12.6

I remember coming here to try on some dresses for prom one year in high school. There was a locally owned store in here that sold fancy dresses. It was basically a thrift shop for high school girls in the spring and fall. And it was certainly tiny. They had it stuffed full of frilly skirts and the walls were lined with silk and sparkle. I didn’t want any of that, though. I wanted something simple. But apparently, simple is the most expensive.. and hardest to find in my size.

This “mall” is really just a hallway lined with more stores in the center of a larger strip mall. I’ve always thought that to be funny. They thought of themselves as a completely separate unit. I guess it would have been fine, had they been a thriving community. Instead, I rarely saw more than 3 open stores/businesses in there. And I don’t know when, but practically every business in this whole area went under. Expect Secretary of State. Those fuckers drain money out of citizens.

I never bought anything from this dress shop. There really wasn’t anything I’d wear. But I did get a few hilarious pictures. One in particular of my rear in a weird stringy mesh thing. And thinking back, I’m pretty sure I went shopping with my Grandma. How weird is that. So, I’ll just edit that memory to replace her with my bestie. That sounds so much better.

12.3

I remember when my grandma bought this for me. And yes, she bought it for me. She just told me to share it with my siblings. I had just started my sewing class back in freshman year of high school. I didn’t need to do any work outside of school hours, but I found that I had a knack for the craft and wanted to work on my own things. And I used it quite often actually; probably the only person in my household to use it for productive value. My mom didn’t know how to turn the damn thing on, and my sisters would just sew lines in cloth.

A few years later my parents divorced, and my mother thought it was her right to just waltz out with my sewing machine. It became her sewing machine, and she made sure to let me know of it. I had to ask permission to touch it. I think she used it as a tool to force me to visit, which is probably why I haven’t done any serious sewing in years.

I was always afraid someone would fuck up the tension and/or burn out the motor, which is why I hated when others would use this machine. Turns out that exact thing did happen. My ex-stepdad thought it was a great idea to let my 6 year old stepsister play with the sewing machine. She was just turning dials and pushing buttons and giggling. He didn’t seem to care what she did, as long as she wasn’t bothering him. Long story short, she did something she obviously wasn’t supposed to and the motor stopped working. Then the third divorce happened before my mom could use his money to get it fixed, and she complained about having to pay real dollars to get the damn thing working again. Whatever, I hope it breaks again. I hope it blows up her kitchen table.

11.13

I remember when I made this as a child. It was way back in kindergarten. And it’s one of many, as all we did at that age was pretty pictures and finger paintings. Not that I’m complaining.. But I recall always trying to make something for my mom. And this is back before I knew how neurotic she is. I just always tried to make her happy, but I couldn’t seem to do it. She’d give me one of her ‘this person is an idiot’ smiles when I got home, and I knew she didn’t really care.

This painting in particular still frustrates me, which is probably why I still have it. She always said her favorite flower was the Cala Lilly, and she was adamant about that. Being only 5, I had no idea what that flower really looked like, because she had no idea either. I think she just liked the sound of the name and placed it on something delicate she spotted in a bouquet. I’m pretty sure it’s just one of those decorative weeds.

But it’s more the fact that I specifically made this for her. And I told her what flower I was trying to paint. So, she framed it and gave it away as a cheap Mother’s Day gift to my Grandmother. Of course a Grandmother is going to unconditionally love whatever her grandchild crafts, but it still hurt. My own mother gave away something meant for her that took a lot of conscious thought for a 5 year old. I don’t know why I kept trying after that. I guess I was young and knew nothing else.

10.24

I remember when we bought these damn fireplaces. I don’t quite remember if my parents bought them as gifts for their parents, or if they just convinced said parents to waste their money. I mean, they definitely keep a house warm. A small house, which is perfect. But you can buy a space heater with the same power for 10% of the price.

I think it was right around the same time that we were remodeling the living room. This was probably the third time my mother wanted to change everything in there, and wanted to add a gas fireplace. She then went to all our family and friends and would not shut up about how warm it kept the house. She never thought to pass along our energy bill though.

I honestly thought (and still think) that these just showed a bit of overcompensation. We had a real fireplace… that my mom rarely used because she would chip a nail. And we had a perfect, brand new heating system. Two separate systems, actually. One for each floor of the house. But that didn’t matter. She liked expensive things, and convinced two people to waste their social security checks on these.