early writings

Playing on the theme of my past that's been haunting this blog these days, I thought it would be fun to do an entry on things I'd written from years ago.

Starting from age 9, I thought I would become a writer - specifically, at that age, a poet, but a poet's a writer, just like a square's a rectangle, but not necessarily the other way around. Anyway, I was wise/conceited? enough to keep everything I've ever written, just in case I would be famous some day and people might want to read a nine-year-old's poems. (Imagine reading a sonnet by a school-aged Shakespeare? Not that I'm in any way comparing myself to Shakespeare - though I have written sonnets, and I also enjoy making up words in the name of artistic freedom.)

Here are some bits from my 6th-8th grade English class journal (including the original, sometimes iffy spellings):

11-18-1988

A Dream birthday party

"I walked up the steps to my house. Since it was my birthday, they let me see 'Big' alone, for some reason, in the theater.

Hey, there are no lights on, I thought. Afraid as I was, my curiosity got the better of me and I went inside. The lights were off.

'Suprise!!!,' all of my friends and family yelled."

That would be a dream birthday party come true. A suprise party.

(Ed. comment: It's 21 years later, and I've STILL never been thrown a surprise party. Ah, well ...)

12-19-1988:

Rudolph

Rudolf had a problem
Of course, I mean his nose
Everyday and every night
It always, always glowed
All the reindeer laughed
And they never let him play
Rudolph always moaned and
groaned
All the time until one day
That day, of course, was
Christmas Eve
Santa came over and said
"Rudolph, it is very dark.
Won't you guide my sled?"
Rudolph accepted, and from then
on
He always guided the sled.
Said Santa, "Rudolph you're
such a big help to me,
I hope you'll never be
dead."

(Ed. comment: I much prefer the ending to my version of that song, don't you?)

2-3-1989

Elephant

If you could be an animal, would you be an elephant? Sure, Sharon, Lois and Bram would make your title famous, but so what? People would say "How many elephants can you fit in a car?" and other elephant jokes like that. Also, people would say "Lose some weight!" and make jokes about your weight. I'd hate to be an elephant.

(Ed. comment: I don't get that SL&B reference; what was I talking about?! There's a lot of topical humor in this journal.)

5-15-1989

Untitled

Dear Diary,

Hi! This is your friend Christie Brinkley. I'm all finished with those stupid Prell commercials, so now I can relax and write at pool side. Hmm. I'm going to have to be on Oprah's show at 5, so I have an hour to relax, because it takes me an hour to wash and dry my hair, put on my dress, and put on my makeup. Let's see. What time is it. 4:00! Oh no! Bye diary!

Love,
Christie Brinkly

(Ed. note: See what I mean about topical humor? Also, that's very typical of me at that time, establishing a scenario, getting bored with it and making a quick exit.)

There's lots more where this came from. Maybe I'll switch gears with my journal YET AGAIN and continue this for a while ... ;)

past lives and animated videos

I've jumped on the Xtranormal bandwagon and created a video. You can view it here:

http://www.xtranormal.com/watch?e=20090523013940177

It has to do with my current extended trip down memory lane. :)

Speaking of ... (WARNING: EXTENDED LOST METAPHOR AHEAD!) I've realized that all of this delving into the past has left me a little unstuck in time. The letters I've been reading - and the late hours/quiet times I've been reading them in - have blurred the line between the past and present. I've found myself being anxious over old crushes and guilty about the way I handled some situations all over again.

And my curiosity about the whereabouts/lives of old pen pals, high school friends, etc.? Merely an attempt by my addled brain to amass enough Constants to deal with the situation. If I can place some of the players in these dramas in their current context, then I can re-situate myself and move on.

I just need to purge my house/mind of this stuff and get back to living in the here and now. There's cool stuff ahead ... attending my sister-in-law's wedding, vacationing at the Jersey shore, and working on bringing another Butler into the world. (Yes, you heard/read me right; details to follow this fall, I hope!)

I want to be fully present in the present for all of those things. Especially that last one.

messages of an afternoon

Last week - to be specific, on my 32nd birthday - I was charged with the task of getting all of the rest of my stuff out of my old room at my parents' house. Since I moved out years ago, the "rest" consisted of some books and some really old stuff. Among that old stuff are letters ... lots and lots and lots of them. I have one box full of notes passed during high school as well as love letters from high school boyfriends. There is a folder full of poems and letters from my 12th grade boyfriend. (Note: I really did not date that much at ALL, contrary to how this sounds; I just happened to date writers.)

Today I've been going through a box of letters from pen pals. I've divided them by person and put them in chronological order, so I can recreate my half of the correspondence. I had friendships with a girl from Ohio, a girl from the south of France, a 39-year-old CPA from Tennessee, a boy from NJ (who's an actor and musician now, which is pretty cool) and a boy from CT.

These are letters that I have not read since I first received them, letters that are up to 20 years old! These are people who were important enough to me that I wrote them faithfully once a month, sometimes over periods of several years. And these are people with whom I've completely lost touch for (mostly) unremembered reasons.

Just now, I've been reliving the saga between me and the boy from CT. We met on a Monty Python message board way back in the early internet days, and became a message board couple, even getting "married" through traded posts. (It was different back then, kids, that's all I can say. Also, I was 15 years old!) At that time, in lieu of emails, you could post a message that could only be seen by you and the other person. We shared a couple of, um, racy private posts, particularly for two teenagers with very limited experience with the opposite sex.

Those posts led to letter writing and a few phone calls. Though, obviously, I can't remember those calls, I do have all of his letters from June 1993 - October 1994. Since I will not reveal his name, and I have no intention ever to get in contact with him (for reasons you'll see), I will now summarize our amazing correspondence because it begs to be shared. (Griffin and Sabine, eat your heart out! Modern Love, please call me!)

6/22/1993: 1st letter from him, including a run-down about his looks, birthday, favorites, what qualities/features he likes in a girl, movies he's seen recently, and a coy (and calculated!) mention of a girl he might start dating. He ends by asking for a photo of me, and says that he will include a photo in the next letter because he doesn't have one right now. Letter is signed "luv ya."

7/27/1993: He disparages his handwriting (yes, these letters are hand-written! how old fashioned!), obsesses about Stanley Kubrick films, discusses the way men plot out asking girls out (in response to my complaints about being called a tease; I was a big flirt in HS), mentions how we would be perfect for each other if only we lived in the same place, and talks casually about coming down and visiting me "like, next summer or something." Letter is signed "w/Love & Stuff, Hugs & Kisses, Hand Grenades & Phone Calls." Implores me to write him back QUICK! No photo is included.

8/19/1993: He critiques the video for REM's "Everybody Hurts," talks about seeing movies - and says that The Fugitive is "the most fun I've had all August - aside from thinking of you. (a chorus of 'aaw's come from the mouths of all your girl-friends as you read this letter to them.)" Takes a shot at Gene Siskel (still alive at that time), Wil Wheaton (just off ST: TNG) and a few others. Tells me that "Guys love sex" and that I could use it as a weapon against them, but that I shouldn't do it too often or I'll "be a slut." Talked about a trip to Quebec. Letter is signed "Love." No photo is included.

As you can see, things are starting to happen here ...

9/24/1993: I sent my photo in the last letter, and, as I recall, his response came pretty fast. He opens by commenting on how he loves my photo and that I'm "extremely pretty." (Tee hee!) Sends me a photo back ... 16-year-old Lauren thought he was cute enough; 32-year-old Lauren thinks he's a poor man's Jason Segel, without the sharp comedic timing and musical abilities and with a PONYTAIL. (shudder) (Though I do think Jason Segel is adorable; however, that's 95% his talent/personality and 5% his looks.) Talks about his new p-t job, takes a shot at Doctor Who's Tom Baker, complains about Dave's World (yes, the Dave Barry TV show; he and I were both big DB fans) ... and suggests that we have a non-exclusive long-distance relationship. Letter ends with "Love."

As a romantic without any other good romantic prospects at this time, I said yes. Even though we have never met or talked on the phone. Realize that this is WAY before Match.com and the legitimization of online relationships. But we are two crazy, hormonal teens with a shared love of MPFC and Dave Barry, and I start to daydream about meeting and making out with this guy.

10/21/1993: He asks how M*A*S*H went (I played Hot Lips in the show during HS), talks about working and buying CDs and videocassettes with his wages, continues our convos about Dave's World and the SciFi channel, and says he was published in the school magazine. He is glad that I wanted to become "long-distance boy/girlfriends," and reiterates that we can see other people - though he says that this is more for me (because I am so pretty) than for him (because he is not). Letter is signed "XOXOXO."

12/14/1993: This letter is typed, and significantly longer. I guess I'd started beginning letters with "Dear (insert term of endearment x 10) (his name);" he tries to top me by writing lots of stuff about me, including that he's fallen in love with me, after "Dear Lauren." Yes, he's already said that he's fallen in love with me IN THE HEADER OF THE LETTER. There are some movie reviews and more Dave's World banter (yes, I know!). He calls me beautiful (because I'd slagged off my looks in the last letter), and says that the reason I'm single is because I "don't seem to dress like a slut." (He's not advocating this; he's just saying that that might help me to "get more men.") Then he talks about these girls he's trying to hook up with, and how he cut his hair. He signs the letter with a lot of sexy talk, and PS-es by including his telephone # and asking that I give him mine, so we can talk on the phone.

There's certainly a lot of confusing stuff in there, right? Does he want me to get jealous over those girls? (I did.) Do I call him? Yes, I do.

There is a gap in between letters now; we must've kept in touch over the phone during this time. The next correspondence is on Valentine's Day ...

2/14/1994: He sends two cards. One has a cheesy poem adressed to me (which refers to my hot bod, though not in those terms), talks a lot about love, and is signed "Love and Slow, Passionate kisses." The other talks about how he loves me AND is in love with me. This second card made me very giggly at the time, and made its way to school for my friends to see.

4/11/1994: It starts out talking about Monty Python's Contractual Obligation Album. There is a mention of our spending time together and a mention of our having sex together.

Then in the second paragraph, he wants to know if we can have sex when we meet. He goes on to say that he's a virgin, and he wants to lose his virginity to me because I'm the right girl. (Or, rather, he says that he's "got a strong feeling that it's [me].") In the PS, he asks that, if we do have sex, that I should "please try to keep [my] virginity until 'you-know-when.' It's just one of those things."

Now, when I read this letter on the couch just now, I had to stifle my laughter so I didn't wake up the Kid. I'd COMPLETELY FORGOTTEN about this indecent proposal. I tried to think how nearly 17-year-old me would've reacted to it ... not as giggly, obviously, as I was, ah, still flowered, and hadn't been in a situation like this before.

Judging from the next letter, I must've freaked out and panicked a little. I think that I decided that this had run its course, and to try to get out of this relationship. However, I had never broken it off with anyone and didn't quite know how to do it ...

5/23/1994: He starts by saying that my "'getting back to our old relationship' thing is a wonderful idea." He says that he'd actually fallen out of love with me, but that he didn't want to tell me, blah blah blah. (Hmm, I wonder when this happened - before or after I turned him down for sex?) Then he says that our "dating" had messed with his love life, and talked about all of these girls that he was dating during that time and how things didn't end well. He gets upset because I kept saying that I was busy (obviously I was blowing him off), that we're great friends, and that it's "[my] loss" if I don't want to keep in touch. Letter is signed "Love."

10/17/1994: I guess I'd still talked to him over the phone once or twice, as he refers to this. He talks about getting some late-night chow and coffee at an IHOP, and talks about going through depression. He has a girlfriend now named Shannon, and talks about how awesome it was having sex with her for the first time - and the times after that. But then he gets kinda sad and dark and basically alludes to the fact that this girl is "the right girl by default" but that he's not sure of her. He mentions in a PS that she's jealous of me and that she wants to read my letters (surprise, surprise - I'd want to do the same if I were in her shoes!).

At this point, I think I stopped writing, and he did, too. It was my senior year of HS, and I'd started dating someone locally, starred in my high school play, and got accepted into college, so my life got a lot busier and fuller.

Reading over these letters again, after having a lot more experience with guys under my belt (so to speak), it's so funny how different my take on this "relationship" is. Clearly, this guy really did fall for me, but he was employing all of these face-saving and get-me-jealous maneuvers. It's always a surprise when guys fall harder than girls, isn't it? I saw this as more of a lark than anything else.

Though I wonder what he made of his life, I think it would be really weird for both of us to talk. Sometimes, the past should stay buried.

And sometimes, you should tear it up and throw it away. Which is what I did with each letter after I summarized it. And which is what I'll do with every old letter I have.

There is a weight that the past has, even if it's unremembered. I need to let it go, to erase it, to focus on what's now and what comes next.

PS: I did look him up just now ... He's done a lot of online film criticism, and lived in NY in 2003. Turns out we were in the same place at the same time at one time.

feeling generous

Do you want something from me? Well, here's your chance!

http://www.facebook.com/note.php?created&&suggest&note_id=88740765859&id=

explanations

This summer, it'll be 10 years since I graduated from college. I always assumed that, after this much time had passed, I'd be romanticizing my time there and wishing that I was back.

This is not the case.

It's not that I didn't have a good time at dear old Penn State University; I did. But I came to college, like many people I think, with great expectations:

I thought (hoped? assumed?) that I'd meet my true love there. Yes, I dated a few people, and even got engaged, but did not meet my husband until I came to New York.

I thought (hoped? assumed?) that my acting career would take off. I ended up having stomach problems, dropping out of the acting track in the second half of my junior year and switching to opera, which I did for two semesters but decided not to pursue. (I would've had to stay in school to get the credits for a minor in music, then applied to grad school. I wanted to graduate on time.)

I thought (hoped? assumed?) that I'd meet life-long friends there. Thanks to Facebook, I am in touch with lots of my college friends, but my best friends are my husband and Ruth, whom I met in elementary school.


So, no longings for college here ... though I wouldn't turn down a chocolate peanut butter milkshake at the Corner, or a black-and-white malt and sliders at Baby's. :)

If anything, I've become very nostalgic for high school these days. It probably started when I saw High School Musical, which I'm sure would be one of my FAVORITE. MOVIES. EVER. if I was a tween again.

In high school, my goals were simple: to star in a school play and have a boyfriend. In my senior year, I achieved both of those things. It didn't take a confluence of luck and timing and right-place, right-time and busting your hump to get those things going ... I did what I loved, and the rest, as they say, followed.

Imagine being able to achieve your dreams in your adult life! It happens to some people, obviously, but not for the great mediocre majority of us. The people I know who have gone places, who are strivers, have done so at the expense of other things that I want and have - namely, a spouse, child and stability.

I don't think that I wanted those things more than success; it's just that, for me, it was easier to obtain them. Perhaps if there had been a clearer path for me - if I'd pursued an English degree and had a chance to get a script supervisor position at a TV show, leading to a job as a staff writer on a sitcom, which is ALL I REALLY WANT, and it's NOT EVEN A VERY LOFTY GOAL - I would've made a different choice.

But it is what it is. I'm here, other people have had TV shows and book deals, and I'm annoyed and jealous and depressed and lazy about it all.

And if everyone around me was as lazy as I was, I wouldn't even be in this existential pickle, now would I? :)

this morning

I've been prickly and on edge for the last few days, like a plate in mid-air, on its way to a thousand shattered pieces on the ground and pissed off at that newbie waiter who thought he could get me where I'm going without a hitch.

So when a plate did break - this morning, courtesy of my daughter - I shattered, too.

I yelled at her, and cried openly in front of her, hoping that she would cry.

I wanted her to feel as miserable as I did ...

....not so that she'd feel guilty ...

....but that I wouldn't be alone in feeling miserable.

It didn't work - she's too smart to fall for my manipulative tricks. She kicked my head as I mopped up porcelain with a wet paper towel, and kept asking for "juice."

So I'm now one saucer short of a tea set (not a metaphor) and still down in the dumps (a metaphor).

poetry corner: [untitled]

i have always been
an "i'm fine"-er,
answering the question
with a barely considered
mostly untrue
"I'm fine."

and lately it seems
that i'm no longer
getting asked this question:
"How are you?"

do people no longer
care to know
this about me?

do people assume the
answer
before i even say it?

did i spend too much time
recuperating and
feeding my baby -
days full of television
and being touched
and not doing anything
for me -
saying that nothing was going on
because it wasn't going on
for me

so that now,
when i'm trying to make things
happen ...
when i'm trying to
get myself back ...
when i'm really wanting
to be
SOMEONE
to be
LAUREN
to be
SEPARATE and ALONE ...

...

i'm not even worth asking after?