by Jeanne Lee
The thing is, along with being somewhat smart, I also sang, played flute in the band and had been doing plays since I was about 10. I thought of myself as a performer, not a computer nerd. Then, I had to take a logic course. Dear lord, what a mess that was … I am NOT logical. If A and C happen, but B only happens every other time and D and E are siblings and it rains on Saturday then what will F do? I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT! I tried. I really did. I punched my cards (and would then drop them all and cry because I forgot to number them). I would listen for my name to be called to see if my program would run with no mistakes and they would call “JCL” (which stood for Job Control Language” which are also my initials, Jeanne Catherine Lee, and I’d have to fight back tears). I even tried to join a computer club where a bunch of white, pasty guys got super stoked about new machinery that hit the market. “Have you heard of the HP 5000”? No, no, I had not!
So, I’d sneak over to the theatre building. There was a class every Friday afternoon in the smaller theatre and I went, listened, absorbed, saw student performances and lectures and guest speakers. It was fantastic. The older gentleman who ran this class stopped me one day. “I don’t know who you are.”
“Hi, I’m Jeanne and I’m, ummm, auditing your class.” He just smiled. “Can I audition for the student directors who are going to do showcases?”
“Yes, yes, you can.”
I auditioned and ended up doing a one-act play about a young woman who during the course of the play admits to killing her mother. After the showcase, the head of the department asked me to come see him. I went to his office and he asked if I was a theatre major. I explained that my parents would only pay for college if I studied computers, but my heart was really with performing. He offered me a tuition scholarship, money for books and a chance to get on work-study and do some hours in the box office. My love for this man is immense. He offered this to me, and I said “yes.” I told him I would call my parents that night.
That phone call did not go as I had envisioned.
Now that I’m a parent, I get it more. They were disappointed, angry, sad, disillusioned. But, but again, had they met me? I was not cut out to be a computer science person. And, I was calling to let them know that they didn’t have to pay for a thing because that was the deal. My mom was floored and even said, “Don’t come home for Christmas,” but then she took it back quickly. Next, my dad got on the phone and simply said, “I feel sorry for you,” and passed the phone back to my mom.
I remember crying for hours. If this had been a montage in a cheesy teen movie, rain would be dripping on the windows as I stared out, devastated, while an 80’s power ballad played in the background. I was on one of the top floors of my dormitory (I think the 12th or 13th floor), staring out at the night, feeling abandoned and hurt. I didn’t want to disappoint my parents, but I thought it was such a good solution. I would do what I was interested in and they weren’t going to have to pay a dime. They got over it and we carried on, but my parents never came to see any of the shows I was in and I worked very hard to pay for my rent and food, cleaning houses on the weekends, and working in the box office between classes and shows. I think of that time fondly.
I remember my mom coming to my graduation day and staring at some of the pictures of the shows that I was in that were mounted on the walls of my department and I sensed that she felt a loss. When I decided to continue my acting studies and get a Master’s Degree, she actually came and saw some of the shows I was in. She told me she sort of got it (as much as she could). It was something I was good at, something that was exciting, magical.
Honestly, I hate that I disappointed them, but I’m happy about the paths I chose. I wouldn’t be who I am today without art, creativity, collaboration. I’m a bit of a loner by nature and theatre always gave me a home, a community. As an adult, I only get to dip my toes in the pool every once in a while. It’s somewhat maddening, but we all make choices. I choose, for now, to parent as best I can. Hopefully, once my birds are able to fly, I’ll be well enough to continue my magical adventures at my home-away-from-home. I can at the very least, go see more theatre and be inspired in that way.
(A short play in nine scenes to work out
my demons on aging and food)
Scene 1: THAT WHORE!
Woman, let’s call her ME (looking in the mirror): (studies face) Wow … gravity is not just a bitch; she’s a whore, a crack whore, the whoriest whore in all the land. Ugg. Stinky whore. I really need a magic potion to suck out this chin fat, and some Home Depot spackle to erase some of these wrinkles, and a forklift to raise my gravity-laden cheeks so I don’t look like my 82-year-old father. OR, or …mmmm … (trying to get a grip) . . .I am 52. This is what my face looks like at 52. (Staring) Damn it. I’m just shallow enough that this is really bothering me and just lazy enough to not figure out what to do about it.
Scene 2: TO TELL THE TRUTH
Me and Friend talking. Locale—Kitchen/coffee house/bus stop
Me: My kids got me an LED mirror for Mother’s Day that’s regular on one side and magnified, ummm, a million times on the other side.
Friend: Geez.
Me: I know, right? I can see all of my pores. I feel like I can see inside my head, peruse my sinus cavities. And the lines on my forehead look like bacon strips. AND I can’t even talk about my “age” spots that I never noticed before.
Friend: You know you can’t cover those with foundation. You’ll look ridiculous.
Me: You know I don’t own foundation.
Friend: Oh, right. Well, don’t even think about it. If it really bothers you, you’ll have to get a peel.
Me: Oh, my gawd, I had a manager do that once and she had to come to work for a few days in Jackie O glasses and a scarf that covered her whole face. She could kind of pull it off, but she showed me under the scarf, and, and …it was like she was the snake in the Harry Potter adventures, shedding her outside skin. It was horrible. I’d have to take vacation days and just sit in the dark for a week.
Friend: I’m not sure how to tell you this …so, I’ll just say it. I’m getting a face-lift.
Me: SHUT UP!
Friend: No, really. And a boob lift.
Me: WHAT!!!
(Pause)
Me: You’ve gone to the dark side.
Friend: You’re just jealous.
Me: You got that right, sister.
(Lights fade as the friends clink glasses or high five.)
Scene 3: WHAT CAN I EAT??
(At a restaurant ordering)
Me: Ummm …let’s see. I’ll have the chicken pecan salad …no wait; can I have that with no dressing? Are the vegetables organic? Is the meat free range? And could you just give me half and put the other half in a to-go box? No croutons, no cheese …And I’d like a water with lemon …is it bottled water? Is the lemon organic?
Friend: Well, you’re just a party waiting to happen, aren’t you? I’ll have a cheeseburger and fries. Thanks.
(The two friends just stare at each other.)
Me: I hate you.
Friend: That’s fair.
Scene 4-CARB-O-LICIOUS
Women lined up, a la Chorus Line:
1: I LOOOOVE DARK chocolate, and not just because it’s good for you. I sincerely like it.
2: Oooooo, kale chips are the best. When I make them at home, my kids just inhale them.
3: I am trying so hard, but I just can’t seem to gain any weight.
(Everyone just turns and stares at number 3.)
3: Honest, I’m eating tons of carbs and everything.
(Everyone turns back in disgust.)
(Big collective sigh and a big ole
stage whisper of “CARBS.”)
4: I read somewhere that steak and butter are the new cottage cheese and pineapple.
(Everyone quickly nods.)
5: It’s all about the protein, baby.
6: I was eating 90 grams of protein a day and losing weight like crazy … but, I did develop a
kidney stone.
1: Was it worth it?
6: Oh, totally. Well, I did go down to 60 grams and I’m much happier.
2. I can’t poop.
(Everyone agrees, nods, affirms.)
3. Eat a banana.
(Everyone is in disagreement.)
5: You can NOT eat a banana …(whispers) carbs …
2. I can’t eat a banana??
4. Well, you CAN, but …
5. You’ll be sorry.
6. But you WILL poop.
2. Geez, Carbs have become the new “C” word. People are scared to say the word or they’ll plump out.
(Looks back and forth.)
2: You’re all scared to say it …I dare you!
(Everyone murmurs—I’m not scared. Well, that’s
just ridiculous. What’s wrong with her, etc.)
2: I. dare. Someone!! SAY IT!!
5: Fine. (Pause) Car—b.
6. Wait, I can do it. (Whispers) Carbohydrates.
2: All of you—together!
Everyone: “CAAAAAR—I gotta go; I need to pick up my kids; I have a meeting; gotta scoot; I left my iron on, etc.” and they disperse. Number 2 is left alone on stage.
2: Supercalafragilistic Expi-alidocious—I’m a little chubby ‘cause I love carbs the most-est.
Scene 5: DON’T EAT PIZZA
Woman staring at pictures of pizza.
(Sung to “ALL BY MYSELF”)
When I was young,
I never needed anyone,
And eating you was just for fun.
Those days are gone.
Livin’ this long,
I think of all the pizzas I’ve known.
When I dial the telephone,
My stomach does a little moan.
NO MORE PIZZA …
I hate Atkins.
NO MORE PIZZA …
Anymore …
Hard to be sure,
The taste just fills me to the core.
A great sauce that I live for,
Remains the cure.
NO MORE PIZZA …
Just wanna eat
Sausage Pizza …
Nevermore.
NO MORE PIZZA …
Carbs are the devil.
No more pizza …
Anymore …
When I was young,
I never needed anyone,
And eating you was just for fun.
Those days are gone.
Scene 6:”SOOGAR, YES, PLEASE …”
Woman: So, for a while it was “low fat” everything. Anyone remember SNACKWELL cookies? Well, I do. I wanted to eat the whole darn box. They’re kind of like Girl Scout cookies, only not as good. I think they’re still around. Then it was “Oh, no …wait, some fat is okay; it’s the carbs; don’t eat carbs.” My heart was broken when I realized chocolate was a carb. I can go without bread, pasta, rice, cracker-y things, but sugar? Crap. I LOVE sugar. I am a complete addict. AND I really mean it in the truest sense of the word. I’m not sure I can go a day without sugar. I could probably go a day … maybe. I know it’s a habit, but I crave it; I think about it; I want it so, so bad. I suppose it’s better than smoking or being an alcoholic, but it’s not good for me. And, I don’t have much control over it.
When one of my boys was very little, he was invited to neighborhood birthday parties. It took me a few times to figure this out, but after each party, my boy would vomit profusely. Exorcist stuff, not pretty. After the second or third time, I watched him at a gathering. He would go from table to table and eat nonstop. He had no off switch; it was sooo weird. I went up to him and said, “Hey, buddy, do you feel full?”
“Nope!”
“Well, stop eating for a while; I’ll tell you when you can have something again.”
Boy, he was mad, but he didn’t throw up that night.
That’s how I feel about sugar; I can ask myself, “Are you even hungry, Jeanne?” and even if the answer is no, I still want that warm brownie or chocolate chip cookie. I really do.
It’s more than just a habit; although, I realize that that is part of it.
I am sugar’s bitch.
Scene 7: WAHHHHH . . .
Woman: So, I saw daddy go get the mail. It was the first time he seemed OLD to me—ever.
Mom: Why?
Woman: Well, he was just shuffling out to the mailbox in his slippers; it was an old man shuffle. Plus, the sun hit his head in just the right way and his hair looked gray! He doesn’t have gray hair!! But, now that I look, I can see it a little bit, little streaks.
Mom: Well, he woke up last night and a filling came out of his tooth.
Woman: While he was sleeping?
Mom: Yep. Just fell right out. No eating, no nothing … …just beddy-bye time. Pop.
Woman: I’m getting this weird image of a Mr. Potato Head man and the parts are just falling out; I should invent the “Elderly Mr. Potato Head” … give him a gray moustache, maybe a cane. I could make millions.
Mom: Add some low hanging balls and you’ll be in Bill Gates territory.
Woman: MOM!
Mom: Well … oh, and the Mrs. Potato Head could have little hairs and skin tags to put all over.
Woman: Geez.
Mom: Get ready, dear heart.
SCENE 8—Cookie Brain
Woman (to audience): So, I’m going to try this new diet. (Pause) I spent $500 on food, it came today, and it all fit into the equivalent of a shoebox. It’s in various envelopes. I’m calling it the astronaut diet. You add water to everything and voila! Food.
I’ve been on it for a week and aside from the splitting headaches that make me feel like I must have a brain tumor and a few vomiting incidents, I’ve been fine, AND I lost 5.45 lbs. And 3 inches, mostly in my boobs.
Baby steps.
One woman on the program has lost 85 lbs. and gives herself one day a week that she can eat whatever she wants. I hope that’s me some day. But for now, it’s SO restrictive. I can’t have any fruit and only broccoli, cucumber, and cauliflower. I hate cauliflower, so, I’m down to two veggies.
I wish I could have a healthy relationship with food. I feel either guilty or sad or stupid around food. I’ve tried so, so many ways (Jenny Craig—twice, Weight Watchers, Nutrisystem) and nothing really works for me. I mean we have to eat, but it should be to fuel our bodies. So, tell me this; why do cookies exist? When I grew up, I had my own cookie drawer. That’s right, I got a package of cookies for the week and they were mine, all mine. I could eat one a day or eat a bunch at once and nobody else could have them. I became a cookie hoarder.
I didn’t really gain weight until my pregnancies though; add 2 major back surgeries, an unhappy marriage and this premenopausal crap …throw in aging and I feel like I’m climbing up a down escalator.
So, I suppose I’m persistent (pause) or stupid, but I’m going to keep going, keep trying …
God, I want a cookie.
Scene 9—Livin’ the Dream
Women are lounging around eating doughnuts, cookies, cakes off a communal tray and ENJOYING it all.
Woman (walking into scene): Where am I? How did I get here? Ummm … wait, what, what are you guys doing?!
W1: Enjoying each bite. (Others agree)
Woman: No, NO! This stuff is terrible for you. You need to show some self-restraint.
W2: It’s okay; don’t worry so much.
W3: (sings) Don’t worry; be happy! (Others join in)
Woman: (staring at everyone) Aren’t you worried (stops herself), I mean, concerned that you’ll have to drink a lot of water and work out even harder if you eat all this stuff?
W4: Nope.
Woman: And why not?
W5: Because sweetheart, this isn’t real. You’re daydreaming, and you need to chill the fuck out and eat a brownie.
Woman: I’m not dreaming.
W1: Really?
W2: (grabs a sheet cake and flies off stage)
Woman: Well, you may have a point.
W3: So?
(Pause)
Woman: Move over. (She starts eating and laughing with the others over Bobby McFerrin music.)
Thankful for ultrasounds
And warmed up goo
Thankful for babies
AND contraception too
Thankful for biopsies
That are all clear
Thankful for paps
Once every three years
Thankful for mammos
That go off without a hitch
Even though they make me feel
Like a squeezed boob sandwich
Thankful for doctors and mates
Who smile each day
I got a little mushy
What can I say?
I’ve never been a fan of perfume. I do like lotions and occasionally some oils, but perfume that you get coerced into buying from the perfume lady at Nordstrom, take home and leave on your bathroom counter for 10 years . . .no thank you. I think they tend to smell metal-y and the scent overwhelms me. Plus, I’ve never wanted to smell like my Aunt Gertie who left a vapor trail of Shalimar as she traveled from room to room.
Every once in a blue moon, I get the itch though—the “I’ll just wear a drop and feel all girlie and brighten my day thing.” So, I found a miniature vial of perfume in my drawer, one of those samples that cashiers throw in your bag after you buy your mom her Chanel No. 5 for Christmas, and I decided to dab just a teensy tiny bit on. So, I wiggled the top off, and BAM—perfume everywhere! Wow. It was such a little amount to start out with, but the smell was so over-the-top. I wiped it all up, threw it in the garbage and the stench will not leave. That’s right; it is now officially a stench. I took the garbage outside, and seriously, I think the neighborhood crows have moved down a block. I’ve taken multiple showers and I can still smell it on me. I’ve scrubbed my bathroom counter and it won’t go away. How is this possible? The potency is remarkable.