The Day I Burned My Kitchen Down & Other Reasons To Avoid Chimichangas

"If you burn your kitchen down people are far more likely to ask you out for dinner." 

                             Birdee Bow

I still remember peering into the window from the huge wooden front porch.  The large beveled glass door was locked, but just inside I could see the beautiful black and white checkered floor of the entry way and a massive wooden staircase just beyond a set of french doors leading into the dining room.  So beautiful!  I screamed out loud and prayed that it hadn't already been taken. Sitting on the front porch swing I tried the number on the FOR RENT sign again on my cell phone.  Oh please please answer, this is the house we so desperately need!!

Only a few days in from our mass exodus out of  L.A. (on one of the hottest days on record in the San Fernando Valley and a subsequent rolling blackout) we had been looking for a place.  Some place cheaper and more laid back. Some place easier.   A place where the six of us could focus on writing music as a band for the next 12 months and save money for a new album and a U.S. tour. As is the scenario of most events in my life, it happened suddenly.  One evening around 10pm as we searched the Internet in our stifling hot non ac style Canoga Park hotel room, boom, there it was.  This beautifully scenic small college town in Kansas where we had remembered playing a few times along our journey and one that we not only had a few darling and friendly fans to play for, but also where (we had just discovered) a 6 bedroom 2 bathroom Victorian house with a full basement for rehearsals and ghetto demo making was only 1400 bucks a month.  Yep, literally within hours we loaded up the van and headed out across the Mojave Desert.

1500 miles later, there I was, actually standing on the front porch of this massive house I had found on craigslist back in Cali.  Ahhhh the excitement, the fear, the exhaustion.  Moving into the place was such a fun adventure!  We had not one item of  furniture with us, nothing except band equipment, recording gear, suitcases and a lot of hope. Fast forward a few months to our newly thrift store furnished & severely chic vintage shoppe decor, rockin' cool,  Victorian Band House.  Fun, fabulous and the hip place to hang out on weekends as we had an ever revolving door of new found friends, free basement rock shows and board game nights (my fave).

One quite normal morning as one of the guys left for his work day I heard him say, "Hey!  Chimichangas in the freezer and I left some oil on the stove, just in case you want some for lunch."

Yeh Awesome! Thanks. Walking into the kitchen, I clicked on the stove top burner and started up that oil.

Ok, so here's where the details get a little fuzzy, but I know one thing for sure, the doorbell rang. It was the mailman with a huge package of some sort of bass gear. I signed for it and went back into the house. Only I didn't make it back into the kitchen, I somehow decided to start cleaning out the closet in my bedroom (yeh no clue why).  Also, no idea how much time had passed, but as I folded sweaters neatly into a pile, I heard it began to blare...the fire alarm.  Opening my bedroom door, the room filled with smoke.  CHIMICHANGAS.  Yeh, now I remembered. Walking down the long hallway toward the kitchen I could see only flames shooting from inside the kitchen doorway.  Yeh, it was too late to even think about going in there.

Grabbed my cell and did the 911.  Apparently there is a serious pause of life that happens when tragedy strikes, a slowing down of time that seems as if  you are lifelessly floating above the current moment. Suddenly trying to predict the outcome becomes almost as mind numbing as the tragedy at hand.  I think it only took the fire department 5 minutes to get there, during that time I called (crying like a fool) twice and felt like 5 HOURS had already passed as the lovely dispatcher lady kindly talked me out of my panic and told me to NOT under any circumstances go back into the house.

As I envisioned burning band equipment, guitar amps, drum kits and all our dreams going right up into smoke, I saw the first fire truck turning the corner at least 4 blocks away.  Standing in the middle of the street I waved my hands jumping up & down like a crazy person. In my sleep shorts, ripped t shirt & last night's hair do, I resembled a post club night Courtney Love lost in Kansas. I waved and waved until the truck actually honked at me to move out of the street.  Yes, admittedly not my proudest moments.

The first fireman who walked toward me was an older man with the most calming nature I have ever encountered.  As the others ran past me into the house, this fireman hugged me and told me everything would be ok. I didn't even realize how upset I was (like I said, that whole slow motion thing), but when he hugged me?  I felt my knees buckle as I collapsed in his arms & felt like I might vomit.  Ahhh lucky guy!  Stuck there holding a hot mess.

I'll never forget that first axe hit, the one they do to check for pressure. Perfectly sideways, right across the perfectly beautiful kitchen window. Ugh.  I'm pretty sure I lost my cookies at that point and the rest is a blur as band mates came flooding in from their jobs and daily routines.  I've never quite felt more like a loser than on that day, but the good part? The damage was completely contained within the kitchen and no serious damage took place. Ok, YES, except for the entire kitchen. Luckily, our landlord was a saint and literally was more worried about all of us than the kitchen. Kansans are awesome btw.

I helped that summer with the remodel of the kitchen & the repainting of the house. Although yes I was probably more in the way than anything, but it's the thought and the fresh lemonade that really counts right?

One of the songs off the new album was entitled Four Alarm Fire. Ahhh the circle of Art & Life, Life & Art. 

May you encounter a friendly fireman sans the flames.
May you only eat Chimichangas at restaurants.

Hepburn Hugs & Ric Ocasek Dreams
xoxo

Birdee Bow

Let me see you SWEAT. #LeoLife

"You hear that voice?  You hear that sound?  LIKE THUNDER Gonna Shake the Ground..."

You know those ideas you have from an early age and you're not quite sure where they came from?  Yeh, it's a mystery. One very distinct idea I can remember having from a very early age was the idea that things you really want in life should appear as if by surprise.  Ok, so yes I understood the hard work aspect for most outcomes, but the work shouldn't be too noticeable.  It should seem quite effortless to those around you. A proper lady shouldn't have too much sweat (so to speak) upon her brow and it's downright  rude and improper to be too persistent or intrusive.  The effort should really be an afterthought to the talent and sheer will.

uhhhh yeh ok.

I think this may have something to do with a more southern style environment or the fact that southern women are not supposed to appear desperate under any circumstances.  (Scarlet O'Hara ring a bell anyone?)
I'm not really sure where that personal ideology of mine came from, because my parents certainly didn't teach it to me  (In fact quite the opposite).  But for better or worse?  I'll admit it was indeed the way I thought.

I would like to say now and ON THE RECORD that I've spent the better part of my adulthood poking huge gaping wound style holes into that theory.  Let me tell you one thing for certain:

 IT'S A BLOOD BATH.

FIGHT for whatever it is you want in this life and start early.  Fight with all your might because the younger you learn to fight the more prepared you'll be to fight off the naysayers, the haters and the creepers in sheep's clothing.

FIGHT to ward off the small minds you will meet along the way who only wish to change your vision and mold you into another form of mediocrity.

FIGHT like your life depends on it, because it does.  BE intrusive and annoyingly persistent about your goals. VOICE THEM as loud as possible, whenever possible.   Never take no for an answer & ignore those with broken dreams who negatively work to  prevent you from pursuing your own.

Let all that sweat show upon your brow.
Wear it like a badge of honor while you ROAR.

GLISTEN.  GLOW
FIGHT
LIKE THERE'S NO TOMORROW

Hepburn Hugs & Ric Ocasek Dreams,

Birdee Bow

Three Little Words & Easy Silence

                "I got you babe."   Sonny & Cher

I recently read an article entitled, Three Little Words Most Cherished in Relationships.  A mixed bag of three word phrases quickly shuffled through my mind,  I love you?  I need you?  I want you?   Nope none of those made the cut.  Turns out the three most longed for words are
 I
Got
You.

Ahhhhh, "I got you."

Conjures up a lot of serene thoughts doesn't it? That peaceful feeling when some one's got your back. The comforting knowledge that someone is not only looking out for you, but watchin' ahead for you too. I find it not only to be an amazing phrase to hear, but also equally gratifying to say to someone you truly care about.

Made me think about an old song I hadn't heard in a while.

Easy Silence
When the calls and conversations

Accidents and accusations
Messages and misperceptions
Paralyze my mind

Buses, cars and airplanes leaving
Burnin' fumes of gasoline
And everyone is runnin'
And I come to find a refuge

In the easy silence that you make for me
It's okay when there's nothing more to say to me
The peaceful quiet you create for me
And the way you keep the world at bay for me
The way you keep the world at bay

Wishing you moments with someone who keeps the world at bay.

Hepburn Hugs & Ric Ocasek Dreams

xoxo

Birdee Bow

Playground Road Kill and Lesson #1

"It's fine to celebrate success but it is more important to heed the lessons of failure."  BILL GATES

In the 6th grade I had a mad crush on a boy named Tony.  Tony was short for his age, not that good looking and he had a really bad attitude. The only thing Tony really had going for him was the fact that he was a track star.  Yep, a 6th grade tiny country school in the middle of a cotton field kinda track star.  Ohhhh swooon.

Ok, so this may be hard to believe (because I don't really believe it myself) but in the 6th grade, for one year only, I too was a track star.  I ran the fastest quarter mile and thus was placed on every relay team for our tiny school.  This was a strange phenomenon for me because   a.)  I had never really thought of myself as a fast runner and  b.)  I HATED running.

Fast forward to one sunny spring afternoon onto the 6th grade playground.  Now that we were older, most of the 6th graders hung out near the outdoor basketball courts and a few scattered merry go rounds which were older than dirt and I'm quite sure had been designed in the 60's.  Now busting up through the ground the rough concrete centers were entirely visible and the bowed circular action of the "rounds" were more like sun warped frisbees with lifeless flight.

While standing near the merry go rounds (now packed with cool kids).  One girl screamed to me, "CONTEST!" as she egged on a group of middle schoolers to challenge me and Tony to a  merry go pushing competition. They chanted "boys vs girls boys vs girls!"
Ahhhh WHO would be the fastest?

As I watched Tony push the screaming preteens into merry go ecstasy, I felt a lump the size of Houston forming in my stomach. I knew I was up next.  Ok, I could either forfeit the race (which was my favorite option) or I could possibly follow through and maybe not only win but gain some brownie points with my lightening fast crush.  Maybe, just maybe if I could win? He would be amazed at my skill and fall in love with my fearlessness and skill (or something like that).  

Alright alright here goes nothin'...

Stepping over the faded and splintered wooden seats and onto the rock filled ground I was now fully inside the medieval warped contraption.  Starting to push I wondered how much all those seemingly thin little 12 year old girls actually weighed.  Jeez it was heavy. Gaining speed now I listened as they began to cheer me on. "Yea!! Girls are faster!  Girls are faster! GoGoGO!"

Faster. Faster. Faster. I ran and I ran and I ran.   I would take this vintage merry go round straight into flight!  I was unstoppable.  How cool I must look right now!!  How unbelievably awesome Tony must be thinking I am!
And then it happened

Tripping on my own shoe lace I suddenly began to tailspin...falling falling falling. Everything began to happen in slow motion as I slipped into a tragedy of Greek proportions.  I lost all control, but the one thing I had not lost?  My grip onto the rails of the merry go round.  The merry-go-round continued to drag my lifeless body around and around and around, across the sharp rocks while embedding gravel and loose rocks into my knees and elbows. I was playground roadkill.  Just as I felt the jagged concrete center digging into my rib cage. I heard what the crowd must have been yelling for a while,
"LET GO!!"

I finally did.

Lying there face up as the bars of the orbiting vessel continued to spin, I  felt the dizzying sun flicker across my face between the passing shadows of metal bars and dismayed faces of disappointed girls wearing braces.  I couldn't get up yet, but I knew this wasn't going to be good.  I could already taste the blood from a busted bottom lip and my knees and elbows were numb with just enough feeling to indicate road burn.
Entirely too soon, the dust settled.

Making my way out of the center of the merry, a few fateful friends helped me limp to the curb as I dusted dirt clods off my new white shorts and snazzy striped tank top.

Devastation, complete unrelenting embarrassment and a mortifying playground visit from the school nurse later, I wanted to die.

Ok, I'll make the best of it, I thought.  I mean after all, wouldn't Tony at least feel sorry for me?  

Y'know maybe come and check on me?  hmmmm turned out I might be right as he and his two buddies started making their way across the grounds. Sitting up I tried to gain composure as I straightened out the snazzy new tank top.

Brushing the  bloody dirt off my upper lip I winced up at him, holding my hand over my eyes to block the sun.
"You ok?"  he said it in such a sweet manner I thought my heart might melt.
"Yes",  I muttered "thank you and you were really ..." (he cut me off)

"You're an idiot.  Why didn' t you just let go?  MAN. Chicks are retards.  You could've never won anyway, boys are faster."  He mimicked my hands holding on to the bars for dear life and then the three of them laughed, gave me the stink eye and ran away as the bell rang.


Thinking about that event recently, I had to wonder about all the possible hidden lessons and I boiled it down to the following:

a.)  6th grade boys are jerks
b.)  EVEN if you're dying, don't ever let the school nurse baby you on the playground.
c.)  Don't believe your own hype
d.)  Never give in to peer pressure
e.)  If you have to prove yourself then maybe it's time to split.

But I think the #1 lesson is this: (drumroll please)

Life is filled with experiences that leave you feeling like you're being dragged around in endless circles. Before the gravel becomes part of  your kneecaps? Don't forget you have the option of letting go.

AND double tie your shoelaces before every race.

May you let go and let love

Hepburn Hugs & Ric Ocasek Dreams

xo
Birdee Bow

Stars, Cherished Nights and Beautiful Static...

Some days I am more aware than others that every moment is meant to be devoured. Not only devoured but squeezed, adored and cherished for all it's worth.

Welcoming the outside in, the studio door stood wide open. The beautiful static sounds of a record player needle filled the air as it glided across the vinyl of Elton John's Sweet Painted Lady.  An ocean breeze mixed with the stillness of a Long Beach, California night. The sky was hazy with a city glow, but  I could only see the stars.

Enter piano man John Caldwell.

I have always believed there are no strangers among musicians.  Writers, players, singers and shakers, we are most normally instant friends upon meeting. As John sat down at the piano,  I was filled with excitement.  Having never heard my song before, I anticipated what he might add to the mix.  Watching his hands begin to move across the ivories with a cool steadfast and easy flow, I suddenly felt my heart migrate to the center of my throat. I could not breathe, I could not think. There was nothing left to do but feel. They don't call him Fingaz for nothin.

Tears strolling down my face as I listened to my story come to life.  His energy, his emotion, his immense talent pouring out onto a baby grand and his story becoming a part of the very fabric of my own. An unspoken phenomenon of vibrating sound building bridges with melody,  harmonies hinging us together with cosmic kismet.

Musical collaboration is such a stale term for the energy in which it stands for.  In it's most sincere form, music is not only about the combining of efforts, it is about the combining of souls.

Music heals.

May you feel today.
May you leave the door open.

Hepburn Hugs & Ric Ocasek Dreams

xo
Birdee Bow

Love, Joy & Shuttle Rides Like Bumper Cars

"The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun."                                                  CHRISTOPHER McCANDLESS

She had that Sophia Loren sexy confidence thing, the shazam most normally reserved for yesteryear 50's style glamazons and curvy movie stars.  Her electric energy filled the airport shuttle like a sultry smoke cloud.  It was impossible to look away from her, her over sized Jackie O sunglasses and overstuffed Gucci bag. She demanded center stage like a 1960's technicolor Jack Rose film, only brighter and more mysterious.

"May I sit?",  she asked in what I thought to be a Russian accent.

 "Yes, certainly" I replied while scooting to the left of the bench seat.

Making our way across the terminals of LAX felt more like a bumper car fun park ride than a trip to the rental car establishment.  Sudden jolts and break induced neck jerks stuck on repeat as we abruptly stopped at each terminal. Meeting eyes with heads bouncing,  we couldn't help but laugh at the sight of one another. Laughter which inevitably opened up to fabulous conversation.

(Ok, so I  couldn't help it!)
"Have you ever heard that you look a lot like Sophia Loren?"  
"Ahh yes I have heard this before, but very sweet of you to say"

Her accent was Croatian.  A fact I learned when she lamented about fleeing the beloved country of her birth in 1994 to Italy during a war of independence. In the years following the war she had hoped to return to Croatia with her two small children.  It was not to be as economic collapse had left the area in peril.  She chose instead to take part in a U.S. program enabling she and her sons to relocate to California as refugees of war. Quite a daunting task as she spoke not one word of English nor knew one soul in this country.  The only thing she knew for sure was that she wanted a good life for her children in a place with unlimited opportunity.

At different parts of her story, I felt tears welling up in my eyes. Tears partly from the beauty and strength of her resolve and partly from my own pride.  Pride in being a citizen of such a great country and pride in the freedom to take advantage of the amazing opportunities it holds.  A luxury I often forget along the hustle of my journey.

I don't want to forget anymore.

Continuing with her story somewhere around terminal 6, she mentioned that she now was in her fifties and that she had not only taught herself English within the first three months of being here, but also worked four and five jobs to support their family.  Jobs she tirelessly carried until her English was proficient enough to start a career.  A career where she is now at a regional supervisory level and working at a job she loves.  Both boys had recently graduated from college, one in a  science field and one in the arts. She spoke of their accomplishments as a unit, as an entire family who had joined forces and beat the odds against extremely difficult circumstances.

The love in her conviction was immeasurable.
The joy in her voice, contagious.

"This life is a strange and glorious ride!", she said as the shuttle finally pulled into our destination.

"Oh, and one more thing."
She motioned to me as we stepped down onto the sidewalk,

"I found love two years ago and got married!  After devoting my entire life to my children and believing that love would have to wait?  Turns out it did.   I found love in the sweetest man I have ever known.  At 54!  Can you believe it? 

Yes, Sophia... I do believe.

Wishing you  inspirational strangers and an open heart.

Hepburn Hugs & Ric Ocasek Dreams

xo

Birdee Bow

Brains, timeless beauty & the pursuit of something real...

Conversations overheard in a powder room can be golden.  Catch a girl in a mirrored room with a tube of lipstick and her best friend and you'll inevitably get an outpouring of truth.  Such was the case on this particular Saturday night.  A Saturday night of extremely overpriced posh Mediterranean dining on Melrose Avenue in West Hollywood.  

Standing in the huge over sized brass mirror, I worked to powder blot the T zone oils of an extremely hot summer night skin in August. Mirrored compact in hand and bright orange floral sundress,  I was feeling pretty confident and on trend in my new pink heels. Now if I could only get this shiny face to cooperate.
Just as I pondered my very ridiculous girl problems, BAM!  The door flew open with the frenetic energy of two women on a mission and a gab fest.

Pouncing their designer handbags onto the black marbled counter top, they continued their conversation as if they were the only two in the room.  One quick reflection in the mirror and our eyes met.  Yep, I was caught.  Caught staring. Quickly looking away and back into my purse, I knew I recognized her.  Ooooo she was one of my favorites! One more tiny look and I'd be sure.  As I glanced again, I zeroed in on the telltale dimples and the voice.  It was undeniable.  I was now sharing counter space with a star.

Elegantly dressed in white, she wore flowing pants and a jacket perfectly tailored to her petite frame. Yves Saint Laurent or St. John, I thought, either way it was exquisite.  Just as famous for her infamous handsome husband as her successful career, I wondered if he was somewhere to be found in the restaurant as well.  Just then, she began speaking in that husky voice.  To me.

"Excuse me, do you have a mint?"
"A mint?" uh, I'm sorry. I don't, but I have some gum?

"Gum is great."  she said as she flipped her blonde hair back while giving her eye a pull upward with her fingertips in the mirror.  "Ahh this harsh lighting is hideous!"  

Unwrapping the gum, her friend continued with the banter...

"Remember what I said?!  It's not the lighting it's the warped world we live in. Don't obsess."  

Now actually including me into their conversation the blonde starlet shook her head at me with the sort of look I had only previously seen her portray on the big screen.
 "My friend and I have a ritual.  We often text one another beautiful photos of Jacqueline Onassis in her 60's or Diane Keaton or even our moms!  If we ever get the itch to do something drastic to our faces?  A text from one another can really save the day.  We're each other's rock.  It's important to be reminded what real women with intelligence and immense capabilities look like as they age.   L.A. is a strange land."  

Yes.  Yes it is.

Poof!  One door swing and they were gone.  It was as if my regularly scheduled life had been interrupted for an important message from the A List Glam Lady Society for 30 seconds of wisdom.  

In a world filled with Kardashians, today I will choose to celebrate timeless beauty, brains and accomplishment.
After all, that's what real starlets do.   ;)

Hepburn Hugs & Ric Ocasek Dreams,

xo
Birdee Bow

No Apologies...

There is a  quiet hush across Manhattan during the days surrounding the 4th of July.  The type of quiet hush that is all at once eerie and serene.  A mass exodus of city dwellers racing to beat concrete jungle heat by escaping to charming Connecticut countrysides and other lush green destinations in search of cooler temps and slower paces.

Dressed up for my own early morning 4th of July style adventure, I hop in for a short taxi ride uptown, East 85th to Madison. As Madison beckons to me, it is as though I am the only moving vehicle on 85th this early morning.  The 15 minute usual journey becomes a 5 minute skip across avenues of non existent traffic.  Ahhh locals have spoken of this phenomenon.  Today should be lovely...

Making my way down an entirely closed for business and uncluttered Madison Avenue, I marvel at the emptiness of a usually hustling and bustling city sidewalk.  Now without any crowds to work my way around and the absence of friends, shopping companions or any ONE rushing me down the street, I am free to stop and peer.  I have a ticket to stop and stare inside the doors of Christian Louboutin as long as my heart desires. As unabashedly long as I like, without apology.  Time is all mine. I breath slower.  I feel lighthearted and content.

Taking in bold artistic visions and vibrant, intricate details, I am surrounded by lux therapy for hungry eyes.  I am high heels and ear to ear smiles. Elegantly executed window displays refined in utmost style. I envision teams of talented souls creating daring wearable art.  I imagine sketches drawn and re drawn until the perfect shade of posh becomes a reality.   Consumerism built this street, but on this day Madison operates only as my modern museum. I am mused by Chloe, Pucci, Lauren,  Nanette Lepore...even Laduree and the Dean & DeLuca grocery store!  I am intrigued by the passionate design surrounding me.

As a fiery sun rises higher into the sky on this morning of a hot July,  I am Holly Golightly starring in my own early morning Truman Capote scene.

Backyard BBQs are overrated.

May you always create your own kind of solitude.
May you never apologize for it.
May your February be filled with fireworks.

Hepburn Hugs & Ric Ocasek Dreams

xo
Birdee Bow

Lady Judy & The Glamour Spoiler

"Beauty is not caused.  It is."  EMILY DICKINSON

Pulling into the circle drive, my mom, older sister and I  struggled to read the small typed note on the front doors of the town civic center
 INTERVIEW HERE.

 "Ok, this is the place, better hop out before I park because it's already 5 minutes til!"
Jumping out of the rolling car, I hustled my way up to the front door with my garment bag and purse in tow.  Immediately upon walking in I was met with a lady in her late 50's dressed like the quintessential Texas Pageant Organizer in a pink tweed jacket graced with gold buttons and a CHANEL-ish style skirt.

"Ahhh you must be contestant #17."Looking down scanning my paperwork I finally saw the number.
 "Yes! Yes I am #17."

"I'm Lady Judy.  Please find your place at the end of the line. Hurry along sweetie and look alive!"

The southern drawl of her cadence was much more South Texas than North Texas (and yes there is a very definitive difference).  It seemed as if no one associated with the pageant at hand was actually from the area. No one seemed warm and fuzzy in that familiar kind of way.  I thought it odd that most of the contestants were from cities much larger than my small country town and that I was only one of two contestants who were actually from the tri-county area.  Wasn't this supposed to be Wheatheart?  As in heart of the wheat land?

Winding my way around the corner of a huge corridor, there it was: The line.  Pretty girls all lined up in a row ready for the interview portion of this grand affair. It was my first real life look at my competition. Oh I had seen the photos in the preliminary brochure mailed to each of us a week ago, but seeing everyone in true form was a different thing entirely.  Suddenly I felt so small, so unbelievably skinny and sooo flat chested.

The first girl I met was a girl named Lowery. I remember the name so clearly because I thought it so different and interesting.  She was friendly and bouncy, but much too animated for my taste.   An overwhelming bubbly energy masked her nerves.  I thought of her immediately as a non contender, but a surefire bet for Miss Congeniality.  It was almost as if she knew she was destined for Miss Congeniality and therefore played the part with utmost gusto. She offered me a goodie bag filled with assorted fruit gums, hair bows and a box of tic tacs.  Yep, gunnin for congenial.
Welcome to the bizarre world of pageantry.
Alongside her was likely the most beautiful girl I had ever seen in all of my 17 years.  She looked like a cross between a young Christie Brinkley and Faith Hill.  The sort of blonde beauty Texas is famous for generating.  Summer had curves for miles and the kind of airbrushed skin and flowing hair I had only seen between the pages of  TEEN ELLE.  Oh how I hoped I didn't have to stand beside Summer in that line.  Perusing the line further I couldn't help but notice Margret.  Margret was perfectly poised. Shorter with sky high stilettos, she reminded me of an early 1960's Elizabeth Taylor.  Big stiff helmet hair, a pointy style bra and thick winged eyeliner. The type of eyeliner I had only witnessed on my mom's friends in their 30's and Doris Day movies.   How out of place she must feel, I thought, in this sea of natural modern beauties.

Ok, so you should know that this wasn't just any pageant. This pageant was the Miss Wheatheart event.  An event which could single-handedly catapult a girl right into the Miss Texas pageant.  The thing of glitter wishes and caviar dreams.  A pageant that not only promised full college scholarship cash and beautiful clothing, but also travel and boat loads of glamour.  Did I mention glamour?

Deep down I knew I wasn't going in to this competition as a true contender.  Yes, I had won local talent contests and runner up awards in small pageants, but this was the big league.  Once I qualified for the competition, I spent hours convincing my parents to actually let me participate.  I can still hear my dad's words...

 "What about all the girls out there who can't afford thousands of dollars for a dress and sportswear attire?  Are they just not pretty? You don't need anyone to tell you that you're pretty."
 ahhhhh My Dad!  Always the socially aware cheerleader for the underdog. The voice of reason and fairness.   I appreciated what he had to say, and yes, deep down I knew he was right, but I was 17 in Texas with big shiny stars in my blue eyes.  I had watched the Miss Texas pageant on TV every year since I could remember.  I just had to take this opportunity.  This could be my moment!  This could be the moment that changes a girl's life forever!  He reluctantly allowed it.  Looking back now?  I wish I had listened to him and kept that hard earned dough in my savings account or at the very least blew it on a fun vacation.

"Ok, you're next. Are you prepared to shine?"  Lady Judy in the pink jacket crashed right into my personal space. Brushing my hair back with a tiny hairbrush, she made her way up and down the line primping each contestant.  I wanted her and her big helmet hair to get out of my way.
   I GOT THIS.

Stepping around her, I marched straight into the conference room with confidence 100% fueled by naive stupidity.  A large horseshoe shaped boardroom table awaited me with five judges looking me over from head to toe.  The pretty woman in the middle seemed most friendly with a crooked smile. Gotta be a former Miss Texas I thought as I made my way to the interrogation chair smack dab in the middle of the room.

"Please introduce yourself"  Ohhhhh what a loaded question.  Here we go!
What happened next I cannot write verbatim with any accuracy because it blurs.  The type of blurring experienced under intense scrutiny, pressure and forehead sweating.  I do remember a lot of social and political style questions firing off at lightening speed.  Questions which I thought I nailed with quick witted answers.  Answers about female inequality in the work place and policies of the time which I thought were wrong and abhorrent within our nation's political system.  I spoke clearly and with feeling about poverty, racial and socio-economic injustice and how firmly I believe in many govt  programs helping those in need.  I'm pretty sure I used the word liberal a few times and my support of the ACLU.  Yep, pretty much exactly what every conservative Texas pageant panel judge does NOT want to hear.
 I was 17, oblivious and filled with my own truth.

Fast forward hours later.  Standing backstage in my snappy purple, extremely modest, one piece bathing suit. Lady Judy suddenly appears (back in my personal space I might add).

"WHAT on Earth did you say in your interview?"  spoken in a worried frustrated tone usually reserved for severe medical emergencies.

 I couldn't move, I was frozen.  Suddenly I was jolted back to reality by the tap tap tappin' of her super long manicured fingertips on a clipboard of talent statistics and beauty scores.

"I'm sorry.  What?  What do you mean?"
"I MEAN you were one of our top contestants.  You had top scores in sportswear, photogenic, congeniality, talent and poise!  After your interview you have plummeted to the bottom. Whatever you said? You blew it." 

 I felt my eyes begin to well up with tears.  I could barely reply.  The amount of displeasure in her voice was just too much for my young naive ears to handle.

"I'm sorry".  I whispered it to her, but it was really to myself.  She was right, I had blown it.  Of course then I didn't understand why.    It's a lesson we all learn in life isn't it?
Tell 'em what they want to hear.
I hate that lesson.
That's a horrible lesson.

Backstage I watched in a numb state.  Now just going through the motions as I knew I had no hope of winning, I watched in awe as Margret (Elizabeth Taylor) and her mom carted a portable air brush tanning machine into the dressing room.  Like clockwork her mom sprayed the sticky tanning goo onto her naked body.  Completely uninhibited and rehearsed. I listened in as her mom told my mom about their pageant adventures and how they had been traveling to every  Miss Texas preliminary across the state.

 "We've logged a thousand miles!  This is our life!"  yelling now as she kicked on the compressor pump of the spray tanner.

Bottles of non jiggle glue-ish  spray fumes filled the air as girls molded their thighs (if only mine had any meat on  them I thought I might join in too).  Rows and rows of electrical tape strategically placed around boobs to give them the perfect perky look inside tightly belted dresses and bathing suits.

Watching such odd reflections behind me in the stage mirror, I got a dark lonely feeling.   It all terrified me. Who was I kidding?  Even if I had aced the interview questions, I still would have bombed. I didn't belong here.  I  had never seen anything like this before.  I had no idea this was the "glamorous" scene from backstage.
I was not only out of my league, but I was intensely uncomfortable.
As uncomfortable as I felt, my poor mom and sister felt even more out of place as they struggled to support me in an environment which seemed not only alien but also absurd.  Amazement on our faces, we giggled to one another a lot that night.
Admittedly, I giggled to keep from crying.

Walking out on the stage in my last walk of the night, I decided to rock that beautiful evening gown like a winner even though I knew I was not.   As I looked down at the judges I gave each one of them a smile (as they endlessly coach you to do),  I think it was at about this moment when resentment kicked in.  Looking at each of their faces, I wondered how I would judge each of them.

Terrible fitting suit on judge one...
comb over Trump hair on judge 2.
 Judge 3?  Wayyy too much botox.
 Judge 4    needed a makeup lesson
 and Judge 5?  Reminded me of a car salesman I had once encountered while shopping for a Buick with my Grandpa.  

Why is my dad always right?

Margret (Elizabeth Taylor) won. Even though I had chosen modern beauty Summer to take the crown,  the judges had chosen 60's pointy bra style Margret.  I couldn't even imagine one guy in our age range even thinking of her as attractive.   It was entirely over the top.  It was entirely fabricated and it was clearly the winning ticket. After all, this was their day job.  This was their entire existence. Studied and perfected.  

Later that evening as we packed the car for the long drive home, I watched as Margret and her mother smoked cigarettes together in the back parking lot. Packing  their tanning machine and tall makeup kits into the trunk of a beaten up station wagon, I saw her throw the huge plastic winning trophy, rhinestone tiara and banner on top of a heap of dirty clothes in the back seat. Flicking her cigarette out of the window as they drove away, Margret (now in smeared black eyeliner and hot mess hair) smiled and waved at me.
Waving back, I couldn't help but like her, but I knew I didn't want to be her.
I also knew I would be seeing her on the TV soon, watching her in the Miss Texas pageant and very likely even in the Miss America pageant one day.

Talk about a Glamour Spoiler
May you say whatever you feel today no matter who judges you.
May you forget the lessons we've learned.
May your Tiara be sparkly

Hepburn Hugs & Ric Ocasek Dreams

xoxo
Birdee Bow