My shoes spent the night in the cemetery.
These weren't just any pair of shoes, but my favorite pair of see through sandals purchased from a vintage clothing store in L.A. I loved the shoes so much that two days after purchasing them I phoned the store and had the exact same pair placed on hold and drove back up to the City of Angels just to have a spare. So when Dondee and I escaped from the cemetery and I was like "Why am I barefoot?" In the back of my mind I knew the emergency pair were nestled safe and sound in a mint colored box somewhere at the bottom of my closet, but this did not suffice. I always had this scenario that played over in my head whenever I imaged the type of meltdown that would drive me to have to dig through the labyrinth also known as my wardrobe and search for my replacement footwear. I envisioned the mundane, a trip over uneven concrete that would snap the plastic tie between my two toes, rendering my sandals useless or even better, I imagined escaping the duties of my art long enough to dance the night away somewhere and be spun so hard that my shoe would snap as I twisted into a spiral of a dozen joyful circles. I couldn't accept the fact that I lost my shoes because I imagined myself on the "Madea Goes to Jail" poster. And even though I got home near midnight and fell asleep with my makeup on, fake eyelashes and all. I woke up at the crack of dawn and drove to the cemetery the next morning through traffic in order to rescue my shoes. Yeah, I knew there was a 60/40 percent chance they'd still be there but I rarely find things I love. I've been known to sew dresses and outfits if I think there's nothing available that truly expresses who I am. What was even crazier was that I phoned my videographer and he was only three blocks away from the place! He laughed and offered to help me search for my lovely clear plastic diamond encrusted sandals. He laughed because he knows I try to match those sandals with everything. Some people have security blanket, well, I have security sandals. Enough said.
Fortunately, I knew the exact location where the crime took place. And sure enough the trip was not in vain. I celebrated by picking up the tab for breakfast at the chicken and waffle joint we went to.
I love my life. I know some people have real problems. The foster youth I've mentored over the past seven years says I live like a rock star. I'm sure that if my shoes got to choose which spirit they would be possessed by, a rock star's soul would be their first choice.