Into The Wild!
This safari was to be a journey through unknown terrain...
I was lounging on the chaise in Mommie's room pretending to read Palm Beach's oldest social periodical in a pink, sleeveless Lacoste polo dress. I was in no mood to impress- comfort was my goal. Knowing that I would soon have to do mental and emotional battle with my mother over my 'indiscreet' handling of my emotions, it was best to rest up. My mother entered the room and I pulled the magazine down low enough to allow her recognition through a nod, then lifted it up to my face again. "Come along then", she ordered. I lowered the magazine and lifted a brow, "Where to...a burial ditch in Belle Glade?" "Ha HA! Get up; we mean to take you somewhere-" "WE?!" As I questioned her pronoun, Connie entered the room. "Well, you heard your mother!" I gracefully removed my lazy form from the cushions, "It will take both of YOU to do away with ME?" "How unladylike a thought! I am thoroughly surprised at you, M.~!" Her tone said something else- amusement- "To be sure...you are not" I negated. Connie smirked as I slid into my wedges and bounced into my room through the frosted door to retrieve my tote.
I sat quietly in the back of my mother's jade green jaguar, noticing that we were traveling south and east. Since most bodies were disposed of farther north, I was quite relieved. My mother- I truly believe- recalls the days when disobedient daughters could 'disappear' with never another mention of their names. I should hope I never get on that side of her, but I must gain my independence of thought and action; truly a necessity at my age! We pulled into a shopping plaza and right up to the door of a shop I'd never heard of. As I exited the car I asked, "What is this...the best kept secret in Fort Lauderdale?" My mother and Connie exchanged smirks and my mother rolled over to the lot to park. I was fond of bargain hunting 'Maybe' I thought, 'Mommie's truce will involve the disclosure of a new thrift store of some sort!'. "Well are we ready, Connie?" "Yes indeed!" "You are sure this is the place?", Mommie asked with a crinkle of her nose, "Yes indeed!", Connie answered, and we entered the store. My enthusiastic bounding was checked by an assault on one of my better senses...my sense of taste- in fashion! I habitually lay an open, palm-down hand on my chest when appalled, this was my stance as I glanced around, in gaping-mouthed shock at what I and my friends have come to refer to as "urban camouflage".
I understand that people wear apparel that they like; as do I and everyone else. But what if someone played a dirty trick on you, only allowing you access to a certain type of clothing, even developing marketing schemes to dupe you into believing that some awful attire was really the cat's meow. I point this out not due to snobbery but because I have never seen low-end clothiers carry anything but loud, over-the-top patterns and prints as though the madras-pearls-and-polo set were trying to distinguish the haves from the have-nots in the most ridiculously obvious way. Most people do not look good dressed like five-year olds that have chosen the brightest crayola-colored ensemble from their closets; given a wider variety, I believe less people would go for 'shock'em color' and would gravitate toward more subtle hues. EVERYONE that has less than most does not love having pieces of glass and reflective plastics pasted to their clothing! True SOME people enjoy 'peacock rocks' but I really think those are attention-grabbing personalities period. Nothing wrong with that!
"Well then Princess...", my mother began to whisper, "shop until you drop-" "DEAD!" "Excuse me?" I regained my composure, "Why are we really here Mother- CONNIE?!" Connie's shoulders bristled at the dragging of her name into this farce. "This...", my mother began speaking and behaving like the girl a the Fendi shop, with grand gestures toward nothing in particular, "this is where you will be shopping if you continue to date a man with bad credit, sweetie." "No way!" I yelled, "Yes way!" Connie interrupted. "My granddaughter married for great sex and no income and SHE is the one that gave me directions here!" "You two CAN NOT be serious!" "I am QUITE serious little girl!" My mother grabbed my arm roughly and drug me outside the store as the store clerks and managers looked on in disbelief, "Do you really think all the instruction and generosities your father and I struggled to give to you- The Princess- was for you to grow up and marry a man that could not keep you in the lifestyle we gave you?!" My eyes welled up with tears as I thought about when my father was alive and believed me so special he lectured my brothers on keeping certain types of boys at bay. Every father does, but my father was convinced I was truly some sort of royalty; I was just a tomboy that kept a promise...
My mother began to pace, "What ever will you do, dearheart, hmm? Come to Quinn and me for assistance- Quinn would never do for you again if you marry a philanderous, financially-irresponsible golddigger!-" "Must you soil his name so?!" "Connie- tell her!" I then heard rumors and assumptions that had never reached my ears before. They are not the sort of thing a guy is willing to tell you, even in denial, as he sits in the moonlight stroking your hair and whispering "Monona"*. My mother assumed often but an out-and-out liar she was not. Our ride was silent as we made our way to The Island to meet a woman from Miguel's past. I have never reached for a ringing cellie that was not mine; I do not 'spy' on men I date, nor investigate them...this was quite a new journey for me. I believe my mother and Connie meant to save me from what seemed to be a dramatic episode of INSENSE. It must have been some sort of romantic possession that had me lying and sneaking around, right?
The woman smoked and looked like new, dirty money; she reminded me of the women in New York that catch a guy on his way up with no pre-nup, then take the bank. She eyed me with a sneer- it had to be jealousy on some level because it felt like someone with greasy hands stood behind me and yanked my hair. "Mickey definitely went for the high life with you!" "Mickey is what you said? Well-this is a case of mistaken identity then-" "me GWELL or whatever! I called him Mickey..." One of my pet peeves has always been people who disrespect you by changing your name to suit their linguistic limitations...or cultural bias. It is why I allow people to call me 'M.~' instead of having them slaughter my name. She kept staring at me disapprovingly, then put out her cigarette at the insistence of my mother. "I bet YOU never offended anyone in your life, huh?" My mother ignored her ignorance and Connie began asking her to inform me of the relationship she had with Miguel that ruined his marriage. At the end of her soap opera she warned, "Miguel's family came over here with NOTHING. They won't stop until they have a little of everyone else's, you know what I mean?" I shook my head and mouthed 'No' to which she grabbed the sides of my knees and held my legs. "He will do something 'wild' to you then have you're little trust fund heart wrapped around his finger!" She released me, "Listen to your mother and her friend...he is trying to get in your little innocent pants and take your money because his ex cleaned him out-" "How would YOU know?" I asked indignantly and a little wounded, she sat up closer to my face, "I was there when she did the cleaning! He thought I was going to take care of him- HA!- HE COULDN'T EVEN LIE AND CLAIM HE LOVE ME FOR IT!"
As we left, I pitied her, realizing she was much older than me and was probably looking for comfort and companionship, while Miguel was looking to be taken care of and not work another day. He often told me this was his fantasy...to live a life of leisure. He always laughed when I told him I felt useless if I wasn't at least volunteering. I sat in the back of the car, thinking of how I did not like when my associates tried to use older men as 'sponsors'. One told me I was no different I simply did not have to ask, "They know your type will get bored if you aren't showered with gifts and attention!" she said with venom. My friend had left England and was now in Canada...he sent me gifts periodically, carrying gift cards that read, 'Thinking of you and hoping this helps you remember of me'. Who was I in the societal scheme of things? What had my parents raised...who was I to become? I felt so empty...this was not a fulfilling hunt.
* it means 'cute' but in Columbia it is a reference to one with reddish hair.
I will get over it, do not fret. Besides, I have an acting gig as a girlfriend and this little episode definitely contributes to my Method!
I was lounging on the chaise in Mommie's room pretending to read Palm Beach's oldest social periodical in a pink, sleeveless Lacoste polo dress. I was in no mood to impress- comfort was my goal. Knowing that I would soon have to do mental and emotional battle with my mother over my 'indiscreet' handling of my emotions, it was best to rest up. My mother entered the room and I pulled the magazine down low enough to allow her recognition through a nod, then lifted it up to my face again. "Come along then", she ordered. I lowered the magazine and lifted a brow, "Where to...a burial ditch in Belle Glade?" "Ha HA! Get up; we mean to take you somewhere-" "WE?!" As I questioned her pronoun, Connie entered the room. "Well, you heard your mother!" I gracefully removed my lazy form from the cushions, "It will take both of YOU to do away with ME?" "How unladylike a thought! I am thoroughly surprised at you, M.~!" Her tone said something else- amusement- "To be sure...you are not" I negated. Connie smirked as I slid into my wedges and bounced into my room through the frosted door to retrieve my tote.
I sat quietly in the back of my mother's jade green jaguar, noticing that we were traveling south and east. Since most bodies were disposed of farther north, I was quite relieved. My mother- I truly believe- recalls the days when disobedient daughters could 'disappear' with never another mention of their names. I should hope I never get on that side of her, but I must gain my independence of thought and action; truly a necessity at my age! We pulled into a shopping plaza and right up to the door of a shop I'd never heard of. As I exited the car I asked, "What is this...the best kept secret in Fort Lauderdale?" My mother and Connie exchanged smirks and my mother rolled over to the lot to park. I was fond of bargain hunting 'Maybe' I thought, 'Mommie's truce will involve the disclosure of a new thrift store of some sort!'. "Well are we ready, Connie?" "Yes indeed!" "You are sure this is the place?", Mommie asked with a crinkle of her nose, "Yes indeed!", Connie answered, and we entered the store. My enthusiastic bounding was checked by an assault on one of my better senses...my sense of taste- in fashion! I habitually lay an open, palm-down hand on my chest when appalled, this was my stance as I glanced around, in gaping-mouthed shock at what I and my friends have come to refer to as "urban camouflage".
I understand that people wear apparel that they like; as do I and everyone else. But what if someone played a dirty trick on you, only allowing you access to a certain type of clothing, even developing marketing schemes to dupe you into believing that some awful attire was really the cat's meow. I point this out not due to snobbery but because I have never seen low-end clothiers carry anything but loud, over-the-top patterns and prints as though the madras-pearls-and-polo set were trying to distinguish the haves from the have-nots in the most ridiculously obvious way. Most people do not look good dressed like five-year olds that have chosen the brightest crayola-colored ensemble from their closets; given a wider variety, I believe less people would go for 'shock'em color' and would gravitate toward more subtle hues. EVERYONE that has less than most does not love having pieces of glass and reflective plastics pasted to their clothing! True SOME people enjoy 'peacock rocks' but I really think those are attention-grabbing personalities period. Nothing wrong with that!
"Well then Princess...", my mother began to whisper, "shop until you drop-" "DEAD!" "Excuse me?" I regained my composure, "Why are we really here Mother- CONNIE?!" Connie's shoulders bristled at the dragging of her name into this farce. "This...", my mother began speaking and behaving like the girl a the Fendi shop, with grand gestures toward nothing in particular, "this is where you will be shopping if you continue to date a man with bad credit, sweetie." "No way!" I yelled, "Yes way!" Connie interrupted. "My granddaughter married for great sex and no income and SHE is the one that gave me directions here!" "You two CAN NOT be serious!" "I am QUITE serious little girl!" My mother grabbed my arm roughly and drug me outside the store as the store clerks and managers looked on in disbelief, "Do you really think all the instruction and generosities your father and I struggled to give to you- The Princess- was for you to grow up and marry a man that could not keep you in the lifestyle we gave you?!" My eyes welled up with tears as I thought about when my father was alive and believed me so special he lectured my brothers on keeping certain types of boys at bay. Every father does, but my father was convinced I was truly some sort of royalty; I was just a tomboy that kept a promise...
My mother began to pace, "What ever will you do, dearheart, hmm? Come to Quinn and me for assistance- Quinn would never do for you again if you marry a philanderous, financially-irresponsible golddigger!-" "Must you soil his name so?!" "Connie- tell her!" I then heard rumors and assumptions that had never reached my ears before. They are not the sort of thing a guy is willing to tell you, even in denial, as he sits in the moonlight stroking your hair and whispering "Monona"*. My mother assumed often but an out-and-out liar she was not. Our ride was silent as we made our way to The Island to meet a woman from Miguel's past. I have never reached for a ringing cellie that was not mine; I do not 'spy' on men I date, nor investigate them...this was quite a new journey for me. I believe my mother and Connie meant to save me from what seemed to be a dramatic episode of INSENSE. It must have been some sort of romantic possession that had me lying and sneaking around, right?
The woman smoked and looked like new, dirty money; she reminded me of the women in New York that catch a guy on his way up with no pre-nup, then take the bank. She eyed me with a sneer- it had to be jealousy on some level because it felt like someone with greasy hands stood behind me and yanked my hair. "Mickey definitely went for the high life with you!" "Mickey is what you said? Well-this is a case of mistaken identity then-" "me GWELL or whatever! I called him Mickey..." One of my pet peeves has always been people who disrespect you by changing your name to suit their linguistic limitations...or cultural bias. It is why I allow people to call me 'M.~' instead of having them slaughter my name. She kept staring at me disapprovingly, then put out her cigarette at the insistence of my mother. "I bet YOU never offended anyone in your life, huh?" My mother ignored her ignorance and Connie began asking her to inform me of the relationship she had with Miguel that ruined his marriage. At the end of her soap opera she warned, "Miguel's family came over here with NOTHING. They won't stop until they have a little of everyone else's, you know what I mean?" I shook my head and mouthed 'No' to which she grabbed the sides of my knees and held my legs. "He will do something 'wild' to you then have you're little trust fund heart wrapped around his finger!" She released me, "Listen to your mother and her friend...he is trying to get in your little innocent pants and take your money because his ex cleaned him out-" "How would YOU know?" I asked indignantly and a little wounded, she sat up closer to my face, "I was there when she did the cleaning! He thought I was going to take care of him- HA!- HE COULDN'T EVEN LIE AND CLAIM HE LOVE ME FOR IT!"
As we left, I pitied her, realizing she was much older than me and was probably looking for comfort and companionship, while Miguel was looking to be taken care of and not work another day. He often told me this was his fantasy...to live a life of leisure. He always laughed when I told him I felt useless if I wasn't at least volunteering. I sat in the back of the car, thinking of how I did not like when my associates tried to use older men as 'sponsors'. One told me I was no different I simply did not have to ask, "They know your type will get bored if you aren't showered with gifts and attention!" she said with venom. My friend had left England and was now in Canada...he sent me gifts periodically, carrying gift cards that read, 'Thinking of you and hoping this helps you remember of me'. Who was I in the societal scheme of things? What had my parents raised...who was I to become? I felt so empty...this was not a fulfilling hunt.
* it means 'cute' but in Columbia it is a reference to one with reddish hair.
I will get over it, do not fret. Besides, I have an acting gig as a girlfriend and this little episode definitely contributes to my Method!
Labels: men that do not fit the part, playing naive Barbie, urban camouflage
posted by ScreenGoddessComplex at 8:48 PM
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