Envy.

I was prowling around some downtown bars in L.A. the night I saw the blonde chick with the dreads who would change my life. I was 19 or 20 years old, hardly enough time to even need a change, but I needed something. We never spoke. But if it weren’t for her, I don’t know how the hell I would’ve turned out. Or what I would’ve missed.

The blonde was a bartender at L.A. Ole, a fantastically trashy Mexican restaurant that used to be next to the Wiltern Theatre. She was the all-time coolest chick I had ever seen, and I wanted to look like her, be her, have that kind of life. Just like when I met my idol Farrah Fawcett when I was 12. I remember making a decision to grow my hair, dye it blonde, and let it dread. And be a bartender. I must have had too much tequila. But years later, I did become a blonde, and I ended up working behind the same exact bar, and a lot of other bars. I wonder what that girl’s name was. Probably something cooler than mine.

Jealousy is all the fun you think they had. Erica Jong

Jealousy. I don’t use that word often (because I’m not insecure), but sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be someone else, maybe just for a day. I have a brilliant life, but if I could spend a day in someone else’s shoes…

Sheri Moon Zombie, you are a goddess. And not an obvious one, like the mother-lode of gorgeousness, Angelina. More like an all-American good-girl type of chick, with an edge. If she’s the girl next door then she lives next to the Amityville Horror house. She married heavy-metal-rock God turned gritty filmmaker Rob Zombie on Halloween night (of course) and she has appeared in every one of his movies, usually as some skanked-out white trash eye candy. Kinda like Sonny and Cher (but not really). And Sheri Moon pretty much inherited the Scream Queen title form Jamie Lee, so named because, well, they get chased a lot in horror flicks. There’s something about her I just adore. She’s smokin’ hot, and your mom would like her. I wish I were more like you, Mrs Zombie. Maybe I’ll start going by a cool name, like Annie Slasher. We’ll see.

The kittenish Pixie Lott. When I started playing guitar I looked for different versions of Kings Of Leon’s “Use Somebody”, and she came up. She’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. This little blonde British songbird is a young, raspy Lolita, and she can sing her ass off. And she’s got that special thing, that intangible X factor that you have to be lucky enough to be born with. Almost like those little kids who are recognized as reincarnations of The Buddha when they’re, like, five years old (Google it). If I could do it all over, I’d love to be her, or at least have her hair.

The list could go on: women with long legs, people with the ability to master an instrument or a foreign language, Victoria Beckham, anyone who’s been to Paris, Marisa Tomei’s body in The Wrestler, heiresses…

Huguette M. Clark. Mysterious, reclusive, and filthy fucking rich. The woman had gigantic homes she never lived in, but kept up. There are massive estates in Santa Barbara and Connecticut, not to mention a 5th Ave apartment with 42 ROOMS. IN NEW YORK CITY. This is the kind of ridiculous wealth that none of us working folk can fathom. The woman probably never worked a day in her life. I wouldn’t either if I were worth half a billion fucking dollars. Jealous yet? Yeah, me too. HAVING ALL THAT MONEY PROBABLY DOESN’T SUCK. But she must have been lonely. She opted to live out her last 22 years in a hospital in New York, without contact from friends or family, and died last May at 104 years old. This is the last known photo of her, taken over 80 years ago. I don’t know what the hell could be so wrong. She doesn’t look very happy.

I wonder what the blonde chick with the dreads is doing with her life now. Slinging drinks? Doubt it. She’s probably one of those people who graduated from college, got a real job, and chopped off her hair into a smart bob. But I sure as shit wanted what that girl had. And I got it. Now I can’t help thinking of the movie Se7en. You know how it ends. John Doe has the upper hand. “I envy your normal life. It seems that envy is my sin.” Yeah, well, it’s Brad Pitt. We’re all jealous.

Do not envy a sinner; you don’t know what disaster awaits him. The Bible

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Anne Clendening ♥

Anne Clendening is an L.A. chick, born and raised. She is a writer of creative nonfiction and other sordid tales of life, love and other L.A. adventures.

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