Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Will You Still Love Me, Tomorrow? (The Shirelles)

Lately I have been thinking a lot about the past. I see a lot of my high school classmates on facebook are married and have kids. Others of my college classmates are engaged and on their way to making babies. It was only yesterday we were all hearing the bell ring and going to third period. It was only yesterday that I was dressed in too much makeup and had my Groucho Marx doll. It was only yesterday I needed knee pads for my freshmen movement class with Joanne. It was only yesterday I had dance class with Jeffrey and he rode my ass like a rented mule about staying focused, staying in the moment, and making me believe I could do anything. It was only yesterday I was on my way to Pips to do a set riding the Q train in the dead of the night and returning pretty much blitzed but having a good story that had it’s climax at El Greco’s. Then of course there was Kohli’s speech class and then the open mic at Boston.
As for guys, between seventeen and my early twenties was such a tender and innocent time. I still remember being seventeen and having the guy I wanted to take me to the dance flat out reject me. These days I would be moving and grooving reminding him about how I am doing well and it is his loss. In those days I just went to my room, closed the door, and balled my eyes out. Was it a pathetic reaction? Probably. But I was just a kid. I combed my hair before bed. I worked bagging groceries at the supermarket. My Saturdays were spent taking dance and acting classes in the city. Working towards an ultimate goal was my main objective. I had never been kissed and just wanted that much. Was that such a hefty request?
Heck eighteen felt better but it really wasn’t. There was a friend things sort of got complicated with. He was a bad boy and I was a good girl. I still remember the smell of Marlboro Reds and his beat up Caddie. I really dug him but was too shy to tell him. Plus he was the kind of boyfriend that my dad would have greeted with a shotgun. Still heartbreak sucks no matter how young or old you are. The difference is that you just learn to deal with it. The crazy thing is, after him I dated a slew of the worst guys. They were all mother’s nightmares at the core. I didn’t go after them but just like my friend had they found me and I fell for them all the same. While in the end my heart was usually broken I just couldn’t stop myself.
These days when my friends tell me they are in love I can usually find fault with Mister or Missus Right. Usually I am correct, that’s the sad part. Still in a way I wish I were wrong. I wish I were bright eyed, bushy tailed and had an open heart when it came to love. I wish a guy doesn’t ask me out and after the check comes I ask, “So how are we splitting this and who’s leaving the tip?” Not to mention poetry, when a guy reads me a love poem I want it to be an original instead of a plagiarized mixture of William Blake and Shakespeare. Trust me, I know my poetry seeing that I was a lit minor in college and that before settling on theatre as a major I juggled the idea of either being a Literature or History Professor. Then the lines, oh please.
But I want to go back to a time in my life where I believed in all the fairy tales before I realized that Disney corrupted my mind. I want to believe those love poems are real and not ripped out of the pages of a book. I want to know the guy will pay on the first date even if we have to dine and dash. Then again they say once you become a pickle you can never be a cucumber again.
Last night I was cleaning and watched Peggy Sue Got Married and Moonstruck. Both good pics and masterpieces. Nicholas Cage says it best in Moonstruck, “Love isn’t always nice or pretty.” He is damn right about that. Still for once I wish it was all tied up in a bow with a happy ending like in While You Were Sleeping.
Sigh, Hollywood has corrupted my mind.
Love April

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