I wrote “Wanna Be a Cowgirl” in Spring of 2008. I had just started writing, really, after quitting a horrible job. I’ve had very little instruction in writing — I have psychology and law degrees — and you can see that quite clearly in this story. I had always written a little and, in the post-traumatic haze of my resignation, I pulled out some stories I had worked on occasionally. I thought this one was hilarious. It’s not really finished, but even I realized the world could live without it. At this point, I don’t ramble or repeat myself as much. I rarely use dialogue, though I’d like to. I seek and respond to feedback. I read more slowly. I pay attention to good writing. I pay attention to bad writing. I aim for the former and am better at recognizing when I produce the latter. You have no idea how much I wanted to edit this before sending.

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I put on the cowboy hat. I took it off. I messed with my hair. I put the hat back on.

I lectured the mirror. “If you’re gonna wear the hat, commit to the fucking hat.”

I liked it. I decided to commit. I was going to rock the fucking hat.

I walked out of my apartment to my car. Shit. She blocked me in again. My roommate is probably the stupidest person I’ve ever met. She uses abortions as birth control. I don’t even know how she got a driver’s license.

“Ellie.” I poked at the lump under the comforter. It didn’t move.

“Ellie. Get the fuck up and move your car.”

The lump rolled over. I heard the toilet flush. An ugly guy in plaid boxers came out. He looked like he wasn’t quite sure who he had slept with. I directed him to the lump. He gave me one of those nods guys give, up instead of down, sorted through the clothes on the floor, grabbed some and left the room.

Gross.

Getting Ellie out of bed would take at least 15 minutes. I’d have to hear her whine “Michele” dragged out to three syllables. “Leave me alone.” “Alone” also becoming three syllables. She was too pathetic to hate.

I walked out to the living room where Ugly Boxers was buttoning his ugly shirt. With the upward nod and a look I didn’t like, he said “nice hat.” I ignored him and searched the usual places for Ellie’s keys. Under the coffee table, the refrigerator, the door. I decided she wasn’t too pathetic to hate.

The guy tried talking to me. “Dude. Seriously. That hat is sweet.”

I hate being called dude. I hated him. I was filled with hate. I gave him a look that has been known to disembowel better men and continued looking for the keys.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. Nice.

Text message from Kim. “Where R U?” Shit. I was supposed to meet her and Lindy for breakfast 10 minutes ago. I texted back, “give me 5.”

Back to Ellie’s bedroom. “Where are your fucking keys?” I punched her. It felt so good I did it again.

“What the hell, Shelley? “ She threw off the covers and I heard the keys. I felt around, found them and ran out of her bedroom without looking at her. I would have punched her again but my friends were waiting.

I headed for the front door. “Hey, could I catch a ride with you?” It was Ugly.

“No way. Wake her up if you need a ride.”

“Dude, come on.” Unfortunate. On top of being ugly, he was annoying and boring. I gave him the look again. The hat was bringing out the tough in me.

I moved Ellie’s piece of shit Civic. I was tempted to park it in front of the fire hydrant but didn’t. I’d just have to drive her to the impound lot like last time. And probably loan her the money to get it out. I ran back and threw the keys inside. I hoped I hit Ugly.

I felt my pocket vibrate again. Ahhhh. No time to enjoy. I backed up quickly and headed to Sunshine’s. It would take about 6 minutes.

I felt my pocket vibrate again. I was enjoying it less. I answered without looking. “Jesus. I’ll be there in like 2 minutes, ok?”

“Michele?”

It was my mom. I know the estrangement of mothers and daughters is the lifeblood of the therapy industry but my mom is super cool.

“Hey, Mom. I’m in a hurry. Can I call you later?” I checked myself out in the rear view mirror. I had to say, I looked goooood in the hat.

“Yeah, babes. I just want to talk to you about Lisa’s Bat Mitzvah.”

“OK, Mom. I’ll call you tonight.”

“OK, Shel. Love you.”

“Love you back, Mom.” I hung up. Crap. My cousin’s Bat Mitzvah. I forgot about that little skank.

My cousin Lisa is like Ellie. Cute and dumb as a Monday night sitcom. And bitchy, like Debbie Kaplan, the girl I hated and worshipped when I was 13. Lisa wouldn’t have sat next to me in Hebrew School either. The only reason for going to her Bat Mitzvah was to watch her fuck up her Torah reading.

I got to Sunshine’s. I stopped thinking about Lisa and remembered the hat. I reviewed myself in the mirror. I decided to never remove the hat.

“Hey guys. I’m so sorry. Fucking Ellie blocked me again.”

I hugged Kim.

“Hey Lindy,” I practically sang. I love this girl like crazy, but we don’t get to hang out that much because she lives in L.A. and we live in Oakland. She was up for the weekend. I hugged her ‘til she squirmed.

“Damn, Michele. You have got to move out. That girl is defective.” Kim was shit-free and wise. I let her make most of my decisions.

“Totally,” Lindy spit some crumbs from her English muffin at me. I grabbed the other half.

I flagged down the waitress. We come here a lot but I don’t remember her name.

“Hey. Could I get a coffee, an orange juice and a side of bacon?” I’m a bad Jew.

“Check you out, Shel. Nice hat, cowgirl.”

Lindy laughed and pulled it off my head. What is it about hats? I didn’t grab it back because it was Lindy. I probably would have blocked Kim.

Lindy is a 5’1” Asian girl. She looked like a Japanese tourist in Reno. All she needed was a huge turquoise necklace and an expensive digital camera.

I choked on a piece of bacon. Perhaps as punishment for eating pig.

“Not really your style, little girl.”

“Bite me.” She threw the hat at me.

I looked at my reflection in a knife to see if my hair was messed up. I had perfectly arranged it to look perfectly unarranged.

“Who’s driving?”

We drove around Berkeley for about 20 minutes, looking for parking. Not bad. I set the alarm on my phone for an hour and forty five minutes. I was not going to pay the usual $36 toll to the Berkeley parking police.

We met at Cal, as freshmen. None of us got a space in the dorm and met randomly through an ad Kim placed on Craigslist. We lived together all 4 years with surprisingly little drama. My roommate karma ended with Ellie.

Kim and I humored Lindy’s sentimentality. Walked around campus and let Lindy lead us to Amoeba Records, Brewed Awakening and Top Dog. Lindy was not loving L.A. but her dad’s cancer had returned. We didn’t talk about when she would come back.

The guy working Top Dog, who never says anything but “what do you want” said “nice hat. What do you want?”

The power of the hat. I felt extremely cute.

After dropping Lindy at the airport, I took off the hat.

I got home at around 8:00. I was in no mood to deal with Ellie. The front door was unlocked. I decided to get a lock for my bedroom door and to move out as close to immediately as I could.

“Ellie,” I yelled. “You left the fucking door unlocked again.”

She didn’t answer. She wasn’t home. Good.

I called my mom.

“Hey Shel. How are you, babes?”

“I’m ok. I’ve got to move out. My roommate is functionally retarded.”

“Well, she’s certainly not MENSA material.” We like to make fun of MENSA.

“Totally. So, what’s up with the Bat Mitzvah?” I prayed she was going to say they decided not to go.

“We’re planning on getting to your place at around 6 on Saturday. We’ll have some dinner and head up to Sacramento when we’re done. We got you a hotel room so I think everything is all set.

Shit. I didn’t want to spend the night in Sacramento. I planned to get there at the last minute, enjoy Lisa’s butchery of the Hebrew language for a few minutes, eat some cake and sneak off for Bloody Marys with my brother, Ben.

“Is Ben riding up with you?” My parents live in San Diego. Ben lives there, too. About 20 minutes away from them, in Ocean Beach.

“Ben’s not coming.”

“What the hell? Why?” No Bloody Marys.

“He’s sitting in with some band whose drummer got a concussion from playing the cymbals with his head.”

“Danny Arnold?” Fucker.

“That sounds familiar. Probably.”

It was a good gig. Good band. Good for Ben. I’d give him shit anyway.

“Mom.”

“Shel.”

“I really don’t want to go to this thing. We don’t even like their family. Can’t we just send her, like, a years’ worth of birth control pills or a new pole dancing outfit or something?”

“You can get her whatever you want. We’re giving her a check.” Yeah. So she can buy some new skank clothes and hooker heels.

“Put my name on it? Please? Ellie’s late on the rent and I’m broke. I’m not even going to be able to eat until you get here.” I’m a drama queen. We have fun with it.

“We’ll see.”

That meant she’d do it.

My parents got here on Saturday night. I don’t know why we had to go up for the night. Sacramento is fucking hot and boring.

“Why the hell are we going up so early?”

“We’re having dinner with Bernie and Francine and your cousins.” This was my dad. Bernie is his younger brother. He’s copied everything my dad did. Biology degree in Philly. Med school in Boston. He even specialized in ophthalmology. Schmuck is in private practice and my dad works at the county hospital. Asshole makes way more money than my dad.

“You are fucking kidding me. You said we were having dinner here.”

“Watch your fucking mouth, Shelley.”

I rubbed my mom’s head from the back seat.

We made it to Sacramento in an hour and a half. Yay. More time to spend with Lisa and her drooling brother, Brad. He’s 15 but seems to have topped out developmentally at around 8. He’s totally an idiot savant. Great at math, bad at pretty much everything else.

We went to Olive Garden. My aunt’s choice. I hate chain restaurants.

This menu is disgusting,” I whispered to my mom.

She raised her eyebrows at me. She does this when she’s almost done with me. I ordered the spaghetti and meatballs and tried not to stare at Lisa’s boobs, which were trying to escape her teensy tank top.

“So, Lisa. Ready for tomorrow?” Contrition to my mom.

“Yeah. I have a super cute dress.” Her ennui was fascinating in a 13 year-old girl. Like her boobs.

“She practiced her torah reading for an hour last night.” I threw up the night before my Bat Mitzvah.

“Cool. I can’t wait to hear you read tomorrow.” I spoke the truth. It would be a train wreck. Carnage in a tube dress.

Lisa didn’t answer. I ate my spaghetti. It was pretty good.

Sunday morning. I drank a Diet Coke and had sacrilegious thoughts about Lisa’s soon-to-be death by torah. Thou shalt not be a ho.

“Michele.” My dad knocked about a million times before I got to the door.

“Coming. Hang on.” Jesus.

“You’re drinking soda in the morning?”

“Yep.” I felt sort of stupid, then remembered I’m 23. Ellie drinks gin and tonics for breakfast. She adds a slice of lime. At least she won’t get scurvy.

My mom shows up. “You’re drinking soda in the morning?”

“Yep.”

Neither of them says anything else about my morning beverage.

I kiss them both.

“Lookin’ good, Mom.”

She does. My mom is a serious hottie. 5’8” with straight, light brown hair that falls between her chin and shoulders, a great rack and an ass I’d kill for. She’s wearing her coral Donna Karan dress. I couldn’t wait to see the horny 13 year-old boys trying to hide their boners when they had to stand for the prayers.

I’d get some glances. I look more like my dad. On the shorter side, darker, longer curly brown hair, a big ass if not vigilant. I have kind of lightish brown eyes that people seem to like.

“Thanks, babes. You look good, too.” My dad nodded.

I was wearing the red, short, ruffly-hemmed dress I got secondhand at Crossroads Trading. And black sandals with heels on the high side. They do good things for my butt and legs.

I kissed my dad again and held his hand. He smells so good. He wears the same cologne he did when I was little. I still don’t know what it’s called. He was carrying the blue velvet bag that holds his tallis and yarmulke. He’s had it forever.

We stopped at the free breakfast buffet before checking out. I drank another Diet Coke with my Froot Loops and soy milk. Fortification for now. I’d need something stronger later.