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Archive for June, 2009

My Old Flame

I attended a good friend’s wedding reception in Iowa last weekend. It was amazing reunion of friends of mine since junior high school that I haven’t seen all together in many years. I could describe my good friend in many ways, and one of them would be “first boyfriend.” I attended my first boyfriend’s wedding reception in Iowa last weekend.

What is a first boyfriend? It’s a boy you meet when you are eleven, performing in your first play, Peter Pan. Two years later, he calls you on your parents’ cordless phone to ask you on a date. Then he asks you your favorite color, which you say is blue even though it’s really pink but you are afraid pink is not a cool thing to say to a boy. Your parents drop you off at the movie theater, you meet him, his best friend, and his best friend’s girlfriend in the lobby, and purchase the tickets to Daylight with Sylvester Stallone. While the other couple is “making out” next to you, you stare at the screen. The boy does the same. As the credits roll, the boy turns to you and says, “Will you be my girlfriend,” as he pulls a small blue ring out of his pocket and confidently puts it on your finger.

There is one thing I really regret about those junior high school years. I really wish my best friend Heather and I didn’t have the routine of taking notes we got from boys, reading them aloud, laughing and crying at the embarrassment we felt, and finally ripping the notes into tiny pieces and flushing the pieces down the toilet.

Luckily, I have a really good memory.

I remember two things about the notes I got from Daniel. 1. On the back of the note he would draw a maze for me to follow during study hall. 2. One note he gave me said, “You are so hot. On a scale of 1-10, 1 being really ugly and 10 being Nicole Kidman, you are a 6.”

And I knew he meant that as a compliment.

The day before I left for Iowa, I found a note that I’d written to Daniel in high school. A love letter that somehow managed to move with me into six different apartments in the last seven years, just hiding away for me to discover. I had the brilliant idea that I would give the note to Daniel at the wedding reception. But I decided against it when I remembered how I really like his wife and would like her to continue to like me also. I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea here! It’s a pretty funny letter. It’s written on United Airlines drink napkin. Here is an excerpt:

I’m probably creeping out the other passengers on this airplane as I write on this napkin while eating airplane pretzels and drinking airplane water. But I don’t care. Just so you know, I am listening to the John Mayer song of the week, “Comfortable,” and it will most likely be on repeat until I land in Denver.

That’s the least embarrassing part of the letter.

This is what Daniel and I looked like when we were boyfriend and girlfriend:
pooh!

 

Yay!  Daniel and Jessica, I wish you all the best. Congratulations!

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Michael Jackson

Everyone is all a-twitter (and all a-facebook status updating) about Michael Jackson’s death. And from Park Slope to Herald Square to Times Square to Harlem to Randall’s Island (the places I’ve been in the last 24 hours), people are talking about him and playing his music from the stores and from their cars.

It’s nice that the overall vibe is positive, as opposed to the all the negative words people said during his trial a few years ago. I remember watching the trial and being relieved that he was found not guilty, but it seemed like most people felt the other way. It turns out, many of my NYC friends were feeling that same way I did, I just didn’t know them yet.

I have many fond memories that relate to Michael Jackson. The students at my college who performed Thriller over and over all day long every year on Halloween. Becoming a fan of Weird Al when I was 9. Reading Zlata’s Diary, “the Anne Frank of Sarajevo,” who mentioned being a big MJ fan in the book. Choreographing Beat It for a neighbor kid to perform on my porch when I was 10– he abandoned the choreography during the performance and just spun around and bounced off the walls and it was wonderful. Dating a guy who called me PYT. Writing my own parody of Heal the World, with lyrics that joked about the Clinton-Lewinsky scandal. That VH1 original movie about the Jacksons (which I think I saw playing just last week on someone’s tv in Iowa). I could go on.

Rest in peace, Michael Jackson! The world loves you.

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Charge it

Tonight, I got an email that started:

“Dear MARGIE KMENT:
One day you started doing things differently. Instead of eating, you began to dine. Instead of planning trips, you started planning journeys. And that was just the beginning.”

OH NO. Before I even got to the part where it asked me to sign up for a fancier American Express card, I had to close my eyes and try to keep my heart from pounding. Oh no. I’m unemployed, but my credit card is insinuating otherwise based on my spending habits. Sorry if I led you on, Amex. Can I call you Amex? I think we should just be friends. I would like to see you a few times a week, but not every single day. Sometimes I’ll get drunk and use you, and sometimes I’ll go too far. But just know, I place you first in my wallet, always. It’s not that I don’t want to make that kind of monetary commitment, it’s just that I can’t. You can understand that, right?

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