Last night, I went to go see my sister read at the latest Mortified show down at the 92nd Street Y in Tribeca. You know, the 92nd Street Y that is not on 92nd Street. Mortified is a show where people get up and read things they wrote in middle school and high school: diaries, love letters, notes passed in class, poems, short stories. The place was packed, and people laughed from beginning to end: it was really quite a cathartic sound. People get up there and let us in on their crazy little high school world, and yet the laughter coming from the audience is that of recognition – because EVERYBODY, even the “cool kids” – were going through that stuff in high school and writing in a RIDICULOUS manner in their journals throughout. It was awesome. I was wiping tears off my face as Siobhan was reading. Literally wiping them off as they fell, they would not stop coming. It was so funny and so tragic, and so TRUE. You know, we’re all in this human race thing together. That was one of the main things I took from the Mortified show.
As anyone who reads me knows, I’ve been doing my own version of Mortified here since the very beginning, with my Diary Friday series.
Here is an entry from my sophomore year in high school.
JANUARY 7
J. came home with me today. I cannot explain the fun. [And then I proceed to “explain the fun”.]
17 says that a hearty laugh is equal to a 3-mile run. If that is so, then why am I not anorexic?
We watched GH [those initials should need no explanation] and almost cried when Noah hurt Tiffany. [hahahaha Noah!!!!]
We went up to my room and oddly enough we talked seriously for a long time. About prejudice and the Ku Klux Klan. [Like I said in the first paragraph – “I cannot explain the fun”. The FUN of discussing the KKK!] I am terrified of those men. I have horrible nightmares and I hate them so much. How — HOW can someone not like someone because – OF THE COLOR OF THEIR SKIN!!! Or their religion? It is totally unfathomable to me. And it makes me so mad. I could never put the feelings into words. It really really scares me.
We were called downstairs at 5:30 and I had 3 pieces of pizza!!! [Hence, the lack of anorexia.] I am so ashamed.
We left right after for Tootsie.
Guess who was there? Mere, Beth, Michelle and Jayne! We all sat together. I think it was better the second time, because I knew what to expect – and none of the lines flew by me. When Bill Murray said, “You slut” – I swear, Mere and I were leaning over, holding our stomachs, and just LAUGHING. It was great.
When we got home, J. and I went into the den and – I revealed some deep secrets – and I could NOT believe that she did the same thing. I really must sound desperate but, at times, I do pretend that I have a boyfriend. When I’m alone, I act out imaginary scenes with him, and fights, and I turn on Barry Manilow music when we make up. [That is literally the funniest most embarrassing thing I have ever heard in my life.] I lie in bed and pretend that we’ve just made love. I swear, I am in need of a dildo. [I cannot BELIEVE I even knew that word. ??????? I am shocked at my younger self.]
We were laughing so hard though because we both do the SAME things and we never knew about it! I kept going, “I feel as if a great weight has been taken off my shoulders!” We compared stories and laughed endlessly because J. said, “Well, my purple pillow is my boyfriend,” and I said, “Well, my backrest is really good cause it sort of has arms.” We laughed about that for about 15 minutes. I tell you, I’m laughing now!!! J. kept saying it: “It sort of has arms!” I can’t believe that I actually told someone my deep dark secret and found that she did it too. We were lying on the floor in the den, ROARING. But of course we both laugh silently. If anyone had listened at the door, they wouldn’t have even thought we were in there.
At 1:00, we were still up – so we watched a Barbra Streisand movie that was on: “Owl and the Pussycat.” We were dying laughing at her outfit with the handprints on her boobs.
And now, the sun is “spitting morning” into my face. BYE!
I made a Barry Manilow station on Pandora one day. It was as big a mindfuck as you’d think it’d be. WHY DOES YOUR MUSIC TURN ME INTO A 13-YEAR-OLD GIRL, BARRY? WHYYYYYY?
// I made a Barry Manilow station on Pandora one day. //
hahahaha That sounds awesome!! Yes, total time-travel music. I mean, great songs, but still … would NEVER turn to them now if I was “in the mood”. Ahh, to be 15 and never been kissed (yet still yearning for a “dildo”, apparently. I hate that word!)
After about 15 minutes, I reverted back to my junior-high self, all boobs and big hair and low self-esteem. Had I a stuffed Mumbly doll, I would have sobbed into it during Even Now.
Which would have been awkward, since I was at work.
Lisa – yeah, you don’t want to be having that kind of flashback when you’re at work (especially where you work – hahaha! Picturing it now …)
Love the manic “BYE!” at the end as your teen-aged self dashes off for another adventure.
Paul – right, like I’m racing out of my room, calling to my Diary from over my shoulder.
I love it when I actually succumb to the belief that my Diary is somehow a sentient being. “Diary, you have to believe me …” (etc.) Like my notebook is being all judgey about the validity of my experience.
This is golden. You had fights with your make believe boyfriend?! Oh my God, I love you so much right now. That is so sweet and so… sad. : )
I turn on Barry Manilow music when we make up.
I have to stop reading these at work because my boss is wondering why I burst out laughing.
Those backrests with the little arms… you’re talking about those triangular wedge cushions? Because, I am absolutely not making this up, down here in Jersey they are apparently called “husbands.” I looked at Ladybug like she had seven arms when she asked me to get “the husband.” Finally I just yelled in exasperation, “I *am* the husband!” Much laughter.
BTW, thanks to you I now have “Can’t Smile Without You” stuck in my head on a loop. Sigh.
“Like my notebook is being all judgey about the validity of my experience.”
Hahaha!
Yeah, last week I caught my Moleskine dissing me to my sketchbook.
Nightfly – You know I can’t remember who else told me that these backrests were called “husbands” on occasion (hilarious) but I had heard it before! I came up with my idea all on my own in the dark ages. Clearly I was ahead of my time. And it was really the backrest’s fault. I mean, DON’T HAVE ARMS if you don’t want me to hold you!!
:)
And now I have “Mandy” going through my head.
Paul H. – Ha!!! You know that would be a really good comic. A writer’s material dissing the writer behind said writer’s back. It’s probably already been done – but it’s a pretty funny idea!
Mark – hahahaha
Yeah, really, how would you explain yourself to someone who said, “What are you laughing at?”
“Uhm, the image of Sheila in high school making up with her backrest-boyfriend in high school to the sweet tunes of Barry Manilow?”
Cara – I love your ellipses: That is so sweet and so… sad. : )
Totally. I can’t remember what we fought about though. What on earth would it be?
You were fighting over which of you liked Barry Manilow the most, obviously.
Of course. Makes total sense.
I say this with total seriousness: I’ve been thinking about my ellipses a lot lately. I’ve just finished the edits for that editor – it is in God’s hands now – and I’ve become acutely aware of the words I choose, the smirk that I use in almost every sentence I ever write. I don’t know why I do that, why I try to be too smart and too silly. I am trying to stop it. Allow myself to be a little more vulnerable.
The ellipses are me literally searching for the right word. But in this case I failed. It is not “sad” at all. It is actually quite beautiful, and I wish I’d known thirteen year old Sheila. We could practice kissing our Duran Duran posters together or something. I mean that will all my heart.
Oh, darling, I didn’t hear a smirk in those ellipses at all – although I so appreciate your writerly sensitive to grammatical punctuation and what it can connote. I totally got it.
And please, when we ever meet (not if) let’s please kiss our Duran Duran posters? I seriously need to do that.
I also went back to the theater almost immediately and saw Tootsie again.