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By Misti Date: 2002 Sep 19 Comment on this Work [[2002.09.19.18.45.18537]] |
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"Wine (or beer...or whiskey...or tequila), women (or men) and song are vital to a true writer, at least in the beginning. In the end all you need is the song." ...I recently left the above comment at coujeaux's. Maybe it's true, maybe it's bullshit. Maybe all any writer needs is a good dictionary and the ability to be alone for long periods of time. Life experience and endless risks are what have made me a better writer. It all began with my Snoopy diary at age nine. My entries mostly detailed what I had to eat that day and what I watched on television. (brb, I'm gonna try to find the diary) Well, hell. Couldn't find the Snoopy diary. But I found chapters of novels I began and never finished, the little yellow bag they gave me in the hospital after I gave birth to Julie Kate (still full of formula and Downy and coupons and stuff), Christmas cards and cards of encouragement (something I've required a LOT of throughout my life!), a red second place ribbon for a beautiful baby contest Mom put me in at the mall when I was three, my Beatles calendar from 1996 (with doctor's appointments written in...I was pregnant with Julie Kate), semi-love letters from two different guys, my pathetic early attempts at poetry, the Ntozake Shange quote that I'm gonna use for my AOL sig ("i found god in myself & i loved her...i loved her fiercely"), a list of 20 songs I wanted to dub on a blank tape (three by Michael fuckin' Bolton!!!), a James Dean postcard (James in a cowboy hat with a cigarette dangling from his lips...sexxay!), Walt Disney's Lady and the Tramp (a book with the spaghetti sharin' pic on the front...inscribed to Julie Kate), two Barbie dolls I bought for Julie Kate (Sparkle Beach Christie and Sparkle Beach Teresa), mini-photo albums mostly filled with pictures of J.K., colored index cards from college (I made flash cards for studying) and my jellybean diary. Inside I wrote,"This diary is from 1985-?." I also wrote,"I Love Chris I Love Chris (no I don't!!)." And "Tanya S. is my Best Friend." And..."MATT HALE IS #1 in my book." Dear god. Then there's a unicorn sticker and a pink clock sticker that reads 4:00 in red digits. Here are a few choice entries from my jellybean diary: Thursday, February 28, 1985 Dear Diary, It rained a lot today. All the girls saw a film called "Growing Up On Broadway." It was a film on menstruation. I'm gonna be in a Cinderella Beauty Pageant in Odessa March 30th. Mom ordered me a red pageant dress that cost $119.00!! Friday, January 23, 1987 Dear Diary, Today was horrible. Nothing seemed to go right. After school me, Tiffiny, and Rebel (my family's tiny teacup poodle, named after the Midland Lee Rebels) walked around the neighborhood trying to sell Tiff's Girl Scout cookies. She doesn't seem to be putting a lot of effort into selling them. I'm trying to get her to try her best and and sell a lot of boxes of cookies. I'm sick of Mom treating me like a baby. She makes me sick sometimes. I wish she were a normal Mom. Tiffiny told me that Mark Ferguson (a cute prep) told her that he thought I was fine. Maybe he was being sarcastic. I HOPE NOT!! John Litton is a perverted basket case. He told me had a dream one night that he was swimming in green jello totally naked. Only a pervert would share such vulgar dreams with a nice girl like MOI!!!! He makes me wanna puke. ************************************* I was always shy. My writing mostly consisted of observations and dreams or fiction. I never had an exciting social life. I was a sheltered kid with no social skills. I got my first taste of true drama at seventeen. The summer before my senior year my parents sent me to a rehab/mental health facility in San Antonio. It was called Rapha. My parents had snooped around my room and found suicidal poetry so they decided to Take Action. I don't remember how long I was at Rapha. Maybe a month. They gave me Prozac and I bounced off the walls. Mingled with Satan worshippers and Wiccans and young, burgeoning armed robbers and gangstas. My roommate was a beautiful girl from Lubbock who was skinny with big breasts. She was a recovering bulimic/anorexic. She listened to this cool radio station while she put on her makeup each morning...it played songs that were exotic and dark and heavenly to my virgin ears. I guess it was pre-alternative...The Cure, Depeche Mode, that sort of thing. All I knew of music before Rapha was trite pop crap from the '50s and the Beatles and the Rolling Stones and Poison and other '80s glam trash bands. Oh, and Patsy Cline. I was a Patsy Cline fanatic. One of our assignments at Rapha was to watch "The Wall" and listen to the tape and study the songs. My mind was blown. When I returned home I went out and rented "The Wall" and bought the cassette. I had a dismal senior year but at least I got my first taste of sex. I started the year out at Fredericksburg High School in the lovely village of Fredericksburg, Texas. Don't move to Fredericksburg unless you're a German. They'll hate your guts. Besides not being German, I made the tragically foolish faux pas of calling up the STUDLY STAR quarterback of the Battlin' Billies one night and askin' him to come over and watch a movie with me. He turned me down so I stupidly called his best friend (another Battlin' Billy, of course) and asked him the same question. I was rejected twice in ten minutes. Ouch. The next morning in English class I got to listen to the two German studs (they both sat behind me) talk about how they'd rather fuck a dog than fuck me. I just sat there and endured it. I lasted a couple of more weeks at FHS. Then I transferred to Bridgeport High in Bridgeport, Texas. Moved in with my grandparents. On my first day at BHS I carried some old photos in my purse. One photo was of me and the guy who escorted me in a beauty pageant when we were in first grade. So anyway, I was in the hallway after class/before lunch and this guy in overalls approaches me. I knew right away that he was the same guy who escorted me in the beauty pageant (which I won). He introduced himself and I gave him a knowing smile and said,"Hi, I'm Misti Rainwater." His eyes got big. He freaked out. He remembered me from way back when. We sat down in the hallway and "caught up" (he probably did most of the talking) and I showed him the pictures I had in my purse. He couldn't believe I had a picture of us in my purse. Long story short: We dated briefly. He tried to devirginize me but I "moved around too much." I gave him a blow job and that was it. End of an era. I moved back to Fredericksburg after Christmas break and attended Fredericksburg Christian for the remainder of my senior year. I never got over Chase. I held a torch for that guy for most of a decade. I'd send him letters and gifts and he'd call me at college for marathon conversations that usually ended with phone sex, even though he had a girlfriend. I guess phone sex doesn't count as cheating. My writing improved tremendously after I met Chase. I wrote reams of masochistic love poems. Sickening, as it should be 'cause it was straight from the gut. I let it all out. And of course, drinking Jack Daniels alone in the dark listening to "The End" by the Doors didn't hurt. And I read LOTS of books, sometimes by candlelight to make it more romantic. I began taking risks. Even though I was in love with Chase, I learned to lust after other guys. I was shy but I made myself major in theatre arts for at least one semester (I think it was two, actually) and audition for plays and read my poems at poetry readings. To have real fun and to take real risks I drank a lot of wine coolers/beer/tequila/vodka/whiskey/Long Island Iced Tea. Almost without exception, I had to be drunk off my ass to make out with or have sex with a guy. I had zero confidence. And I look at old photographs and wonder why. I was better looking than most actresses. But beauty is subjective. I think Heidi Klum is butt ugly but millions of people obviously disagree. I think I'm much better-looking as a brunette but I got more attention as a bleached blonde. Go fuckin' figure. Anyway, that's what I meant by the comment at the beginning of this entry. Alcohol, men and song are what contributed to the growth of my writing. As for only needing the song in the end, that really is bullshit. I don't need alcohol anymore but I still enjoy the occasional Corona or Tecate. And I'll always need my husband. |