Tonight on Survivor, the Asian Bitchfight went down as predicted, and Stacy, pictured below, prevailed over dreadlocked pipsqueak Michelle.
Which made me fondly remember that girl Stacy. You know, the chick in high school with the green eyeliner and matching but totally ravaged green nails, who worshiped Judas Priest and “Sabbath” and was a rising star in Yearbook until the 20 year-old boyfriend with the Z28 made her allergic to all school-sanctioned activity, who spent lunch smoking in the Smokers’ Courtyard, who stole, chewed with her mouth open, hocked loogies, wore rings on every finger for the sole reason of clawing off someone’s face in a fistfight, went on the pill in 8th grade yet still had an abortion, maybe two, who always flipped you the bird sideways, who was the first person you’d ever known to wear leather pants, and wear them beautifully, in fact, so that the fallacy that leather pants look good on everyone and not just rock stars began to rot your mind like mad cow, so that long after you’d forgotten all about Stacy, eons after high school, you find yourself in a fluorescenty Gap dressing room in downtown New York on a wet Indian summer day, trying on a pair of brick-red, made-in-China pigskin–as in footballs–leather pants, thinking, Leather pants are so bitchin’, except you unwittingly say this out loud, which sends Brianne scurrying over, oh she of the perfect folding and Midwestern sing-song, a relentless salesperson and future drunk, in leather pants herself, but in brown because it goes with everything, Brianne who is not Stacy, who is not you, wearing a red football with legs and a zipper, sweating for dear life.
That said, Survivor Stacy ain’t that Stacy either. But good luck, girl!
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