01 november 1999 | back | archive | forward

it's how cinderella must have felt when she woke up the next morning: wondering if it was all one big dream. then i saw on the floor beside me, my shimmery, lavendar dress in a puddle on the floor and a rhinestone tiara glimmering on my dresser.

we were supposed to be the wicked stepsisters, but we ended up looking like 80s prom queens with bad hair-dos and really heavy eye makeup (i felt a lot like hole's live through this cd covergirl). "you should have made your noses bigger and wore more blue eyeshadow," they said. "you don't look mean at all."

i guess i can't look very evil, even if i try. and grace, my oh my, grace is just not in my body's vocabulary. i was standing, attempting to embody charm and elegance for the camera, when i took a step backward -- i was on a step, you see -- and fell (i am always falling, aren't i?), causing such a scene. they were all actor types there, so naturally a handful of men went to rescue the damsel in distress. i curtsied and flashed a smile, although really i just wanted to disappear into thin air.

at the next party, i decided to stay seated on the carpet -- it was much safer this way -- and let everyone step all over the yards of taffeta i was wearing. i was tired of smiling for cameras, so i just stuck my tongue out as the flashes flashed. and i tried, how i tried, to remain calm and collected, as any princess would.

obviously all this make-believe was born in my childhood, when i gazed into my magic mirror and ruled over my kingdom of stuffed animals. for halloween, my mom always dressed me up as everything nice, yes, yes, sugar and spice: a ballerina, raggedy ann, geisha girl, and even in high school when all the girls with raging hormones were slutty cavegirls and playboy bunnies, i was little red riding hood.

so i guess it was only appropriate that i ended up trying to be some sort of princess. really, i didn't care what people thought i was. i just wanted to wear the tiara.

tiara; $3.95 plus tax.

they're those huge sneezes that come from the same place as nauseum, erupting and leaving a ring of fire in my throat.

the pretty in pink soundtrack. what a classic.

"i wish i could follow you around with a video camera. you're like felicity." -- michelle, to me, as i was telling her about my wacky weekend. (but paraphrased. hey, it was early.)

the mixed tape process is very cathartic.

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