I Pale In Comparison

So, my darlings, you might be under the impression that I am an interesting person. I would be grateful if that were the case, but I must be forthcoming with you. There is one person out there who has a lot more going on in the Intriguing Others with Their Antics Department.

This woman popped up at my old haunt, the ArLight Cinema. At first glance, she looked angelic, with a little round face and big brown eyes. She is a woman of no great height and stands at 5'4"...and that's right about where any normal description ends. When she wasn't at work, she started popping up around town and making us all take pause.

Once, I was walking down Sunset, and I passed her. I had to do a double take because this doppleganger was wearing a pleated jean skirt (complete with 80s acid wash), a black leather belt that was no less than 5 inches thick, and a white cotton off the shoulder top that was shredded within an inch of its life. I saw nip, my darlings. I think.

She topped the outfit off with round white sunglasses that would have made Elton John say "That's a little much." And I also caught sight of her birth control method. Her tummy was exposed, and peeking out from the torn scraps of fabric hanging down her torso was the birth control patch. Right next to her belly button. With lint around the edges.

I immediately liked her a whole lot more than I had originally. I knew that once she started hanging out with the ARC crew, she would send all the more uptight girls into a frenzy. Some actors that attend the Academy of Dramatic Arts generally can't comprehend advertising your goods in an HONEST way.

As time went on, we started to see cracks in her Normal Veneer. She would ask to be sent home because her pants were too tight and her kidneys hurt (when we said no, she walked around for the rest of her shift with her back arched, complaining to all the guests). She would lament over a lost dog and interrupt herself to steal a sausage and eat it in front of customers. When we asked her to continue her story about the dog she would say "What dog?"

She drank us all under the table at gatherings. One New Years, she cornered The Mighty G and the oh-so-Emo PD and demanded that they let her show them her new tattoo. When they stood there, frozen in fear, with splashes of her beer occasionally hitting them in the face, she continued: "I'll have to take my dress off, though." They slowly backed away and she got distracted by something shiny.

She stole people's cell phones to call up people in the address book and offer them oral. Now, that IS a very kind gesture, but the recipient of said phone call was listening to the message on his machine and he could barely understand her because of all the slurring. He figured out what she was talking about because of her repeated use of the term "pee pee," I guess, and eventually the owner of the missing cell phone walked in the room. What follows is an actual transcript of the conversation (because she didn't hang up the phone):

P: What are you doing?
A: Making a call.
P: To who?
A: ...just talking to my friend...
P: Are you leaving messages on my friend's answering machine again? Hang up the phone.
A: Okay.
(silence)
P: You haven't hung up the phone yet!
A: Oh. I forgot. (into the phone) I LOVE YOU BABY, LET ME SUCK YOUR...

She hangs up. Just another night in Los Angeles.

Eventually, she began announcing her plans to become a spy. Yes, our little wild child was leaving us and was getting a government-issued firearm. She disappeared for awhile, only to return at a bithday party one March a few months later. When asked what happened to the whole spy thing, she told us that the military had certified her 5150 (clinically insane), which documents that you are officially UNFIT to carry that aforementioned firearm. With no government-sanctioned espionage on the horizion, she left and came back to us.

I just received word that she moved to Oregon and has an opportunity to work either in a gas station or a cookie factory (which she's more excited about, but she's worried about falling into the cookie dough vat and losing limbs). She says it is "hard to find people who have the same interests" there. I'm sure plenty of people in Portland are excited by large fashion accesories, shaving words into patches of hair, and sexual favors. You just have to look in the right places. Like Eugene.

She wants to change her name to Fifika Camlo. Why? BECAUSE THAT'S HER GYPSY NAME. Turns out that our little girl is a scarf-wearing, gold-coin-having baby thief. That explains so much. In fact, I bet she was the source of the lonely violin music I would hear in the ARC catacombs after the last show...

So, my darlings, there are some people in this world that I can't hold a candle to. And they inspire me everyday to be just a little wackier.

take your mama out. g