Originally posted 9/17/2010
...I was a precocious, inquisitive and intelligent only child of privilege until one humid afternoon when I became a 12 year old trust-fund orphan. I was sent to live with disinterested relatives mindlessly pushing me towards a future my parents had planned; a medical and/or legal career; marriage to a virgin who would stay home and produce 2-3 heirs. One boy must become a deacon in a Protestant church (my Catholic education ended with my mother's overdose.) And finally: a two-story plantation-style or English Tudor home in the city's best neighborhood. A house with plenty of guest rooms for my freeloading, deadbeat, country-fried relatives.
...I was a precocious, inquisitive and intelligent only child of privilege until one humid afternoon when I became a 12 year old trust-fund orphan. I was sent to live with disinterested relatives mindlessly pushing me towards a future my parents had planned; a medical and/or legal career; marriage to a virgin who would stay home and produce 2-3 heirs. One boy must become a deacon in a Protestant church (my Catholic education ended with my mother's overdose.) And finally: a two-story plantation-style or English Tudor home in the city's best neighborhood. A house with plenty of guest rooms for my freeloading, deadbeat, country-fried relatives.
...Exactly thirty years ago this summer, I stood outside the gates of a private university; tuition paid in advance, people who actually might have an interest in my future very eager to help. Beside me stood my best friend, who was also my boyfriend. No one knew the football quarterback and the tennis playing rich kid were deep in the throes of teenage angst and love.
He began to cry, all 6 foot-whatever he was, and said, "I'm afraid I'll never see you again." Looking across the campus, I saw my future: dutiful, dignified, dedicated to honoring my parents. That future, for me would be a living death.
Now ferfucksakes, my father had worked for the mafia, and every night he slept with a pistol in his nightstand and a revolver under his pillow. My mother, his third wife, was a country girl who had married her childhood sweetheart, but that didn't work out and they divorced. A few years later, she was introduced to my father. She became enamored with this mysterious man and his life. He was INTERESTING. He had LIVED. And he loved her deeply.
Ultimately, they would both wear out (versus rust out). I was 12 years old that sticky June afternoon Mama downed too many Seconals. Four years later, Daddy had a fatal heart attack as he was preparing to drive somewhere.
Being a blend of my parents' best and worst traits, I never fit in with either family side. I had felt lost and alone for so long. And now I'd be leaving the only person I truly loved and felt safe with.
I raised my chin and looked up at Mark. He returned my gaze and his eyes widened as they did when he knew I was about to reject authority. We turned away from the registration tables, ran to his burgundy Camaro and kissed passionately as only young lovers can. We headed back to Dallas at 75 mph. I enrolled at the local college as a Theater major. Never once have I regretted following my heart. I did it my way then: and continue to do so now.
Which brings us to three years ago. From the outside. I was the Guy Who Had It All. And 'on paper', it looked great. But inside, I felt constricted, caged and cold. A new journey was on the horizon, one taking me on the queerest, wildest ride since Mr. Toad revved up at Disneyland or brave Alice walked thru that looking glass.
My education began when I attended an afternoon orgy in Silver Lake. I sampled what I was the finest, most potent cocaine I’d snorted. Expressing my delight to my host, a rotund and fey fellow, his cheerful face changed as if I'd stamped out a cigarette in his lemon chiffon pie. "Didn't you read the ad? This isn't coke. It's crystal meth."
I thought, This is crystal? I see why it's so popular. I'd read about it, had never seen it, and knew no one who used it. Until today.
Instead I replied, "I read the ad. I saw the word 'party.' "And this is one indeed! There are three blow jobs happening in three separate sections of your living room. And over there, a performance or a solo nude tai-chi session,..quite avant-garde and seasoned with Bob Fosse-style hand gestures."
Lowering my voice, I addded."He's a screenwriter who offices at Paramount. His pet name for we peasants who married into the film industry is 'this is the spouse of'. I'm single now and no longer have a title. This is neither the time nor place to refresh his memory. He looks like a zombie."
Instead I replied, "I read the ad. I saw the word 'party.' "And this is one indeed! There are three blow jobs happening in three separate sections of your living room. And over there, a performance or a solo nude tai-chi session,..quite avant-garde and seasoned with Bob Fosse-style hand gestures."
Lowering my voice, I addded."He's a screenwriter who offices at Paramount. His pet name for we peasants who married into the film industry is 'this is the spouse of'. I'm single now and no longer have a title. This is neither the time nor place to refresh his memory. He looks like a zombie."
My host gripped my forearm. "Promise me. Promise me you won't become like him." I looked down: my host's intense expression was one of genuine concern; but mixed with fear. A fear that made me shudder as if the temperature around me had plummeted from sexual inferno to Siberian igloo.
"I promise."
I studied everything I could on 'party and play, aka PNP. I checked out every website and attended more impromptu 'parties'. I’d seen the headlines about overdoses and drug busts. I’d heard of lives ruined...aka 'train wrecks'. I resolved not to be another Hollywood casualty.
To achieve that, I had to be strong, persistant or show any weakness. In my search, I often felt assisted by invisible, otherworldly guides. Websites, contacts, and solutions manifested easily. I would meet some of the brightest, hunkiest and most stubborn SOB’s, as well as liars, gamers, and the criminally insane. I also learned a difficult lesson. Allowing one's jealousy, hatred and pompous arrogance to override natural kindness, forgiveness and common sense can potentially orchestrate our own destruction.
This blog is about the search for myself, and with fingers crossed: the insight to create, implement and commit to personal speed limits. I'll include the men and women I meet along my travels: chipped, tattered, mended and glued back together. And some who I can only describe as 'jes' plain crazy'.
"I promise."
I studied everything I could on 'party and play, aka PNP. I checked out every website and attended more impromptu 'parties'. I’d seen the headlines about overdoses and drug busts. I’d heard of lives ruined...aka 'train wrecks'. I resolved not to be another Hollywood casualty.
To achieve that, I had to be strong, persistant or show any weakness. In my search, I often felt assisted by invisible, otherworldly guides. Websites, contacts, and solutions manifested easily. I would meet some of the brightest, hunkiest and most stubborn SOB’s, as well as liars, gamers, and the criminally insane. I also learned a difficult lesson. Allowing one's jealousy, hatred and pompous arrogance to override natural kindness, forgiveness and common sense can potentially orchestrate our own destruction.
This blog is about the search for myself, and with fingers crossed: the insight to create, implement and commit to personal speed limits. I'll include the men and women I meet along my travels: chipped, tattered, mended and glued back together. And some who I can only describe as 'jes' plain crazy'.
My passion for storytelling was influenced from an early age by my beloved babysitter: a 25" RCA color console television. Our 4, sometimes 6 local channels broadcasted either early morning mid-day, late night and on the weekends, all night movies. It was rumored they were obtained from mysterious midwestern salt mines used as film vaults far underground. These silver nitrate treasures were silent, talked, in black and white or color. Their images shaped my personality, dream world and writing style. My characters are good looking, well-dressed and witty. It's sarcasm spritzed with a double-dry vodka martini.
Good stories need conflict. Who wants to read about happy people in happy places who are always happy? Yawn. I'll share the obstacles thrown in my path by a most formidable and frightening opponent: I learned about him from a 1956 M-G-M sci-fi movie I love called 'Forbdden Planet.' My enemy is known in that film as 'The Monster from the ID". Invisible, clever and ferocious, and hell-bent on destruction. He is my very own self.
This walk on the wilder side begins now: and you are curious...aren't you?
