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Book: I Was a Teenage Fairy
Quotes of Book: I Was a Teenage Fairy

Francesca Lia Block _ I Was a Teenage Fairy
Barbie was no longer afraid of anything. It was like the thing Mab had said about belief. The belief is sometimes the biggest part of it all. You can choose to believe in your published book being held in the loving hands of strangers, your name tattooed forever on the heart of the one you adore; you can choose to believe in tiny red-haired pesky piskies--all the things 'they' may tell you not to believe in. But who are they anyway? What do they know? What makes them any more real?
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Francesca Lia Block _ I Was a Teenage Fairy
She wears a Val Surf T-shirt and boys' boxer shorts and she has a boy's phone number scrawled on her hand. Part of her wants to spit on it and rub it off, and part of her wishes it was written in huge numbers across her belly, his name in gang letters, like a tattoo.
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Francesca Lia Block _ I Was a Teenage Fairy
The night was a rush of steaming pasta, wet irises, Italian leathers, swaddled beggars, skulking boys, sulking girls, garbage piles, pretzel vendors.
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Francesca Lia Block _ I Was a Teenage Fairy
If Los Angeles is a woman reclining billboard model and the San Fernando Valley is her teenybopper sister, then New York is their cousin. Her hair is dyed autumn or aubergine or Egyptian henna, depending on her mood. Her skin is pale as frost and she wears beautiful Jil Sander suits and Prada pumps on which she walks faster than a speeding taxi {when it is caught in rush hour, that is}. Her lips are some unlikely shade of copper or violet, courtesy of her local MAC drag queen makeup consultant.
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Francesca Lia Block _ I Was a Teenage Fairy
Spun sugar clouds and extraterrestrial crystal vintage T-birds flying through space, morning-glory girls swinging from star-hung vines in cosmic gardens.
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Francesca Lia Block _ I Was a Teenage Fairy
This way she could feel the rush of warm air, blowing back her hair as if she were a plant. She could go out into the night and become a part of it and forget who she was.
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Francesca Lia Block _ I Was a Teenage Fairy
If Los Angeles is a woman reclining billboard model and the San Fernando Valley is her teenybopper sister, then New York is their cousin. Her hair is dyed autumn red or aubergine or Egyptian henna, depending on her mood. Her skin is pale as frost and she wears beautiful Jil Sander suits and Prada pumps on which she walks faster than a speeding taxi {when it is caught in rush hour, that is}. Her lips are some unlikely shade of copper or violet, courtesy of her local MAC drag queen makeup consultant. She is always carrying bags of clothes, bouquets of roses, take-out Chinese containers, or bagels. Museum tags fill her pockets and purses, along with perfume samples and invitations to art gallery openings. When she is walking to work, to ward off bums or psychos, her face resembles the Statue of Liberty, but at home in her candlelit, dove-colored apartment, the stony look fades away and she smiles like the sterling roses she has brought for herself to make up for the fact that she is single and her feet are sore.
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Francesca Lia Block _ I Was a Teenage Fairy
If Los Angeles is a woman reclining billboard model with collagen-puffed lips and silicone-inflated breasts, a woman in a magenta convertible with heart-shaped sunglasses and cotton candy hair; if Los Angeles is this woman, then the San Fernando Valley is her teenybopper sister. The teenybopper sister snaps bug stretchy pink bubbles over her tongue and checks her lipgloss in the rearview mirror, . . . Teeny plays the radio too loud and bites her nails, wondering if the glitter polish will poison her.
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