Hungry Eyes
I'm in my co-worker slash new best friend Carla's hooptie today for an Ikea and Chipotle lunch run. As we drive down San Fernando Blvd. in Burbank, the 80s tune "Hungry Eyes" plays.
"HUNgry eyes. One look at you and I can't disguise, I've got...HUNgry eyes!"
It's 1988. I'm a senior in high school, and my mother and I have found ourselves renting a room out of a house in a ritzy neighborhood in the Burbank hills. The room is tiny but the bathroom is tinier. There is a stand up shower, a toilet jammed up against a tiny sink, a litterbox that our two cats use and scatter litter all over the floor. There are two doors in the bathroom. One door goes to our "bedroom" and the other leads to an entry way which also has two doors. One leads outside; that is the door we are to use when entering and exiting the house. The other is connected to the kitchen in the actual house. We are never to use this door.
A view from the beds to the bathroom. In finding these photos I was reminded that we indeed lived in squalor.
Our sleeping quarters consist of a very small bedroom. Again there is a door that leads from the bedroom into "the house" but we've hidden it by placing a standard sized refrigerator in front of it. We figured it made sense as far as room design, but it also blocked out any temptation we might have to journey into forbidden territory.
Me in front of the fridge, in front of the door.
Our pad is adorned with a tall skinny dresser, a slim closet, side table, and twin beds which form some sort of trundle situation in the corner. There is a square center table that is just higher than both beds, so that when they are not in use, one bed may be slid halfway underneath the center table to give the casual appearance of a couch and chair chatting station (but with a big color television; on top of which are two vcrs and a record player). Both beds are encased in horrific orange, green and yellow flower patterned covers, and each have a big foam back rest that has been apholstered in the same crazy fabric.
My side of the beds.
I have no idea why I am on my Mother's bed.
Our room has yet one more door that leads out into the backyard/pool area, but we never go out there. There is a certain danger that we might see or be seen by our landlords. I feel sort of like Cathy in Flowers in the attic; but instead of hiding out with my three blond siblings, I am living with my mother and our two cats.
My best friend is Eva. Eva and I spend every weekend together and this one is no different; except that it is. This weekend Dirty Dancing has become available on vhs! We have my mother rush us to Video Supreme and we giddily check out our very own copy.
Eva and I lie on my half of the crazy twin set and braid our hair together so that we are literally joined at the neck. We watch our movie and smoke Virginia Slims Lights 120s one after the other while my mom lies on her half of the beds and smokes Winstons.
Once the movie is over; we rewind and rewatch. At some point Mom puts on her old school headphones, closes her eyes and blasts records directly into her head. I have to tap her on the foot which startles her into a voluminous yet tone deaf "JESUS what?!" and ask her if she'd please turn it down, she's interrupting Baby's sister's audition piece for the talent show. "...bring me a pineapple that doesn't sting a bird that swims a fish that sings, I wanna I really wanna, bring me a volcano that blows up all the molten jama and a blue banana, I canna canna"
Mom blasting her tunes. Note the discarded neckbrace next to her. What's that about?
Eva and I smoke, watch, sing along, assign roles , recite dialogue, rewind and repeat until my mother finally loses it after 2am and tells us we must turn it off for the love of God.
Eva and I giggle quotes and sing each other to sleep in my tiny twin.
Mom and I somehow have enough of, or get kicked out of the back end of the big house and I end up living out the rest of my senior year in Eva's bedroom. We share a brass twin bed in her Burbank flats house on Keystone Street. Eva's mother Maria and her common law husband Eddie live in the main house. Maria is a fanatastic cook and always has something wonderful simmering on the stove or fired up on the grill for us. She lets us smoke her Kent cigarettes when we run out of our own (we've switched to Marlboro lights at this point thank you very much), and at least once a day cracks open the door, fans her hand in front of her face and tells us in her thick Spanish accent "Oh may Gad Eva! Openna weendow in herrre, eets so smokey I can harrrdly see you twoo!"
Each morning we blare KIIS fm, put on lots of makeup and make our hair as big and crispy as we can. As soon as we hear the beginning cords of Eric Carmen's "Hungry Eyes" the shit stops! Eva and I dance in her room. Sometimes I'm the Baby, and sometimes I'm the Johnny, and every time, someone is accused of having spaghetti arms.
Mimi & Eva in all our 80s glory.
"HUNgry eyes. One look at you and I can't disguise, I've got...HUNgry eyes!"
It's 1988. I'm a senior in high school, and my mother and I have found ourselves renting a room out of a house in a ritzy neighborhood in the Burbank hills. The room is tiny but the bathroom is tinier. There is a stand up shower, a toilet jammed up against a tiny sink, a litterbox that our two cats use and scatter litter all over the floor. There are two doors in the bathroom. One door goes to our "bedroom" and the other leads to an entry way which also has two doors. One leads outside; that is the door we are to use when entering and exiting the house. The other is connected to the kitchen in the actual house. We are never to use this door.
A view from the beds to the bathroom. In finding these photos I was reminded that we indeed lived in squalor.
Our sleeping quarters consist of a very small bedroom. Again there is a door that leads from the bedroom into "the house" but we've hidden it by placing a standard sized refrigerator in front of it. We figured it made sense as far as room design, but it also blocked out any temptation we might have to journey into forbidden territory.
Me in front of the fridge, in front of the door.
Our pad is adorned with a tall skinny dresser, a slim closet, side table, and twin beds which form some sort of trundle situation in the corner. There is a square center table that is just higher than both beds, so that when they are not in use, one bed may be slid halfway underneath the center table to give the casual appearance of a couch and chair chatting station (but with a big color television; on top of which are two vcrs and a record player). Both beds are encased in horrific orange, green and yellow flower patterned covers, and each have a big foam back rest that has been apholstered in the same crazy fabric.
My side of the beds.
I have no idea why I am on my Mother's bed.
Our room has yet one more door that leads out into the backyard/pool area, but we never go out there. There is a certain danger that we might see or be seen by our landlords. I feel sort of like Cathy in Flowers in the attic; but instead of hiding out with my three blond siblings, I am living with my mother and our two cats.
My best friend is Eva. Eva and I spend every weekend together and this one is no different; except that it is. This weekend Dirty Dancing has become available on vhs! We have my mother rush us to Video Supreme and we giddily check out our very own copy.
Eva and I lie on my half of the crazy twin set and braid our hair together so that we are literally joined at the neck. We watch our movie and smoke Virginia Slims Lights 120s one after the other while my mom lies on her half of the beds and smokes Winstons.
Once the movie is over; we rewind and rewatch. At some point Mom puts on her old school headphones, closes her eyes and blasts records directly into her head. I have to tap her on the foot which startles her into a voluminous yet tone deaf "JESUS what?!" and ask her if she'd please turn it down, she's interrupting Baby's sister's audition piece for the talent show. "...bring me a pineapple that doesn't sting a bird that swims a fish that sings, I wanna I really wanna, bring me a volcano that blows up all the molten jama and a blue banana, I canna canna"
Mom blasting her tunes. Note the discarded neckbrace next to her. What's that about?
Eva and I smoke, watch, sing along, assign roles , recite dialogue, rewind and repeat until my mother finally loses it after 2am and tells us we must turn it off for the love of God.
Eva and I giggle quotes and sing each other to sleep in my tiny twin.
Mom and I somehow have enough of, or get kicked out of the back end of the big house and I end up living out the rest of my senior year in Eva's bedroom. We share a brass twin bed in her Burbank flats house on Keystone Street. Eva's mother Maria and her common law husband Eddie live in the main house. Maria is a fanatastic cook and always has something wonderful simmering on the stove or fired up on the grill for us. She lets us smoke her Kent cigarettes when we run out of our own (we've switched to Marlboro lights at this point thank you very much), and at least once a day cracks open the door, fans her hand in front of her face and tells us in her thick Spanish accent "Oh may Gad Eva! Openna weendow in herrre, eets so smokey I can harrrdly see you twoo!"
Each morning we blare KIIS fm, put on lots of makeup and make our hair as big and crispy as we can. As soon as we hear the beginning cords of Eric Carmen's "Hungry Eyes" the shit stops! Eva and I dance in her room. Sometimes I'm the Baby, and sometimes I'm the Johnny, and every time, someone is accused of having spaghetti arms.
Mimi & Eva in all our 80s glory.
posted by MimiLolly at 1:35 PM
2 Comments:
You know, I've never seen Dirty Dancing?! How lame is that? For me it was Purple Rain and Denise Portillo.
Aw, Eva. I am glad you don't smoke anymore. Good stuff.
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