As you can see, my childhood wasn’t typical – it took a lot to make me the star I am today.  But I didn’t just fall out of the sky (not like that lucky bitch Anna Laction, who’s been coasting for years on that story about how aliens brought her here).  I was an all-American girl with all-American dreams, and those dreams, as much as the jail stints, teenage alcoholism and occasional make-out sessions with my first cousins, are what turned dull-as-dishwater Regina Stouffer into glamorous Gina Bushmill. 

So in this chapter, I thought I’d give you a glimpse at the girl I was, to help you better understand the woman I became – and, as an added bonus, looking over my wish lists, diary entries, and school papers will help those of you who are youngsters learn how to follow in my footsteps, and those of you who are parents figure out how to raise your daughters to become more like me.  Remember, I’m a feminist icon, or something!  Who wouldn’t want that for their own children? 

Unfortunately, due to several experimental surgeries involving my reproductive areas, I’ll never know the joy of giving birth to a child of my own.  However, my husband Al and I have adopted three beautiful Third World orphans.  Truong, Guadalupe and Kimbote are the greatest things that have ever happened to me, and raising them is a joy; I can’t tell you how much I look forward to hearing their nanny tell me all the amazing new developments in their lives.  It’s to them that I dedicate this chapter, in hopes that they can learn something from the formative experiences of my childhood; I can’t help but think that if they’d had some of the advantages I did, instead of hanging around in Freedonia or wherever they’re from making necklaces out of discarded rifle shells, they’d be good for something more than picking up my dry cleaning and looking good in publicity stills.  Read on, parents:  if any of this seems familiar to you, maybe one day your daughter will be a star!

P.S.:  I originally wanted to call this chapter “Diary of a Young Girl”, but my editor tells me that title is already taken.  I’ve never heard of such a thing, but I hope the girl who wrote it has been as blessed in life as I have!

1.  My Christmas wish list,  age 6

Dear Santa,

My name is Regina Stouffer.  I have been a very good girl this year.  I got a C+ in penmanship and when I started doing bad in math class I just stopped going.  Also, I have stopped blaming my little brother for stuff ever since he learned to talk, and now that my parents keep the parrot in the basement I hardly ever throw things at her anymore.  Melanie Gunderson might tell you about some stuff I did by the old well with Gary Schafer but she’s a big liar and besides I don’t even think she believes in you.

Because I have been such a good girl (and you can ask my Uncle Lester if you don’t believe me, he always says that I’m very good indeed, especially when I help him get into Dad’s liquor cabinet), I think you should bring me these presents:

- a My Little Pony
- a Strawberry Shortcake play set
- a ballerina costume, a tiara or maybe a gymnast outfit
- a unicorn poster
- some knee socks
- a back massager just like Mommy has
- some scented markers
- rainbow stickers
- anal beads
- a new house, one with two stories and a banister on the stairway

Also, Uncle Lester says that he thinks I’d look really cute in a Catholic schoolgirl uniform, but Dad won’t get me one because we’re Presbyterian.  Can you help me out, Santa Claus?  I’ll make it worth your while.

Love,
Regina

2.  Essay, age 8

Why I Love Horses
by Regina Stouffer
Mrs. Crandall, 3rd Grade, Eldridge Cleaver Middle School

I love horses.  Horses are big and pretty and strong, and they have this smell that makes me feel funny inside.  Sometimes when you kiss a horse, it licks your face, and that put together with the smell makes me pass out.  This is why we don’t go visit Grandpa’s farm much anymore.

You can put ribbons in a horse’s mane or watch them trot around the pen.  I like to watch them because they’re fast and muscular and they’re doing it all just for you.  I especially like to watch the brown or black ones, because they’re bigger than the white ones.  My dad says I’m too little still to ride horses, but Grandpa lets me do it anyway.  Sometimes when the horse gets riding really fast, something happens.  I don’t know exactly what it is but it feels great.  You just want it to keep going forever and ever, or at least until the horse gets tired.

Grandpa let me name three of the horses at his farm.  I named them Phar Lap, Cigar, and Dr. Feelgood.  Dr. Feelgood is my favorite.  Sometimes I tell him my secrets when we’re out riding, and he keeps them to himself instead of blabbing about it to the rest of the animals.  Grandpa has a couple of other horses that he sometimes races.  When it’s time for them to race, he puts ginger up their bottoms.  This is supposed to make them go faster, but it doesn’t work for people, otherwise I would have made the track team.

There are all different kinds of horses.  There are pintos and palominos and geldings and Arabians and fillies and ponies and Clydesdales and stallions.  My dad has a video called “The Italian Stallion”, which it turns out is not about horses but is still pretty interesting.

There is one other thing I really, really like about horses, but my mom read this essay and she says I shouldn’t talk about it.  I don’t know what the big deal is.  Anyway, she won’t let me go to the state fair if I talk about this thing that I like about horses, so I’m not going to say it, but I will say that the reason I want to go to the state fair is that there will be a bunch of horses there and they will have this thing about them and believe me, I’m gonna get an eyeful. 

In conclusion, horses are awesome.

3.  Playing doctor:  diary entry, age 9

Dear diary,

Jimmy Hinton thinks that I like him.  I don’t like him.  He smells like old milk.  I mean, I like him okay, because his sister Becky is a total cow and he steals her Nancy Drew books and gives them to me, but I don’t like-like him.  He just thinks I do because at lunch last week I let him sit next to me.  The truth is, I let him sit there because we were having PB&J Day at the cafeteria, and he’s allergic to peanuts, so I figured either I could get a free sandwich off him or he’d get all bulgy and choke from eating it himself and it would be funny.  But he thinks I want to, like, be his boyfriend or something.

Anyway, yesterday, he asked me if I wanted to meet on the playground after school and play doctor.  It sounded really fun, because Aunt Ruth is always telling me I shouldn’t settle for less than a doctor, and if she’d married Neal Purcell right out of college instead of Uncle Lester, she’d spend all her free time playing bridge with other doctors’ wives and not at government surplus auctions or with a court-appointed psychiatrist.  I told him that okay, I would meet him after school.

I figured there was going to be money involved.  Instead, he just wanted to take all of my clothes off.  He said that’s what doctors do, is they take all your clothes off.  I told him, well, that’s what my pediatrician does, sure, at least when my parents aren’t around, but that’s not what all doctors do, because my mom sees a doctor once a week, and all he does is write her a new prescription for those pills she says helps her put up with Dad.  So he said, I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.  I said I’ve seen yours, Jimmy, and it’s not even worth taking my shoes off for. 

He ended up giving me ten bucks to see mine, and showed me his for free anyway.  I don’t know what guys make such a big deal about it for anyway.  I haven’t seen one yet that can compete with a horse.

Love,
Regina

4.  A visit with Santa:  diary entry, age 10

Dear diary,

Well, it’s Christmastime again, and you know what that means!  It’s my most favorite time of the year, even more than the kick-off of skinny-dipping season and the day after report cards.  Christmas means presents (I’ve really got my fingers crossed for the Hitachi Thunder Fist Backdoor Commando, which my mom says is the best back massager she’s ever used), and snow, and a visit from Uncle Lester which usually gets me an easy twenty bucks. 

But best of all, diary…Christmas means SANTA!

This year, just like every year, I asked mom and dad to take me down to the Crown Point Mall to see Santa.  I got all dressed up, took some of mom’s perfume, and even jimmied a few samples out of the liquor cabinet (Santa seems to really like rum, from the smell…I guess you don’t get many tropical drinks up at the North Pole).  I was so excited!  Then, just as I was about to head to the car, mom asked me if maybe I didn’t want to go this year.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.  “I go see Santa every year!  I love Santa Claus!”

“We know, honey,” she said.  “We know.”  She had the same sound in her voice as she did when she told me Grandma Craven got hit by the Amtrak.

For a minute, I was freaking out.  “What?” I asked.  “Did something happen to Santa?  Is he okay?”

“He’s fine, honey,” Dad said.  “We’re just wondering if, well, maybe you aren’t a little old to, uh, to sit in Santa’s lap,”

Well,  diary, I couldn’t believe it.  Sitting in Santa’s lap is my favorite thing in the whole world!  It has been ever since I was three years old!  It makes me feel so loved and so special, the way only a few other things in life can, like riding a horse, sliding down a banister, using the mechanical bull at the bar where Aunt Patty works, or getting my allowance.  Why would my parents want to keep me from that? 

They even tried to convince me that Santa wasn’t even real!  I said, of course he’s real, I see him every year at the mall.  They said it’s not really Santa, it’s just someone dressed up like him, and haven’t I ever noticed that it seems to be a different guy every couple of years?  I said big deal, it’s a fat guy with a beard and a red suit who gets really excited when I sit on his lap.  Why are we splitting hairs?

I thought for a while it was going to turn into a big argument and that if I wanted to see Santa Claus I was going to have to hotwire the car and drive there myself, like when they wouldn’t let me go see Loverboy.  But I asked them if I could talk to each of them in private, and after I told dad I knew about the magazines he keeps in his desk drawer and told mom I knew that she once dated a guy from one of the magazines dad keeps in his desk drawer, they agreed to take me to see Santa again this year.

It was worth it, dear diary.  This one gave me his hotel key.  He says he’ll introduce me to some elves.

Love,
Regina

5.  Note passed to Kelli Stormbrunner, age 16

Hey Kel!

Are you going to the prom?  I know nobody’s asked you yet, but you’re really not as plain-looking as you probably think you are, and even if you were, you’re my friend, and if you keep hanging around with me, some guy will want to date you just for a chance to get closer to me!  Look on the bright side!

Anyway I was wondering if you could help me out.  I have some trouble deciding who I should go with.  Help me pick!

#1.  HERMAN GOLKA. 
Pro:  He’s on the football team and he’s really popular.  Plus he’s an upperclassman.
Con:  He’s a total needledick.  All the girls say so, and a couple of the guys too.

#2.  EDDIE RESTON.
Pro:  He’s a really nice guy, and his dad owns a car dealership.
Con:  I remember you saying once that you really liked him, so I wonder, you know, what’s his problem, right?  No offense.

#3.  REGGIE KENDALL.
Pro:  He’s really well-dressed and sweet and rich and a good dancer and he’s so cool.
Con:  He’s one of the guys who told me Herman Golka has a tiny dick, and he’s not even on the football team.

#4.  MONICA SKAALDORF.
Pro:  She’s pretty hot, and we could make money letting the guys watch us kiss.
Con:  When I took Elena Carrasco to the Sadie Hawkins dance, I got my picture in the yearbook under a banner that said “Celebrating Difference”.  Lame!

#5:  TIM MALINEWSKI.
Pro:  Fucks like a wild animal.
Con:  I’m not really sure if I should go to the prom with our history teacher.

Love,
‘Gina

P.S.  Can you believe Rusty Tompkins calls me “GEE-na”?  I tell him my name is pronounced “Ruh-JY-na”, to rhyme with “China”, but he says the other guys laugh at me because of that.  As if!

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