Spring Cleaning
It’s Spring, and I like to clean out the clutter and in doing so I stumbled upon diaries I kept from 2nd grade to 8th grade. If you don’t know me, I’m an only child and I grew up in Newport Beach with my very single, very Catholic Syrian Dad. In contrast I was always mildly lonely and very horny, I remember masturbating in 2nd grade to fruition but before then I had played so much doctor in school than I should have a PHD, like I already did my residency. At the same time I still carted around two cabbage patch kids as my children, Sarah and Ashley, just the whitest names possible and would sit them down in a fort I built to watch Behi 9-0, that’s 90210, so they could see their Dad at work, Jason Priestley.
I loved him so much I’d scribble his name all damn day like some weird Lisa Frank loving monk meditating on a theme. Page after page of these diaries read - I hate all men except Jason Priestley, sometimes I’d make a stipulation like “and my Dad”. On Jan 21st, 1993 I wrote “Dear Diary, Ms. Long, my 5th grade teacher, said I don’t want to see any more of Jason Priestley, Fool around with him on your own time. I could never stop loving him, NEVER NEVER NEVER. I Love him. Love, Chrissy”
It’s a crazy thing getting older, like when your fantasy husband’s best friend dies of a massive stroke at 52. Luke Perry was an icon and I know a lot of ladies of a certain age were affected by his passing. I was more of a Brandon Walsh girl myself obs, that charm, that good guy vibe, he would have made a great husband and I knew that at age 8. I have yet to meet someone for myself that I can say the same thing about and now I’m 30-something.
Anyway one time m Dad found out they were in Laguna at a Mexican restaurant called Las Brisas after a charity golf tourney and took me. I froze solid at the sight of real life Dylan & Brandon like an awkward pre-teen Woolly Mammoth (I had buck teeth) only to be thawed in my Dad's car later crying that I had embarrassed myself and now he would never marry me. Jason P at the time was my exact height. I was in 7th grade. Those men touched a million young lives.
I had a more active love life in grade school then I do now. Before turning the age of 9 I had messed around with girls and boys, had been in love a total of 4 times and knew how to make myself orgasm. Then I grew up and it’s never been the same since. I can still orgasm, even in my sleep, once you learn how to ride a bike...
In junior high I was relentlessly teased by two doods, mostly for my weight. One particular time, in 5th grade this snotface with rosaicia named Drew had pretended to ask me to be his gf, and when I said yes he made a fake announcement to the class, and I realized he was joking. And that cemented an idea in my head - that the thought of being in a relationship with me was laughable. And sometimes you hold onto things that happen in a moment, for a lifetime.
By the time I got to high school I was ready to get it in. But, I looked like my Dad in a Jesus wig. I was insecure, confused, inhibited, and overall regressed to an almost Amish level of fear of sex and the opposite sex.
No more crushes, no more makeouts, the Doctor had her medical license revoked if you will. And all the things I had read about in my Fear Street novels, boys throwing rocks at your windows, flirty notes passed in class, never happened. There was no outrageous promposals, I had to ask my cousin, Steven to go with me. He did a fam a favor.
I even stopped having crushes on celebrities, I felt unlovable and repulsive really.
When I was 11 someone touched my boobs and it would be almost 11 more years till I was sexually touched again. I practically hot potatoe-d my virginity away when I was 22 because I felt behind. Just going into bars like “you take it!”. And one nice guy at the Belmont was like “hm’kay”, give that man a medal honey, you can name a star after him. But I don’t remember his name.
Who knows what happened in my 20’s, I did a lot of improv, hooked up with comedians sadder than myself and smoked too much weed.
Then, I lost a lot of weight, 120 pounds in 2 years to be exact. I felt/feel in some ways like a virgin again and I have that hot potatoe feeling. Like she wants to take this new model for a spin but it’s weirdly still hard for me to find someone that wants to have sex with me that I also want to have sex with and then said sex actually transpires. Either he’s devotely Orthodox Jewish or perhaps married, or he’s a convicted felon, or he tells me has genital warts, or he just straight up doesn’t initiate a plan to hang out it’s really bananas.
But what if I’m supposed to be careful this time for a different reason, what if I’m supposed to mine through the caves of Hinge to find a diamond? What if the next person I choose to give my heart - and super soft wet pussy to, I mean it’s like hot slippery velvet in there, you know - has to be real? But what if, most importantly I have to lean into a truth. That we are all born loveable, that’s why babies and puppies are so cute. That I, in particular, am a sensitive lil poppy in a field waiting for my bee, who won’t pluck me like some disrespectful hipster at a super bloom, but instead work with me to create honey?
Spring is here my loves, maybe I should start spring cleaning my mind and soul. Throwing out anything that doesn’t spark joy.
One more thing: in September of 1993 I wrote: Dear Diary, They’re ruining Michael Jackson’s life for child abuse stuff. It sucks!!!!! So, you know, sometimes you can change your mind.
