11 January 2008...4:17 pm

I’m No Fan Of You Most Of The Time I’d Just As Soon Be Alone You Know

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When we were little my best friend Kyra and I did most things identically. This included showing the world we were super psyched–about our Keds, about Agatha Christie, about making sundaes and about rendezvousing on the beach in Southampton–by simultaneously reaching up and grabbing the air with our hands then wrenching our bent arms down next to our sides and yelling yes!

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This unchained melody of prepubescent spasm was probably inspired by a TV show or something, but I wasn’t allowed to watch TV so I remained entirely inspired by Kyra.

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I engaged in a different coordinated get-psyched routine later in my life, during high school, when Ariel and I would show up at parties with the implicit goal of not speaking to anyone dumb the entire night. With the pool of potential conversation partners so drastically limited, we did a lot of dancing, and a lot of our dancing was done with our right hands over our faces and our left ones stuck out in front of us. Then we bounced. Like, we were getting the air from behind. Instead of talking to anyone.

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Ariel and I would also occasionally smoke cigarettes inside after being forbidden to do so by whichever nervous girl had parents away for the weekend. We would smoke and then we would make love to the air some more.

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Now I can smoke in my own house and my parents hardly ever come here. It’s pretty rad. I’ve also taught other people the Ariel And Emma Dance. I think Lily likes it a little. I have not yet returned my fist-pumping roots, although young mothers regularly tempt me to do so. Seeing a woman with a baby carriage in a subway station is one of my happiest life moments.

Can I help you? I demand or even better, Puedo ayudarle?

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It’s such a pure good! I get to, you know, help someone and also shame all the idiot men around me who don’t realize how difficult it is to be a woman. I’d offer to help men, too, but I have truly never seen one struggling with a stroller and if I did and tried to help he’d probably think I was coming onto him and let’s be honest I probably would be. We’re talking about the person who smokes inside, here.

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I usually rush over to the mothers because it’s so disappointing when someone steals my feminist Good Samaritanism but each time before I grab the stroller I take a moment and do a little mental yes! Then I think about how much I still love my Keds.

Images courtesy of Ariel Kouvaras.

4 Comments

  • All day I’ve been feeling terribly ill from my inability to write a sentence worthy of being a “saved”.doc. on my borrowed computer, but then I read this musing and it made me get up out of my stupor, which had made my cognition ill and my spleen sweat. I’d been willingly etherized upon my bed for hours. My muscles were close to atrophic until I felt my hands starting to twitch and my legs kick. Suddenly, I was up and out of my bed with one hand on my forehead and the other in the air waving away all the “dumb” people who don’t even know how to smoke! Dance, fool! Dance!

  • All day I’ve been feeling terribly ill at my inability to write a sentence worthy of being a “saved”.doc. on my borrowed computer, but then I read this musing and it got me up out of my stupor, which had made my cognition ill and my spleen sweat. I’d been willingly etherized upon my bed for hours. My muscles were close to atrophic until my hand started to twitch and my legs kick. Suddenly, I was up out of my bed with one hand on my forehead and the other waving away all of the “dumb” people who don’t know how to smoke. Dance, fool! Dance!

  • Dance fool dance! Hot cheese hot cheese!

  • typo alert. rewrite: close to “being” atrophic.


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