Cowgirl In The City

My life is messy, disorderly, filled with abundant knick-knacks I can’t seem to surrender. I’m a gatherer, a collector, with far too many pairs of high-heeled shoes, frilly dresses, and patterned scarves. From magazines and newspapers I cut out stories, articles, or phrases I’m intrigued by, and stuff them in a shoe box I too rarely shuffle through.

I’m constantly on the prowl for inspirational tidbits, so I spend a good deal of my time aimlessly wandering throughout the streets of New York looking for something pretty or unusual to lust over. In Oklahoma, with good music, a pack of Marlboro Light 100’s, and windows rolled down, my car rides fill a similar purpose.

When I was younger, about six, at the peak of my childhood daredevil stage, I started my first coin collection. My desire to collect was probably ignited by my brothers’ card or pog collections, but those boyish things didn’t really interest me. Ironically I lusted after coins, dinero, and I guess some things never really change. When I saw my first two-dollar bill, something you never see these days, I was enthralled. I wanted to collect these oddities, these weird and unusual pieces of money. My mom, who always encouraged my unusual ventures, helped cart me around to post offices and other places around the city to find rare coins. In the end my collection was meager and my ambition was short-lasted.

Later, Beanie Babies were the big thing. But all kids were collecting those furry bears and unicorns that drove American soccer moms into a frenzy. I have over one-hundred of those Beanie Babies sitting somewhere in the attic, never since touched.

In high school I began my shot glass collection. I acquired my first shot gloss in Cancun, Mexico which read “one tequila, two tequila, three tequila, FLOOR.” I picked up a couple of shot glasses that vacation, and it just sort-of became a habit to gather shot glasses from anywhere and everywhere I could. I had tons. I had normal sizes, tall ones, and then the huge, joke shotglasses. On New Years during my Junior year of high school I was dared to take one of those jumbo-sized shots, equivalent to about 4 or 5 regular shots. Unwilling to back down from the foolish bet, I chugged the never ending shot of cheap vodka and spent the rest of the night paying for it.

Every night, I went out with whatever bottle of liquor I was drinking and a shot glass, never without one or the other. But, due to my carelesness and my tendency to overdrink(I was a little thing, trying to drink like a man) I typically left shotglasses in others cars. We weren’t really friends unless I left a shot glass in your car. Hence, my collection quickly dwindled.

Coming to college, I brought what meager remains I had left, along with a cowboy hat, a top hat, bunny ears, a shotglass necklace, a flask, and packs of cards–I came to party. The few drinkers on my floor were always asking to borrow my shot glasses and I was also always leaving them in peoples rooms. Now that I’m a beer girl and don’t drink liquor as much, my collection has blossomed.

Maybe it’s useless or frivolous to collect unnecessary things, but at least it adds a little adventure to things. Writers and artists must constantly add and gather diverse images and objects for their memory bank, so that their experience is increasingly enriched and their art more deeply conveys an accurate taste of life.