I feel like Belle Watling may have been driving her point home a little too hard with the bell earrings. I mean, we get it. Why don't you just date Quasimoto while you're at it? Why don't you move to Philadelphia? Why don't you work for the phone company? Why don't you write a JINGLE?
Incidentally, who borrowed my tiara with the amber knobs on it? I've been looking everywhere. I feel like Belle was not into the less-is-more philosophy when it came to accessorizing.
One of the Alexes at work is fascinated by how often I can work a Gone With the Wind reference into these posts. She is at once impressed and disgusted by me. Which kind of sums me up. I once had a boy say I was like a No-Pest Strip, managing to attract and repel men all at once.
Anyway, it's Sunday, and I just sat down with the New York Times for an hour, where I was reading how all kinds of hip NY folk are moving to Detroit, and buying 6,000-square-foot lofts for $3,000 and so on. I had this artist boyfriend once, in the '80s, and one Sunday he had to draw something as part of his job. He lay on his living room floor and drew something on a very see-through piece of paper for awhile while I watched him and more than likely drank White Zinfandel.
It was 1988. Sue me.
"When I was growing up, my mother used to say to me, 'You like drawing, I know, but you can't make a career out of lying on the floor making pictures,'" he told me. I swear to god it was 20 minutes later and he said, "I'm done. Let's go."
And we drove off to Detroit to take whatever the hell that drawing was to the guy in Detroit. I like how I paid close attention to the details, as per usual. And how funny that you'd have to literally drive something 90 miles to someone. He couldn't just email an image.
My point is, the guy lived downtown, and I had never known anyone to actually live in downtown Detroit. I remember the place was huge, and we all stood on this--it wasn't even a balcony, it was so giant. Remember how Uncle Bill's place had a balcony, and you could probably fit 20 Mr. Frenches up here? It was like that. We looked out over the whole city, and I tried to drink a martini like it was good and not bug spray-tasting.
I also remember the guy being beside himself over whatever the hell it was my then-boyfriend spent 20 minutes drawing. That guy was too smart for his own good. He made a whole lot of cool art back then, including this one piece where you looked through a really beautiful window frame, and behind it was a video of people having sex. If I ever get famous and you see my sex video, please disregard my perm. AGAIN, it was 1988.
Anyway, I wonder if he has that place, still, that guy in Detroit, because if people really move to Detroit and it gets all hep, that apartment will be worth millions. Plus the whole June-drank-here panache that apartment now has. That rare and unusual find: Places June Had Her a White Zin or a Gross Martini in the '80s.
Or the 1990s tour: Places in Seattle Where June Pretended to Like Black Beer Because Everyone Else Did When All She Really Wanted Was an Amstel Light Up In Here; Sue June.
In the 2000s, there was a teensy bar in my LA neighborhood, and it was family owned so you could smoke in there. It was called the Tiki Ti, and it served only tropical drinks that would knock you on your coconuts, so powerful were they. I hate to bring up this delicate subject, but Marvin and I once stumbled home from there and may or may not have Done It in our garage because it was like 4959549303 steps up to our duplex and that was too far.
Marvin was not what you'd call a drinker. If he was late, you'd never say, "I wonder if Marv is back at the bar, knocking back shots?"
Wow, I wonder if this would be a good Purple Clover article? Places I drank. Am now inspired.
I have to go. I have to do Tracy Chapass, even though this whole house is asleep, and the dogs are splayed out behind me sounding so sigh-y and peaceful, and the only other noise other than those two is the buzz of a cicada outside. What I'm saying is this is a perfect time to go back to sleep, but if I do that my Fitbit will never hit 10,000 today, and at this point I need a Fitbit intervention or something. I spend my whole day trying to impress a strip of plastic.
Okay, so I'm off. With bells on.
P.S. Oh! I have one more thing to say. We need to organize our efforts and protest two things. One, we all need to start REFUSING to purchase these damn sheer shirts if they don't come with a free camisole. Am really getting annoyed. And two? We need to demand that movie theaters show no more than two previews before a show. I went to see poor Amy Winehouse's documentary yesterday, which may be why this was such a boozy post, and they showed previews for TWENTY MINUTES. We need to start walking out and demanding a refund or something. We need to get very huffy. The way Edsel gets huffy if you move during the night. We need to flump off and sigh dramatically. Who's in?