How to have a fanciful mind:

You may have read on my blog tagline that I have a “fanciful” mind.

I’m not sure you truly understand how fancy it really is. It is all kinds of fancy. We’re talking FAN—CY. I spend my entire day trying to stay in reality while my brain continuously leads me away with delusions of grandeur.

You see, I live in a place – inside mah little pea brain – that no one knows about. Those of you who know me know that I am an optimistic person – but optimism doesn’t even beginnnnn to describe the world inside my cranium. My world is a perfect place, full of fancy fashion and glamour. And I am always the model. I do lots of very grand photo shoots in unlikely places – always with perfect lighting and extravagant make-up.

Yes, in conjunction with being clinically insane, I am also highly self-indulgent. Good thing I place all my efforts into creating outfits and not plotting crimes! Just kidding, I also plot crimes. Just kidding I don’t commit crimes that would be wrong. Just kidding I might… you’ll never know. Just kidding. (In case you don’t know the SNL skit I am referencing, click here.)

Here are some dresses that ignite the fantasies in my mind. Welcome to the strange and fancy realm of Miriam’s fanciful mind. All dresses are courtesy of

Scene one:

I am in a sepia-tone room, sitting in a child-sized chair, surrounded by all natures of sad looking, borderline-frightening children’s toys from the 1920s. The only thing in color in the whole shoot is the dress, and a clown in the background that is peeking into the room with an eerie smile on his face. The dress is kinda scrunched up so my legs look a million miles long, and I’m leaning haphazardly in the chair. Also, I look identical to Clara Bow:

End scene one.

Scene two:

I am walking through the central park in low heels pushing my baby’s perambulator. That’s a stroller – for those who are not British, or 90 years old, or me. It is a warm spring day and there are birds chirping and I also probably have some little toddler picking dandelions next to me. He is wearing a sort of matching lader-hosen type shorts with suspenders in the same blue as my dress, and white booties. I am smiling and singing, and my voice sounds like Ella Fitzgerald’s.

End scene two.

Scene three:

Artie Shaw’s clarinet playing floats on the warm evening air, as the big band plays at a charity function that I personally organized. It is at some posh country club with a giant dance floor and expansive chandelier. I spend the evening sipping Mint Juleps and calling everyone “darling”. Everyone keeps complimenting me on my hair, which is the same hue and style as Suzy Parker’s:

They also tell me what a great party I’ve put on, and ask me how I ever do it with three small children. I shrug and say, “By wearing such fabulous clothes, of course!” Which makes no sense whatsoever, but no one seems to mind because it’s all taking place inside my head in the first place.

End scene three.

Scene four:

Ahoy, Matey!  I’m at the helm of a very expensive sail boat, wearing these heels:

The sun pierces through dramatic clouds and the wind is blowing – enough to rustle in my hair, but NOT enough to blow my dress up, ya perv. I may or may not be wearing a sailor hat. We are off the coast of Maryland and after a day of sailing we will dock back at the beautiful bay-side home from whence we came, and eat crab cakes and asparagus.

End scene four.

Scene five:

I’m walking barefoot through a field of tall grass somewhere along a rocky cliff on the coast of central California wine country. My eyes are closed, and I’m being led by a studly man who looks like this:

Except he’s not wearing a suit – he’s wearing an off-white linen button down shirt and ripped jeans. There is a clearing just beyond the tall grass field, where  he’s laid out a picnic on a checked blanket. The picnic consists of white wine, aged bleu cheese, kalamata olives and The Hat chili cheese fries. We eat and watch the sunset, then watch the stars appear in the sky. It’s warm and there’s no need for a jacket, so we decide to sleep outside. Unbeknownst to us, there was a meteor shower scheduled – so we stay up late watching shooting star after shooting star, making wishes and singing Jiminy Cricket.

End scene five.

Scene six:

It is a golden afternoon in South Carolina. The hot, sticky air smells of fried chicken, sweet tea, and honeysuckles. The family is having a very large Sunday dinner underneath a centuries old oak tree in the front yard of a plantation house with a wrap-around front porch that has been in my family for many generations.

That’s my house. There are dogs lying around here and there, and a plump little baby wearing nothing but a white shirt and diaper sitting in the grass watching a lady bug crawl up her chubby thigh. I’m wearing the above pictured dress. Everyone stops as they hear a car driving up the winding dirt road. The car looks like this:

It parks in front of the house and we see it’s our son, Billy, who is home from the war. Everyone cheers and Dad breaks out the banjo and we play Dixieland music until it’s dark and the lights emanating from all the other houses reflect off the lake.  Had I mentioned the house was on a lake? Anyway, it is.

End scene six.

Well, now my imagination is a little bit fatigued and needs a rest. Who knows if any of you crazy cats will enjoy my idealistic delusions – but what matters is that I  had a fantastic time writing all this rot.

Do you like my imagination and want one just like it? Here’s how you can get it:

First, imagine a cliche yet rustic Thomas Kinkade painting. Now layer a family-oriented Norman Rockwell painting over the top of the Thomas Kinkade one. On all the women in the picture, put pretty dresses in vibrant colors and cute shoes – all heels.  Mix in a lot of glamorous-looking people from a conglomeration of old films, ranging from the 20s to the 60s. For each of these individuals, put a piece of cheese in one hand and a glass of wine in the other.  Then think of every nature cliche you can – sunsets, shooting stars, ocean waves, swaying grass, lakes – throw in a few of each.  Add some dogs and some babies. Is everyone laughing? If not, make them laugh. You’re almost there. Put a Chipotle somewhere in there. Loudly play music from the big band era, and mix in the occasional Luciano Pavarotti or Paolo Nutini. Turn up the temperature by about ten degrees. Now make everything sparkly.

Congratulations! You now have a fanciful mind. Now go dream the day away, and live a life as fanciful as mine.


~ Mir


3 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. sissy poo
    Mar 19, 2011 @ 18:53:29

    ❤ LOVE!!! i LOVE your fanciful mind!!! ❤


  2. Eva Sanchez
    Mar 19, 2011 @ 18:59:26

    Thoroughly enjoyed reading “How To Have A Fanciful Mind”. You have been blessed with such a beautiful, magical imagination. You should have your stories put into a book for everyone to enjoy. Thanks again, for sharing.


  3. Mamo
    Mar 19, 2011 @ 19:18:52

    Really? “….kalamata olives and THE HAT CHILI CHEESE FRIES????”
    hahahahahaha That’s rich!

    This was v-e-rrrrrrr-y fun to read, Mir. I think that even if I am your Mamo, I’d better be sure to get your autograph pretty soon. Seriously.

    xoxoxoxoxoxo Mamo


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