, a rose-tinted view is always prettier. So I guess I miss that rose-tinted version of us.

What to do?
What does one do with this kind of grief?
Write in a journal? “Dear Diary, I’m sad.”
Talk to a therapist? “How do you feel today?” “I feel sad.”
Exercise? “This long walk is reminding me of the long walks I used to take with you.”
Do Ayahuasca in the desert? “I’m so hot and sweaty and I’m not having any magical breakthroughs. I feel like vomiting and all I want to do is lie down in an air conditioned hotel room.”

Or maybe we surrender to the grief. Let the grief monster consume us, let it fucking devour us. And then if we’re lucky, the monster will spit us back out. We’ll look raggedy, like we just came off a scary ride at the county fair, but we’ll be free.

October

Dear Diary:

It’s October – can u believe it?! It’s a busy month. 3 of my friends have birthdays – Scorpios r crazy. And on the 18th mom is taking me to a protest. It’s like an anti-fascism, anti-Trump thing. He’s a total freak. What do u wear to a protest? Maybe 90’s grunge. Anyway, dad is acting weird, I think he might be having an affair. He’s always leaving the table to take calls. He says it’s work related, but I just get this vibe, u know? And I mean his new assistant is so young, like early twenties and she’s fucking gorgeous. Do u think mom will leave him if she finds out? Or maybe she already knows and doesn’t care. Remember when mom gave me that weird speech about sexuality being a powerful energy that flows in and out of us? Like what the fuck was she talking about? Maybe they’re in an open marriage. Ugh. Gross. I am never, ever getting married. Mom asked me if I wanted to go to Planned Parenthood, or if I wanted to see her gynecologist. I told her “for the love of god NO!” The straight guys at school are so gross, like they wear vintage preppy 80’s and their vibe is sleeze-core. If I’m going to let a guy put his body inside my body – then he better have something to bring to the table, know what I mean? Just like grandma says: “If they don’t enhance your life they’re not worth it.” Truth bomb. Grandma knows what’s up. Anyways, u know what Diary? I’m not going to worry about dad having an affair or their marriage. I have enough to worry about. Apparently I have to master a 3rd language, like knowing 2 languages isn’t enough anymore, that’s what the career counsellor said. Can’t I just enjoy my life for a minute before I have to start worrying about my future? And it turns out that the volunteer work I’m doing – as you know Diary I work at Best Friends Animal Shelter – is not the right kind of volunteer work. It’s not “upper tier” volunteer work, it’s “lower tier.” I’m helping dogs get adopted, how is that not top tier? This world is fucked. Like grandma always says, “we’re going to hell in a hand basket.” Do u think I should get bangs? By the way, our entire school smells like weed, but all the teachers pretend not to notice. I think that new girl, Lucy, has an eating disorder. Her arms r sticks and they’re covered with soft furry type hair. I feel weird eating in front of her. Mom wants to have a 16th birthday party for our cat, but that’s insane right? I mean birthday parties r for dogs, not cats. Theo would literally run away from our house if he saw mom decorating. What is wrong with her? I think she’s in perimenopause, which sounds revolting. Why do women get all the shitty stuff?! I bought a pair of skinny jeans because I just can’t with the oversized, wide-leg jeans anymore. Not a good look. Anyways, that’s it for now, I’ll write again soon.

Love Olive

Mademoiselle Magazine editorial “Grunge: The sound and the Fury” by Walter Chin. February 1993.

Grief

“Can a person die from grief?”

“No. Plus, don’t even think about dying. I already have three mini urns on my mantel, there is no room for a fourth.”

“You’re not getting my ashes. I’m having myself turned into a pod, then planted in the forest.”

“That can’t be legal.”

“It is, I read about it in The New York Times.”

“What will I have to remember you by if I don’t get your ashes?”

“You’ll have my vintage purse collection.”

“I’m listening.”

“And I’ll leave notes in each purse. So you’ll have little memory prompts like, ‘remember when we were Goth for six months in high school and our boyfriends were brothers?’ The notes will help you with your dementia.”

“I don’t have dementia.”

“Not yet, but you’ll probably get it.”

“What a lovely thing to say, thank you. Honestly though, what is up with you and your grief? You’re literally cloaked in it. It’s like a sad girl perfume that you spray on each day. And you spray on so much – like the cosmetic ladies at the mall used to do in the 80’s. It turns people off:
So some of your people died.
So some of your people are currently really sick and are probably going to die soon.
You are alive, you have to live.”

“Do I though? What if I’m just tired and kinda over it all and I just want to take a permanent nap. I should be able to decide my own fate.”

“First of all, if you kill yourself I’ll never forgive you and I’ll haunt your decayed pod in the stupid forest. Second of all – the whole point of life is that we don’t get to decide our own fate, life just unfolds. Maybe you’ll get lucky and get smashed by a dump truck tonight. Or, maybe you’ll live to 103 in a cottage by the sea with only a sprinkling of arthritis. Girl that’s the wild ride of it all, you don’t know what’s going to happen. You can’t control everything.”

“I am a bit of a control freak.”

“Ya think? Maybe you should go do that ketamine therapy, they just opened a swanky clinic near me.”

“That sounds dodgy.”

“It’s not, it’s legal, I read about it in your precious New York Times. Plus their office is really chic, like a minimalist-artisanal vibe. And the doctor who founded the place is hot. Dream-boy hot. Do it! Do the ketamine and shed your sad girl scent. I honestly can’t take it anymore.”

“Okay, okay, you made your point. I get it. My grief spiral has become unbearable, I’ll deal with it.”

“That’s my girl. Now let’s get back to people watching and being snarks. Like what is that woman even wearing on her feet?! They’re kitten heels with a super long toe. Ugliest fucking shoes I’ve ever seen.”

Radiant Skin

“Mom, why do you keep old birthday cards?”

“Because I’m sentimental.”

“But you never look at them. They just sit in a box in the basement.”

“I like knowing they’re there.”

“I find that strange.”

“I find you strange. You don’t have a sentimental bone in your body. How are you my daughter?”

“I’m sentimental, but I’m also a minimalist. I’m not going to keep old stuff, it’s very hoarding-esque. Unhealthy I think.”

“Well, I can think of many things that are unhealthy about you, including your taste in men & the fact that you lather your face with beef tallow.”

“Beef tallow as skincare is a legit thing mom, my skin has never looked so good.”

“But you smell.”

“I smell?”

“Yes, you smell gross.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is. I mean you have fucking beef tallow on your skin. Why don’t you use that nice Estee Lauder serum I bought you?”

“It’s full of toxins.”

“Jesus. You and your toxins obsession. I hate to break it to you kid, but we’re all gonna die, so you may as well use nice creams on your face.”

“You know you’re not a normal mother, right?”

“Normal is an outdated narrative. Are you still dating Devon? He’s a narcissistic prick in case you haven’t noticed. No idea why you would debase yourself by letting him into your heart and body. Have you talked with your therapist about him?”

“Talk therapy is old fashioned. I meditate, journal and occasionally do Ayahuasca.”

“So basically you sit on a yoga mat, get high and write about it. Great. Now I understand your generation better.”

“And Devon is no more narcissistic than anyone else I know, he just embraces his narcissism, he doesn’t try to hide it.”

“Wow. What. A. Gem.”

“Stop it mom.”

“Okay, okay. Why don’t you invite him over for Sunday night dinner sometime?”

“Because I don’t want to traumatize him.”

“Very funny.”

“Plus, he’s vegan on Sundays.”

“I’ll make him a nice salad.”

“We haven’t even had sex yet mom, it’s too early to introduce him to the family.”

“You haven’t had sex yet? Why the hell not?”

“Just because you were slutty at my age doesn’t mean I have to be. We hang out. We talk. We smoke weed. We walk in the forest.”

“That’s sad. I tell you kid, you’re missing out.”

“Stop calling me kid, it’s annoying.”

“Fine. Let’s pop into this cute bakery. You still eat cake right?”

“Of course I still eat cake. What kind of a question is that?”

“Oh thank God. Sex-less is one thing, but cake-less would have put me over the edge.”

Laundry Day

Tossing laundry into the washing machine, Tessa paused, looking at a ratty old pair of plaid boxer shorts.

“These are gross. How is Jordan even still wearing them? What is wrong with him?”

Irritated, Tessa continued loading the machine. Her own underwear was pretty: black cotton with black lace trim. And of course she had some sexier ones too. The point was that she put effort into keeping herself lovely – for herself and for her husband.

“These are literally ten years old. I’m not going to have sex with him until he buys new underwear.”

A few pairs were even ripped –

RIPPED!

She angrily balled them up and tossed them in the garbage. A moment of guilt swished over her:

The underwear would end up in a landfill, polluting the planet.

She considered cutting them into rags. It was the right thing to do, but Tessa wasn’t that committed to the planet. Plus, they had a cleaning lady – Veronica – and Veronica was very particular about her supplies, so much so that she brought her own with her. Veronica would never use underwear rags, it was beneath her.

Later, as Jordan and her sat on opposite sides of the couch with their laptops, Tessa burst out:

“Do you still love me?”

“What? Of course I still love you. Why are you asking?”

“Because you never buy new underwear.”

“What does that have to do with me loving you?”

“Everything.”

“Everything?”

“Yes everything. You no longer make an effort. You don’t romance me. You don’t surprise me with little treats. You never wear the nice clothing I buy you. You never change up our routine to keep things interesting. Your nasty old boxers are symbolic.”

Jordan tilted his head:

“I bought you a gift a few days ago – that pink Christmas poinsettia.”

“Doesn’t count. You were at the grocery store picking up beer, plus it was wilted and 75% off.”

“Now you’re just sounding immature and petty. But if my underwear is so triggering I’ll buy new ones.”

Tessa started quietly weeping, as if she was at a movie theatre and didn’t want to disturb anyone.

“Why are you crying? Are you menopausing? Is that what’s really going on here?”

Tessa’s nostrils flared:

“FYI – menopausing is not a word. Also, that’s insulting, it invalidates my tears. I’m crying because I feel emotional about the state of our relationship.”

“It just seems like you would not be crying if you had seen nice underwear when you were doing laundry. And that’s nuts.”

“What’s nuts is that you’re on auto-pilot. Ever since we got married it’s like you stopped trying. You’re in this relationship passively, not actively, and that makes me feel like shit.”

“I thought one of the cool things about getting married was that you could just chill with your person, you didn’t have to be “on” all the time.”

“You don’t have to be “on,” but you do have to participate in creating a life together. You do need to give our relationship some of your energy. You have a beautiful spirit – that’s why I fell in love with you – but some of that spirit needs to be directly funnelled into ‘us.’”

“Okay, okay, I get it. At least I think I get it and I’m sorry. I’m on Nordstrom.com right now ordering boxers.”

“Thank you. And since you’re already shopping – I like the new Marc Jacobs purse, it’s called the Mini Bag. In lilac, not black.”

“Okay, gimme a second. Wait, you want this purse? It’s like crazy-tiny.”

“I know. That’s what makes it so chic.”

“I will never fully understand you.”

“And you don’t need to. You just need to love me.”

https://www.marcjacobs.com/us-en/the-leather-mini-bag/2S4SMN080S02-533.html

My schizophrenic brother & I: A true story.

Why didn’t Claudia call me? What I told her was significant. No, but why didn’t she call me?
Americans are terorists. Americans are terrorists.

“Hey MEB, do you ever miss living in the United States?”

What is the correct answer here? If I say yes will he get mad because Americans are apparently terrorists? Nevermind that our mother is American and I’m a U.S. citizen.

“Umm, sometimes I do. I lived many of my formative years in the U.S.”

“Okay, okay.”

The earth is Queen. We have not been good to the earth. They told us not to fly. Flying is not good for the earth.

“MEB, do people still take planes?”

“Umm, yes they do. Sometimes people need to visit their families.”

“They told us not to fly.”

“I know. It’s a complicated issue.”

When the fleurs de lis returns everything will be right. No, but how did she know? How did she know?”

“Mike?”

“Ya?”

“That big pile of matches is making me nervous. You’re not burning candles are you? I’m scared of having a fire.”

“I’m not burning candles.”

“Okay, good. Thanks.”

“MEB? Do you trust Dr. Doukas?”

“Yes, I trust her completely. We are very lucky to have her as our family doctor.”

“Really?”

“Yes. She’s excellent.”

Americans are terrorists. No, but they’re terrorists. Why didn’t Claudia call me back? What I told her was significant. No, but how did she know?

“I’m going to go under soon.”

“What does that mean Mike? You’re going to die?”

“I’m just going to go under.”

“Okay. But if you start feeling suicidal please tell me. I don’t want to lose you.”

Americans are terrorists. Americans are terrorists.

Gourds

“Victoria, you need to switch out your decor.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You still have your fall wreath up and old pumpkins and gourds. It’s December.”

“There’s nothing in our condo rules book that says we have to do any kind of decor. If I wanted to, and maybe I do, I could put out my pink flamingos.”

“Very funny. The condo board just wants a cohesive look for our development, is that too much to ask?”

“Umm, ya, actually it is too much to ask.”

“All you have to do is look around at the other houses, do you see any fall or Thanksgiving decorations? No you don’t. You see Christmas and Hanukkah and lots of sparkle and lights. That’s what’s appropriate for December.”

“We’re not Stepford Wives and this is not Connecticut; I’ll put up whatever kind of decor I want. By the way, in case you haven’t noticed, the world is going up in flames. I’m pretty sure no one cares about my outdoor decor.”

“Actually, people do care. We’ve had two complaints about you in the last year.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The condo board received two anonymous notes about your slovenliness.”

Victoria started laughing.

“Oh my God, that’s hysterical. What were people upset about?”

“You didn’t throw out your fall plants. You left them to rot in the front yard bushes.”

“I do that so they’ll decompose, it’s good for the soil.”

“It looks unseemly. That’s what yard waste bags are for.”

“And what was my second infraction officer?”

“The second complaint was about your dandelions. Your yard was covered with them this spring, it looked like some derelict home from the wrong side of town.”

“They’re good for the environment, haven’t you read about the honeybees?”

“A few dandelions is all you need to help the honeybees, not a yard full.”

“Dandelions are very chic. Architectural Digest even did a feature on them.”

“Victoria, I don’t want to argue about dandelions. I just want you to put up your damn holiday decor.”

“Well, since Trump is not President yet, I’m going to take advantage of the few freedoms we still have. I’ll decorate for the holidays when I’m in the mood. When I’m feeling festive. Goodbye Colleen.”