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Authors: Charles Mcdowell
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my hatred for “the happiest place on earth.”
THE GIRLS ON DREAMS
Dear Girls Above Me,
“I had a nightmare that I was getting raped but he couldn’t get it up. It was scary but super offensive.” I wanna feel bad for you.
Dear Girls Above Me,
“If I got a dime for every sex dream a guy’s had of me, I’d have like 500 dollars and 75 cents.” Dimes can’t make that number.
THEY WRITE POETRY
Dear Girls Above Me,
“I think it’s ‘roses are red, violets are blue, things … I see … are … I know … is true.’ Just type that.” What the hell was that ?
THE GIRLS ON WISDOM
Dear Girls Above Me,
“Let’s just say she’s not the sharpest pool in the shed.” To be fair you’re not exactly the sharpest wife in the drawer either.
LIFE REALIZATIONS
Dear Girls Above Me,
“It kinda makes me sad that I can never be a teen mom, like that’s not even an option anymore.” Aww, all grown up.
THEY INVENT STUFF FOR DOGS
Dear Girls Above Me,
“I finally came up with a gazillion dollar idea. Ready?” No. “Friendship bracelets for dogs!” That’s only a billion dollar idea.
Dear Girls Above Me,
“It’s time we get a dog!” Please, do not get a — “But we should invent wireless leashes first.” Oh okay, I’m good.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Why are you so against Disneyland?” She whisper-asked it, but I could still hear everything from my bed.
“Because I’m handing over hundreds of dollars to stand around getting all hot and sweaty.”
“I think they have other things there,” I responded, to myself.
“Also, there’s a lack of consistency to the characters.” I had no idea what that meant; good thing the voice elaborated: “Pluto is a dog who can’t speak, yet we’re supposed to believe that Goofy, also a dog, miraculously can? That’s preposterous.”
“I live under a lunatic,” I recall groaning.
“When I was a boy in England, I didn’t need a park for amusement. I played with garbage in the streets,” he argued.
Other than this being the night before the most traumatizing experience of my childhood existence, this night also marked the first time I was blessed (or cursed) with the ability to overhear people who shouldn’t be overheard.
I was five years old, and through the right combination of openedwindows and doors, a sound tunnel was created from my parents’ room that allowed me to hear everything. But there are some things that no five-year-old should hear.… No, I’m not talking about that— well yes, that too. Only I’d rather have heard my parents do that than heard them denigrate the most magical place on earth.
It started just like any other day. My sister Lilly and I were both drawing in our Strawberry Shortcake coloring books. As a kid, pretty much anything my sister did, I wanted to do as well. Particularly, I was enamored with the Strawberry Shortcake scent. If Lilly wanted to wear a pink tutu out to dinner, I wanted to wear a pink tutu out to dinner. I was completely oblivious to any social norms and was happily living my life as a little girl. Of course, this all changed on my first day of elementary school when Jeremy Powell made fun of me for having a purple headband in my hair.
As we continued coloring, I distinctly remember Lilly criticizing my Strawberry Shortcake palette: “I just don’t get what you’re trying to do.” I know how Fellini must’ve felt; clearly I was ahead of my time. Before I was able to defend my delightful pinkish hue, a television commercial for Disneyland appeared before my eyes. I was transfixed. I had never experienced anything so magical through a TV set in my entire life. It was a warm summer night in 1988; I was five years old, and in that moment I made it my life’s mission to go to this heavenly place.
“If you haven’t been to Disneyland lately, you and your family have a lot to catch up on,” the man from the commercial said directly to me. As he spoke, images of kids whirling around in life-sized
THE GIRLS ON DREAMS
Dear Girls Above Me,
“I had a nightmare that I was getting raped but he couldn’t get it up. It was scary but super offensive.” I wanna feel bad for you.
Dear Girls Above Me,
“If I got a dime for every sex dream a guy’s had of me, I’d have like 500 dollars and 75 cents.” Dimes can’t make that number.
THEY WRITE POETRY
Dear Girls Above Me,
“I think it’s ‘roses are red, violets are blue, things … I see … are … I know … is true.’ Just type that.” What the hell was that ?
THE GIRLS ON WISDOM
Dear Girls Above Me,
“Let’s just say she’s not the sharpest pool in the shed.” To be fair you’re not exactly the sharpest wife in the drawer either.
LIFE REALIZATIONS
Dear Girls Above Me,
“It kinda makes me sad that I can never be a teen mom, like that’s not even an option anymore.” Aww, all grown up.
THEY INVENT STUFF FOR DOGS
Dear Girls Above Me,
“I finally came up with a gazillion dollar idea. Ready?” No. “Friendship bracelets for dogs!” That’s only a billion dollar idea.
Dear Girls Above Me,
“It’s time we get a dog!” Please, do not get a — “But we should invent wireless leashes first.” Oh okay, I’m good.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Why are you so against Disneyland?” She whisper-asked it, but I could still hear everything from my bed.
“Because I’m handing over hundreds of dollars to stand around getting all hot and sweaty.”
“I think they have other things there,” I responded, to myself.
“Also, there’s a lack of consistency to the characters.” I had no idea what that meant; good thing the voice elaborated: “Pluto is a dog who can’t speak, yet we’re supposed to believe that Goofy, also a dog, miraculously can? That’s preposterous.”
“I live under a lunatic,” I recall groaning.
“When I was a boy in England, I didn’t need a park for amusement. I played with garbage in the streets,” he argued.
Other than this being the night before the most traumatizing experience of my childhood existence, this night also marked the first time I was blessed (or cursed) with the ability to overhear people who shouldn’t be overheard.
I was five years old, and through the right combination of openedwindows and doors, a sound tunnel was created from my parents’ room that allowed me to hear everything. But there are some things that no five-year-old should hear.… No, I’m not talking about that— well yes, that too. Only I’d rather have heard my parents do that than heard them denigrate the most magical place on earth.
It started just like any other day. My sister Lilly and I were both drawing in our Strawberry Shortcake coloring books. As a kid, pretty much anything my sister did, I wanted to do as well. Particularly, I was enamored with the Strawberry Shortcake scent. If Lilly wanted to wear a pink tutu out to dinner, I wanted to wear a pink tutu out to dinner. I was completely oblivious to any social norms and was happily living my life as a little girl. Of course, this all changed on my first day of elementary school when Jeremy Powell made fun of me for having a purple headband in my hair.
As we continued coloring, I distinctly remember Lilly criticizing my Strawberry Shortcake palette: “I just don’t get what you’re trying to do.” I know how Fellini must’ve felt; clearly I was ahead of my time. Before I was able to defend my delightful pinkish hue, a television commercial for Disneyland appeared before my eyes. I was transfixed. I had never experienced anything so magical through a TV set in my entire life. It was a warm summer night in 1988; I was five years old, and in that moment I made it my life’s mission to go to this heavenly place.
“If you haven’t been to Disneyland lately, you and your family have a lot to catch up on,” the man from the commercial said directly to me. As he spoke, images of kids whirling around in life-sized
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