Me in the fishnets & sequin pumps...circa 1986
Remember when you were young, fresh out of high school or college, ready to conquer the world? When your diet consisted of Oodles of Noodles, Kraft Macaroni & Cheese and canned tuna? When you thought a good cocktail was cheap beer ON SALE? That was my life in the mid 1980s. I had just graduated from Journalism School at UNC-Chapel Hill, and I thought I was going be the next great advertising mogul, with my award-winning copy splattered all over television screens, magazines and such. But first, I had to pay the electric bill and buy beer for the weekend. Yep...I was FIERCE!
It was 1986, and I was working as a Junior Copywriter in a Raleigh, NC advertising agency. I spent every dime of my meager income on living expenses, clothes and yes...cheap beer. Every night, my cats and I would have dinner on my couch - an ugly brown naugahyde (or "pleather") loveseat that was only rivaled in tackiness by the horribly dilapidated couch at my friend Trish's house (pictured in this photo). I had no kitchen or dining room table - unless you counted the ancient card table with the plastic tablecloth in my kitchen. I thought I was a queen because I had a king-sized bed, which was nothing more than two twin mattresses and box springs thrown on the floor with a huge brown comforter on top. Good God, I think I even had a few Care Bears hiding amongst the pillows. Wow. But as I think back, some of the happiest times of my life occurred while I was living in squalor in that God-awful run-down paneled apartment. Ewww.
As embarrassing as my bachelorette pad was, I did take pride in my wardrobe. I had to. You simply didn't make it in the advertising world dressed like a Roseanne Barr wannabe. You had to look the part. Us "creatives" could usually get away with more "out there" wardrobe choices, but I happened to work for a very conservative man who did not particularly care for my taste in clothing. Still, I continued to dress as the unique individual I am, dashing to the local TJ Maxx store on the days the truck came in (yes...I knew when that was), so that I could spend hours searching racks and trying on the designer clothing that had been drastically reduced. (There were probably good reasons for that.) My favorite "finds" were long Esprit tunics matched with Saks 5th Avenue leggings and pumps, an awesome polka-dotted Williwear suit, and Guess jeans & miniskirts in assorted colors. But my absolute pride and joy was a strapless black cocktail dress, matched with fishnets and the most incredible pair of black sequin pumps I'd ever seen. They literally took my breath away the first time I laid eyes on them, and I spent far too much money to get them into my closet. But, I did get a lot of wear out of them. They took me down a lot of unique paths, but none more interesting than the night they landed me in a holly bush. Here's how that story unfolded:
Check out the picture again. There I am, dressed to the hilt and feeling great. I have on my brand-new black cocktail dress, fishnets fresh out of the package, awesome vintage jewelry and my prized sequin pumps. (Why in the hell I chose to have Trish photograph me in front of that hideous couch and tasteless artwork is beyond me, but I'm assuming it had something to do with cheap beer. Just sayin'.) I was headed to an awards ceremony with my best buddy, Mark, the Junior Art Director at the agency, and our friend Tony. To those who knew us, that last sentence would have stirred up a significant amount of fear back in the day. The three of us NEVER went anywhere without embarking on some sort of hilarious adventure. This night was no different.
The boys and I headed off to the Addy Awards, where we schmoozed, ate fancy hors d'oeuvres and drank free cocktails with our agency peeps. Then we sat through the monotonous chest-beating awards ceremony, half-crocked - because that's the only way our collective ADD brains could handle the "excitement." All Mark and I wanted to do was receive the award we had earned for our work on a United Way Campaign so we could get the heck out of there. So, we did just that...received the award, handed it over to the agency Creative Director and scurried out the back door. We headed straight to a local dance night club/bar that we often frequented, where we danced until my prized pumps had to be removed to air out the screaming blisters on my feet. Then we decided that we needed a late-night "snack". Our favorite greasy burger joint was a only couple of blocks away, so we decided to trek on over for cheeseburgers, fries and shakes. Our plan was to pick up the food and walk back to the boys' apartment to eat since there was no indoor seating and it was a bit nippy outside. So, I threw on my wrap, squeezed my sore feet back into the pumps, and off we went, arm-in-arm to Char-Grill.
Not that this has anything whatsoever to do with the story... but it is interesting to note that the employees of Char-Grill were, at the time, mostly buff men on work release from the local prison. So, half the fun in going there was to gawk over their sweaty, muscled bodies. That's as far as it went, though, because they still looked a little scary from behind the grill in the glass-enclosed building. But boy, could they cook the best darn hamburgers in the universe. We quickly ordered our hamburgers and fries, which were placed in two paper sacks, and we headed off to the apartment, eager to devour our meal.
On the way home, we passed in front an historic girls school, where there was a single holly bush at the edge of the property adjoining the sidewalk. Approaching the school, it became apparent to me that I should be held responsible for holding the food because Mark and Tony were having enough trouble holding their alcohol and bladders. So, I foolishly offered to carry the bags. We were all laughing hysterically as I struggled to walk with my swollen, blistered feet stuffed into the sequin pumps, and Mark tried desperately to hold his bladder until we could get home. But, as fate would have it...my struggle was about to hit an epic level.
As we approached the lone holly bush, Mark tripped and fell into me. Tony was laughing so hard that he also fell into me, knocking me off my feet and into the holly bush. From their vantage point, all they could see was two fishnet-clad legs with sequin pumps sticking out of the bush, which of course made them laugh even harder. When my arms emerged, still grasping the greasy burger bags, it was all they could do to contain themselves. In fact, they didn't even TRY to contain themselves. They fell on the ground laughing as I desperately and unsuccessfully tried to remove myself from the prickly bush. Finally, Tony had the "brilliant" idea to lunge a small fallen tree branch into the bush for me to grab. He intended to pull me out when I latched onto it, only he failed to notice that the branch was dead (as most dismembered tree branches are). Needless to say, it snapped and I fell back into the bush - which produced another round of ground-rolling, raucous laughter. When the boys FINALLY regained enough composure to pull me out on their own, my fishnets were ripped and my legs were scratched to pieces by the holly leaves that were still sticking out of the fishnets. I was a HOT MESS. All I remember at that point was taking off the shoes, handing the burgers to Tony and stumbling home with my two idiot cohorts to eat. I'm sure I pulled a t-shirt and sweatpants out of one of their closets and fell exhausted into bed afterwards.
There isn't a week that goes by without me remembering this story. And it makes me laugh every single time I do. On the toughest of days, as I try recover from a serious illness and the financial devastation it has caused for my family, I am continuously reminded that laughter really is the best medicine sometimes. It is more therapeutic for me than any medication most of the time. And I thank God every day for friends like Mark and Tony, who make it possible for me to continue laughing. Although Tony is no longer with us (he passed away in 2008 after a courageous battle with lung cancer), he continues to be a source of strength to me. So does Mark. And my precious, hilarious family. And every other person who makes me smile. Trust me...that's a LOT of smiles :)
It was 1986, and I was working as a Junior Copywriter in a Raleigh, NC advertising agency. I spent every dime of my meager income on living expenses, clothes and yes...cheap beer. Every night, my cats and I would have dinner on my couch - an ugly brown naugahyde (or "pleather") loveseat that was only rivaled in tackiness by the horribly dilapidated couch at my friend Trish's house (pictured in this photo). I had no kitchen or dining room table - unless you counted the ancient card table with the plastic tablecloth in my kitchen. I thought I was a queen because I had a king-sized bed, which was nothing more than two twin mattresses and box springs thrown on the floor with a huge brown comforter on top. Good God, I think I even had a few Care Bears hiding amongst the pillows. Wow. But as I think back, some of the happiest times of my life occurred while I was living in squalor in that God-awful run-down paneled apartment. Ewww.
As embarrassing as my bachelorette pad was, I did take pride in my wardrobe. I had to. You simply didn't make it in the advertising world dressed like a Roseanne Barr wannabe. You had to look the part. Us "creatives" could usually get away with more "out there" wardrobe choices, but I happened to work for a very conservative man who did not particularly care for my taste in clothing. Still, I continued to dress as the unique individual I am, dashing to the local TJ Maxx store on the days the truck came in (yes...I knew when that was), so that I could spend hours searching racks and trying on the designer clothing that had been drastically reduced. (There were probably good reasons for that.) My favorite "finds" were long Esprit tunics matched with Saks 5th Avenue leggings and pumps, an awesome polka-dotted Williwear suit, and Guess jeans & miniskirts in assorted colors. But my absolute pride and joy was a strapless black cocktail dress, matched with fishnets and the most incredible pair of black sequin pumps I'd ever seen. They literally took my breath away the first time I laid eyes on them, and I spent far too much money to get them into my closet. But, I did get a lot of wear out of them. They took me down a lot of unique paths, but none more interesting than the night they landed me in a holly bush. Here's how that story unfolded:
Check out the picture again. There I am, dressed to the hilt and feeling great. I have on my brand-new black cocktail dress, fishnets fresh out of the package, awesome vintage jewelry and my prized sequin pumps. (Why in the hell I chose to have Trish photograph me in front of that hideous couch and tasteless artwork is beyond me, but I'm assuming it had something to do with cheap beer. Just sayin'.) I was headed to an awards ceremony with my best buddy, Mark, the Junior Art Director at the agency, and our friend Tony. To those who knew us, that last sentence would have stirred up a significant amount of fear back in the day. The three of us NEVER went anywhere without embarking on some sort of hilarious adventure. This night was no different.
The boys and I headed off to the Addy Awards, where we schmoozed, ate fancy hors d'oeuvres and drank free cocktails with our agency peeps. Then we sat through the monotonous chest-beating awards ceremony, half-crocked - because that's the only way our collective ADD brains could handle the "excitement." All Mark and I wanted to do was receive the award we had earned for our work on a United Way Campaign so we could get the heck out of there. So, we did just that...received the award, handed it over to the agency Creative Director and scurried out the back door. We headed straight to a local dance night club/bar that we often frequented, where we danced until my prized pumps had to be removed to air out the screaming blisters on my feet. Then we decided that we needed a late-night "snack". Our favorite greasy burger joint was a only couple of blocks away, so we decided to trek on over for cheeseburgers, fries and shakes. Our plan was to pick up the food and walk back to the boys' apartment to eat since there was no indoor seating and it was a bit nippy outside. So, I threw on my wrap, squeezed my sore feet back into the pumps, and off we went, arm-in-arm to Char-Grill.
Not that this has anything whatsoever to do with the story... but it is interesting to note that the employees of Char-Grill were, at the time, mostly buff men on work release from the local prison. So, half the fun in going there was to gawk over their sweaty, muscled bodies. That's as far as it went, though, because they still looked a little scary from behind the grill in the glass-enclosed building. But boy, could they cook the best darn hamburgers in the universe. We quickly ordered our hamburgers and fries, which were placed in two paper sacks, and we headed off to the apartment, eager to devour our meal.
On the way home, we passed in front an historic girls school, where there was a single holly bush at the edge of the property adjoining the sidewalk. Approaching the school, it became apparent to me that I should be held responsible for holding the food because Mark and Tony were having enough trouble holding their alcohol and bladders. So, I foolishly offered to carry the bags. We were all laughing hysterically as I struggled to walk with my swollen, blistered feet stuffed into the sequin pumps, and Mark tried desperately to hold his bladder until we could get home. But, as fate would have it...my struggle was about to hit an epic level.
As we approached the lone holly bush, Mark tripped and fell into me. Tony was laughing so hard that he also fell into me, knocking me off my feet and into the holly bush. From their vantage point, all they could see was two fishnet-clad legs with sequin pumps sticking out of the bush, which of course made them laugh even harder. When my arms emerged, still grasping the greasy burger bags, it was all they could do to contain themselves. In fact, they didn't even TRY to contain themselves. They fell on the ground laughing as I desperately and unsuccessfully tried to remove myself from the prickly bush. Finally, Tony had the "brilliant" idea to lunge a small fallen tree branch into the bush for me to grab. He intended to pull me out when I latched onto it, only he failed to notice that the branch was dead (as most dismembered tree branches are). Needless to say, it snapped and I fell back into the bush - which produced another round of ground-rolling, raucous laughter. When the boys FINALLY regained enough composure to pull me out on their own, my fishnets were ripped and my legs were scratched to pieces by the holly leaves that were still sticking out of the fishnets. I was a HOT MESS. All I remember at that point was taking off the shoes, handing the burgers to Tony and stumbling home with my two idiot cohorts to eat. I'm sure I pulled a t-shirt and sweatpants out of one of their closets and fell exhausted into bed afterwards.
There isn't a week that goes by without me remembering this story. And it makes me laugh every single time I do. On the toughest of days, as I try recover from a serious illness and the financial devastation it has caused for my family, I am continuously reminded that laughter really is the best medicine sometimes. It is more therapeutic for me than any medication most of the time. And I thank God every day for friends like Mark and Tony, who make it possible for me to continue laughing. Although Tony is no longer with us (he passed away in 2008 after a courageous battle with lung cancer), he continues to be a source of strength to me. So does Mark. And my precious, hilarious family. And every other person who makes me smile. Trust me...that's a LOT of smiles :)
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