You are what you eat: avoid ho hos
I need a good picture for this site. Something that sums me up. And I just don’t have one.
Well, I kinda do, but I was a mere puppy back then and now I’m more of a middle-aged bitch.
In that photo of olde, I was sitting on an unfolded lounge chair, senior year of high school, wearing my boyfriend Travis’ huge gold class ring, sporting my Glenn Close tightly-permed, look-alike hair. (I wanted to look like the Glenn in -Fatal Attraction_, for some wrong/weird reason so I sported a big blonde fro.) But that’s all the usual late 80s portraiture, isn’t it?
What set me apart from nice, normal girls is that I had jammed a Hostess Ho-Ho up my nose. I did this literally. It wasn’t a figural Ho-Ho because that wouldn’t have been ridiculous enough for me.
And to this day, I have no idea what inspired that.
It was likely Susan as muse, because I do irrational things to make her laugh. And that hot summer day at Grand Caverns camp ground (I have no idea how we got permission from the parents to go camping overnight there—what the hell were they thinking?), we were swilling Bartles & James from 2 liter plastic jugs.
Have you tried that shit with an adult palette? It’s like a liquid SweetTart, completely nasty.
But in this photo, I boasted my Jams in all their rainbow finery–clearly a harbinger of rainbow flags to come. And I might have been tipsy, but more likely than not, I just had a sugar high. Or caved to the impulse to shove some chocolaty cream-filled goodness up my nostril, like a visual non sequitur.
Whatever the lack of explanation, it sort of rolls it all up succinctly. It’s Devil’s Food cake and I’ll take it however I can get it.
