Oh wow, I love these Demonia Creepers. I've never outgrown my love for big clunky black shoes. I think they look best with frilly white ankle socks and a plaid skirt. These have a little secret coffin stash box that is hidden under your heel. Not that I have anything to stash. What would I want to put there? Diamonds? When I was in high school we went to London on a theatre exchange program, and I didn't want to go without ummm, certain medicinal herbs, but I was worried I might be searched so I put a few of them along with a little pipe to smoke them, inside a certain part of my anatomy. I did some pretty weird things for a sheltered little Catholic girls school girl.
When I think about all of the stupid things we did, and how badly they could have turned out, I'm amazed at how lucky we were. My friend L. and I were often left alone with Spanish-speaking housekeepers. My parents were always out at parties or in Palm Springs. If they were home they must have been buried in newspapers and TV because we sure got away with a lot. We would get bored and try to think up things to do that would seem naughty and daring. One thing we used to like to do was to freak out passing cars on Stone Canyon Road late at night, well, we might have done it in the day as well, because a few years ago my Mother's old gardener reminded me of a certain incident that he remembered, just before he grabbed my ass and tried to kiss me, eeek. Our house was on this busy road in Bel Air and it provided us with an endless supply of passing motorists, joggers, and dog walkers to pull pranks on, a constant audience for our act out theatre. We liked to shout bizarre things at people, throw tampons, fruit, and water balloons, and fake dire emergencies.
One of the things that I remember doing, when we were about fifteen or sixteen, was to go outside wearing these thin robes that Mom called dressing gowns, with nothing on underneath. We'd ditch the robes and climb up on these painted brick pillars that were on either side of my parent's driveway. They must have been about four and a half feet tall. We'd stand there on these pillars, in all our naked teenage glory, and dance for the passing cars. Whenever anyone would slam on their breaks, screeching to a halt so they could back up and get a better look, we'd run for the robes and hide in the bushes.
We were so blythe and inconsiderate, we'd fake bicycle accidents, steal people's mail, make really mean prank phone calls, pinch babies, shoplift, smoke pot, and we were surely the worst babysitters in the world. Babysitting was all about the snacking and cable television watching, the pay was a bonus, baby what baby? I also had a particular fondness for graffitti. My favorite thing to write, and I don't really know why other than that I thought it was naughty in a saucy and sophisticated kind of way, was, "Stimulate My Clitoris!" I still get a good hearty yuck when I try to imagine what that must have looked like as someone rounded a Bel Air curve, "Oh Simone look, someone has written Stimulate my Clitoris on the wall there. Why it seems our local graffitti artists are taking an interest in female anatomy."
It's hard for me to write about some of this stuff now because for years and years I carried around so much shame over this stuff, but then of course I met other people who'd done similar things, and in context it didn't seem as bizarre, just stupid and dangerous. I used to hitch-hike and drive drunk, horrible stupid things, now I'm so straight it's amazing. I don't drink or smoke pot, nothing. I just eat and shop a lot, but we'll talk about that some other time.