August 15, 2007

I pressed my palms into my eyelids until I saw fireworks and spirals explode from the darkness.

I remember when this was better than any drink – than any substance – placed in front of me. I would sit in the car, waiting for my mother to finish running an errand, and would place my palms flat against my face, close my eyes, and press in. The rush. I felt as if I was pulling these images – these bursts – from my imagination.

Little strings of my wildest dreams in the form of indescribable colors and shapes.

prime time of your life

August 15, 2007

In the near future, I’ll be picking up my life (again) and leaving New York.

Things haven’t been perfect, sure, but things havent been bad either.

I’ve loved working at Partizan Entertainment. It has – by far – been the best internship experience I’ve had to date. I’ve learned so much, and had such a great time through it all.

I’ve found a friend I now feel like I could never survive without (and don’t know how I made it this far without him in the first place.)

I’ve managed to keep in touch with my man and not feel like I’ve been so far for so long.

I’ve figured out which friends are in it for the long haul, and which ones only stand by until you fall. The ones that have stuck by me through thick and thin are the ones who know me. I love them more than words can describe.

I’ve learned my limits of stress. I know how hard I can push myself – literally how much weight I can carry – and when I need to stop, check myself, and chill out.

This summer had its highs and lows, but over all, I wouldn’t change a thing.

Sorry this is so… emo. Packing makes me sensitive.

punctuation.

August 15, 2007

toes curling
searching for feeling
after playing for hours in the snow

fingers locked
one next to the other
electric waves from fingernail to fingernail

neither one could predict the weather

She was a movie star. Not just one of those movie stars that pre-pubescent girls stand in line to get a glimpse of, but a movie star in a sense that She lived, breathed, talked, and walked “movie star.”

You could call Her a Diva. But these days, that’s not too nice to say, now is it?

Chanel this. Prada that. Nothing was too expensive for our lover of the limelight. She would parade down the red carpet in her new Dolce and Gabana lace minidress, with Her startlingly bright Cosabella underwear exposed to the world. (It’s as if She wanted the attention…) She’d throw around her Louis Vuitton purse as if it were last season’s Fendi Baguette. It was a sport, entertainment, an art, a career – all of the worlds that She loved rolled into one.

She’s been married 5 times. Well, technically 6, but it was a “spiritual marriage.” The others had pre-nups.
Once to her manager, but that was broken off after he wanted more than 15% after the pre-nup. She quickly broke it off; It was as if he was put salt on a slug.

She immediately moved on to Paulo. Paulo didn’t have a last name. All anyone knew was that he was beautiful, Italian, and swept Her off her feet. She met him on a promotional tour of Europe, and they eloped to the Alps. She was gone for three weeks. She wouldn’t answer her cell phone or have contact with anyone else. But then She suddenly reappeared in Aspen, Utah the next winter, sporting a new tattoo on Her left bicep that read: “Paulo 4 Ever.”

But Paulo was not in Aspen.

He was still in Italy with his wife and five children.

But nobody seemed to notice.

Then there was Her trainer, Troy. (That didn’t last long.) Six out of every seven mornings, $35,000 a month, and twenty-something repetitions of whatever would tone her obliques, equaled a twenty-something hunk in bed every night for 7 months.

But of course, Troy got old, literally. Once he hit 25, he wasn’t allowed in Her bed anymore.

She really liked her trainer; She was crushed for weeks. She wore big sunglasses and sweatpants everywhere, She refused invitations to premiers, and She avoided the press. Some suspected abuse, others thought depression – when in reality, She was just upset that her 30th birthday was quickly advancing towards her.

Ulysses “Marty” St.Dory van Weibenhaussen lived in a Hampton’s mansion. At 89 years old, Marty was confined to his wheelchair, but was regularly attended by Gloria, his Asian personal nurse. Marty was the last living member of the St.Dory van Weibenhaussen family, which had made him the only heir to the family fortune, which was made through “spork” production and Swiss diamond mining in the late 60s.
After two months of courtship, they married at his private mansion and prepared to go on a honeymoon… to the backyard pool. Sadly, 24 hours before they were to be married, but 3 hours after he signed the revised version of his will (leaving everything to her,) Marty tragically died after falling off his alligator raft in the backyard pool. When asked why She didn’t jump in to save him, She claimed She had never learned to swim. And that Her nails were still wet with “Cherry Dream” polish.

After living the single life for a year or two, She found love with Julia. Julia was a beautiful blonde actress with dreams of making it big on Broadway. They quickly fell in love, and She did everything in her power to help Julia reach her dreams of stardom. They were in love, and were spiritually married three months after they met. They were officially together… until Julia dumped Her, stating that She was “bringing down her career.”

Her last husband didn’t want to live in the public eye. Known in the industry as a “hermit,” Patrick felt that She was under a lot of stress at that point in her career, and took her to Montana. She disappeared for a few years, living in a small town on a cattle ranch they bought together. Everything was going well until he got a job working for the CIA. She constantly asked where he was going late at night, and he would reply with “I work for the CIA. If I told you where I was going, I’d have to kill you.”

She assumed he was having an affair, and smeared his name all over the tabloids.

It lasted three months.

She returned asking for mercy from the masses, and released a new movie about how love lasts forever.

She didn’t get married again after that.

She had people. Not just regular people, but She had “Her people.” If you wanted to talk to Her, you had to go through

“Her people.” If you wanted a meeting, “Her people” would meet with “your people” and do lunch.

When She said “jump,” they jumped.

When She said “talk,” they spoke.

When She said “I want every inch of my pink baby grand piano polished with albino angora rabbit fur,” they polished every inch of her pink baby grand piano with albino angora rabbit fur.

No questions asked.

No request was too big, no task too small. Everything for Her was just right.

You’re probably assuming there’s a catch to Her fairy tale world. Well there’s not. Really. She lived the American Dream: small town girl grows up to be big movie star. She gets to play dress up in Her own closet every morning. Her hair can be a different color every week. She has servants, butlers, and maids living on Her every move. We all want parts of what She has.

But does She want what we have?

Does She want the normal life? The 3 kids, the white picket fence, and the golden retriever named “Loretta” after your great aunt? Does She want to go grocery shopping and not be recognized? Does She want to wake up every morning, make waffles with thick maple syurp, make sure that Her children drink all of their orange juice, and that they eat all of their Kellogg Corn Flakes AND drink the milk out of the bowl (therefore making it part of your balanced breakfast?) Does She want to kiss “boo-boos” to make them better? Does She want to kiss Her husband goodbye in the morning and goodnight before bed? Does She want to wake up with her hair messy and be able to walk down the stairs in her bathrobe?

Does She yearn for that 8-5 job with the bad benefits, but enough of a dental plan to make it worth it? Does She want to be the domestic goddess of today? Where is the June Cleaver in her life? Where is the Betty Crocker? Julia Child? Florence Nightengale? Carol Brady?

All She sees is the Marilyn Monroes, the Liza Minelli, the Judy Garlands, the ZsaZsa Gabors, the Elisabeth Taylors, and the Katherine Hepburns in Her life. “Domestic” is listed in Her thesaurus under “weak.” In Her world, “Domestic” is only used when referring to a pet.

Does she have everything, or does she have nothing? The idea stretches both ways like a piece of new taffy.

But she doesn’t eat taffy. Its bad for her porcelain venires.