Stamped: May 10th, 2006 | Toggle Similar
Tagged: around town, friends and losers, things i ♥.

Okay, so I’m sitting in my spacious village basement flat (read: closet) and Meme calls, “Seeeemone!” I love how she drags out my name when she’s distraught. “Wassup, girlfriend?” I ask. “Oh, Simone, I’ve got a mental block. I was doing my uncanny impersonation of my mother and I suddenly lost my will to live!” “Oh, girlfriend, how many times have I told you to stop doing that?!? Well, what’re you gonna do?” “I’ll tell you want I’m not doing, I’m not doing my post for tomorrow. I just can’t!” Now this was upsetting. “But, your fans want a post, Meme!” “I know, but it’s just not there. I can’t summon up the strength.” There was a pause at this point. Then, she laid it on moi. “Oh do you think you could be a sweetie?” I knew what was coming. “You want me to write something don’t you? But I’m pre-op, your blog is called, ‘Girlspoke.’ I know I’m brimming with estrogens, but I still got, you know, a little extra baggage.” “I want your mind, not your body!” Now, if this were anyone else, I’d have a hissy at that point. But, we’re talking about Meme here. Who can say, “no,” to Meme? So, here is a little post about the travails of Simone: transsexual extraordinaire.

I haven’t always lived in New York. I used to live in that bayou by the bay, New Orleans. I’ll tell you this, girlfriend; New Orleans was my town through and through. I could sashay down Bourbon Street and everyone knew Simone was there. I was hot, the town was hot, and the French Quarter loved me. It’s true that sometimes on a Saturday night sailors used to like to bloody my nose in many an alleyway. Just because of a little basket problem, can you imagine? But, overall, I was a happy little trollop. Then Katrina arrived.

I thought I could ride her out (I’ve done that before), but the water kept getting higher and higher. I ended up in my attic. I broke all my acrylic nails clawing my way out of there. There was the sweetest little Coast Guard boy in a boat when I fell off the roof. I was still holding onto my wigs, gowns, and stilettos; but they were all soaked by then. That Coast Guarder hollered, “you silly old queen, I’m not picking you up unless you leave all that crap behind!” Now, that was a lifetime of fantasy and I wasn’t about to leave it behind. So, I waved the sailor boy on and holding on to all my cherished belongings I swam to the Superdome.

Now check this out: I can swim faster than an alligator. It’s amazing what you can do when the crap is being scared out you. Well, little Simone got her sorry ass to the Superdome. It took me 3 days, but I got there. I hung up my gowns to dry on the concrete barriers and shook out my wigs. It was when I was combing out my blonde “Ginger Rogers” job and looking at the water that was my home town and I thought, “Simone, girl, you need a change of scenery.” That was when I chose my best gown, one wig, and one pair of stilettos and headed northward.

I would like to tell you that teamsters are a generous lot. I would like to tell you that, but I can’t. I hitched my way up the eastern seaboard. Make a note of this: stilettos are not the best shoes to wear when on the road. By the time I got to NYC, my feet couldn’t even fit my shoes again. And my gown, well, let’s just say that it was beyond refurbishing. I did find a few truckers who were more than willing to give little Simone a lift. Naturally, they wanted a little something in kind and I was more than happy to oblige. I am a most obliging person. I bumped my head on the dashboard when the last of my rides said, “Well, there’s New York City.” It was a sight to behold: all shiny and phallic. “This is definitely my kind of town,” I thought.

I jumped out at (what I now know is) Bryant Park. It’s right behind the library. I was carrying my shoes and my wig. There was a drinking fountain and I drank and drank and gave my face a little wash. Then, I plopped down on a bench. At the opposite end was a gorgeous creature. She was working on her laptop and laughing quietly. She looked up and I caught her eye. She smiled. I smiled back. “Long night, huh? Was it a good party?” she asked. “Oh, this old thing? No, it was all I could salvage. I just came from New Orleans.” She held out her hand, “my name is Meme.” As I shook her hand, I knew I had found a friend. “My name’s Simone. What’re you working on?” nodding at the laptop. “Oh, it’s Girlspoke, a blog.” We talked about her blog and life. We went to have a bite at a falafel stand. As we walked in, I saw a sign in window, “Help Wanted.” I grabbed the sign and said to the man who was cooking, “This is your lucky day!” The owner looked me up and down and said, “If you say so. When can you start?” “After lunch, and after I get some new clothes.”

So, I got the job and I found a basement flat in the village. It wasn’t too bad until winter came. I don’t kill the cockroaches anymore; we’ve struck a kind of truce. I keep everything in jars and zip lock bags and they only come out of their hiding places when I turn the lights out. I love Washington Square, but most of all I love Central Park. When she has time, Meme and I go window shopping along the avenues. I’m saving up for my ‘op,’ and taking my hormones. I miss New Orleans. I miss the gumbo and the sailors, I miss the warm weather and the French Quarter, but this girl is a New Yahker now.

Ain’t that a kick?

Last 5 posts by Simone

• If you knew Meme, like I know Meme (and Jenna and Lo and Casey and Betty) - May 24th, 2006